Category: Ideas

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A list of ideas while my son is sleeping on me

Newly inspired by the ARIM residency, lots of ideas are popping into my head. They seem to have a habit of appearing when my hands are full and disappearing before I can scribble anything down.

My son has just fallen asleep on me. And as much as I could just sit, blissfully listening to his gentle breathing, now is a good time to note down some of these ideas, the ones I can remember, anyway. I’ll add any more as they come to mind. Thank goodness I can update my blog from my phone, it’s a very handy tool to have.

Abstract, set of 3, various themes to explore around love, grief, motherhood, missing my mum, creation, loss

Abstract to song, ‘You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me’ – for mum. Listen to the song while painting.

Abstract to song, ‘Daddy Cool’ – for dad. Listen to the song while painting.

Abstract – the cycle. Mum, me, Rufus.

Abstract – life and death.

Abstract – my new identity as a mother.

Portrait of Rufus, acrylic, or water colour.

Pop Art portrait of Rufus smiling

Portrait of a tumbledryer (complete with halo as it both sends my son to sleep and has improved the laundry situation immeasurably).

Portrait of calpol with halo.

Painting – A broken can phone line with ru and me at one end, and the line going into nothing…where mum should be at the other end.

Painting – a child’s wooden picture set. The blocks of nana and Grandad are missing.

Painting – dirty bottles of milk awaiting washing

Painting – bath time. Lots of bubbles

Art made from my sons feet. Paint impressions, bot his actual feet.

Something to do with endless laundry.

Something to show late nights, holding a sleeping baby. It’s in those silences, I miss mum the most.

Something to show me singing ‘You Are My Sunshine’ to Rufus, like mum used to sing it to me.

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Poetry Series – Bird Brain

Eyes, at the lower centre, a cage growing out of the head with an open door, birds bursting out in all directions.

Based on this poem I published on Sonderful World March 8th 2015.

Welcome to my mind. My blessing and my curse, my best and my worst.
This is where the true me hides from you.
It is an aviary of birds diverse, a passionately adverse colourful verse to the dark hearted dead.
They chatter, squawk and swarm through my head.
Snatching under formed, fetalesque thoughts before they’re words to be said.
Before they’re comprehendable feelings rather than language that can’t be read.
The starlings swarm the most.
I am the starlings host.
They pull me apart by the threads of my characteral flaws
Unravel and leave me next to nothing, as nothing’s easier to ignore.
The Phoenix comes in my darkest moments. Eternal, internal, the starling’s opponent
Always almost too late to save my state from a fate that dilapidates all redeeming traits.
Before I am unsalvageable.
I’m simply unmanageable.
A tangible, consumable, notion of all that is unvaluable

The crows collect my bones.
They are the stones that condone any faith I seem to own.
The Magpies steal my eyes, my teeth, my wishes and beliefs
And they set to work reconstructing me in all my concepts
Building narrow, marrow bridges connecting the fleshy islands of my facets.
Creating a new world in which my tenacious conscious can reside.
Where birds of paradise bask in warm sunshine
Where toucans and puffins smile through painted faces sublime and glorious peacocks dare to flash uncompromising exquisity
I love each and every one who ever was and who will ever be.
And everything is beautiful
I inhale hatred and exhale goodwill
If only I could stay here without fear of self sabotage
But my entourage of starlings will return in a few days, to begin the process of self dismantling again
There’s no one I can blame. I have a mind I cannot tame.
A barrage of disdain.
A fear and sense of shame
If only I’d escape the cage that is my birdbrain.

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Connecting disparate elements

The connection between disparate elements can be challenging. It is a fine balancing act, too far either way and it doesn’t work. Not only this, but for it to truly work it must work for many, not just a few. I do not believe in elitism, I believe in sharing my message with many.

My work is not abstract, neither is it real. It could be classed as magical realism. It needs real elements, but stylised with a touch of the abstract, of the odd line. There is texture, there are segments akin to he building blocks of life, held together by the flowing lines that connect worlds.

Life is chaos. The essence of life is an explosion of colour, of texture, of everything. This chaos must be contained within the vessel of the body. There is a connection between these elements which is difficult to realise. But, it must be there, otherwise it wouldn’t work. These elements not only exist here, but throughout my own experience. Routine is a prison, and I am lost in chaos. I have had to find and negotiate a fine line to make this work.