moving on

When I wrote about pushing myself about 6 weeks ago, I wasn’t sure about my level of perseverance . . . if could I do it.  I can last 4 days on most ‘do this daily’ kicks and find myself distracted before I finish things.  This time, two factors have supported me: my wonderful accountability coach Trisha Findlay and a vision of what I wanted to achieve.

Last year I took an online course with Karen Ruane called Swathed in Stitch.  The samples were in a folder, minding their own business but I hadn’t finished with them . . . I had an idea that had been bugging me for quite some time.  An idea, and it’s turned into a plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel.  (Sorry about that, but I loved Blackadder and when I think or say “I have an idea” the rest just follows although not always said out loud.)  While the plan has still yet to see the light of day it seems to have developed and gained strength. The thought of it sent me back to the samples which are now all over my hastily and cheaply made design board . . . a very large unused canvas that was hiding under the bed, and an old white, winceyette sheet

A month later I have made what I need to carry out my plan but have yet to see about framing which is likely to be hellishly expensive.  In the meantime I want to move on to other things so I have mounted the samples and bound them into a book using Japanese stab stitching.  The cover has a photograph of the contents and while the samples were never meant to be seen without a 5-7mm space between them, I’m satisfied.  Satisfied but not content with the final outcome . . . yet.

Cover with stab stitch binding. Wendy @ Late Start Studio

Cover of sample book with stab stitch binding.
Wendy @ Late Start Studio

A glimpse of what lies within. Wendy @ Late Start Studio

A glimpse of what lies within.
Wendy @ Late Start Studio

Two things that have always fascinated me are spider webs, and more importantly, looking through gaps at what lies within, the partially obscured, the intentionally and unintentionally hidden whether it relates to a view or a person . . . I’m curious.  As explained by the Johari Window, I am captured by the  façade, the blind spot, the unknown . . . I go to a play and watch the actor not delivering dialogue, I watch the listeners and constantly look for authenticity.  I think there could be a series here although not necessarily using the same medium.

And those ‘other things’ I want to move on to?  I went to a weekend workshop with Nicki Stuart, an encaustic artist, and I bought things . . . and in a week I’ll be off the Whangarei to the Fibre Arts NZ event to spend 5 days working and learning with Australia artist Peta Lloyd . . . she’s issued an invitation to break some rules and experiment with printing, books and wax.  How could I possibly resist?

a decision made

When I have a strong gut feeling I turn to my objective side and gather evidence to back up my intuition . . . or prove it wrong.  Last week I attended a block week course for 4 days, checked out some of the facilities and met with my mentor whom I am sure I would have enjoyed working with for the year.   I’ve weighed everything up and today withdrew from the Diploma in Art and Creativity and made other plans for my creative development.

I think the institution, or at least the diploma programme provided, would probably best meet the needs of people with a creative bent but little experience, people for whom painting and drawing are a focus but who would perhaps like to investigate printing techniques, ceramics and sculpture, casting . . . there are opportunities to try everything, everything except the fibre arts.  Such a shame but perhaps if there are enough inquiries that might change.

And now? Now I will work with supportive like-minded friends who will listen to my goals and encourage me to work toward them.  I’ll work my way through a couple of books to build my technical skills and sharpen eye for design and take a couple of classes on-line. I’ll divide my time between play (experimenting) and work (developing and idea) and have a lot of fun as I do it.

Basalt, muka (harakeke/flax fibre), tiny pearls.  I think it needs more pearls and silver crimps an that hair-like muka. Wendy @ Late Start Studio

Basalt, muka (harakeke/flax fibre), tiny pearls. I think it needs more pearls and silver crimps on that hair-like muka.
Wendy @ Late Start Studio

Thank you to all of you who made such thoughtful comments and have waited so patiently while I worked my way through the problem.

what no-one will tell you about ageing . . . a rant

I’ll tell you, you sweet taut 20 to 35-year-old who looks at older women with a self-satisfied or dismissive smirk and doesn’t countenance that such a thing will ever happen to you.  I’m not old but I am ageing so I know . . . I can share my experience.  And while this rant is mostly focussed on the body, because that’s likely where your focus is right now, the heart and mind and spirit are all affected.

No-one will tell you that hair will disappear from some parts of your body and appear in others.  The blessing is that you are now in need of glasses so you don’t notice it for the most part . . . that is, until you are out somewhere and you feel a hair on your chin or you spot it in the unforgiving light over a mirror in the women’s toilet.  You will swear to carry tweezers in your bag but you will forget.

