Tiredness and Decision Making

I discovered something interesting last night… I can’t make satisfactory drawings when I’m tired.


When I’m doing these drawings in the middle of the day, they flow unbidden it seems, like automatics, flowing from the end of my pen without a moment’s thought!

Apparently not!

Because when my brain is tired, they don’t. Obviously there is some sort of intellectual process going on between hand and eye at the same speed as the flow of ink (or faster)… It is just at a different level to the watching of Luke Cage or conversations about Internet shopping and Christmas decorations and the clearing of snow from the path…

If I knew about brain activity I’d be able to explain it better!

Three drawings were abandoned last night because the composition wasn’t right, or the lines weren’t right or the combinations of shapes weren’t right!

I have obviously made decisions about what IS right, but I haven’t told myself what the rules are yet.

I have an inkling that as soon as I understand what the rules are I will get bored, or they won’t be as satisfactory… It’s the not knowing that’s fun!

I sort of think it’s about the evolution and growth of the shapes… There has to be a logic about their connections… Even if I can’t quite find the words. But then, if I could find the words, the work would be verbal, not visual.


Confident Insouciance!


I’ve often wondered when it is mentioned in articles, job descriptions and so on, what the difference is between an emerging artist and an established artist. Number of years served seems an inadequate descriptor somehow, as we all start, develop and work at different times and rates. Qualifications also are unfit measures as some people achieve the heady heights of PhD before the age of 30: while some of us see ourselves as unlikely to achieve (or want to achieve) such a thing.

But I have reached, I think, a personal epiphany here. Established means feeling able to say “Fuck knows!” with an air of confident insouciance when asked “What does this work actually mean though?”

I have reached that point, sporadically, and I welcome it. It isn’t a constant, but it does exist.

Take these recent drawings for example. Up until this week I had no real idea what they were for. But I trusted my brain to do the thinking while my hands did the drawing, and that something, some sort of excuse, would make itself known to me. This is happening… in glimpses… in fits n starts… but it is.

That is gratifying.

THAT is what established feels like… I think… trusting the process and not feeling worried about it, or saying it.

So this is it then… I’ve developed over the last few weeks and possibly months now… a collection of ingredients, motifs, ideas. These ideas are related to each other, they ripen from each other, they spread spores, they communicate, pass information, memories and qualities to each other, that communication works both ways, makes connections, and evolves into something else.

I think my textile work had sort of stuck because it could not find a way to evolve past the figurative, whereas the drawings are pushing past the knots and making themselves into something else. It may be that once past the obstacle, I will find a way again to the textile, but in a different way, and with a new language. But for the moment, I shall carry on drawing until something makes itself clear. There is something I haven’t yet pinned down about the quality of drawing that allows this to happen, that the stitching did not…

In the meantime, I shall feel free to answer “Fuck knows!” to anyone who asks, but will listen attentively to anything they have to say… just in case!

Halfway Up The Stairs


The domestic situation seems to have settled, the health of my loved one improving daily, and I’ve started to lower myself gradually from DEFCON 5 hyper-vigilance, gently down to something currently wavering between 2 and 3, but much calmer, I’m sure we’ll be back to normal in a week or so.

My thoughts then, have time to wander now, and I look back at this ever-increasing pile of drawings that are filling up the dining room table and spilling onto the floor in the sitting room.

Their starting point, a few months ago possibly… is now not really visible, or perhaps only to me.

They started as often happens with me, with an object, a garment, and a scribbled design in my sketch book. An object was made, and sits now on the coffee table with the needle and thread still in it, waiting for completion… maybe it will happen, maybe it won’t.

The way that I’ve been doing these drawings has taken me right back to being a child, and I believe the circumstances have led to this escapism. In my head I am in that place half way up the stairs, a small, square landing on the turn, sort of out of sight from above and below. Liminal…?

