When my dear friend and 'Frugal with the Bruegel' collaborator, Bethwyn, got married last weekend to her sweetheart Steven, it was a completely unpretentious affair. Not small, not plain, but a charming expression of her creativity and that of her many creative friends. Some of my own contributions surprised me- many of the things I've made and given to Bethwyn since we became friends featured in the wedding, giving me a little frisson of pleasure every time I noticed another one.
Handmade paper garland
My wedding gift to the couple was a book I made a few years ago for the poem I wrote called Do the Dishes.I loaned my bunting which hung alongside the bunting shared by at least two other friends. The many metres of handmade bunting (each maker's character making the different strands distinctive) first decorated the trees shading the ceremony, then appeared again at the hall for the reception.
Handmade lace garter
My two main (intentional) contributions to the wedding were worn by Bethwyn. I spent many months crocheting the lace for a garter, then stitched it onto a vintage velvet ribbon. The lace pattern is one I invented called Denniston Lace after a white frothy plant I admired on my visit to Denniston Plateau last year. Making lace is really hard on my eyes and this garter may sadly be the last lace I make. I love to do it, I love the idea of it, but I'm not willing to sacrifice such an essential sense for it!
Bethwyn trying on the garter on the morning of the wedding, with freshly henna'd hands
As it comes off the hook, the lace is naturally scrunched up on itself and doesn't look much until it is starched and blocked. I worked though a few iterations to get the starch right for wearing against skin.
Blocking Denniston Lace
My go-to home made starch recipe is designed to stiffen hand made lace for exhibition The garter would have been as scratchy as bark to wear and I wanted the barefoot bride to feel completely comfortable in it. It spent most of the wedding day hidden beneath her long dress, but every chance I got I made her lift her skirts to show me again!
Show me that garter again please
She also wore a garland in her hair, made by us together in our altered book collaboration. I suggested using cut up books when she said she wasn't going to wear a veil and didn't want fresh flowers either. Bethwyn kept saying she couldn't visualise how my proposal would turn out, but she trusted me enough to spend about 5 hours two weeks before the wedding working with me to make it. She was so relieved when it turned out well. I wasn't completely sure how it would work but I also trusted my skills and imagination to try something new.
Planning the layout of the cutouts
Together we cut out images of leaves, flowers, birds and insects from two copies of An Edwardian Lady's Country Diary and attached them to florist wire to make a wreath. A few coats of sealant made a very resiliant headpiece which complimented Bethwyn's cream and brown gown perfectly.
Half finished garland
I was just one of many friends and family members with whom Bethwyn shared the pleasure of making the wedding. So many weddings seem to be bland displays for which a couple starts their life together deeply in debt. This one was a celebration of community and creativity as well as Bethwyn and Steven's love and committment to eachother.
I was given a beautiful, blue, very sharp, paring knife. It puts all my other knives to shame, so yesterday I cut my finger while peeling potatoes a little carelessly. It's a shallow but long and wide flap right across the side of the first joint of my right index finger.
Turns out its pretty much almost impossible to cook, clean up, eat or anything else without bending that joint, so it didn't stop bleeding (and throbbing) until I went to bed. This morning I built a little splint for my finger which is working a treat and allows me to type and do most things without pain or blood.
But not stitching. Yesterday morning I'd been out shopping for some long-awaited iceberg supplies and was raring to get back into my project. Before that had been several days of no stitching, partly because I decided it made sense to take a real break and rest properly but mostly because I didn't have all the materials or tools I need to move forward.
Now my break has been involuntarily extended because I just can't hold a needle comfortably or control it reliably. I could feel frustrated but I don't. I have plenty of time to complete the iceberg, there's no urgency driving my desire to work on it. Besides, it's really too hot to be covering my lap with wool blankets right now.
Luckily I can still wield scissors, so today I have been cutting and pinning in preparation for my next sewing bee with Anna. I'll be altering some clothes, making net vegetable bags (no more plastic!) and some other bits and pieces. I'm excited about trying new ideas and using some of the pretty fabric I've been given.
It always feels so self indulgent to use time to make personal and domestic things when I could be working on art to exhibit, so I tend not to. Today, this time out from hand stitching feels like a delightful gift from the blue knife.
Look what was inside the enormous box of goodies sent by my delightful internet buddy, Helen Lehndorf, a talented poet, crafter, performer, Flickr photo curator, brilliant blogger on sabbatical, now the best Facebook status updater out of all 500 million users.
I knew Helen was planning to mail back to me a DVD and book I'd sent to her and I assumed it was taking so long because she is a busy mother and creative writing tutor, with craft fairs to sew for and poems to write. I had no idea she was filling an huge box with a treasure trove of delightful treats.
Here's a small selection of highlights, for example...
A couple of sweet badges which I started wearing straight away: one handmade flower and one bird print . The fish is on a Frankie poster I have hung next to my desk at work. (Another Frankie poster was given to a young workmate who needed cheering up).
From left: cubes of exotic herbal teas, Helen's collaged cards some of which have already been dispatched to lucky friends; CDs of the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain, and the Crimson Club; and the DVD I sent Helen a while back called The Winter of the Beard. If anyone else wants to borrow my copy, you are welcome even if it's not returned in such lavish fashion!
Beautiful embroidered and beaded flower appliques- I have come back from Melbourne determined to wear more flowers (à laFridaKahlo), an idea reinforced by reading Carol KaesukYoon's wonderful book about the umwelt called Naming Nature: The Clash Between Instinct and Science. (I should say that nowhere in the book does Yoon offer any fashion advice, but rather she explains why humans love (representations of) the natural world and why it is so important to our psyche).
One of Helen's handmade bunnies in a cross stitched vintage fabric, now making friends with my Peter Rabbit bedspread. A stash of mostly orange fabrics. In my life of the past few years it seems to be the colour associated with creative transformation and so I have learned to welcome its arrival. Also a swatch of embroidery flosses, which I will make good use of you can be sure. I try and do all my experimental and casual embroidery with second-hand floss, though I end up buying new for the final works, to get the colours consistent. A couple of paperbacks I look forward to reading this summer. Plus the return of Response (with the green on white letterpress cover), the collaborative travelling journal project I launched nearly two years ago. There are a couple of blank spreads left to be filled, if you are interested let me know. It's fascinating to look at how the contributors in three countries so far have responded to the challenge of the blank page. It's a beautiful book, and I look forward to sharing it on this blog when its finished.
I decided not to post my gushy fangirl ravings about seeing U2 live to this blog, but if you are really keen you can check out my photos and commentary on Facebook.
It's been ages since I've been to a sketch crawl. The WSA has taken over the organisation so competently that they've been trundling on throughout the winter quite nicely thank you very much; while I've been staying home and keeping warm. But last Saturday was such a perfect warm Spring day and I couldn't resist an excuse to be outside in pretty Parana Park. The Waikato River is still very high, up and over the banks and flooding the footpath in places.
Every time we moved to a new sketching spot I chose a different type of pen or pencil. I had carelessly brought along the journal that is almost finished so I ran out of pages after an hour or so and then had a snooze in the sun.
My best sketches were of flowers, but I also drew boats, butterflies, people, lichen and an aeroplane on a plinth.
Red hot pokers rendered in a novelty multicoloured pencil souvenir from the Cairns Regional Gallery.
Almost Antarctica, except for the ski lift cables.
This week I went away for a little break, mostly because after spending so long with the idea of Antarctica I wanted to see at least a little snow made of frozen water instead of wool and cotton. The nearest place to see snow is the mountains in the middle of the North Island of New Zealand, about three hours drive from where I live. I persuaded my buddy Robin, who has a car, to take a few days holiday with me. I didn't have to twist her arm very hard at all.
I thought that once up on the mountain I'd be able to narrow my focus and squint a little and maybe be able to imagine myself in Antarctica. Unfortunately, wherever I looked there was always some bit of greenery, or if not greenery, some building, road or ski lift. But it didn't matter, because there was snow, and some of it was blowing into my face in a very cold wind, and that seemed pretty authentic. Also Robin brought along a blow up sled, and that was very fun!
Three seems to be the optimal number on the Twister sled
After Robin and I took a few hilarious uncontrolled slides down the slope, she wondered how many kids could fit on the sled. Playing on the edge of the sledding slope was a group of children from Ngaruawahia Primary School who didn't have sleds or skis or snowboards. Watching them play on Robin's sled was even more fun that sledding ourselves. After a couple of hours in the snow, in conditions that could be generously described as stormy, we retreated back down to the Chateau for port and hot chocolate by the open fire, eavesdropping on rich people's complaints about the poor skiing conditions.
Taking a stroll to the Falls
But it's a truism that the weather in the mountains is changeable: the snow clad golf course we stomped across on our first day was melted to a green swamp (dotted with snowmen) on the second. And while we were recovering in luxury from the blizzardish morning, the sky suddenly cleared giving us the rare sight of all three mountains cloud-free. Ngarahoe, aka Mount Doom in Lord of the Rings, is such a perfect volcanic cone that I had to take about a million cliched photos of it. I don't know why, since I've chosen Robin's photo of me to illustrate.
