PORTFOLIO

Tuesday, 4 June 2019

Some transformations are quiet.

In my little garden on the first day of June I drew with ink and water and I noticed the corners and the carefully made piles of curated things, and the blooms.

"It has happened, the miracle has arrived, everything begins today, everything you touch is born; the new moon attended by two enormous stars; the sunny day fading a glow to exhilaration; all the paraphernalia of existence, all my sad companions of these last twenty years, the pots and pans in Mrs. Wurtle's kitchen, ribbons of streets, wilted geraniums, thin children's legs, all the world solicits me with joy, leaps at me electrically, claiming its birth at last." - Elizabeth Smart from By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept.

Lizzie Smart has got no chill, either.




We enjoyed this random buttercup so much we moved it to a pot.


Rusting things that will be made to serve. A hammock?

All found buried throughout our soil. I will do something with them at some point.







Random foglove that appeared on its own somehow. We let it be, waiting to find out what it was, and when the guests finally arrive... Ecstatic bliss.


Giant daisies always remind my of Alice daydreaming at the beginning of the Mary Blair designed Disney beauty.


"A messy desk is the mark of genius" is a lie I sing to myself and invest with belief.


Looking at you looking at me looking at you.

I added some layers to a couple of journals. I enjoy this stage. Endless potential. Much more exciting then finishing.


I cut the pages I made on this day and arranged the elements on the scanner bed. I worked a little bit with a cut-up method when I made them, seeing what images rose from my digital feed and responding to them with a brush pen filled with water and a palette with six wells and a bottle of chinese ink. The spontaneity and the unreliability of working so wetly was stimulating and pleasing. I have spent so long obsessing over the crispest lines, and I might have finally exhausted that particular tangent.







Crass. Sometimes only Crass.


Thursday, 21 March 2019

Spring Thing - A Playlist

The inside of my head as spring rocks up. Full of Hannibal Lecter offering the pitchiest black black comedy (I'm three years late to this party. If you came here for the cutting edge, you've certainly taken a wrong turn.) I am also newly obsessed with the My Favourite Murder podcast, and I'm so grateful to live in a world where Kilgariff and Hardstark are able to teach me how to use my powers of anxiety for good and not evil. (Again, three fucking years off the mark. But I'm still in love with them both, except Karen is my fave. Hideously, I binge listen to MFM and end up talking like I was raised in, like, California. Lots of apologising to my fam for being a nerd and general embarrassment.)

With all this murderous imagery trickling in, you'd think I'd be losing sleep and at least having grizzly dreams, but my worst nightmares have been banal images.

Do you wake up in a cold sweat with your heart trying to escape your ribcage after imaginary repetitive hours at an office desk with the clock going round the wrong way and talking back?

How about the wrong people turning up to after work drinks, saying they enjoyed the yoga last night? Well, that is what has been unnerving me recently.

Happily, though, I was told a good story this week, about a genius person arriving on stage at a gig sometime in the late seventies and setting to work hitting sheet metal with objects, displaying only childlike curiosity and abandon. I don't know the name of the act. But I consider this to be not an altogether bad way to live your life. It made me feel a bit better about the dysfunctional ways I chose to express my obsessions, if nothing else.

This should all quite logically explain this list of songs? You're very welcome.


Thursday, 7 March 2019

Completed Art Journal and Flip Through Video





I like filling books. I was skeptical of artjournalling for a long time. It seems like a lot of people are writing about positive mental attitude, and how it can be part of your self-care ritual. Use your art journal to freely express yourself and lower anxiety! Soothe depression! Work through the emotional! Relax!

I don't know much about relaxation. I'm much more of a gothic wallower. So none of that stuff appealed to me. But,as I said, I do like filling books. I've got to the point where I can do things how I like to, without worrying too much about how it looks from the outside. And why do I need to judge other people for feeling better? Whatever, man. If colouring books cure your existential dread, fucking good for you, babes.



So, I'm a bookbinder now. I made this tiny thing by cutting a little rectangle from a cereal box. I stitched two signatures in., then painted up some paper all nice with ink and used it to cover the cardboard. I like how this pattern looks. It reminds me of gemstones and slices of agate. Or random blotches.




Blotches! Fuck, yeah! 
 


This might be my favourite. Othello vibes. Sure, I've read Shakespeare.










Monday, 4 March 2019

Aglow Like Rayon


Panting, immobile, pierced starry with so much wonder and yet a "whatever for?" feeling. Your libraries lullabies offer as much comfort as abysses. In the desert and on the open highway you get chased down by cop cars glittering like beetles, eyes read heat haze as permanence disintegrating. Roy Orbison says there's a secret whispered on the wind. I turn up the radio.