The slow, slow progress of the work in progress...

This one doesn't quite take the title of art work taking the longest to completion (that honour goes to a painting which took TWO YEARS! Whilst in no way looking like two years worth of work), but it's one I've been dibbing in and out of for a while. I don't think I've quite picked up momentum yet. Also I keep getting side-tracked by the rediscovered ability to knit, by fabric flowers (they are just so quick -almost instant gratification!), and thinking I am a seamstress. I am NOT a seamstress. I am embarrassed to show my attempt at a very basic top.

Anyway, seeing as the sun was out today allowing not too shabby photographs, I thought I'd show how I'm getting on with said assemblage...

Just need to figure out what I'm doing with the front now methinks.

(It just took me an ashamedly long time to figure that Blogger had decided it was no longer compatible with my browser, and that for that reason it didn't want to upload these pics. I am not made for the internet. I am of a simpler time. There goes my bank holiday...!)

We need to chalk...

So far since breaking my candy fast I've indulged in 2 sour apples, a pear drop, a foam shrimp and a foam banana. And a teeny tiny bit of Alex's Easter egg (he didn't get me one!) It's funny how now sweets aren't banned I'm not even that bothered!

For the few days before Easter, Mother dearest and me went to Spring Harvest at Skegness (more info here!)

Basically it's a Christian festival (not quite like the one on 'Peepshow' as my charming husband suggested!). Mum used to take us as children, and the last time I went was when I was like 15 (that's 17 years ago!!!). We had the most amazing time, and if anyone wants to know more about it I've got loads to tell...

Anyway, the main reason I'm blogging is that one of the myriad experiences on offer was an abstract art workshop (I simply had to!). I didn't know what to expect, but I like the idea of exploring spirituality through art (without wanting to insult the many greats who have done so in history -far, far better than I ever could!).

We were hosted by Chris Gilbert 'The Art & Soul Man' (Chris' website), and the brief was...brief! Taking the theme of the day which was 'The Holy Spirit', we were given a choice of 3 different media -paint (too messy -I was wearing my bespoke eyeball dress), cut paper (I'm always cutting and sticking anyway), or pastel -and were let loose to give visual representation to what we'd learned, encountered and been inspired by over the preceding days.

Our studio: a darkened Butlins cabaret bar. My easel: a spot sprawled on the floor, half-on/half-off the plastic sheeting barely protecting the venue from getting too grubby for the next workshop...

And so I played! I realised I hadn't run riot with chalk pastels since my art foundation course 14 or 15 years ago. Although the results seem to me more aesthetically pleasing than any of the automatic drawing/mark-making to music attempts of my college days, I not sure that they are quite masterpieces. Kandinsky's crown isn't exactly being contested just yet...!

 

So this was my first effort. I'm concerned on reflection that the little crosses/figures look a bit more Blair Witch than Biblical...

 

Followed by...

 

This one is definitely a mountain. I am not sure why it is pink and purple (maybe it's heather?!) Or indeed what the bits flying off it represent. Mum said I could sell it -she's always been artistically challenged bless her!

 

I remembered my GCSE art teacher saying that if you look at something in the same way for too long you can lose sight of what it actually looks like, and a good way to see it with fresh eyes is to look at it upside down. So I wondered if my scribblings might look better another way up...

 

Perhaps not. Or framed...

 

'You've Been Framed' more like. But there was such child-like joy in getting covered in chalk dust.

 

And then there's the whole exploring psychology through art thing. I think we'll leave that idea on hold just for now...!

Sweet Sacrifice

I have given up sweets for Lent. This may seem rather juvenile, indeed almost an insult to the sacrifice our Good Lord made for us, but it is practically killing me!

I am a woman of very few vices. I haven't drunk for over 3 years, I hate gambling (I even had to think about how to spell that!), I usually choose the low fat options. I am neither as 'Rock', nor as 'Roll' as I like to pretend I am. So it appears that taking away my sweeties is denying me the tiny pieces of sugary decadence I have left! A Strangelord without sweets is a picture of misery.

