Domesticali

Hidden connections

Thank you for the thumbs up you gave to continuing with my Origin series. Listening to you enjoying my posts about it is the next best thing to having you along with me there. Oh so much you would have loved. Want a little more?

Abigail Brown was already a familiar name to me - she has a blog of her own and was much featured a while back on the circles I tend to read in. I'd even seen her work in person before as she had little birds in matchboxes for sale at Liberty (was that shopping with you, Kristina?). Her display at Origin featured larger birds which were exquisitely varied and detailed.

Maxine Sutton was another name I had heard but couldn't quite place. A quick search of my Reader archives had her popping up on Tiel's sidebar and Gina had seen one of her exhibitions in the past. And then up popped a tour of her house over on Design Sponge. Our world is truly very small.

Sometimes though, I was looking at the work of people I was unfamiliar with, but I knew that some of you might particularly be drawn to. There were some beautiful ceramics on show, and I know that Monica has a bit of a thing about white jugs. There was a lovely display of 3 - a Daddy, Mummy and Baby jug and I'm irritated, because I cannot recall who they belonged to. Though possibly Monica's bank balance would thank me for forgetting.

In the case of Val, it was a toadstool motif. I would have got them for you, Val, but I didn't have the right change.

Even the pets were haunting me via the amazing tin sculptures of Lauren van Helmond. Those animals have such personality!

But had we all been visiting Origin together, I have a feeling there is one stall where we would all have hung out, laughed and taken photos - Kealwork.

Here's what Barbara's artist bio says - I defy you not to smile. 

Big furry ears make me happy. It might work for you too.
Can you imagine the winter high street bustling with creatures? Foxes, badgers, the odd Minotaur, not to mention all the beasts you can't name.
Could hats change the world?

It seemed to be working at Origin!

[Once again, product photos are the artist's own]

Within the pages

Continuing on in my series of themes from Origin, I wanted to focus on paper in 3D. There was quite a lot of this in evidence on Saturday - deconstructed books, paper sculpture and suchlike.

The work of Sarah Morpeth  (which I am kicking myself for failing to buy an example of), is often delivered in book format, but it derives from books she has made herself. 

Which seems less contentious somehow, because I know a lot of people find deconstucting books distasteful. I am not one of them. For me, the sacred element of books is the power of the words and ideas which they contain and not the physical nature of the books themselves. 

I had to explain this attitude to another exhibitor Anya Keeley, who I was chatting to, whilst looking at her work. As I uttered the words 'I used to be a bookseller', I saw the look of horror pass across her face.

She has evidently run up against the 'how dare you desecrate a book' attitude in the past. I say, hack with abandon!

Though I think  Alice had a slight shock when she looked closely at the birds made by Claire Brewster. She cuts her birds from maps and atlases. Alice works in a Geography department.  The subversive side of me wonders if they have a budget for art, though the academics would possibly have a heart attack at the sight of one of these on their walls.

All that chopping and manipulating of paper got me terribly fired up. I have ideas. But a simple piece to begin with. Just to warm up the hand that wields the scalpel, so to speak.

[Once again, all photos are the artist's own]

Hopefully you are not bored senseless by the continuing babble about Origin - I'm afraid there's still more I feel the need to capture. Blogs are good for that, no? Reminding yourself of ephemeral thoughts which otherwise slip through the cracks. What are you in danger of loosing today?

Repetition

There is undeniable beauty in repetition. The eye seems to seek out patterns and be drawn to the charms of regularity -  something that struck me strongly at Origin. How a simple motif or form, when multiplied, can take on an amazing beauty.

Joanne Tinker's work used foil sweet wrappers (now there's a fun material to source). Not that you would guess - from afar, her pieces have a sculptural quality and not all of them immediately hint at their more humble roots. 

 But the one which made me smile was this one.

My mother used to make these foil goblets out of after dinner chocolate wrappers - still does, in fact. But somehow ranked like this, they tell a whole different story.

Rebecca J Coles makes cut paper pieces, which while comprising of relatively straightforward elements, gain immeasureably from repetition on a grand scale. Not to mention painstaking attention to detail. Can you imagine the dedication of cutting each one of these butterflies by hand?

As I was standing looking at her work I also caught a lovely moment. A well dressed couple had been standing deep in conversation in front of her booth. I have to admit to being a teensy bit irritated by them as they were blocking my view (the booths are quite tiny and there was already a big crowd, because the next door booth had incredible felted animal headpieces, which people were busy trying on - and yes, I have pictures...). The couple then approached Rebecca and said 'We'll take that one'. 'Pardon?' she said. 'That piece, we'd like to buy it'. She was clearly flustered 'I'm sorry, I'm so used to people just browsing'. It was a lovely moment - her manner was so self effacing and I was surprised to find my eyes fill with tears for her.

A repetitive element was also a strong lure in Wycliffe Stutchbury's pieces. That and the fact that they are made from wood and have a backstory.

His artists bio says "My compositions from fallen and forgotten timber are studies in the narrative beauty of wood". Oh how that resonates with me, only I couldn't have expressed it with clarity. Johnny and I seldom return home from the bark chipped area he likes to play on, without a pocket full of wood fragments. And now they are calling to me to make something of them. To tell their story.

