‘Some things are clearly too precious to let go of.’
I’ve been so immersed in sorting things recently that it’s come as a pleasant and welcome surprise to find a new body of work spontaneously developing. Nana’s Colours (current working title) has emerged in the midst of this recent sorting process and has been growing and developing, hand in hand with the sorting – hardly surprising considering the emotional attachment I have made to so many of my late Nana’s belongings. Some things evoke a strong emotional response and are clearly too precious to let go of …
It’s reminiscent of the work It’s The Little Things, work composed of just that – the little things I rescued from the home my Nana left after some 70 years of living in it. Small, seemingly insignificant, tiny mementoes. But from little acorns, big things grow as the saying goes – and as each tiny piece is set aside, so the work develops and grows – one plastic doily, one small scrap of fabric and one plastic flower; one ochre coloured lampshade, one Mills & Boon paperback and one silk flower – slowly brought together over a period of time to create an entirely new assemblage.
Both in and outside of the studio, I’ve found myself thinking quite obsessively about all the different colours associated with my Nana’s life – the colours she, herself wore – the peaches, creams and pinks, mauves and lavenders – and the colours in which she furnished her home, constantly changing according to the various trends and fashions. I have vivid recollections of the deep crimson and olive green colours of the chenille curtain hanging at the back of her living room door, for example – and the deep mustard tone of the painted kitchen walls, contrasting with 1960s geometric design red, black and white curtains.
Likewise, recent sorting through of some of the dresses, hats, scarves and handbags I kept from my Nana’s wardrobe; it’s made me appreciate the true quality of so many of the things she owned and the huge range of diverse colours that faded in and out of her life, according to fashion and the passing of time. It’s like unveiling a history of a life in fabric – from the sensuous feel of very fine 1930/40s silk scarves to the crisp cotton frocks of the 1950s, to the rather coarse feel of 1960s Crimplene.
It calls to mind my The Fabric of Life work and reminds me of the ongoing, never quite resolved nature of this piece. There are all sorts of reasons for so much of it being left, unresolved (a whole new blog piece in itself), but it’s my own closeness and intimacy to so many of the included fabrics (not to mention my dear late Nana’s actual physical association with them) that undeniably makes it difficult for me to truly consider The Fabric of Life finished. There is clearly still more to process – the work itself drawing on the strong parallel between the fragility of cloth and the ultimate fragility of our own and others’ lives.
continued:
