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I love how words move their meaning around. Like a living thing.

I have often been known to quote Terry Pratchett. I think it comes from having had a teenage boy when Pratchett was at his most prolific. I read the books after my son, or at the same time as he left them about the house. One of the great things about TP is the way the books mean more, the more other stuff you read. And the other stuff you read has a light shone on it by TP… Oscar Wilde, Shakespeare… Jane Austen… Conan Doyle….

I digress, but a common theme in Pratchett is the power of words (“The truth shall make ye fret”). Moveable type is considered dangerous, as it is thought the metal remembers the meaning of one thing, when being rearranged to make another.
(I love this… It fits with my work so readily!)

About six months ago I wrote some lyrics….Thanks to the training of my songwriting mentor Dan Whitehouse, all my written ideas are dated and titled. Even if they are written on my phone or on the back of an envelope, as soon as possible they are transferred to my handwritten notebook and organised. Even if they consist of just a rhyming couplet. I think this is why so many of my songs have single word titles, because their conception is sometimes small and insignificant, a key word is used, and sticks.

Anyway… I digress again…
Six months ago I wrote this song, well the lyrics at least. I thought it was about the small amount of words it takes to wreck a relationship… The title is “Five Words” (not one word, and not five, but two).
It turns out to be about something slightly different. The five words uttered end the relationship, but are now spoken by the other party. They have moved to a different mouth. I prefer this. It is stronger. The truth is suddenly exposed, the fog has cleared…
The words have moved, their meaning has changed. The song is a living thing. As I sing it (my wonderful band mates have found the perfect melody for it) my emphasis is different. It’s now not sung with a sad heart but with a chin held high and determined. Excellent news.

A note about the handwritten notebook: In the absence of pen and paper, I have spoken into my phone, or tapped the words into my phone notepad, but nothing works quite as well as real ink to real paper. It has to be ink. Pencil is too easily erased. Ink in the wrong place can be crossed out, but remains there, either to be resurrected for use in the missing bridge or chorus (I’m crap at writing choruses, they interrupt my narrative)… Or they might be the starting point for a different song.
There is also that direct connection from brain to page… A creative stroke, mark making… Often a word is chosen for the way it looks on the page, handwritten, not just for its meaning. I like that.

At songwriters circle this week, Jonny said he didn’t like my opening line for the song “Jealousy”. He didn’t like the word “droop” in the line
“My eyelids droop, but I won’t go to bed”
He said it jumped out, jarred… Disturbed….
Other options? Closed, fell…? No. They drooped. In that way eyelids do when you battle sleep.
Being disturbed by a word can be good… It puts you on alert for the next thing… Keeps you awake…

Some words pin down exactly the feeling you want…. Until of course, they decide to change their own meaning while you’re not paying attention….

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Being awake when everyone else is asleep is called insomnia.

It’s just a different cycle. Some nights I get five hours, which seems to work ok, if you add an hour of lazy reading one end, and lazy breakfast eating the other, seven hours rest in bed is within the normal range I’m sure. Sometimes this is three hours. Sometimes two, three hour chunks, with a cup of tea in the middle (don’t go on at me about caffeine, in personal tests this makes absolutely no difference at all). It seems to me, looking at things such as middle of the night facebook activity, I’m not alone. There is an argument that looking at these shiny devices doesn’t help. The shiny device hasn’t woken me up, the shiny device provides quiet, contained, productive activity during periods of wakefulness, so I don’t wake others.

Among artists and musicians I know, this state of being is so common you might as well call it normal. For many, the lifestyle led is so haphazard that sleep is welcomed when it comes, and other things done when it doesn’t. We go with the flow it seems. We occasionally have afternoon naps.

Being asleep when everyone else is awake is called lazy.

Others can try to be helpful: I’ve been told by certain people not to have an afternoon nap, as I won’t sleep at night. (I’m not three years old.) I’ve been told don’t drink tea or coffee, don’t eat cheese, eat my main meal during the day, do yoga, go for a walk, have a bath, count backwards from 100, breathe properly…. Everyone has a solution to my problem.

Apparently my reluctance to do all these things means I’m just being silly. I bring it on myself. It’s attention seeking. Actually, it’s the opposite of that. I don’t want a cure. I’m not asking for advice. I don’t want to medicalise this. Sometimes I’m tired. So are other people. Most of the time I’m fine, most of the time other people are, sometimes they are tired and irritable. I don’t tell them their breathing is all wrong. I wish I’d never said anything, but while I was in a proper job “not sleeping very much” was an issue.

I am a lucky “insomniac” in that I now don’t have to be up and alert at 06:45 every weekday. I can follow my natural pattern for the most part. That works for me. I’m less tired when I can do what I need. Less tired when I shake off the need to conform to a societal norm.

So I have decided it should become a mission to find another word for insomnia. I don’t have a sleep problem. Actually I do ok now I’ve stopped worrying about it. I look at the clock now… It’s 05:40. I got up at 04:25. I’ve had a cup of tea, listened to a recording from yesterday and written some notes. And I’ve written this. I fed the cat and let her out. She doesn’t have a problem with that. I may read a little afterwards, then possibly go back to bed for a couple of hours. I wake at 04:25 refreshed, I shall wake again at 08:45 refreshed too I expect.

Sleep well, dear reader, whatever the time is!

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I once overheard someone say that it was impossible to be a serious artist and a mother. The horrified listener asked sarcastically “can I have a cat?” And the answer came “ideally, no”. I am however, many years later, able to see her point.

Now, bear with me, this next bit might sound dreadfully selfish, but I come good in the end, promise!

Last weekend my eldest son got married. In the weeks running up to this I had been berated on a couple of occasions for forgetting. The Mother of The Groom was not supposed to do such things! I was supposed to be thinking of posh frocks and flowers! I did no such thing. I really did buy the first outfit I tried on. Nobody believes me, but I wanted to stop having to think about it as soon as possible. My decision to not wear a hat was made not just out of the fact I look like Margaret Rutherford in a hat, but also because I’d have to find one I liked. I hate shopping. My head was most of the time, elsewhere.
My work at the moment threatens to be all consuming. I long for it to be all consuming. I have days blocked out in my diary saying STUDIO until Mike reminds me I am supposed to be elsewhere, or have an appointment. The solid post-wedding studio week hasn’t happened. Next week is also blocked out, but other things have started to encroach upon it. I’m thinking of telling everyone I’m on holiday in Italy and can’t be reached.

This week, our cat is ill. She is 18 ish years old and can’t keep her food down. We pace and worry. And wait for the vet to visit.

The business of art keeps me away from the work too, to a certain extent, even when I’m at the studio, disturbing my state of mind and equilibrium.

I am an introvert living in the body of an extrovert.

I dream about living in a lighthouse on a rock…

But then what would the work be about?
Real life fuels my work.
The cat, ever skinnier, perches on my husband’s lap, purring loudly as he strokes her. She stares lovingly up into his face as he talks to her.
This man, since retiring, is basically running everything so I can keep my mind as much as possible on “the job”.
My family tell their friends about my work (and even tout me about to get me work). They turn up and cheer.
The wedding last weekend was an amazing event, “curated” by the new Mr and Mrs Thomas as an expression of their life, love, and belief. I, of course, cried. We all did, what the hell, go for it!
Next weekend we have another, smaller, family occasion. I will bake cakes and cook meals and make the tea and chat and be sociable, live in the outward parts of my head.

The conversations I have had, the love and care I give, receive and see around me, even the irritations and conflicts, feed my mind. I am grateful for them. The ideas are stoked up, stacked up.

But the “Holiday in Italy” beckons… Sometime soon these things will spill out, words must be written, things made, stitches and sounds weave their way though. I will make sense of the events and relationships, and through the work, gain perspective and balance.

The resulting work, hopefully, will then become something else. I don’t know what yet. I just have to make it and see what happens.

So, yes, in many respects, not being a wife, sister, mother, mother-in-law, friend and cat owner would enable me to spend more time in the studio. But I have no idea what the work would be about… And I probably wouldn’t like it.

PS Esme (the cat) is much better now, phew!

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(By the way, I know a few people regularly listen rather than read, but would appreciate feedback from anyone new to doing blogs this way – thanks!)

I’m not quite so scared now.
I’ve got the looper up and running. I’ve figured out how to loop, record, overdub. I know how to save and name each project. I have constructed five separate loops to build one song. These are pre-recorded, then I can manipulate them and sing the top line over them. It works well and I now feel that like this, I could independently – after more practice – take it out for solo performances.
I have yet to get myself sharp enough to record the loops live as I go. This requires a lot of concentration, coordination and practice. It would be good to be able to do that, as I think it does add another element to the live performance. But it isn’t crucial at the moment.