I’ve sat in my armchair, surrounded with a nest of paper, crayons, pencils, sharpeners, rubbish bin full of sharpenings that seems to get kicked over every time I move! It is booby trapped, this fortress, and there’s no room for anyone else but me. It’s not the sofa. I am completely engrossed. When circumstances allow me to spread beyond the A3, I’ll go bigger/smaller, but for now, there will be more. I don’t feel I have exhausted the methodology yet, because occasionally, mutations appear, and a new “set” emerges, related to that. On the landing, aged 8, I used to draw people. thousands of them, all different, clothing, hair, and colour and type, but all in the same stance, the same cartoonish style (also in pencil crayon?) I wish I’d kept some of them. The memory comes back to me now and I wonder if I could draw them again? Endlessly varied, but with enough similarity to hold them together. I’m sure I could get all metaphorical about all of this, but that would spoil the moment, because at the moment, “The Moment” is the important thing.

While M was in hospital I would sit here in the evenings, into the early hours drawing drawing drawing. And I’m still doing it. It is, like the other work, obsessive, continuous, relational. The objects/motifs I draw are related to each other, they communicate, they hold on, they reach out.

They are simultaneously, and by turns, botanical, viral, cellular, spore-like, diseased, pretty, strange, weird, floral, synaptic, nerve-like, pus and blood, animal, fungal, growing, infecting, nasty, macabre, delicate, angry and scared… and I think, rather beautiful.


Bigger & Better?

Bigger isn’t necessarily better.
I’ve frequently gone off on one at students who think that development of a piece of work means doing it bigger. The same, just bigger. Why? What does this achieve? What does bigger say that smaller can’t? I challenge the urge to go big just for the sake of it.

But it is tempting isn’t it?

Yes, I agree that mark making feels different if instead of making small wrist movements you start taking wide side-steps and large arm sweeps… It can become choreography…
And going very small can make the process seem very personal and internal, I get that… But once explored, I would always ask why is scale important? What do you want to feel when you’re making it?
(Let’s forget about the viewer for the moment)

About 50 drawings in, I feel the urge to go big. There. I said it.

But I don’t want to make the shapes and marks bigger, I just want to do more of them. I want to get up close to the paper with my pen and ink out these shapes so that they fill my field of vision. I want connections, small explosions, mutations…in all directions…. I might even make them smaller so I can fit more in… So I’m going simultaneously bigger and smaller…


Tangents and Rugs



Sometimes it is impossible to blog.

Right from the start I said that whatever I wrote would be honest and true. But that doesn’t mean you have to write EVERYTHING does it?

Sometimes the things I would write about aren’t my tales to tell. Sometimes the truth I want to write is not the truth for someone else. I’ve had a summer of stress, distress, and ultimately disappointment both personally and professionally. The personal will stay unwritten. The professional? Suffice it to say that the things I was really excited about were pulled out from underneath me. I had put things on hold because of those things and it is taking me a long time to get back to where I was, because where I was isn’t there any more… Some of that went out along with the rug pulling. So I find myself somewhere else. Google maps isn’t going to help me reorientate myself…. So I just keep drawing until my mind catches up with me. The resolution I was hoping for isn’t going to happen, so I’m finding another. With some things, NOT writing is the best resolution.
Family circumstances and illness have derailed progress along one path, but have hacked a way through to another… I am without a studio still (although good news soon I am hoping) so progress is contained to my armchair in front of Netflix mindlessness, and the dining table. But actually, if I’d had a studio I wouldn’t have been able to use it over the last few weeks anyway, so I’ve saved some rent!
I sit here writing this in a hospital canteen, aware that I’m at a crossroads of a sort, where the personal and the professional are tangled, and realise that in my work, that is always the case.
I have gone off on what initially seemed like a tangent… But who knows, it could turn out that the frustration about the work that got derailed was the tangent, and the hacking through the creative undergrowth was actually a short cut to where I was supposed to be all along. I’m scratched and bruised, a little embarrassed and slightly humiliated, and feel a bit of an idiot….. but I’ll cope.

My writing this has hopefully enabled me to explain an absence, acknowledge feelings, draw a line and carry on…


Hanging on, Letting Go, and knowing when to do it!

Lately I’m wondering about why I blog…

I started writing in June 2011 (I think) on a-n.co.uk as a way of recording and talking through my practice while I did my MA. I didn’t stop, and here we are almost six years later. For a while I posted on a-n and on my wordpress website, but due to frustration with posting images, and the inaccessibility for the non-members, I seem to have stopped posting on a-n. This is sad, as I owe them a lot, my loyalty was stretched. I think now I have fondness: I’m still a member, and will continue to be, but I no longer want to spend an extra hour of my time swearing at the way the site works and being annoyed that my images are upside down, sideways or stretched beyond recognition, depending on which device I’m looking at… then suddenly I could only post on my phone! Anyway, that’s sort of beside the point… I will probably post this one on a-n, so that readers that used to visit me there know why I stopped posting and where to find me now if they want to carry on reading.

(Thank you everyone at a-n, for everything… and if I suddenly find everything works, I’ll carry on!)

Back to my opening sentence… why do I blog then?

By writing my thoughts, I can assess them at a bit more distance. I also find that if I’m having trouble expressing what I mean, that perhaps the ideas are not quite ripe. Sometimes when this happens I stop writing, but sometimes I carry on and the comment or interaction with people within the blogging platform, or more commonly these days on Facebook, I can grapple with my thoughts and pin them down long enough to see if they are worth my effort!

When I first blogged, mid-MA, there was a thought that I might have intellectual discussions about my readings and so on. That didn’t really happen, as I discovered that that approach isn’t really me. I had at the time started looking at whether music could be part of my practice. I look back with amazement now that I ever thought it wouldn’t or couldn’t or shouldn’t be!

I also had a regular habit of telling what I was listening to. That it sort of fell by the wayside, but I think I’m going to resurrect it for a while….

At the end of last term’s Songwriting Circle, Dan Whitehouse suggested that over the summer we think about how we might build an album. Think about a theme, songs, a concept, a title, a sound, a genre, album art… all or some of those things. It was a timely suggestion.

I have swimming around in my head and in my sketch book and songwriting notebooks a few songs that aren’t right for singing with The Sitting Room; I have a title which is borne out of the concept; I think it possible defies genres (unless someone wants to help me there); I have collection of sounds, words, lyrics, poems, images, made items, drawings… these things were swimming around as if homeless. Over the summer I started to gather these waifs and strays together. They fit my working title, and there is a commonality… a thread… a theme… So now, I have to see them as a whole. How do I work these things together to make something tangibly, interestingly “me”?

So now I’m listening to how other musicians have done it. And this is what I’m listening to this afternoon. If by any chance you look at this list and think, “Oh! Elena might like this band/artist!” Then please let me know.

It’s not that I want what I’m doing to sound like these people… to me it’s like going to a gallery to see the art, but while you’re there you look at how the work is hung, what it is next to, how it is lit, what is emphasised. Look at the context, not just the content… That’s what I’m doing, in the hope that some good stuff will seep in and have an effect!

Portishead – Dummy

Bon Iver – 22 a Million

Villagers – Darling Arithmetic

Tunng – Comments of the Inner Chorus

Radiohead – A Moon Shaped Pool

Husky Rescue – The Long Lost Friend

Process and Promises


So much for my daily blog promise…

Anyway… following the last blog, which I forgot to publish until I come to write this next post, nothing much has happened on the studio front. So as often happens I find myself fiddling with bits of material and drawing and writing in my sketch book in the effort to keep my brain ticking over, and the ideas flowing. Sometimes by the time I revisit these ideas, they’ve moved on, and I no longer want to work on them as they stand. However they mark a point at which I can return to in order to recap and remind…

In amongst all this writing and drawing I had a bit of an idea of how to alter the way that I am stitching my fabric pieces to my chairs and garments. This change was inspired by a visit to the Kidderminster Museum of Carpet’s Lucienne Day Exhibition, now finished, but I believe it is moving around the country, so I recommend a visit if it arrives anywhere near you!

