1916

My dad was born on the 11th of March 1916. To commemorate this I traveled to Scotland, walked to the cottage he was born in and planted daffodils by the front door. Soft rain fell, garden birds chirruped in the hedgerows and squawked my approach from the treetops. Snowdrops in their prime lit the way, turning my thoughts towards hope and renewal. Standing in the garden of the derelict cottage I felt very at home, though my father left this home in his youth the place echoed him. A shed full of rusting nails, bare gnarly apple trees, a slab path running the length of the cottage. HE was palpable.

I knocked on the door and considered time, of my grandmother Alexina birthing her last born on this day 100 years before, of me peering in the windows, haunting ghosts. Crouching down to dig I found rich dark soil, the sword like spikes of the daffodils pleasingly green against this earth. I left a note written in green ink, knowing it would wash away as rain pattered down, spreading, erasing my heartfelt words. I think of these daffodils now, hoping they bloom brightly, a token of life lived now as I acknowledge my father, my roots.

 Elgin

 Plant associated with Clan Logan - Furze (Gorse)

 Road to Easter Calcots

 Joynters Cottages

 Falkland Islands penny

 Haunting the long dead and gone...

 Geese

Memorial

thinning out

Does anyone else get sad at the prospect of thinning out seedlings? They are all making such an effort! Boo hoo.

hands

Yesterday I gave these paintings to a Reiki healer friend. I'm reconnecting to skills learned many moons ago on my BTEC National Diploma in General Art and Design. Drawing and painting, discovering my older self has renewed vigour for these processes and is excited by them. These skills have remained latent for many years but I've improved, the many hours of teaching over the last two decades have deepened my appreciation and understanding. I'm more able to problem solve and allow an intuitive response, to amble. Knowing and unknowing. 

at last

I was singing this song to myself (one of my melancholic favourites) when I walked past this sign behind a school playground fence. 

green things

Step by step and stitch by stitch I've surrounded myself with green. Sap is rising, spring around the corner and nature yawns and stretches into another awakening. I've made a simple dress, replaced the leather cord on my tingsha and covered a pillow with green polka dot fabric. Exciting!

share

SHARE - my word for 2016. Simple. Happy New Year x

alone

Without the green of the forest I don't know how I would have turned out. Crossing the road from my house and entering the wood did not scare me, it was simple. 

This summer I created new work and entered the woods alone once more. This time I experienced fear and trepidation. I was nervous. While sitting on a fallen tree amongst a copse of young birches it dawned on me that this was my first time alone in Epping Forest since childhood. My fears about being vulnerable, unprotected, far from others were present.

Still, close to the forest floor, I breathed in constancy, timelessness, rootedness. No one disturbed me, not even a dog walker. On some unseen path beyond my trees children pelted through the wood on bikes, voices raised in excitement. As I arranged my work Army of Me by Bjork played in my head and I thought of my twenties and my friend Marianne. 

Hand stitched arms, 2015
Wanstead Flats, London

This image is a prelude to the work mentioned above. I wandered over to the Wanstead Flats and found this secluded spot to test my idea.