I’ve been reading Sonia Boué’s account of her performances. They are very different to mine. She talks of the difference between acting and performance art and the nature of reality in each. I have yet to decide how performance fits with my work. I feel as if I’m still gathering data and skills.
I feel I am collecting the ingredients and practising the craft. I am talking to an audience, weaving a story, attempting to deliver in a way that conveys emotion and enhances the narrative. I am still unsure whether the narrative is purely in the song, or whether I am more of a part of it. Am I presenting the art, or am I part of it? Am I a performance artist, or a singer songwriter? With the recordings done for Nine Women, it was easy to present the sound as part of the installation, it fitted in my head happily. The performance I did for the opening event was more a celebration of what had been done than a piece of performance art. Definitely singer songwriter, definitely not performance artist.

I feel I have not yet collected enough data and ingredients, nor have I practised the skills enough, or done enough performing in order to be the performance artist.

You know when a young student produces a drawing of a person, and then says “it’s like a Picasso” in order (so they think) to excuse the proportions and lack of skill? Well, I think, if I were to label what happened between me and an audience at the moment as “performance art”, it would be like that. Picasso had great skill and knowledge and chose from that great range of experience to paint how he did in later years. I am collecting what I need in order to make those decisions, and I’m not there yet.

Where I am, actually, is brilliant. I am playing with my friends, I am learning from their experience. I am writing and singing and acquiring many new abilities… And lots of expensive equipment. I’m getting feedback and advice on technical stuff, and the musical elements, of which I know little. I feel like a sponge, soaking it all up.

I have confidence in the fact that this will affect my work. It is already affecting the quality of my writing and recording. So I am sure that at some point, I will have a piece of work that requires me to use this new stuff in my head. The new stuff in my head will affect the output. It’s just a matter of how and when. In the meantime, keep watching…

There might be a few gigs happening soon…

and maybe an album…

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Through process, thought, talking…. The dust motes of ideas become dust bunnies… Become more tangible… Workable… Visible…
All the time, underground, the rhizomes grow and spread and make connections… And then, suddenly, under the right conditions, they sprout.

A couple of posts ago I wrote that I was showing people my sketchbook. Some people got selected, photographic highlights, and indeed I posted a few pages here. The edited highlights returned nothing. What did yield wonderful things though, was handing two current books over to Dan, for him to read, comment upon, draw things together….. Things he saw that connected… Not just in my head but his. He made connections I hadn’t seen, right under my nose. He also sent me music, made comments of his own thoughts and memories prompted. Obviously then, to make sense of anything enough to make a response, you probably need the whole lot, as a thing in your hands, not just a photo…
I had wondered when I had this idea, whether it was a bit like handing in a book to a teacher to be marked. But no, the books were treated with respect and thoughtfulness, and seriousness and honesty… And the occasional joke…

Dan apologised for keeping the books for a while, but I found that because he had them, when they did return I could look at them with fresh eyes, and look more objectively at his comments.

I had been worried that I couldn’t see a way forward. But actually, all the ingredients were there.

I recall also, a chunk of Sonia Boué’s blog The Museum of Object Research dated 6th November 2014 – wow – a year ago!

“Flann O’Brien wrote that the policeman’s bicycle seat in “The Third Policeman” had exchanged molecules over the years he had ridden it to the extent that the bicycle had become part policeman and the policeman part bicycle. The laws of physics are challenged by quantum theorist’s discovery of the slippery nature of matter that is so surprisingly empty and tenuous that the absurdity of O’Brien’s bike becomes almost believable…”

This short passage has stuck in my head. We rub off on each other, things rub off on us, and we rub off on things. We are intermingling around our edges.

The materials of my work are fabric, thread, and found objects – made objects – the hand of the maker and appropriator evident in the work. That’s how I operate.

The concept is that rubbing off and on… The memory of the effect we have on each other… The permanence or impermanence of those effects, and how they are tempered by what happened before and after.

The manner in which they come into being, my process, is that journey from “crazed frustration” (Dan’s expression) to a “State of Grace” (mine). This isn’t necessarily a total resolution, but a temporary, even fleeting, quieting of the soul.

Having redefined, restated and reorganised these three factors, what the work actually might LOOK like is easier. I don’t know what I was worried about!

Let the making begin!