I started drawing out a few things. I love drawing with fine ink pens, on smooth paper… love that glide, and the whispery noise it makes…

Soon I found that I was drawing similar things, over and over, and what had started out as a draughting of a design concept, a mapping of something physical, turned into something else.

I now have a selection of ink drawings, some just black line, some with colour, some with pattern. I have a method of starting, and a method of what happens in what order. the routine of these drawings has become obsessive. I don’t know what they are, and I don’t know where they will end up. I’m not quite where I want to be just yet, but the obsessive nature of my activity says to me that I am onto something. They are quite decorative. They are a bit odd perhaps. There exists relationships on the page, abstracted, and yet highlighted by shape and pattern and direction and composition. I think what will happen is I shall end up with hundreds of them. Then I shall select the ones I like the most. From that point I shall establish exactly what the essence is…

This essence may or may not inspire stitched pieces – although the connections to textile and stitch are unmistakeable. By the time I get to “essence” the work may already be done.

I think the greatest learning that has happened over the last five years or so is that I know and trust my process. It’s cleverer than I am.



Just the right amount of excitement…

Just the right amount of excitement, but no more…

We inch very slowly towards the point where we can move into a new set of studios…

Our Chief Negotiator has put in hours of work – emails, meetings, jedi mind tricks, all towards that light at the end of the tunnel which we can now see.

I’ve metaphorically planted my flag in one of the spaces with I can just about afford, as long as someone doesn’t come up with another add-on Mystery Service Charge. At the moment the space doesn’t have a door, I will have to get one put in. But it does have a whole wall of floor to ceiling shelving. Enough shelving to cause an artist to salivate.

Trouble is, in order to commit financially and professionally to this venture, you need to be excited enough to see the possibilities of it. Especially as there is also a large gallery/exhibition/project/performance space that will be shared in some way yet to be decided. I am excited… definitely.

But… in the back of my mind is the possibility that it could still all go tits up after all this work, because until there’s a signature on the dotted line, it’s not mine. So don’t get too excited!

So what is the right amount of excitement? I cannot make small corrections to this, so vary between abject desolate “I’ll never have a studio ever again EVER” ….to staring at my boxes, wondering what’s in them and desperate to fill those shelves and get working properly again.

Introverts and Routines

Some people have been known to laugh when I say I’m an introvert. They say things like:
“But you’re such a laugh!”
“But you get up and sing in public!”
“But you’re not quiet AT ALL!”

Laughing is universal… No one told me introverts weren’t allowed to have a sense of humour!
Singing in public is a grand way to keep the general public at bay, it’s not a conversation!
No, I am noisy, true. I have a loud voice and a loud laugh, a loud yawn…

I feel most comfortable in groups of less than 4… Three is actually ideal because you can spend some of the time just listening or gazing out of the window even… With three you can get some sort of rhythm going… Riff off each other… Interject and interrupt…. Subvert… Drop a line that makes tea spurt out of noses if you time it right.

But often I am happiest silent and alone, or silent with someone else also silent. I think the people that see me at my social best, and noisiest find this thing hard to believe.

Some days I don’t want to interact. Unmanned supermarket self checkouts are built for these days. Unexpected mardy cow in the bagging area!

I hate small talk, I like big talk. I like deep and meaningful, peppered with good jokes.

On days like these I like tea. Lady Grey tea to be specific. These days my cake is gluten free. Autumnal lunches are frequently a baked potato with corned beef and cheese smooshed in.
I shall eat it slowly while reading crap on the Internet.