The best thing about our little break was the hot pools at the Oasis in Tokaanu. The Oasis is perfectly adequate budget accomodation that I've been visiting for at least a dozen years. Guests get unlimited use of the on-site hot mineral pools and there's nothing like a hot stinky soak to ensure a very good night's sleep. The volcanic mountains and the hot pools are all reminders that the earth's crust is very thin here, and the landscape rather volatile.
On the way home we visited the Craters of the Moon, a geothermal feature consisting mainly of steaming holes in the ground.
My favourite part was a really big crater with shapely Chinese-looking rocks thrusting out of bubbling mud pools and steam vents, covered in lush primordial greenery.
It is good to have an end to journey towards, but it is the journey that matters, in the end. - Ursula K LeGuin
It's almost the end of my term as the Sunrise Waikato RotaryWriter in Residence at Hamilton Girls High School, although the Principal is letting me stay in the studio through the summer holidays. When she offered I almost cried with relief as I've been increasingly concerned about how I was going to squeeze my studio back into my bedroom and somehow carry on with the large-scale works-in-progress I started, but didn't finish, during the Residency.
I choose to rent a bedroom in a shared flat rather than fulfil my dream of living in my own house for much the same reasons that I choose not to own a car. Partly I'm trying to minimise my ecological footprint, but more selfishly I'm minimising my expenses so I can devote most of my energy to my creative work rather than toiling full time in the well-paying career I drifted away from a few years ago. Sometimes my creative work is financially rewarding (for example this Residency came with a stipend) but being paid for art or writing has been the exception in my experience so far.
Because of my low-cost lifestyle I enjoy a great deal of freedom and some aspects of my life make other people envious. I am my own boss and control my own time, in which I write poetry, make art, learn new things and am free to follow my intuition. I'm aware and grateful that I am living (at least part) of a collective dream life.
One of the reasons that I can arrange my life this way in my 40s, is because when I was young I chose a path not usually associated with fulfilling one's dreams: I was a teenage single mother. That experience taught me to be frugal, to be decisive, to overcome obstacles and to accept help when I need it. Most of all, it set me free to explore in my late 30s, when many of my peers are immersed in child raising and mortgage servicing; and look back at the freedom of their childless 20s with nostalgia.
It's no coincidence that my practice and my identity as an artist emerged at exactly the same time as my daughter was launching herself into adult independence. I had spent most of her childhood pursuing my youthfully idealistic dream of saving the world through public policy. Two degrees, a couple of government departments and councils, and something like a nervous breakdown later, I was ready to be completely selfish for the first time in my adult life. So when I discovered artist's books and that I was quite good at them, I gradually extracted myself from the public service to became a full time artist.
Of course, the reality is that fledgling artists have as much chance of making a living from their art as winning the lotto. When I eventually used up the savings that could have been a house deposit in the 1970s, I figured out a frugal lifestyle of part-time paid work and full time art work. This was so successful that at the same time as preparing my first solo show I managed to save up something that could have been a house deposit in the 1960s.
But then two years ago I impulsively decided to pursue my idiosyncratic 2o year dream of living in a treehouse in the Daintree Rainforest. I'm still making sense of how important it was for me to spend 7 months at Cape Tribulation, even though at the time it seemed like I was spinning my wheels at the end of the road. When my savings ran out and the extreme and isolated environment proved inimical with the rest of my dreams I returned to Hamilton where I knew it would be easiest to get traction towards the life I want.
Fulfilling such a long held yet whimsical dream is something that most people seem to assign to their 'if I win lotto' wish list. But to do so undervalues and undermines our dreams with really bad odds instead of intention, planning, effort and sacrifice or even trust, any of which will do more to fulfil your dreams than buying lotto tickets every week. Dreams that are worth fulfilling are worth better than lottery odds.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a long distance truck driver when I grew up. Unfortunately, it turns out that I don't actually like driving and I abandoned that dream without a backward glance. Dreams change over time, but it's not the specifics of your dreams that matter, it's the essence of them.
As a child I thought that being a truck driver would allow me the same kind of headspace that I enjoyed on our family's long road trips when nothing was expected of me in the back seat except to sit still, be quiet, and not fight with my brother. I could just look out the window, let my mind wander and daydream.
