Resistance Training

Three weeks ago I discovered that my new batch of allegedly identical canvasses made my brush pens bleed a little in a way the old batch never had (like this). Sigh. So I scuttled off to my group of unfailingly helpful artist friends who recommended priming the canvas (and reassured me I wouldn't lose the texture I love). Primer was duly ordered, dispatched, held up by The Wedding and, more importantly, Beltane (see what I was up to here), but arrived in good time - nearly two weeks ago. I sat it on the little shelf by our kitchen door so I could take it with me the very next time I went up to my studio. And there it remained.

Since when, I have suffered all the woes of resistance. Everything seemed a bit pointless (because it wasn't what I really needed to do); my writing has been coming along, but it's been slow and grueling (because really I was in an art mood). All the time I just wanted to paint (or 'pen', or whatever it is that I do), but I couldn't because first I had to prime the canvas... oh, too boring to even think about. Priming... not art; just the thing you have to do before you can do some art... ugh. Bored already. I'll read some more blog posts...

Then today I decided to actually do it. No matter how awful the experience was. So I got my bum off my chair, collected the little pot which had withstood so many hard looks from me (coming between me and my art!) and walked all the way to my studio. Which is uphill. Uh.

Only, it's actually in my garden. It's a two-minute walk, and that's if you spend a minute inspecting the pond and looking for signs of growth on tadpole leg-buds. 

 Our thriving mini pond, complete with skulls, stones and prayer flags

So I made it all the way past the pond, and through the door. This door is genuinely a bit of an obstacle. It once slid open, but since then half the building's fallen down (would that I were exaggerating) and been reassembled, so now you push the top across while hooking your foot between the doors and kicking the bottom part. If you get this right, you may enter. If you get it wrong, the door falls off. You still may enter, but you will need to spend a very frustrating and sometimes painful time getting the door at least partly back in its runners. Sigh. But I made it in with only one swear word, and not a particularly bad one.

Immediately I had spider web across my face. Aaaagh! Now, I'm considered intelligent (although the intelligence of those doing the considering may need examining) and am capable of moments of rationality as long as certain things are not present. If my daughter is present, I'm all heart, which is a nice way of saying, 'brainless'. Around crisps I'm just a motorised eating machine and you'd better not get in the way (or, worse, ask to share. I do not share crisps.) And the other thing is spiders. (Note to Ent: I know we could expand this list, but let's not do so publicly.) I totally understand that no spider in Britain can hurt me. (Genuinely, there is a collection of dangerous spiders just down the road, but we just have to trust their keeper that they won't escape. The snakes would eat them, anyway. Or the geckos. Or the... let's not think about it any more.) And, of course, there isn't a web anywhere (this side of Middle Earth) which can hurt me. So twirling around clawing at my head was probably unnecessary. But like I say, unnecessary happens in the presence of certain things. Shudder.

Having survived the hill, the door and the web, I surveyed the interior. It looks like this. 

 Inherited junk languishing in my studio

Which is another reason why I have been so loathe to enter. It looked a lot better before I started cleaning one optimistic day. To distract me from the filth and the plants growing through the walls, I lit some incense and said a quick prayer for creative guidance. Then I noticed the three canvasses from the old non-bleedy batch which I'd forgotten I still had. "That was quick," I added. Clearly, spirit doesn't have the same trouble getting round to doing stuff as I do. I tuned the radio into something about Gershwin and took a deep breath.

My easel/altar

When I'd finished choking on the dust, I got a bigish brush form my brush box, shook (just on the general principle that most things benefit from a good shake) the pot of gesso, opened the lid and brushed a layer evenly all over the canvas. That Herculean task took me, what, one minute? Sooo much less effort than all that resisting.

So, the new, primed canvas is drying and awaiting my experiment upon it another day. And I have three canvasses to play with right now. All I have to do is actually get on with it. I'll just put the kettle on again...

If Only You Looked Like Barbie You'd be Happier / 'Them and Us'

I'm scared. In this Saturday's Family section of The Guardian, Oliver James has written an article which speaks to my deepest fears. Based around a study of 500 16-year-old Fijian girls, he describes how television, and in particular social networking sites such as Facebook, are bad for girls' body image.