[All photographs are the artist's own, apart from that last one, which is mine. But somehow I feel you might have figured that out]

 

Origin

origin  /ˈɒrɪdʒɪn/ noun     the place where something begins

When I set out this Saturday morning, I was looking forward to my day in London. A mooch around, lunch with Alice (don't judge me by the venue), a visit to a craft fair. All good things, but I seem to have returned with more than I expected (and I am not just referring to shopping!)

Origin was incredible - I have so much to share with you. But I am still trying to assimilate all that I saw into coherent thoughts. Perhaps this coming week, a series of posts featuring some things which caught my eye. And what they might inspire me to get on with.

Because visiting also made me remember the roots of my blog. It all began with craft and there seems to have been less and less of it here of late. So perhaps it is time to restart my making dynamic.

No pressure there then! There's nothing like going public with one's goals to provide incentive.

 

 

 

The Birthday season

Late September is the beginning of the birthday season - hubby, my mum, my brother and Mark all within a fortnight. It's not the time to be starting any healthy eating programme, for sure. But it's excellent for flexing ones baking muscles.

And a fine excuse for snazzy candle purchases. They seemed more festive (not to mention less of a fire hazard, in this instance) than having one for each year. Though I realize to my shame that I have managed to spell out "Birthday Happy".  How did that seem a logical placement when I was poking them in?

Fortunately, the birthday boy was far too polite to mention it. Either that, or too busy munching. And there just might be a slice left for my morning coffee today. Birthdays are clearly a very good thing.

Autumn bounty

It hasn't been wall to wall doughnuts this week (thank you for your kind words of support), but the apple theme is one which seems to be persisting.

These were cored and stuffed with apple juice soaked raisins, brown sugar and a cinnamon stick. And then baked in a foil tent until they collapsed into that fluffy goodness that just cries out for a little river of double cream. Autumn puddings are undoubtably some of the finest.

But although there is plenty of immediate gratification to be had from the fruits of the season, there is also an urge to preserve some of that bounty for later in the year. 

Crab apple and chilli jelly - from The Cottage Smallholder's directions. It is truly delicious, and mine turned out with a subtle enough heat for the children to enjoy it too. In the depths of winter, when I open a jar, I will think of the pleasures of today, spent cosseted in my kitchen, laughing with a friend as we chopped and boiled and ladled. And the jelly will be all the sweeter for the memory. Preserving at its finest.

 

Doughnut Friday

From the Farmer's Market. Some traditions are worth preserving.

I always used to take them in for everyone at work, trying to remember who objected to nuts and who wasn't fond of gooseberry jam. But today, I pleased myself. Apple. 

Because I am not working at Mostly Books any more - a decision was made that after two and a half years, a new, full time person might add more value to their business than me. And thus, my happy, fitting-in-with-school-hours existence ended. 

Can't say I was terribly pleased - quite apart from the battering to one's self esteem that 'redundancy' always manages to bring, spending five days a week at home without the diversion of small people is not something that I was seeking. Too afraid of the potential for boredom and isolation. But though there are things I miss (like my lovely customers) there are good things about being at home too. And an apple doughnut was a way to remind myself of that.

La Revolution

How, how has it taken me this long to figure out that I can sew name tapes onto socks with a sewing machine?

5 pairs of school socks, 2 pairs of white socks, 1 pair of rugby socks (2 socks per pair) multiply by 2 boys= 64 name tapes. That's a lot of saved effort.

Just don't factor in the 7 school years before I thought of it and sewed them all in by hand. It's never too late to figure out something new. 

Cream and orange

First porridge morning of the Autumn. Trying to move breakfast forward little by little so that our early start tomorrow doesn't feel like such a rude awakening.

My boys are slow to eat, first thing. Like me, they would rather wait until a more civilized hour before they eat breakfast - at 7am, food seems more of a duty than a pleasure. But I know they will be starving by morning break if I don't make them have some. And they are both fans of the occasional bowl of porridge. We sit, the three of us, around the kitchen table. They are surprisingly chatty - tales of dreams of the previous night, plans for the day, sibling jokes and teasing. And I know that tomorrow, I will be trying to relax and enjoy their company without glancing at the marching hands of the clock, or anticipating the next cup of coffee.

You know the cup I mean, don't you? The one you drink on returning from the traffic and mayhem of the school run, when the house is silent and the luxury of the hours until pick-up stretch ahead with infinite promise.

I must make plans, or I fear I will spend tomorrow sitting at the kitchen table just listening to the silence.

Sunday

The sinking sensation of a Sunday is something I had totally forgotten about over the summer. But today, with real life snapping at our heels and waiting to bite on Wednesday, the feeling descended.

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It's a hard one to describe. The restlessness of wanting to get on with the new week mingled with the sorrow of relinquishing freedom. 

In trying to evade it, I tackle the cupboard under the stairs. It is a magnet for clobber - too many coats, gloves, waterproofs and assorted unpaired shoes jumbled up with bottles of wine (hooray!), picnic blankets and electrical extension cords. But even discarding the redundant items and banishing the spiders has failed to lift my spirits.

I'm irritable and keen for Sunday to just be over. For the fresh start of a new morning.

 

Silver

Never before have I taken so many photographs and still failed to come up with one that captures the subject in question. I am ready to put down my camera forever. So, my metallic silver bathroom.... it looks sort of like this:

But sort of not. If you really want to know how it looks, you'll all just have to come over and take a pee.  But I do love it.