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The days seem to whizz past and I often feel that I'm just about holding on, trying to live five lives at once, all worthy of focus, but all different. On a low day, I feel I'm living none of them particularly well.

Last week I went to three art events, quite a feat with the children to sort out and a car whose headlights chose to conk out just as I was leaving for one. Saw an excellent film installation piece at Salisbury Arts Centre. A bit like being trapped in gloomy stone warehouse with Edith Piaf, – screens on all sides, murder, passion and dark french music. Actually it was just what I needed on a Thursday afternoon. While there I was nabbed by staff to fill in for their 'Smarties' workshop the following day. Participants were one to two years old, read the fab book, 'Mouse Paint', dipped our wellies/feet in paint to mix, stomped around the papered room, spun paper plates with blobs of paint in my salad spinner, generally created paint mayhem, only to find they had shut the water in the arts centre off for the day and we had one basin of water to do children, equipment and room!I don't need to say more.

Anyway, money must be earned – one of the five lives. Went to the opening of the latest A Space studio work at the Bargate Monument gallery, also to have a quick look at the space again as there is a possibility I may show there next year. We talked about the lack of critical input when you are no longer part of a group studio and I discovered they are hoping to set up a monthly crit group. I left quite happy about that.

Saturday I attended the Artsway Open and award ceremony. A very slick exhibition with everything interestingly from the same palette of dark colours. Had this been announced prior to application it may have saved some poor soles with bright and jolly submissions their £25. A very high standard of work but no surprises.


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January 4th, the school year means the start of my year. Today is day 2. Still gathering. Research and relationships are leading me along this process. A single mother came for Christmas, I recorded her story. I have found the women that have contributed have come to me in a way. Some I know, some I don't. She put me onto a poet, Eavan Boland, and her many words about women and night, particularly Night Feed.

As I write I can hear the plasterboard walls in the studio go up. There have been many times with a studio and many times without. Pieces have been patiently produced in many parts and constructed in galleries in many places. But I need a studio now – for some reason now I feel stifled and constricted without one.


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