'At the most simple level, the cause is television. A definitive proof of this came from Fiji. Before 1995 there was no TV there and a full female figure was the preferred form. In that year, there were no cases of bulimia recorded, but within three years, dieting suddenly became widespread and 11% of young women were bulimic. The problem was three times more common in homes with a television.' - Oliver James

'However, further analysis showed that social networking was a considerably greater problem than TV, especially when combined with absorption in American culture.' - Oliver James

The researchers concluded that the consistent images of women who are happy (or who are skilled at appearing so) and who look tall, skinny, and gorgeous in that standardised way, eventually convince the subconscious minds of young girls and women that, if only they too could look more like that, they would be as happy as all these chirpy and elegant presenters, pop stars, actors, models, etc. But what they really become is bulimic.

Obviously not everyone is affected in this way, but enough are for it to be a serious problem, including the millions who never develop an eating disorder but still experience lower self-esteem because they can't match the airbrushed people. And I can't help but wonder if my gorgeous (in her wonderful non-standardised way) Ickle Pickle, who currently enjoys 'squidging' her healthy baby fat with me, will one day look at an equally healthy amount of fat on her body and feel depressed or disgusted or unworthy. 

James calls for 'an independent body to prohibit the use of exceptionally good-looking models in all advertising', but despite all my fears I still balk at this. Wouldn't that infringe our 'freedom of the press'? I'm undecided.

In the course of having a similar debate on Facebook, I did discover that the adverts on the right all have a hidden 'x' in the top right corner. Clicking this allows you to report why you didn't like that advert. I'm on a mission to report all weight-loss ads as offensive and I'd love it if you joined me.

In happier news, although strangely related, my latest artwork is an exploration of shape and titled, 'Them and Us'. Here it is:

'Them and Us'

Brush pen mosaic on canvas

5" x 7"

 

 What do you think about legislating to ensure more normal-looking models?

Do you have an insight into body image? Or the modeling business? 

As ever, any thoughts on my art are appreciated.

And do remember to 'x' those Facebook ads if you want to report them. 

Kaleidoscope

Introducing the fourth design in my mosaic series:

Kaleidoscope

Brush pen mosaic on canvas

5" x 7"

After hours of looking at that, I glanced up at my computer screen and only saw the shapes of the letters, without reading them or associating them with sounds, meaning, etc. Couldn't possibly choose to do that and I guess the last time I did was before I could read (30 years ago). Weird.

I really enjoyed this one. From the start I noticed my new batch of canvasses (exactly the same as the ones I've bought before) were bleeding the ink slightly, creating a slight blur, particularly in the centre. I decided to carry on anyway (while primer was en route to my studio) because I learned so much from the prototype I made. Having completed it, I'm enjoying the rather drunken feel that blur gives in the midst of the psychotropic effects of the rest. I really have been staring at this for too long.

I'm a week behind my schedule of a design a week. And that's with leaving no time at all for getting postcards printed and promotion. And the short story I'm working on is coming in clunky clumps at awkward moments, making it harder to plan art versus writing time. Still, Beltain's coming, which always has a new year feel to me, and this weather (plus coffee) is keeping my energy up. And I've spent my birthday money on more PITT artist brush pens :o).

This month's Bookworm book is Cassandra's Disc by Angela Green. I heartily recommend it. The title is a bit meh and the cover wouldn't have inspired me to pick it up, but the story blew me away. We are reading the memoir of Cassandra as she records her exploits, generally in relation to her very different and much favoured twin. She recreates her birth story from what she knows and imagines. The differences between the sisters are immediately obvious: Cassandra is huge, loud and dark; her twin is petite, blonde and demurely quiet. Their mother just cannot find love for them both and Cassandra is much neglected. 

Having often felt a bit of a heifer next to my 'mini me' sister and that our different temperaments have brought us different treatment, the very end of this book shocked me so much I gasped out loud!  I shall say no more, but DO read it if you can possibly squeeze it in. What I shall add is that my sister is very wonderful and our relationship in no way reflects that of the twins in this book. Thank the mercies!

Do let me know if you've read Cassandra's Disc, and any thoughts in my artwork are always welcome.

Happy Easter/bank holiday/Monday everybody!