I'm not like a normal girl (in quite a few ways actually!) -I can take or leave chocolate. Confectionery heaven for me is a nostalgic boiled sweet -cola cubes, sour apples, rhubarb n custard..., or jellies (although controversially I'm really not that bothered about Haribo). Give me midget gems or sports mix back before they changed the black ones from liquorice flavour to blackcurrant, and I'm yours! Or pretty much anything from Swizzels Matlow. Parma Violets are a bit weird though, aren't they?!

So to get me through the next week of my Lenten abstention, I've made do with perusing Folksy for these candy-coated concoctions (of a craftier variety).

 

Clockwise from top left...

 

Linocut Gummy Bear cards by Woah There Pickle

Love Heart candy cross stitch kit by StitchKits

Sherbert Fountain t-shirt by Snollygoster

Peppermint candy porcelain stud earrings by SillyRice

 

 

Work In Progress (it's been a long time coming...!)

 

 

 

 

I have been desperate, but without the time to, stick things to this what I think was once a first aid cabinet, that I claimed from my father-in-law, waaay before he was my father-in-law (a couple of summers ago). It's so useful and most inspiring having contacts in house-clearance!

 

So I made a start the other weekend. I'm going with a primary colour scheme and basically taking it from there. I'm all about the random ways my collages emerge.

I'm pleased with how this miniature collage turned out as a piece in its own right. I've used a little thimble display case that I picked up in a chazza shop in Bridlington when I visited my Mum recently. I like the way that the different objects are compartmentalised, and therefore made to look like they're something special, even though they're junk. It is my intention that it will become part of the bigger cabinet collage.

In about 3 years' time when I finally get around to finishing it! I'm not sure I'll be quite ready for the Great Sheffield Art Show this year.

 

Rabbitting on.

 

So, when the urge to scratch that creative itch returned a couple of weeks ago, I was in need of minimal planning and instant gratification. The ideal opportunity to crack open a lovely gift from the gorgeous Stacey Leng (she'll always be Grimey to me).

 

 

Part of my Birthday gift was a DIY bunny kit by Sass and Belle. It'd been stashed in my craft cave ever since, but it seemed like just the thing to ease me back in.

 

The pink pom-pom tail was my own added touch. He should have had a ribbon tail.

 

In my head I believe I'm part 8 yr old, part elderly lady. A few months back a sweet lady came to speak to us at my church ladies group (punk as) from Samaritan's Purse UK, one of the charities that appeal for shoeboxes of gifts for children in deprived countries (Operation Christmas Child). So inspired was I, that I now cannot go on a shopping trip without looking for multipacks of childrens' toothbrushes, notebooks, crayons, you name it. I've even sorted through my hoards and been able to salvage some unopened trinkets, and I've become a dab hand at origami gift boxes.

 

So straight away I thought, I can donate this lovingly handcrafted, one of a kind, stuffed friend to one of those poor lonely children.

 

They'll either be over joyed, or gravely disappointed!

 

 

 



But either way, now I've got the templates, and an abundance of felt and fabric scraps, I don't think there'll be any stopping me!

 





The mysterious disappearance of Strangelord...

Almost 18 months ago now my life got extremely busy. And all my making energies were channelled into cross stitch invitations, lavender heart favours, fabric flower table centre pieces, bridesmaids' hair ornaments, bunting, drilling plates to make tiered cakes stands (it seemed like such a good idea at the time...!), a brooch bouquet, playlists...and all this alongside trying to make myself radiant (thank you Elemis) and sadly at times my husband-to-be's life a misery! I wish I wasn't such a control freak! I found it hard to entrust any tasks to anyone else.

So anyway, it kind of meant putting my personal creative dalliances on hold to choreograph and perform in the event I've dreamed of every day of my life. And now the dust has settled I can safely say it was worth it.

My fingers have just about regained feeling from so many marathon hand-stitching sessions, and I've ventured into my craft cupboard once more. It's comforting to get collaging again, so hopefully soon I'll be able to share some works in progress.