I came out of the trees exactly one year ago with no idea what I wanted to do next. I didn't have a plan, I didn't even have a specific dream as remotely compelling as the one I had just fulfilled. In retrospect, what I did have was a renewed commitment to the essence of my childhood dream of maintaining the head space to observe the world, explore ideas and imagine alternate realities. As an adult I have set up my life so that this essential freedom of thought is manifest in creative expression: making books, stitching images and sculptures. My youthful idealism continues to be manifested in the critical environmental themes I research and interpret, and in my participation in a community of activist artists and crafters.
As my birthday, the end of the year and the decade all approach, it seems appropriate to review my dreams, achievements and plans. I originally wrote this piece for the School of Education's Professional Development Department. They had me present it on a moving bus as it travelled through the Waikato countryside. I broke up my personal story by getting them each to talk to their seatmates about their 'lotto wish list', their childhood dreams and how the essence of their dreams can be manifest in their lives now.
All photos taken by me on the Daintree Coast, July 2009
In my current obsessive search for blooming magnolias, I came across this bright puffball of a blossom tree, alive with twenty or more waxeyes feasting on nectar. I took a dozen blurry photos of uncooperative waxeyes before they were scared off by this fine poser of a tui.
The past few days have been relatively warm, often bright and sunny, and I've been bicycling a lot, which always makes me feel wonderful. It's too early for spring, but I feel that great loosening of tension that comes from not being braced against the cold all the time. As I persistently reset my emotional state to happy, I'm deliberately dwelling on all that is good in my life. The more I notice the qualities that define happiness for me, the more those qualities seem to dominate. I am feeling particularly blessed at the moment with a number of things that I have been working towards coming to fruition, and more opportunities opening up all the time.
Brain coral pin (bleached coral are essentially fossils- there's not much difference to a layperson's eye between ancient fossils and recent bleached coral- so stitching these patters are a happy link between my coral and fossil interests.)
You are an agent of change, my big coral work, has made it through to the finals of the National Contemporary Art Awards. This means it will be on exhibition at the Waikato Museum from September through to January 2010. The winner will be announced at the opening on 4 September, an annual event which, by all accounts, is one of the highlights of the social calendar in Hamilton. To take advantage of the long period that my coral stitching will be on show I am making some coral pins to have for sale at the same time. Some are sleek, elegant embroidery and some are wild and crazy crochet so there's something for everyone.
Rugosa Coral Pin
I was recently awarded the position of Writer in Residence at Hamilton Girls High School, starting soon, and lasting for 10 weeks. I think its got to be the best art gig in town, if not NZ, with a sunny studio, a generous stipend, and the opportunity to do interesting projects with students and staff as well as devoting time to my extensive to-do list of creative work. Watch this space, as I will be documenting the residency in words and pictures here on Bibliophilia.
I finally overcame whatever resistance was blocking me from taking my some of my work to a commercial gallery, after a break of a year or two. I'm delighted to be represented in Hamilton's Thornton Gallery who are currently showing Soul of the Sea (last year's Art Guild finalist) and some artist's books including Waipoua Forest, which hasn't been shown for a while. This is the last copy of the edition of two (the other one is held in Auckland City Libraries Special Collection).
I do like seeing my books in a glass cabinet.
With all this satisfying and fulfilling goodness going on, I don't really have time to pine for the Daintree, though I still think about it everyday. I'll leave you with this lovely little music video about the Daintree. There's gorgeous footage of the forest, birds and more.
I've long harboured a secret fantasy of making a career in Hollywood on laugh tracks but I haven't pursued it because very few programmes with laugh tracks are actually funny to me. I'm more likely to laugh at my own typos. I laugh at my ridiculous fluorescent safety gear every time I ride my bike.
My loud, apparently infectious, often inappropriate, laugh has always gotten me in trouble. I've been told off at school, at work, at the movies, at home, pretty much anywhere I've started laughing. Once I infamously made a whole theatre laugh against their will, through the second half of Ghost, because I thought it was so cheesy.
But I have finally found my funny place at Laughter Club. Laughter yoga, as its also known, is all about laughing for the sake of laughing. There are no cynical stand-up comedians, no cool irony, no nasty sarcasm, no tedious in jokes or cringe-making mocking.
In fact there is nothing cool about Laughter Club. Rather, with a combination of clapping chants, playful movement and vocalised breathing laughter yoga starts out as fake laughter that quickly morphs into infectious, irresistible real laughter. Apparently it doesn't matter that some of the laughing is forced, because our bodies can't tell the difference between real and fake laughter. Both lower stress and blood pressure, raise endorphins, energy, oxygen and immunity. It really is all good.
