studio diary

I catch myself often staring into space. I notice sometimes a life-enhancing filter in front of my eyes that adjusts the way I see my home. Little shoe-maker elves tidy up in front of me, transforming the washing up into a stack of shiny dishes, conjuring up new furniture, framing and hanging imaginary pictures. My arms are usually full of a wriggling boy, so my mind improvises. The funny thing is that it looks just the same every time.

Here hang a collection of paintings of the sea and of ships and/or whales.

A row of dangling plants climb down this wall.

Here is a vegetable garden. Possibly with chickens.

(in-progress reverse side of Artist Residency in Motherhood visiting card)

Today I spent eleven and a half hours attempting to write these 215 characters. Three point two minutes per letter. Letterpress might be the exact opposite of how I imagined working with limited time. And look, there is accidentally a tiny “a” & little “s” in DAYS. Perhaps in the future I will make up the lost time by handing this card to people instead of talking. Perhaps there are many things to think about what it means to use time well.

Once at the V&A in London I came upon an incredible cross-stitched life story. It was huge, at least a meter square. Yellowed canvas covered in careful lines of hundreds of thousands of tiny red cross-stitch letters. A woman’s story of a┬átragic series of disappointments and cruelties and frustrations. The act of spelling out the past probably taking longer than the sad events had once taken to occur. The commitment to that past history, dedicating every moment of remaining life to recording its memory, is heart-breaking and perfect.




(thank-you Jasdeep, Emily & Jenn)