21st century living

Electricity? What's that? Last night we didn't have any. Probably couldn't get 2/- into the meter. Or similar! Luckily, someone put some back into the system for this morning.

I know I am old, but it looks like I have been sitting in that corner of the kitchen since the Victorian era. And, taking a candle to bed, standing it on the bed head, and blowing it out before I went to sleep felt particularly surreal. Just wanted to share! X

Progress of the Wives Ragdolls

Well, excitingly, quite a few ladies of my aquaintance have taken up the challenge to try and capture their significant relationship in the body of a small and tatty ragdoll. I am practically quivering with excitement at the prospect of receiving the first one through the post. I think there is a possibility that this germ of an idea will take me through the next two years of the degree and maybe even be the basis of my dissertation. Important stuff! So, more and more dolls are welcome (read WANTED). Could you make one? Just ask me for the incredibly simple pattern, that can be roughly sewn together.... and then you can bash it, thrash it, drive over it, embellish it, cover it with hearts and flowers, fill it with glass, splice it, dice it or glorify it. How's your relationship today? Share it with a ragdoll! X

Wives club

I need all the ladies i know to volunteer to make me one small rag doll (I have a pattern to send you). The making and adorning of the doll needs to reflect your relationship (current or past) with your significant other half. So, you might make it glittery and bright, homely and comforting, wrap it in chains or deface it. One friend thought hers should lay in a silk line box. The doll needs to show the observer a strong emotion. Anonymous is fine (just send the doll back to me in an envelope with no note) or with an explanation is also fine. The needlework is not an issue, don't be put off and say you can't sew, everyone can do a bit of a running stitch! NO faces, and no detail wanted.  If you can't find anything to stuff it with, I can stuff it when I receive it! Here's a photo to help. I have a few. I need more. And more. It might be a bit of a catharsis, which would mean that you have achieved the objective.  Here are two I made earlier. One has her mouth bound up and her hands tied, and her dress is made of an old pair of washed out pants. Say no more!.......Please help me. Thanks. C. X

Antiques Roadshow, chix & R&R

Well, struggling with the old blogpot tonight. Seems a bit argumentative. Will soldier on. Dudes. It's been a long time. The tiny chicks featured in an earlier post have grown, matured, and been evicted from my kitchen, and then my shed, to be rehomed in a freshly creosoted Ark in the orchard. They seem happy enough with the sunshine to keep them warm. They have not yet got the hang of going upstairs to bed, and downstairs with the sunrise, so training them is a work in progress.

The Farmer and I went to an Antiques Roadshow thingy yesterday, on an RAF base in Norfolk. A good time was had by all, especially us, and I can confirm that Fiona Bruce is long, lithe and lovely. We took a pocket watch which was assessed as being mundane, uncollectable and ordinary despite its great age and functionality! Luckily its scrap-metal value more than made up for the disappointment.

My work at skool is done for first year. This is a photo of my little studio space ready for assessment. Shortly the work will need to be taken down, cast aside and new artistry planned for the forthcoming year. Am wondering if I shall be completely outclassed by my peers, as a second year.... time will tell. (Obviously feeling a little lack of confidence just now...) and I CANNOT persuade this bloody picture to centralise on the page. My apologies.

Here's the Roadshow, Experts amany, in front of a busy hangar

and here.... is the interior of my almost completed  'art studio' down on t' farm. It doubles as a 'loveshack' for the youngsters, and a bolt hole for any crabby and hormonal oldsters who happen to be around.... rear left is a shower room, and rear right is a store room and wardrobe. Upstairs it has what can loosely be described as a bijou bedroom (for bijou you may read miniscule).  It has a fridge, a cooker, a sink and a hob. I'm moving in! There is no art on the walls as it is awaiting the attentions of Dave the Plasterer. He will be unfolding his mysteries during the summer. Exciting or what?. I 

And finally. These pretty ladies are my Wives Club. Presently numbering 8, I hope to make 20 or 30 during the summer months. They may (or may not) form the central part of my Art college stuff for second year. They have no faces and no particular detail, excepting that they are all different. Some have their mouths bound. And some have their hands tied. The binding has slipped from one mouth to form a loose noose (I should be a poet). They are embracing each other at the moment.. A friend thought each should be trapped in a box. Even if it was a silk lined box. Time will tell what the future holds for them. In art as in life!

Ye gods and little fishes, time for the gin I think.

Adieu. X

From September I have to keep a journal of progress throughout the second year of skool(which will be assessed and marked). Therefore, thought I would try making a start during this summer so that it becomes habitual, rather than a special effort. Hence: two recent silk screen prints of a beach hut image. Each screen print has been treated slightly differently with masking and colour. Have to say, of all the beachhut prints I did, these two are the most aesthetically pleasing. Also, a charcoal and chalk rendition of a folded paper sculpture (courtesy of another generous student) which shows delicate tone and shade. Wrapping up for end of first year now, handing in Contemporary Technology memory stick, disc and notebook tomorrow, and Printing and Visual Language being assessed next week. Gathering some reading material for research during the long summer off and, without conscious effort, contemplating preliminary ideas for a new term's work. On a lighter note, last pup being delivered to Nottingham on Saturday. Baby boy rowing in University Nationals at the weekend. (good luck) Dinner with my laydees tomorrow evening for a thorough gossip and massed counselling session. Just burned our evening meal to a crisp. Owing to lack of a sense of smell, and assisting baby boy with proof reading through the miracle that is Skype with document sharing, first thing I noticed was my smarting eyes. As I turned to look at the kitchen a thick haze of smoke was apparent, and the smoke alarm began its doleful wail. Having thrown open a window and the door I continued to proof read despite the beating of the alarm on my eardrums. What service. The Farmer has disappeared to purchase ready-made victuals from the Chinese and the cremated remains of our home-cooked repast will be pecked over by the poultry tomorrow. And scratched into the earth probably. Sometimes, not being able to detect a smell is a proper handicap. C'est la vie. Au revoir mon petits. X