A whisper is all I have

Today's post is whispered. To speak at all is a little too much, but I can just whisper.

Spring. It takes me like this sometimes. I go running into the sun, arms out, clothes off, singing and laughing... too much. Too sudden. My heart has been sheltered in her winter cloak of darkness and huddled safety for so long. This sharp exposure is a shock. My feet burn with each retreating footstep.

I tried to speak to you days ago. I sat for a long time. I typed a little. Every word boomed. Too loud. I wept. I stopped. I yearned for bed, to hide alone with a book for some hours. But it was teatime for my girl so we cuddled and swayed to Jeff Buckley until our Ent had made our food, then we read books and hung out until it was time for robot pajamas and milk and bed.

And the next day Ent worked in the morning. I could hibernate in the afternoon. But no. He had been up much of the night and needed, more than me, to be in his bed. Okay, I said. It's tough being a mum sometimes. Ickle Pickle and I were as gentle with each other as we know how, but she is so small. She needs laughter and bouncing and games and that electronic toy guitar I bought her in a truly selfless moment. She needs me to be out; open; full. I was emptying fast...

And then...Family Day. You may know this as Sunday. And I was posted back to bed, to forget 'together time', housework, planned outings; to rest, write, recoup my soul.

I scribbled in my journal for a while, until even that felt like work, then I read all of my bookclub book. More of that soon, but not now. I read for hour upon hour. I haven't read for that long for over a year and I had forgotten how it is to inhabit a written world without one ear open for a m'aidez. It was after 1:00 when I got up again, full of gratitude for my Ent and my life.

That would have been enough. I could have gone on strong from there. But the day after that was my birthday, so another day of revitalising non-work was spent with my little family. I was given splendid things, the best of which being an impressive holder for my harmonica (with room for a future second harmonica) commissioned by my Ent and made from Devon leather by our inspiring friend Tom Hirons. 

We spent the day by the soul-quenching sea on a forever beach just for us. Tourists crammed far away where they could see their cars and our half mile tramp/slide over immense sand dunes was richly rewarded. I danced in the sea, watched Ickle Pickle play with shells in a mob cap and lounged about in a thoroughly enjoyable manner. The sun, that tempter, blazed down, but I held true and moved slow.

So today I am a little sunburned, but I have an ocean memory to carry me when the impulse to run ahead of myself seizes me. Steps, is the way. Maybe skipping steps. And when it is really, really summer; then I can run across the green as far as the moor will take me, keeping step with myself all the while.

I have done this before; this rush and retreat. I guess I will do it again. But I am learning how to be still when I need to. I am learning that some days it is best to whisper.

Do you know this? Do you have whispering days too?

Happiness Week :o).

As advertised, Happiness Week is now upon us (yay!) as Action for Happiness launch their nationwide (British) campaign to increase cheer and contentment. For those of you who live elsewhere, all of their ideas and research can be applied anywhere, so please still check out their website.

Each time I blog this week I shall endeavour to bring happiness to you all. 

Thinking about how I might do that, I have come to realise that I am always, in part, doing just that already. This is a way for me to have a voice in the wider world and it's important to me that my input is positive. Sometimes I discuss what's not working or what I'm struggling with (see Love in the Snow and The story of an imperfect artwork), but my hope is that in sharing the trickier parts of my journey, I can support and encourage you when you come to a stonier path. Even if you're not a writer, artist, mother or animist, we're all capable of drawing analogies and learning from each other. Why reinvent the wheel every time?

For happiness in sound form, here's a beautiful link from Thomas Hine of A Basket of Leaves, a truly fantastic blog in every sense.

Just now, as I was eating my lunch, I found a story that brought me happiness in the way I was just talking about. And the strangest thing is that I found it in the Daily Mail's online paper! Now, I don't read the Daily Mail because I get angry. If you're British, you'll get the gist of my politics from that. If you're from elsewhere (please send sun), you'll know of an equivalent in your country which is generally avoided by open-minded, inclusive folk. Either way, do watch this.

So here I have discovered a story of love, courage and wisdom where I expect to find the opposite of all those things. Read it for yourself here. 

