I begin by saying thank you to all those who have hung around with me on my blog for so long, and who have persisted in particular over the past months, where the blog has been in a fallow creative time.
Many of you know that my gorgeous mum died unexpectedly in December and I have been struggling to focus, and to settle since. I have hardly dared to create.
In the creative space I have found myself attending a workshop; delivering a workshop; preparing for more; organising events; printing cards; buying more type; cleaning and sorting all my type; helping Barry with name tags and other projects, but I have barely let my head think about "What do I do, what do I make now?"
So I finished sorting my type on Friday. I now have 45 trays of lead type waiting for me to do something with them. It was all organised, sorted and put away, clearing beach top spaces that haven't seen the light of day since mid-December. And then on Saturday I collected five more trays of type and another press which kind of put paid to my senses of task completion; but that is yet another story.
Sunday was the day I said. I will go to the studio and try to do something, anything. I will pick up paper and decide what to do. I will take the first small steps...
And so I did. There wasn't a lot of time in between commitments and appointments, but I made time. A good sign.
And I turned to the gentlest of things - the techniques I had learned with my friend Gemma back in February last year. And I decide to make some small journals, wiht watercolour covers.
I dreamed up a peace symbol in my head, and was planning to use a variety of colours, when I thought no, go back to nature like Gemma did and choose your palette that way.
There were two tiny violets outside the studio door. Ta-da.
I played with my watercolour pencils to see what matched, and made a selection.
And got down to business - that most popular of adult pastimes these days - I coloured in.
All good so far.
I went and picked a red crucifix orchid flower from the book wall, and decided to keep going.
I used a dinner plate as a template and moved it to create an arch. Hi-tech stuff indeed.
And I made a couple of small books.
And then another one, using some left over printing trials.
They are such small steps, but I feel like I have re-acquainted myself with my studio, with the movements and feeling of making, and my head is almost ready to begin to dream bit bigger.
It is a busy week ahead with delivering work, openings, studio visits, panel presentations and more; but I hope I find somewhere in there a few more minute for making. Thanks for hanging in there.
Many of you know that my gorgeous mum died unexpectedly in December and I have been struggling to focus, and to settle since. I have hardly dared to create.
In the creative space I have found myself attending a workshop; delivering a workshop; preparing for more; organising events; printing cards; buying more type; cleaning and sorting all my type; helping Barry with name tags and other projects, but I have barely let my head think about "What do I do, what do I make now?"
So I finished sorting my type on Friday. I now have 45 trays of lead type waiting for me to do something with them. It was all organised, sorted and put away, clearing beach top spaces that haven't seen the light of day since mid-December. And then on Saturday I collected five more trays of type and another press which kind of put paid to my senses of task completion; but that is yet another story.
Sunday was the day I said. I will go to the studio and try to do something, anything. I will pick up paper and decide what to do. I will take the first small steps...
And so I did. There wasn't a lot of time in between commitments and appointments, but I made time. A good sign.
And I turned to the gentlest of things - the techniques I had learned with my friend Gemma back in February last year. And I decide to make some small journals, wiht watercolour covers.
I dreamed up a peace symbol in my head, and was planning to use a variety of colours, when I thought no, go back to nature like Gemma did and choose your palette that way.
There were two tiny violets outside the studio door. Ta-da.
I played with my watercolour pencils to see what matched, and made a selection.
And got down to business - that most popular of adult pastimes these days - I coloured in.
All good so far.
I went and picked a red crucifix orchid flower from the book wall, and decided to keep going.
I used a dinner plate as a template and moved it to create an arch. Hi-tech stuff indeed.
And I made a couple of small books.
And then another one, using some left over printing trials.
They are such small steps, but I feel like I have re-acquainted myself with my studio, with the movements and feeling of making, and my head is almost ready to begin to dream bit bigger.
It is a busy week ahead with delivering work, openings, studio visits, panel presentations and more; but I hope I find somewhere in there a few more minute for making. Thanks for hanging in there.
Welcome back.I hope your "focus" works by osmosis...I need somewhere to start,too.
ReplyDeleteI hope you can gather a bit of my focus thru osmosis - that would be grand Di! And thanks for the welcome back...
DeleteI see a path to peace ...
ReplyDeleteThanks Liz - it is there isn't it? I just saw it too...
DeleteSo glad to hear you're getting back to your art. I know from first hand experience that art has the ability to help heal.
ReplyDeleteThanks Candy - art can and does heal doesn't it? I am doing small things but feeling better for it. Go well.
DeleteOh F, this is one of the things I wish we did not have in common, the sudden unexpected loss of a mother. It's been 17 months since my mom passed and while my creative output has gradually resumed, it is far from back to normal, as am I. In the meantime, the creative urge won't be denied, so I do what I can, when I can, and try not to put too much pressure on what happens next. For me it's about beginnings, moments, and not so much destinations or even intentions anymore. These creations of yours are a wonderful quiet return to the light, making use of what's around you and within you. Welcome back.
ReplyDeleteThanks G/TT - it is a slow and circuitous path this grief journey. I am tentatively putting my feet back on the path, and am feeling better for it. Still not quite ready for full focus, but am taking the time it takes. Go gently...
Deletethis is the kind of thing that nurtures, and helps you feel relief! "yes, i am a maker..." remembering process, doing what is natural to your heart. grieving is work, remember. it's hard work. sending a hug.
ReplyDeleteThanks V - it is good to remember I am a maker; I had lost touch with that notion and felt bereft at that as well. Thank you for the hug...you too go gently.
DeleteThank you for making the time to chronicle your creativity. It is appreciated and acts as inspiration and education.
ReplyDeletePeggy thank you for your kind words, it i s nice to know you enjoy following along. And thank you for hanging in there in the absence of much creativity at this end. Go well.
Deletewill you be putting a book in the Libris Awards this year?
ReplyDeleteAnswer: I just don't know Mo! I would like to; not sure if I can make something worthy yet. But I would like to...
DeleteI have found that the way back often involves making something with your hands that you can hold in your hands. My friends joke that I fail at printmaking so that I can turn the failures around as books that I will love. I am glad to see you.
ReplyDeleteJordi (?sp), I like the notion of making something the you can hold. touch. Protect, hold close. That is lovely, and I like how you pretend to fail at printmaking but really intend to succeed with your books! Holding a handmade book in the hand is so very special. Go well.
DeleteMy sincerest sympathies on the loss of your mother. Be kind to yourself and listen to your muse.
ReplyDeleteThank you MI. It is hard, but going gently matters; and sitting still and quietly being open to the muse visiting is something I am able to do more of now...go well.
DeleteI remember reading a quote from Mother Theresa once which I think said something like 'do small things but do them with love' and I think that means they become anything but small. These books are a joy and whilst I love the colour swatch idea (so organised) my favourite has to be that print offcut (so random, so me!)These are the start of the return to the normal rhythms of daily creative life. One step at a time. Good on you.
ReplyDeleteThanks Lesley - yes occasionally my preference for structure is strong! I enjoyed revisiting things, and yet doing things I could do without trying too hard. Sitting there, holding paper, pencils, needles and threads got me thinking with my hands again and little thoughts popped into my head, so I have hope...go well.
DeleteDear Fiona - I didn't know that your mother died, its such an intense journey to lose one's mother. My mother died 3 years ago and I feel as though I am just finding my way again. When I made it back into the studio after she died, the work I had been doing wasn't the right work anymore and I found myself at the beginning of a new body of work that has taken a very long time to mature. But, I must say that the grief has given me greater depth and I think the work has grown because of it, as I have. Many blessings to you in this tender time.
ReplyDeleteThank you Valerianna, a mother's death is unique in the ledger of losses I think, and we all find our way back slowly. Grief does offer depth and perspective at times, and I certainly know I am not alone...go well.
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