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I’m well chuffed. Just got marks back from assessments… both better than last set of results and practice mark has nudged up into the distinction category. Encouraging, and still got plenty of space for improvement for finals. Big smile on my face, proper feedback tomorrow… or next week.

Jo Farnell recommended I read “Evocative Objects: Things We Think With” (ed Sherry Turkle, MIT Press 2007). I hot-keyed it over to Amazon and ordered it. I’ve only flicked through it a bit, and read the introduction, but felt I needed to record my initial thoughts before I carried on and forgot what I was thinking… this happens a lot, I’m convinced I’ve found the answer to all the world’s problems, but have forgotten the miraculous solution while trying to find a pen.

These are the phrases I’ve jotted down as I read:

“attentive to the details of people’s lives might be considered a vocation”

“made me feel connected”

Objects connect people with other people “serves as a marker of relationship and emotional connection”

“…a dynamic relationship between things and thinking”

“For Freud, when we lose a beloved person or object, we begin a process that if successful, ends in our finding them again, within us. It is, in fact, how we grow and develop as people. When objects are lost, subjects are found. Freud’s language is poetic: ‘the shadow of the object fell upon the ego’”

This little lot of words is almost shouting at me from the page. When I was looking through the objects in my favourite shop last weekend. I started with a visual idea of what I wanted, but as I went through the clothes they spoke to me, I established an emotional attachment to them, something that I had lost and found in myself, either from my parents, my childhood, whatever. THIS is why I chose those particular clothes, and abandoned my original thoughts in favour of them. The shadow of my mother falls upon me as I sew.

I’ve been without my sketch books for a week while they’ve been in college for assessors to look at. I missed them. It’s like losing something, but you can’t remember what. I’ve been wandering about the house tutting and sighing like some sort of village idiot. Now I’ve got them back I’m more settled. I’ve got my thinking back. It is quite a useful exercise though, the prospect of someone else looking through them makes you look at them afresh, you revisit ideas you had forgotten, and reassess their usefulness, or spot links between things you hadn’t seen before. When I rescued these 5 small books from the gallery, they were all open onto different pages. When I look at them, I do tend to read them chronologically, it hadn’t occurred to me to do otherwise… see told you… village idiot. Opening them up at random, spread out on the table in front of me is so much more exciting!

Thank goodness the slump didn’t last long. I was beginning to get on my own nerves.

I’ve had a refreshing trip out with a friend to a favourite shop… and I’m not going to tell you where it is dear reader, for fear of everyone rushing there and stripping it of all its gorgeous inspirational loveliness. It is full of clothing and textiles from about 1920 onwards. I could – and on occasion have – spend a whole day in there ferreting about.

When I went in I said I was looking for white ish clothes, that grew from child to adult, the thinner the better. What I actually came out with was something very different. As I was squeezing stuff out from between the crammed rails, I was not finding the white stuff inspiring at all and I’m not sure why… other than the white work has been a bit of a departure for me. I love using colour, like nothing better than putting a palette together, no matter what in: paint, crayons, fabric, clothes, threads, buttons in a jar…

What I did find inspiring were the clothes I have posted photographs of. I’m afraid my photography is less than inspiring, but you get the idea.

Item 1: Cream wool child’s coat (girl’s I think, but need to check the buttoning, doesn’t matter to me at this point), lined in cotton, looks home made, no labels, buttons and poppers hand stitched, sleeves turned up and hand-stitched, pearl buttons.

Item 2: Cream floral print brushed cotton dress, label says “la cicogna”, pink braid trim, pearl buttons, ties at the back.

Item 3: Boys suit, green wool (itchy) shorts and yellow stripy shirt, shirt front pieces cut on the bias and pleated, shorts button onto shirt, nightmare for quick trips to toilet, shorts fully lined in cotton, label says “Tick-A-Tee kiddies wear”

Item 4: Adult dress yellow linen with white trim, possibly 1940s home made, no label, some hand stitching. Beautifully pieced, some sections cut on bias, more pearl buttons.

I see these items as a family somehow… mother and children. I don’t know how I’m going to use them, but I love them. They are pinned on my wall for me to consider and admire. At some point I will wash them I expect, and iron them. I’m full of thoughts of who made them, bought them, wore them, and eventually saved them somewhere so that I could buy them decades later.

Someone has already mentioned that what I have thoughts about doing with these clothes is a bit creepy. Good oh! On the right tracks then!

PS I’ve been in the top ten every month since I started writing this blog. I can’t imagine why, as I just whitter on a bit, and others to me seem far more worthy! But thanks for your reading and your comments, it’s great to be part of this Big Conversation

I’m suffering from some sort of post-adrenalin slump. I think I shall be having an art free week. I’m going to read some trashy fiction, watch crap on tv, and listen over and over again to my two favourite new cds

Two very different albums:

Tom Waits – Bad as Me. Classic Tom, clever lyrics and strokes of musical genius. I think I love him. No matter how gruff and miserable he sounds, I always find myself smiling at his style, his skill and his eloquence.

Clem Snide – Your Favourite Music. This was one I used to listen to years ago, that was in my son’s collection, then he moved out and took it with him. It’s ages since I heard it, then decided to treat myself after Christmas. It is gentle, acoustic, beautifully written, a little bit country round the edges, but not enough to make me get my checked shirt out.

Tomorrow I’m going to my life drawing group for the first time since the middle of September, I stopped so I’d have extra time for the research project, so now I go back with a little trepidation. After such a break it’ll be dreadful i’m sure. You lose the knack really quickly if you have time away from it. Oh, this doesn’t count as art, it’s meditation/punishment, depending on the success of the outcome, and how hard it is to get it to look like you want it to.