With little time to spare before my working day is over, I have finished my current artwork:

Gazanias

Brush Pen Mosaic on Canvas

5" x 7"

Thank you to those who left helpful comments on  The Spice of Life. The existence of gazanias is a source of happiness for me, as is this mosaic, even though too much light came through the canvas on the scanner. Still working on my technological prowess...

I'll leave you with a story which genuinely made me cry with laughter. Thanks to Terri Windling because I found it on her multi-faceted blog. If you click one link today, make it this one.

What makes you happy? Would you share it with us? Tell us about it in the comments, or email me direct with a link and I'll include it (credited to you, of course) during the week.

The Spice of Life

 Gazanias - 'Treasure Flowers' in progress

Brush pen mosaic on canvas

5" x 7"

Something different again. I'm still calling this a mosaic, although the tessellating technique has been very different with this piece.


I'm so pleased I've discovered Gazanias. They totally deserve the name 'treasure flowers'. All the colours and combinations I've used are true to life, and there are more I haven't used. I've stylised the form, but the variety is accurate, too. Some have pointed petals, some rounded; petals can have four or five colours in them or just one and that bizarre blue and purple example in the bottom left corner is another fantastic variation.


There's still work to do. I'm undecided about leaving white space on this one. I'm tempted to keep layering blooms behind until I've filled the canvas. What do you think? The leaves are a fascinating silver which I don't feel would work well here.


100 Stories for Queensland, including my short story, Cake, will be released worldwide on May 3rd. I was very pleased to discover that my name is on the front cover. Click this and look down the left. There I am!

Like the Gazanias, this anthology promises to be a richly diverse collection of uplifting stories from all over the globe.

And I'm pleased to announce that, in my spare time (mums, try not to wee when you laugh), I have become a Bookworm Babe. My fab friend Maria has set up a 'little' (so we thought until we had to close membership and establish a waiting list!) book club. We're in our third month, but we've only just been named and made official through the library. We're a very eclectic bunch with rather conflicting tastes in reading matter, but that's just what I want from a book club - motivation to read what I would normally pass over.

This month we're reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (catchy!) by  Mary Ann Shaffer and I'd love it if you wanted to read along with us and let me know what you think. You've got until May 2nd to finish it.

[Edit: It turns out The Bookworm Babes are at the back of a 50-book club queue for The Guernsey business, so this month we are actually reading Cassandra's Disk by Angela Green and the word on the street is to not be put off by the cover!]

And finally, if you've ever felt you've made a fool of yourself or looked ridiculous in some way, this will reassure you you are not alone.

Vive la difference!

Illusory Reality and Breasts

Ocean Sunset

Brush Pen Mosaic

So, I've completed the second mosaic in my planned collection of twenty.  I need to do one a week to have them all ready for exhibition in September - and that's without creating cards/postcards or promoting it at all. Keep breathing, Lunar, it's all possible.

Having much enjoyed the process of creating this and sustained a 'this is working' feeling throughout, when it was actually finished, I felt disappointed. I'd worked from a photo of an actual sunset and stayed true to the colours there, but they seemed so unlikely on the canvas.

Fortunately, overnight some helpful hinky punk  (that's a Devonian pixie) had either improved the mosaic or gentled my eyes. I suspect the latter. Stepping into my bedroom to see if it was time to give a 'big banana smile' to my girl, I saw it from a greater distance; took it in as a whole, and my first thought was, yes - that is JUST how a sunset can look.

And, maybe more importantly, I liked it. Maybe it won't look 'real' to you, or you wouldn't choose to have it in your home, but I like it and that's my criterion for claiming an artwork as a success. For now at least.

And finally, you may know I'm training to be a Breastfeeding Peer Supporter with Barnardo's. At the last class, we were asked to mention it in conversation and see what reactions people have. The theory is that every time breastfeeding is mentioned, it is normalised a little, making it easier for women to do /speak about in public.

So would you please let me know how you feel about breastfeeding itself, seeing others do it, talking about it, etc? Thank you very much.

Edit: I would love to hear from men, women who haven't had a child or haven't breastfed and people who are less than easy about other folk breastfeeding in public as well as breastfeeding enthusiasts. If that doesn't cover you, I'd like to hear what you think too! Thanks. And anonymous comments are fine by me.