Still as strange, but now an Edwards-Lord.

I watched the sun rise in my teapot...

...even though the sky's gone a bit grey.

This however, cheered me up no end.

Girly with an edge...

...is kind of my thing.

Here I am not only modelling for you the cheerful golden yellow we've painted our lounge (which makes me smile whenever I look at it), but more importantly my lil' cocktail-hat-cum-fascinator I made at the marvellous Button Tin with Gemma Nemer almost a month ago (see my post on the button! for when I went last time). And my, how time flies...

Gemma provided us with a treasure trove of vintage fabrics to choose from, and showed us how to make the ruffly rosettes which I adorned my headgear with. She kindly gave me a pair of vintage clip on earrings which were so me, and perfect for the centres of my rosettes. I brought along the chains, because for me, there is nothing in life that can't be improved by a few studs or chains!

I bought the dress on the same day, from Yella Brick Road -an emporium of weirdness and wonders that is basically what it would be like if my brain became a shop -spitting distance from the Button Tin in the Imperial Buildings in Rotherham (ladies spitting -now that's girly with an edge. Actually, I can't spit properly, I'm rubbish). It's by Iron Fist, and I simply had to buy it. It reminded me so much of imagery I use such as my butterfly/bones collaged combos -my obsession with sweet vs. sinister.

Like teaming scuffed up converse with a lace-trimmed slip when I was 17 (and dying to be Courtney Love), or getting my scribbled, drawn-with-a-biro effect love and kisses/let's cross out love and hate everybody tattoo -depending on which way you wanna look at it...

(now I just like how it reminds me of a bad time in my life I never ever want to go back to...)

And just to clear things up before you get over-excited, that square of flesh is the top centre of my back, and nothing else.

And I am so rock 'n' roll that I went all faint when the tattooist finished, and I had to get put in the recovery position!

It's like the fairy tales we were read to send us to sleep with sweet dreams of rabid wolves and murderous witches, the converging of opposites. Defiling the innocent, diluting the insane.

I suppose I like to reach the happy medium (funny, for someone who is never happy!)

The good little Christian girl who strives to be the perfect house wife and has imagined her wedding every day since she was five, whilst swearing like a trooper and stomping around to angry girl music.

I guess if I wasn't so conflicted I'd find it harder to stay strange...

Picture (im)Perfect

I have an unhealthy, bordering on damaging, obsession with perfection. Anyone who knows me, knows me to be picky and pedantic, but it's not like I do it on purpose. It's a coping strategy. I'm just trying to keep up.

I look at everyone else -stylish, successful, talented, people who are prolific in their art or craft -or whatever their field may be, people who are on the go all the time, people who juggle jobs and families and friendships and never let anything drop.

I have these ideas about other people, like that if one area of their life is perfect, or seems perfect, that must mean that everything about them is the same, even though I know this isn't true. And it means that I have to try and compete. I know people who are super-fit, but are complete flakes. I have friends who look amazing, but spend little time or effort on anything other than their appearance -hey, everyone knows that people with perfectly painted nails spend waaay too long sat still doing nothing (and clearly can't do DIY!) Some people have the most exciting social lives, but live in pits and exist off beans on toast. Others seem to have everything, but I pretty much know it's been bought on credit. I know this is the reality -that other people don't have extra hours in their days, or super-human energy levels (I have a skewed view of this because I've always been a sickly child, a wilting flower), but I want to be perfect at everything.

I want...

An immaculate home
A flawless appearance
Just the right amount of style (without seeming try-hard)
To cook everything from scratch
As for scratches, my car to be scratch free -and to be able to both drive it well and park it
To be nice to everyone (I know I'm not!)
To make maximum effort at work -and enjoy it!
To have a social life others envy (and no, I won't take photos, because I'll be too busy having fun!)
To still have time to be creative, and successful at it
To blog more than what seems like about twice a year!
To promote myself
To exercise and not hate it
To keep up with current affairs
To read
To remember things I've read/learned
To know what the heck I'm talking about -ever!
For my clothes to never be creased, my wash basket always to be empty
To never have a hair or a thread or anything out of place
To see family
To see friends
To spend just the right amount of money

Is this so much to ask?

