Salt of the Earth...

The driftwood burning
Learned its jewelled blaze
From the sea's blue splendor
Of colored nights and days.
-Driftwood. Sara Teasdale

The rain has set back in, green days awash with grey. I'm still reading my leaves each morning, and I constantly have blue ink on my fingers and thread in my pockets. I'm putting the stories in order, my mind is full of words; lines sounded out in rhythm and whispers. My hands are full of pebbles, smooth and worn. And my desk and floor are covered in a flurry of paper and images, text and waiting books. I always work this way, finally putting it together during the last weeks, before that it remains fluid; shifting, gathered and windblown until I breathe deep and pin it down...

Today I love soft knits and the drum of rain on the roof, I love blossoms that fall like snow and cups of steaming tea. I love bare feet and loathe words that taste like lies. Today the woman I am has been scanning the sky like a map and eating jam from the jars, she wants to pocket those stars and sprinkle them in her tea leaves and the only person she tells it all to has salt in his hair, a bird on his foot and the ocean in his blood...

Primrose and Pale days...

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
-W.Shakespeare "A Midsummer Nights Dream."

Oh May is here, blowing in with blue skies, nights filled with stars, tea leaves in the kitchen sink, blackbirds singing from the apple tree, bats back in the fireplaces and frogs in the washroom...

I've been reading my tea leaves daily, counting those stars and I'm still collecting those superstitions; primroses bring love and can open doors between worlds... they'll also help cure depression if made into tea or tossed in a salad. I'm so pale, its been a long winter and a longer spring but in less than three weeks this degree will be over and I can already taste that strawberry and cake taste of summer...

I have a lot still to do; photos to take, trees to pearl, books to fill, words to write, pebbles to tattoo, floors to lay and a thousand other things... wish me luck!

Today I love pale skies, maps and dust rising on a road, I love books waiting to be filled with inky pens, the smell of wood and the sound of a lone guitar... As always I loathe untrue actions. Today the woman I am has a hundred pearls rattling in her pockets, she wears blue silk borrowed from the sky and her hair is still as black as a curse. She can bake that cake without a recipe and has a thousand tales to tell...

North Winds...

That North wind tugged at her hair, it pulled at her clothes and unwound the blue in her hem...

I'm not very happy with this narrative, I'll rewrite in over the next few days... The weather has set back in; grey and green, wind through the trees and rain on the windows. I'm making lists; trying to get a lot done, and I'm still collecting those superstitions; does anyone have any they'd like to share?

Today I love my cream lace scarf, I love spring greens and wild primroses. Today I can't wait for the swallows to come home, I love gritty pears and as always I loathe fair weather people. Today the woman I want to be knows that recipe off by heart, the north wind doesn't tug at her hair or whisper of ill change, she has more time for her camera and never has to guess her friends motives...

spring blues

1. Untitled, 2. Untitled, 3. Love , 4. happy...

All images from Flickr...
Touch blue and your wish will come true...

Oh Spring... finally bare legs and wispy skirts, green leaves and cherry blossom, windblown pale scarfs and more bunting... so far my weekend has been filled with blue; blue skies overhead, blue flowers on the table, blue ink on my fingers, blue cups filled with frothy coffee and a blue shirt as blue as that sky...
What colour is your weekend? Have a wonderful Easter eat lots of chocolate, dark of course with coffee...

Borrowed Blue...

Always use new pins, old letters and borrow blue from the sky...

Last Saturday was my birthday, I had such a light filled weekend; friends, family, bunting and ribbon, cakes and flowers, raspberries and blue skies...

This week I have been making headway on my degree show; days on blustery beaches with my camera back in my hands, late nights spent filling cabinets with superstitions; always use new pins for quilts and dresses, stitch blue thread into your hem and keep a pebble from home shores in your pocket. My tree, an apple tree is on it's way to me, soon it should be on a ship crossing the Irish sea, fitting for a tree I intend to haunt with pearls, sea salt and pebbles. Mature apple trees, it would seem, are difficult to buy in Northern Ireland...

Today I love sky blue thread and my wispy sea grey scarf, I love tea steaming in the early spring air and the sound of pebbles underfoot. As always I loathe injustice. Today the woman I am sleeps soundly, and has somehow managed to leave books and coffee in almost every room in the house, she has been baking and dreaming of the sea and she can almost taste freedom...

Tulips and Daydreams...