I hope you have enjoyed my post- trying to do one every day for a while… Routine is good for my brain at the moment…

I’m off to Songwriters’ Circle in a bit. That always helps.

Me and God?

I’ve decided that in order to get my thoughts marshalled and my head back in the right place to start new work, I shall blog those rambling thoughts each day if I can for a while, even as some sort of list, and see what happens. I shall take a few photos of my sketch book too… you never know. Some words are carried between projects, these are my broad themes…






love and kindness

(and all the other stuff – hate anger resentment jealousy spite cruelty)

…these crop up all the time in the stitched pieces, the digital, and of course the songs and sounds

But in amongst those are other things that I visit, things that are material such as garments and chairs, but also those things that have been perhaps glancing blows, that are a small or large part of who I am, but are only occasionally overt in the work… such as…

I think I am possibly the most religious atheist I know.

My faith has gradually and mysteriously disappeared over time, and now I don’t know why it was ever there… weird…

I was brought up as a catholic, was educated in a catholic school, got married as a catholic, had both children baptised and sent to catholic schools, I worked in a catholic school for over ten years.

I can’t actually say when it happened. It wasn’t an overnight thing, it wasn’t a bolt of lightning, more a sort of bucket with a hole in… and then one day I realised that Sunday Mass would be great if it wasn’t for all the God stuff in the middle. My socialising was being interrupted by this very serious religious worship.

And that was it. I don’t know where it all dripped out, but it did. I suspect the death of my parents, particularly my mother, had something to do with it. I suspect the way that art made me think more deeply had much to do with it to. I have certainly over the last ten to fifteen years become more questioning.

I still have great respect for those who live a life of deep faith. It can be an amazing thing. (Maybe mine was never strong enough in the first place?) I have two sons who both live lives very close to their faith, and I do not regret that, but it isn’t for me any more.

I also have friends for whom the faith is in their bones, in the way they live their lives and make their choices. It is truly impressive. In contrast, I also see plenty of “Bolt-On” catholics, who seem to think that just the title makes them a better person. Those who go to church, wear the hat, turn up at the right events, but from Monday to Saturday are cruel and spiteful people intent on raising their own status rather than helping others. I also see people who are not religious, doing the most amazing things to support their fellow humans because it is the right and moral thing to do, and God has nothing to do with it. That is impressive too. I am impressed by some people disappointed by others. To me now, religion can be a problematic motivator. When behaving well is extrinsically rewarded rather than intrinsically part of who you are, then it is more easily manipulated.

Weirdly, I didn’t intend to write about this so much, but I did want to mention how some things in my work are affected by my upbringing… that how some things have a glancing blow effect, but others seep in and stay there, whether you choose to deny them or not.

Some of the work in my sketch book includes chunks of a book called The Catholic Schools Hymnal. I had this in primary school, and I think my brother had it too, as he has at some point in his youth, written his name in the back. It is full of latin, prayers and hymns and the corners are turned over on some pages. Some are torn anyway, so I’ve used them… but only recently have I felt able to. It’s only a book, a very tatty one, that is no longer usable or relevant other than as material for me to examine…

What I have found is that the memories, the way I have been emotionally and physically touched is bound up in all of this religion. I can’t shake off the influence of it, even if I now decide to shake off the centre of it.

Another point of interest is we know how to spot each other… there is something in our demeanour and our language that gives it away to others in the club. I can spot a catholic a mile away, practicing or lapsed… and look, there’s the word that actually says it – LAPSED!! We are not considered atheists, or agnostics, we are not to say we have no faith, because it is in us whether we want it or not, and we will return in the end, however much we deny… so I’ve been told…

How this affects the work then is right there… the lapsed, the almost forgotten, the denied, the dead, the cast-off…. they’re not… they’re still there. Each scrap of fabric and each stitch is reminiscent of every person met… They’re all still there. And in the very denial of God, he’s there too… 919 words all about his absence.