I think my quests for order and perfection -not only fuel my crazy, but are also behind my collaging, collecting, assembling, arranging fixations. Taking disorder, the discarded, and making into something unified, composite, harmonious even. Like when I've cleaned the house from top to bottom and can smugly sit back -until I find something else that absolutely needs to be done.

You may remember my every-so-often 'I need to paint more' ponderings.

So I tried, and enjoyed myself, revelling in the gloss and the texture and the tactile experience of oil onto canvas, building up layer upon layer, until, Miss Perfect, I put a brushstroke wrong, and haven't beared to work on it since...

(See offending area encircled in red, which incidentally, to people I've asked, apparently has nothing wrong with it)

So I've taken the motif and interpretted it in collage. See, told you it kept me sane. Or, I just can't stop myself.

I've blogged about my 'hands' fascination not so long ago 'hand-made' blog post, and I'm enjoying using them to depict simplified tree forms.

When we eventually get some decent light (because my camera and my photography skills are far from perfect!), and if I can ever take the time out from my exhausting, self-inflicted schedule, I may share some photos of the new piece.

Until then I guess I'll keep tying myself in knots, being practically perfect -at most, if not all, things.

I've a feeling...

...we're not in Kansas anymore.

Balls to that!

Life lately has been about as jet-setting as it gets. For me, anyway. I can't live out of a suitcase, and all that packing and unpacking, and travel, is tiresome -especially if you're going by Megabus!
Last weekend I went to London for one of my oldest friends' (old as in long time, not old in age!) Katherine's birthday.

As I waited for her to meet me on her tea break, to provide me with keys and a map to her cute little flat, I pretended to be posh and wandered around Selfridges on Bond Street, practically drooling my way around the food hall, and receiving my fortune from the 'Word-a-Coaster' which currently dominates the Orchard Street window.

Now I'm not one for clairvoyance (Alex thinks I'm mental when I suggest it's 'of the devil'), but I due like I bit of conceptualism.

Apparently all the fortunes are unique, just like ours really. And although I am dainty, but far from light-footed, I think I'll be saving my little piece of limited edition, numbered art!

Saturday saw us visiting Tate Modern for the Yayoi Kusama show, and the theme of balls, or dots, continued.

(Do you think I'm wearing enough pattern?!)

Kusama's vibrant and varied career encompasses painting, collage, performance, sculpture, etc, etc, which I really admire -myself being someone who likes to dabble in different disciplines.

Her more recent painting remind me of aboriginal art. I was both impressed and envious of her friendship with (hero) Joseph Cornell -he donated her with collage materials and even gave her gifts of his own work -some of which was displayed (I reckon I could have slipped one into my bag!). Balls of an entirely different variety featured in her 1960's 'happenings' -the 1967 film 'Kusama's Self-Obliteration' was shown, the climax of which was writhing bodies painting each other with dots and descending into what can only be described as orgy. Kat and I showed exactly our level of maturity as we could hardly stifle our giggles. And I call myself a Fine Art graduate!

Our favourite bit was the installation 'I'm Here, but Nothing' which was a typical set up of a living room (sweet retro furniture), lit by UV black lights. The interior was covered with little fluorescent dot stickers which glowed, looking like some sort of domestic plague, and was described as a 'visual shorthand' for Kusama's 'hallucinatory visions'. I just like the idea of an artist having motifs that they constantly return to -like branding, or a tag, where you can look at it and instantly think... yeah, that's their work.

If I was more amused than nauseated by the orgiastic happenings, I was disorientated to the point of queasiness, but equally delighted, by the 'Infinity Mirrored Room'. Maybe that was as much due to the multiple reflections of myself as it was the lights.