No-one will tell you that the hairstyle you want can’t be had because the gray hairs have the most rebellious nature, almost a mind of their own dear little individual selves going off in there own direction as it pleases them, a texture defying any attempt to smooth or curl.  You want sleek as it was in your youth without working for it? HA!  And perhaps you will decide to brave it out and go natural (Why the hell should that be considered brave?) or maybe you will just develop a reaction, allergic or just distaste, and decide against pouring chemicals on your head with any regularity.  Or maybe you’ll continue because you’ll be judged by your graying hair.  Pathetic and small minded as those judges are, they may have control of your potential income.

Wrinkles?  Yes they happen, and the pores of your skin on your face are more visible, your grandchild will be fascinated by your saggy skin so let them touch it, but never, ever, ever place a mirror on a horizontal surface to clean it . . . not ever!  Enough said about skin because the changes are inevitable . . . and if your self-worth is tied to your youthful appearance it’s doomed.

No-one will tell you that fit as you may be, supple and you may be, your body will change shape even if your weight doesn’t . . . and sooner or later bits are going to ache if you sit still for too long.  My advice is to simply keep moving.

Strength diminishes unless your lifestyle remains the same and for most, it changes because we have so many labour-saving devices . . . I used to have a push mower, use a hand drill and now I’m thinking I might need a skill-saw.  No-one will tell you that sooner or later some lids on jars will not come off even if you employ all the tricks you know and you’ll be tempted to go and get your electric drill (I own two), and take to it with a vengeance because you’re damned if you’re going next door just so you can have artichoke hearts with your crackers and blue cheese and besides, it’s 2:00am and you can’t sleep!

Sleep is something no-one will discuss when it comes to ageing . . . when your body wants to sleep you will and it doesn’t matter a damn whether you want to or not.  When you want to sleep . . . that’s another story.  Maybe you will and maybe you won’t.  I sleep like a baby; I fall asleep quickly and wake up every few hours.  I’ve always thought ‘sleep like a baby’ was perhaps the most ridiculous saying ever.

Your feet . . . comes a time when not only do you see the sense in keeping your feet flat on the ground . . . you can’t wear heels anyway as you feet just won’t stand for it.  Personally I would like to be barefoot all the time, socks in the winter, jandals (thongs) in summer and my old favourite boots in winter (they’ll die soon and then I’ll bury them with full honours, bugle at dawn, flag at half mast).

No-one will tell you that inside your body things have changed drastically even if you have retained stunning good health.   For me, menopause was so long ago that it’s just like a bad dream.   You know, one of those nightmares where you wake up and the emotions just won’t let you go?  Your heart is thumping with fear or you’re so anxious that you’re almost frozen.  Well, twenty-um years later I still have a hot flush with coffee (I have a 3-a-day habit and I love the stuff strong and black, unsweetened) and red wine is drunk advisedly because I know how I will sleep . . . hot and restless.

Skipping . . . yes skipping.  There will come a time when you realise that what you did all the way to school and home again is just so damned exhausting!  When was the last time you attempted to skip?  DO IT!  DAILY!  In the privacy of your own home, or on a deserted beach which is my preference, if you must but do it!  Why? Because sooner or later you will lose that spring in your step.  Honestly, this phenomenon really happens, one day you jump down off something quite low and you realise the bounce didn’t happen.  It vanishes somehow, somewhere there are a lot of bounces waiting to be reclaimed . . . they were ignored and took off to find new owners.

No-one will tell you that you will become more sentimental, that little things will have the power to move you to tears and that the sound of young children laughing is the sweetest thing in the world.  No-one will tell you that as your body deteriorates and your thinking slows, even though your intellect remains intact (so don’t you dare think that because someone needs additional thinking time or forgetful they’re not as astute as ever!) your heart, your spirit, call it what you will, will enlarge and your capacity to love those near and dear will remain untouched.  You will regret that you didn’t call your parents and grandparents more often.

Now don’t get me wrong, even with the inevitable changes you will continue to love and honour your body as much as ever.  (You do, don’t you?  Something damned wrong if you don’t because it’s going to house you for a long time.)  You will still feel the thrill as a soft warm breeze caresses your skin, yes even that flabby stuff you used to call finely toned triceps, and appreciate where it can take you, and the skills it holds in its ancient muscle-memory.  You will continue to make demands on it, nurse it when its sick and curse it when it lets you down but mostly, you will love it.  It allows you to say I love you and to touch and cuddle and listen to music and laugh and cry and laugh some more.  Love it, better still, respect it . . . every tiny part of it.

So there you go you taut 20+ year-old.  And why has no-one told you?  Because you aren’t interested . . . yet.  You’re busy taking your youth for granted and perhaps feeling a tad superior to us ‘wrinklies’  however if you want to hear about your mind, how every time you forget something you wonder if there’s more to it that there was when you did that exact thing when you were 20 and question if it happens more often, well ask someone.  I’ll give you an honest answer if you ask but it’s purely from my perspective, no longtitudinal studies here, no polls, just my experience.

Now I think I must point out that today is a brilliant sunny summer day, birds chirping and all that, I’ve been for a walk and I’m about to water-blast the fence so I can paint it . . . I love my body but I’m tired of all the put-downs, some incredibly subtle, others blatant, and the elevation of youth as an ideal.  It’s fleeting . . . if you’re lucky.  Youth lasted a short time when I look back at it and I think I have about a thrid of my life to go still.

The fence behind these gorgeous blooms needs a coat of paint . . . and I needed and image for this post. Wendy @ the Late Start Studio

The fence behind these gorgeous blooms needs a coat of paint . . . and I needed and image for this post.
Wendy @ the Late Start Studio

Yes we have role models, mostly carefully made up affluent women who perhaps won’t leave the house unless they’re dripping with make-up and certainly styled for that photoshoot where the images will be cleverly photoshopped and airbrushed.   Let’s get ourselves our there, barefaced or with make-up doesn’t matter . . . let’s just get out there as we were in the 60s and be loud and proud feminists . . . our sons need it just as much as our daughters.

A little disclaimer here: my mother was still ‘getting old’ at 96, she was not allowed to work as a young woman, “Ladies don’t work!” was what she grew up with, but she owned a library, was a pattern-cutter in a knitwear factory, could mix concrete, swing a hammer, use a crowbar with devastating efficiency, and the first thing she did when she moved house at 95 was to plant beans and tomatoes.

my response to an offer

Recently, The Textile Artist made me an offer, 3D Mixed Media Textile Art, almost to good to refuse and if you’re in need to good, sound advice (this based upon the content of the site) it might be perfect for you.  I turned it down . . . yesterday I received an email asking for feedback which I responded to thus, albeit with a couple of minor fixes and changes:

I guess I’m feeling deluged by inspirational posts and offers of courses and resources and in danger of spending more time looking at the work of others that developing my own.  I have far too many read books on my shelves (my own and from the library) and ‘bookmarked’ web sites, more than I can hope to give adequate attention so I have unscubscribed from many blogs (not yours) so that I can focus on my own work.  As a mixed media ‘maker’ and someone who has always tried anything and everything it is time to focus and the only way to do that is to withdraw a little from all the wonderful work and wisdom available and simply do my own work . . . follow my own wisdom.

I appreciated being asked why I’m not partaking of what is obviously a wonderful offer as it has made me bring to the surface and articulate what has been gong on in my mind for a while now.

And might I add I’m still very tempted?

assembling a portfolio

Yes, I know, it’s been a while but I was away for two and a half months in the USA and settling back in at home has not been without some challenges.  But now, there is work to be done!

I need to assemble a portfolio at gain direct entry into the Diploma of Art and Creativity at The Learning Connexion in 2016 and I’m finding it an interesting and positive experience to look back at what I have achieved and the roads I’ve travelled to be where I am now.

I need to demonstrate technical competency in two of three areas: painting, drawing and 3D work.  The latter is easy, there are many examples on this blog, and although I don’t draw much, I have examples to present, it’s painting that is more the challenge.  I don’t consider myself to be a painter, but if a label is required then I’d describe myself as a mixed media artist.  For me paint is just another material to use but not the primary medium in my work.

It’s not that I haven’t painted.  I had a foray into oils and it was the lovely feel, the lustre, even the smell that I loved but now. for convenience, I use acrylics for prints and making collage fodder. I even use watercolours occasionally.

I started by copying . . . as you do . . . before attempting to work in the style of Modigliani, one of my favourites, but with originality.

Would that I could recall the artist!  If something comes to mind please let me know in the comments.

Would that I could recall the artist. Why didn’t I write a note on the back!  If something comes to mind please let me know in the comments. 400 x 325 mm, oil on recycled cardboard.