Apparently children laugh 3-400 times a day but by the time we are adults we are lucky to laugh 10-15 times a day. Most of what is making us laugh in Laughter Club is the same kind of silliness that makes children laugh so easily. We made silly faces and silly noises, played silly games, made up silly affirmations. As well as being silly it's very positive: lots of cheering, applauding and expressions of delight in ourselves and eachother. It's not cool at all, but it works.
Two days after my first Laughter Club session my sides are still aching as though I'd done two hundred sit ups instead of laughing out loud for most of an hour. I'm still smiling and laughing spontaneously at the memories of Laughter Club. I can't wait to for next week's session. If I was in Mumbai I'd go every morning. In Hamilton its once a week at the YWCA, Wednesday 7-8pm, $3 entry. All welcome "for the purpose of health, exercise, anxiety relief and fun. No registration, just turn up." Inquiries to Claire Jensen 027 626 2028.
I've been making lots of books lately, which is ironic since not long ago I posted here about the apparent eclipse of my book creativity by textile inspiration. But as I'm going to be teaching some How-To Make Books evening classes at Arts Post next semester, I've been playing around with figuring what kinds of books to teach, and how to teach them. That means making all sorts of model books, mostly out of found papers. I scour op shops and sale bins for notepads, scrounge scrap paper off anyone I can and use cereal boxes and game boards for covers. The combination of less-than-perfect materials, and making-as-practice process, means these models are too flawed to try and sell on Etsy.
Yet two of the models to emerge from this exercise are quite delicious, with green coptic bindings on open spines. I've decided to offer one of them (winner's choice) as the prize in the March Give Away.
You can choose between the Yogi Bear A6 notebook with pale green and white pages and strawberries inside the cover boards:
Yogi Bear and Boo Boo Book
Or, the Pure Strawberry mini notebook, about the size of last year's cellphone, covered in strawberry printed Italian paper with intensely pink/orange/red pages:
Pure Strawberry
So, having whetted your appetite, how can you get your hands on one these yummy creations? All I want is for you to tell me the names of at least three of the songs that make you happy when you hear them. (Let me know the name of their singers too). Use the comments link at the end of this post and make sure you enter before midday, 10 March (NZ time). Please note that to be eligible for the draw, you have to name three (or more) of your happy songs, and simply commenting on this post will not qualify you to win.
Entries to the February give away led to a fantastic list of reader's favourite ways of getting in touch with their happiness. Your enthusiasm for the topic encouraged me to finally tackle another project I've been wanting to do for ages. I'm making a zine called Happy Bus, all about happiness. I'd like the zine to be able to include some of the comments you've sent in for both give aways (this one and February's). If you don't want me to reprint your comment in the zine, then please just let me know.
Inside Pure Strawberry
I'll be posting more about Happy Bus as it speeds towards publication, but for now, please send in your personal DJ Happy playlist
Back when I was living in the rainforest, my friend Misha Hoo, told me about an exercise for summoning your inner resources. It involved visualising 'Self-Healer', 'Self-Nurturer', 'Trust', 'Forgiveness', 'Intuition' etc as images or characters and communicating with them. When I tried this on myself, my Intuition appeared in the form of a little toy horse, similar in shape to the horse in Science of Sleep, but more colourful.
Soon after the little horse of intuition made itself at home in my imagination I had a substantial sale on Etsy, found my PayPal account flush with US dollars and decided I wanted the horse to exist in the real world, not just my imagination.
I've been following Gretel's lovely blog, Middle of Nowhere, for a year or two, enjoying her stories and photos of rural life in England and admiring the distinctive needle felt animals that she makes. So when my idea of manifesting my intuitive little horse co-incided with the financial means to achieve it, of course I asked Gretel to work her magic on my intuition.
Despite being very busy, she agreed to add me to the end of her long waiting list. Some months later, she sent me a sketch and after a little negotiation about hooves, began to make him. Gretel was great at providing me with progress updates, so I knew that my little horse was challenging from the start. It was fascinating, but a little sickening to see the photos of the mane-making process, a bit like watching a gorey hospital drama, but knowing it's your soon-to-be-adopted baby being sliced and diced. I appreciate him all the more so for knowing how much labour went into his creation.
And now Winnie is here! And he such a perfect wee dapper, darling thing. Every detail is exquisite. Everytime I look at him I feel happy and pleased. And he has a twinkle in his little glass eye as he watches me. Like any proud mother I've enjoyed my sense of naches* as I've read the admiring comments about him on Gretel's blog. And can boast that Winnie is already a minor internet celebrity, having been featured on another blog called Cuteable.
I almost cried when I found the wee heart on the base of his hoof.
*Naches means sense of pride in other's achievements.