Thankfully I was very much recovered for dinner at Bistrotheque -chicory, pork and pear slaw with crackling, hake with chorizo, razor clams and braised baby gem lettuce, and chocolate delice (or was the 'dice'?!) with mascarpone and an almond tuille.

More pretending to be posh then! Next time it's the Wolseley...

Face Paint.

This week I realised that instead of my pretty much constant make-up serving to make me look more groomed and grown-up, it's been masking flaws by way of making me look...younger! How and when did this happen? I may be 30, but I more often than not still get asked for ID when out of an evening visiting the choicest nightspots.

It may be because my fragile skin has been chapped beyond recognition by the biting Netherlandish air. Never have I felt cold as such experienced when trekking through Amsterdam in a blizzard between Waterlooplein and the Van Gogh Museum. Snow can be horizontal and razor sharp.

Alex and I only ever seem to holiday when and where it's freezing cold. Often in February around the time of his birthday. I don't know if it's because it's exactly 6 months away from my birthday, so gives me something to brighten the winter months, or if it stems from my distaste for overly hot weather -my Mum is still highly amused by my behaviour on a holiday to Italy in an August heatwave, during which I turned 17. I spent the majority of the time either at the shower block or beneath a parasol. The day we visited Venice I was positively wilting! Or if it comes from my confusion about and misunderstanding of why my fellow Brits seem to vacate our fair Isles at the time of year when our own weather is at its best...?

Our February trips have included Paris, Whitby and Glasgow -the latter is a close contender for coldest holiday ever, and if it wasn't for a kindly IMAX manager sharing the last taxi running, we would have been stranded, yet again in a blizzard -do you see the pattern emerging? -and quite possibly perished from hypothermia.

Unfortunately on the latest trip, the climate rendered me incapable of either removing my gloves, or pausing to take many photgraphs of the surprisingly beautiful (I didn't know what to expect!) Amsterdam. But then, at least I'm not the sort that believe if a photo wasn't taken it didn't happen. Memories count more than a million bunches of megapixels.

I haven't flown many times, so I remain fascinated by the snowy peaks of clouds glimsped through the plane windows, and so inkeeping with our wintery theme.

I also had no idea that Amsterdam was such a destination for deliciousness. I'm no great adventurer, and I swear by my DK Eyewitness Travel guides. How terribly mainstream! And this time we went as far as to eat at 2 restaurants the guide recommended -and weren't disappointed! Fondue and entrecotes at Cafe Bern were the ideal way to thaw out two tremoring travellers.

Plus we had the privilege of sharing pastries with some of the locals...

I'd read that Amsterdam is full of both pigeons and stray cats. Sadly we only made two new friends of the feline variety, but were treated one day to a pre-breakfast spectacle of half a bloodied mouse. Fortunately being 'straight edge (!)' I wasn't nursing any narcotic nausea from the night before!

I also went quite mainstream (for me) in my enjoyment of the Van Gogh Museum. I can be a bit snobby with my art when I want to be, and deny my enjoyment of the artists the world and his dog love, but I have to say, a desire to paint again has been ignited (I recall feeling similar stirrings but a couple of years back-

('all cried out' post, October 2009)

and now I'm feeling inspired enough to have a root through my art cupboard and see if I still have any oil paints hiding there. It's about time I took a break from intricacy, and daubed paint on canvas with wild abandon...

Vincent Van Gogh, 'Wheatfield with Crows', 1890

I shall definitely visit Amsterdam again, although perhaps when it's slightly more temperate. I was able to do the two things I most desperately wanted to -along with Van Gogh there was the Anne Frank House. I was moved to tears. I am now reading her diaries, and am intrigued by what the teenaged mind is capable of when subjected to such extreme, heightened situations. Not that I want to in any way mitigate the horrors of the holocaust, or liken the experiences of the occupants of the secret annexe to the triviality of an American TV show, but I can really see why Angela Chase from 'My So-Called Life' was shown to identify with Anne.

"I'm starting to like Anne Frank."
"Is she a sophomore, too?"
"No, she's dead."
"Oh."