Another copy, this time by a New Zealand artist I think . . . I do wish I could give them credit. 410 x 575mm oil on recycled cardboard.

Another copy, this time by a New Zealand artist I think . . . I do wish I could give credit to the original artist. 410 x 575 mm, oil on recycled cardboard.

Inspired by a photograph and with more than a nod to Modigliani. 640 x 500 mm, oil on cardboard.

Finally, inspired by a photograph and with more than a nod to Modigliani. 640 x 500 mm, oil on cardboard.

Despite the last example being a little unresolved or incomplete (she has no nose, just nostrils), there are elements that I am well pleased with such as the background, the proportions, the tilt of her head, the shading on the neck.  No, I’m not completely satisfied but critiquing my own work, what meets my learning goal and the next step to work on, that is what drives me to improve what I do, and at the time, I was satisfied with my results.

I’m hoping these three paintings will met the requirement to demonstrate technical competence however I’m left wondering . . . Why didn’t I persevere with painting for its own sake? Why did I relegate it to the background? And, do I want painting to remain there as something I did in the past?

a job well done

I think the job has been done well but time will tell . . . it depends on my expectations about how long I have extended its use, which in turn depends on how much care I am ready to take as I spread the quilt out on my bed, whether I lie down on it to read or take the time to move it aside . . . will it last another year or five?

When I began mending my old Indian bedspread (another beginning) I knew there were quite a few rips and holes where the sun had eaten entire patches of colour away and that the fabric was whisper thin in places.  First the rips where no patches were needed were mended and then the holes, where a piece of recycled unbleached calico was underlaid and stitched in place.  As I worked I inadvertently created a few more holes . . . ending up with somewhere in excess of 120 (I stopped counting).  If the mending had not given rise to so much reflection I doubt I would have persevered . . . I have a low threshold to boredom.

As I worked I gave a lot of thought the what I hold as precious, what beauty means to me, that crossover between practical and beauty as if they were on to separate continuum and the was a sweet spot where, for me, the meet.

If something is truly practical, it does its job better than I had hope for, perhaps the look doesn’t matter so much . . . perhaps the truly ugly tights I wore under my ski pants, the rusty old bottle opener (although there is sentiment attached to it).  And if something is gobsmackingly beautiful, that alone is enough . . . beauty is its use perhaps?

And then there is age and sentiment. From newly minted, the loveliness of the just created right through to decayed, not wearing but truly worn, when an object, or person, can take on a new beauty, one where sentiment plays a part, where life is visible in every crack, every scar, every wrinkle.  Is there a sweet spot where the continuum of new to old crosses over the others?   (This could turn into a rant about human beauty, societal expectations, roles, power . . . but that is not my intention or at least not this time.)

So I pondered on all of this as I sat patching in pieces of cloth on a bedspread I am not quite ready to hand over to recycling . . . running stitch, back-stitch, simple stitches in simple cotton cloth.

Simple stitching around the patches, frayed edges visible, scars exposed.

Simple stitching around the patches, frayed edges visible, scars exposed, fabric whisper thin.

A wonderful week

Last week I had the privilege and pleasure of spending the week learning alongside 7 other wonderful women . . . Lucy Worsley and 6 other workshop participants on “Stitch it together with collage”  organised by Fibre Arts New Zealand.   I took the workshop as a challenge . . . collage is not my strong point by any means although I’m a dab hand on the sewing machine and recently I’ve enjoyed hand stitching as well.

At first I struggled because I was looking at the image more than the colour and texture it would impart to a background.  Once I shifted my way of viewing the materials I had on hand I began to explore abstracts based on a cruciform composition.

What I ended up with was a series of three images where I was able to incorporate my love of topographical maps and texture.

Topography Series #1

Topography Series #1

Topography Series #2

Topography Series #2

Topography Series #3

Topography Series #3

So what have I learned?  Listen to feedback and then decide for yourself what to do, step back, sleep on it, return and decide.    Pare back . . . less is sometimes more, don’t allow a desire to use materials to swamp good design, in short, let materials speak for themselves.

I felt so encouraged when the first of the series sold as it hadn’t occurred to me to offer it as this was an exploration at a workshop however another participant loved it.  So there is was at the showing with all the work from the other workshops with a little red dot . . . how happy was I!    Before I left #2 and #3 were also sold . . . Goal #1: ‘To make work so appealing and interesting that people would want to own it’ achieved.

Happy, happy, happy!  Now, to work towards Goal #2 . . . I’ll let you know what it is when I achieve it.