So anyway, until the weather warms and I venture across the Noordzee again, I'll occupy myself with painting, whether the surface is canvas, or my fair and flimsy face.

Of Corpse

My latest masterpiece (?!) in progress...

This is my happy face, by the way.

The inspiration is the Surrealist 'exquisite corpse' -like that old parlour game we all played as children. Players fold a piece of paper and take it turns to each draw a section of the body, resulting in fanstastical beasts, horrific chimeras or comedy gold.

Joan Miro

More contemporary examples by Jake and Dinos Chapman

Surrealism was all about creating a sense of bewilderment with unexpected juxtapositions. Like the random imagery of dreams. I try to use that kind of idea in my collages, and often find that the less obsessive thought I put into what objects or images go together, the better. It seems more natural, more automatic. Trying to avoid the censoring parts of our brains.

Although you will see that I dressed to match my art work, so not so random after all.

I will re-attach the lids to the boxes, and fix the boxes together, for a result almost like when a magician cuts his assistant into half or three. I always thought 'My Glamorous Assistant' would be a good name for a band. My friend Natalie used to be a magician's assistant. She could tell you some stories about that... 

I do a similar idea with the folded paper at work as a self esteem exercise. With a group, we each start with a piece of paper, which is passed around the group for each participant to write something positive about the person whose piece of paper it is. Each person folds the paper to cover their comment, then passes it on to the next. When everyone gets their paper back they are left with a page of the lovely things that others think about them.

I'm not sure the Surrealists would approve of such niceness, but this is my struggle -the dark and the delightful.

Hand. Made.

It seems a rare treat these days when our computer even switches on, let alone is happy to do anything. This is my excuse for not blogging, and I'm sticking with it!

I thought technology was supposed to make everything easier? I continually yearn for the days when it was okay to do everything by hand -sew, write letters..., which brings me seamlessly to the subject of today's ramblings.

'You bite your nails? Its a bad habit. People always tell you that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Bullshit its your hands, thats the sign of a gentleman.'
     -Robert De Niro in Alfonso Cuaron's 'Great Expectations' (1998)

If memory serves me correctly I saw this film 8 times at the cinema. Very clever use of colour, addictive soundtrack (look for 'Like a Friend' by Pulp on Spotify), and the strange and captivating artwork of Francesco Clemente, that is the real star.

I've been working on ideas for a flyer for my Step Mum, who is considering setting herself up doing reiki -which to my understanding is energy from the hands (I am probably very wrong about this!) -hence my doodled hands with rainbow glowing fingertips.

A healthy hand has five digits, and five is a good number. Stylistically I always think odd numbers look better than evens, which I think may be part of why I've become a bit fixated with drawing rudimentary hand shapes at the minute. I like the way my hand/trees turned out (see previous posts).

At work some of the young people made a Christmas tree by drawing around their hands on green paper, cutting them out, decorating them and assembling together -very Strangelord! And it wasn't even my idea!

I am yet to meet a grown adult with smaller hands than mine.

I remember when I was a small child my Mum calling them my 'little dannies'.

Once I when I had steroid cream for my eczema, and having an attic bedroom I could never be bothered to go donwstairs and wash my hands after applying it. The skin on my fingertips thinned so much that my finger prints had practically smoothed away. I did not take full advantage sadly, and committed no crimes.

I used the 'Great Expectations' quote in my dissertation for my Art Foundation course, after a module spent studying hands -different methods of depicting, and in others' art. It is difficult to believe that this is almost 12 years ago! I was introduced to Egon Schiele when a lad in my tutor group said my line drawings were reminiscent of the controversial Austrian. Although anyone who knows me well, knows I am far from controversial.

I revelled in painting PVA on my hands and peeling it off like shed skins for in my sketch book.

I pride myself on a steady hand. I think it's all the practice of obtaining precise flicks of eyeliner, and carefully arranging minute beads, bits 'n' bobs in certain collages. 

I maintain that 'Hand in Glove' is one of the best songs ever written.

So whatever I use my hands for this festive season -modelling a selection of nice mittens, throwing snowballs (I wish...!), wrapping presents worse than I did when I was 5, clapping along to Christmas songs, waving farewell to the old year and hello to the new, maybe actually having the time to do some art. Not punching computers! I'll be sure to stay strange.

Probably see you in 2012...

Emin-spirations

I was reminded of two things last week:-

What a ridiculously, hilariously bad film 'Creep' is. If you haven't seen it, the monster is called 'Craig'...and it gets worse...(come to think of it, I have known some monstrous Craigs in my time...)

The second thing I was reminded of is how much I adore and admire Tracey Emin.

I didn't mean to emulate her when I was at art college, and I did get slightly offended by comparisons, I mean, I'd never leave my bedroom in that state, the Monica that I am these days, but looking back...

Tracey was featured on BBC's 'Who Do You Think You Are?', investigating the maternal side of her family, finding a history of reform school boys and artisan gypsies (sadly I don't think my family tree bears any such romantic fruits. My Grandparents thought our family ran a workhouse. My Dad disputes this...)

The woman makes me smile. She's like the bad bits of me amplified. Drunk on TV. Back in the vodka days I must confess there were times my bedroom might have been slightly like hers. The tears, the ramblings.

My unconscious channelling of her aesthetic themes has at times included the use of text (I LOVE text in visual art), the use of traditionally feminine crafts taken out of context and given unexpected, inappropriate or sinister meanings, and self as art. I think I'm self obsessed...Ms. Emin's work is as intensely personal as it comes. Literally laid bare.

Her collected writings 'Strangeland' is about the most elating and abject in-equal-measures bunch of words one could ever cast their eyes and their heart over. Makes me wish I'd continued to keep diaries (possibly would have if it hadn't been for little brothers' prying eyes).

I read an old diary recently. THAT was depressing!

I was genuinely heartbroken when I learned of the fire at the Momart warehouse in 2004, in which Emin's controversial appliqued tent 'Everyone I Ever Slept With' was destroyed. The tabloids had a field day... "Didn't millions cheer as this 'rubbish' went up in flames?". It annoyed me that so many people took 'slept with' as the euphemism it is commonly used for, and not in it's literal sense -a tribute to everyone Emin ever shared a bed with, including family members, I feel is a really sweet sentiment. But it's that play on words and opening herself up to misinterpretation which only enhances the art. 

Her gorgeously sensitive line drawings make me know I really need to get my sketchbook out more. Whether she's depicting dainty birds, copulating couples, or said dainty bird perched on a penis. Come on, you gotta see the funny side?!

She's everything I wanna be when I grow up, and everything I won't be because I haven't got the guts. And even though I'm teetotal, I'm sat in my bedroom, listening to Hole, thinking I'm eighteen and getting all post-feminist on your ass, filling art shows with photos of me and plaster casts of contraceptives...(anyone who saw my 18+ art foundation final show knows what I'm talking about...!)

Oh, and just so you know, I will be wearing leopard print 'til I'm 90.

arty cats (or avatar adventures)

Gosh, has it really been this long? It's terrible I know! I have been busy though, what with turning 30 and hosting the biggest party since I was 8 and demanded a 'present tree' (I got the idea from a book -how many 8 year olds do you know who own party planning books?!)

I've also been moving house, to my very first, very own brand new house, and yes, at first it was chaotic -hence my absence.

In getting back to normality and realising I'd neglected my artisitc endeavours, I discovered that a cushion I was pictured holding in my avatar on Folksy had since been used as a kitty-comforter a little too often. Probably shouldn't sell it then!

Instead, I thought I could share with the world my brand new Aladdin's cave of an art cupboard, so I fluffed my hair, made sure my fingernails were clean, and set about posing as the ever-suffering Alex took pictures.

It appears Casper has missed out on being involved in art recently also...

So very helpful! He's lucky I didn't glue him to my collage. Tempting...