1. Untitled, 2. Untitled, 3. usual view. 4. Spring is sooner recognized by plants than by men
All images from Flickr...

Spring is washing in, my days exist in water filled colours and rain, the flowers are here but the world is grey, caught somewhere between the months. I think perhaps I'm caught there too; I have been so tired lately, I feel as if I am in that time between sleep and awake...

My proposal for our end of year show is due tomorrow, it is a sort of to-do/I need list, a basic plan for the degree exhibition. And so my head is full of measurements, light and practicality, again this feels in between, a formal plan which is expected to change, a list for something undecided, an exercise in bureauacy...

Today I love tulips in red, and the sound of rain on an umbrella. I love peat fires and salt air, the smell of pipe smoke, old men whistling and the sound of pebbles on the shore... Today the woman I want to be sleeps soundly, she breathes spring in deep and lives where the daylight is golden or lemon filtering through the rooms...

Ink and Light...

Hummm...... I've just opened an Etsy shop selling prints of my images, it has most of the images I've already posted on here and a few others; we'll see how it goes. Go on over and take a look; there's a link to the right. Thank you all for the encouragement...

I've been so tired recently; constantly exhausted and distracted... I need to get myself together, I hope it gets warmer soon and the sun finds its way through, I am so very ready for spring...

Lace and Loss...

Its been one hundred and eighty three days; time moves now, fragile and grey like broken china.

Cold Soil, Cold Soul.

And those roots grow dark green and deep...

Oh March, that in-between month when the rain bounces off the windows like broken pearls, and the sunlight filters through with false gold... march is not to be trusted, it is as likely to break its promise of spring as it is to keep it; it is a month of frost and fresh greens, of flowers and rain storms... and by the middle of this month I will have handed in my proposal and started work on my final pieces of this degree...

I have a few ideas of what I want to do, but it all needs thought out logically- not my strong point. In the meantime I will keep working, making ideas expanding the narratives... These photographs were taken within two weeks of each other; they are jars with bone, paper and lace buried within them, moss growing on top. I had expected the paper to rot away but not so quickly, it disturbed me how fast it disappeared, in a matter of weeks right before my eyes and suddenly something so simple, something fragile and upsetting becomes the heart of the work...

Salt and Light...

Ohhh I have lovely news... I have the opportunity to show my work, the Salty Superstitions narrative in a public space. It is a beautiful community centre overlooking the sea, location wise it couldn't be more perfect for the narrative; all that salt air and sea light, the sound of waves right outside the door... I just need to get moving, get them printed and framed up and on their walls soon...

I am also looking into opening an Etsy store selling prints of my work soon, I'm a little worried about this; I have no confidence about letting my work lose in the world... I'll start very small and see how it goes...

Tomorrow I have to give a ten minute presentation on my work in college; how I form narratives, my refrences, my inspirations, my materials; photography, writing, documentation along with found and created objects. I plan to serve tea and tell stories but what else I plan to say or do changes by the hour... Confidence here is also an issue, I've put so much of myself into my work that standing with it, revealing my hows and whys makes me feel more than a little exposed...

Today I love every shade of blue and fresh raspberry scones with tea, I love rain on the windows and inky pens. Today I love stacks of well worn books, old friends made of paper and ink and as always I hate dreams that leave me reeling... Today the woman I want to be is comfortable enough with herself that she is grace and light, she is as at home in a crowded room as she is on her own, she walks along the beach each morning and her life is daylight and sea salt...

Poetry, Polaroids and Coffee days...

All images from flickr...

Its been a long time since my last post; its been a long few weeks... but spring is in the air; the days are fresh and the rain less grey, my mornings are filled with light and coffee and my world seems bathed in poetry.

Today I love the heat of a cup in my hands, I love stacks of old photos and treasures hidden in books. Today I love pale blue thread and creamy pearls and as always I loathe falsity. Today the woman I want to be has long dark hair and knows who she is, she can tell Fairy Tales at the drop of a hat and can bake cakes without a recipe, she doesn't have to guess who her friends are and her nights are spent sleeping sound...

Salty Mornings...

By winter there were water marks on the walls and blue light filtering through every room, and each wavering breath she took was as salty as tears...

Christmas was wonderful and quiet, family and friends, fairy lights, old movies, champagne and coffee, and today I had a day of frosty beaches and steaming tea, low golden sunlight and salty crisp air, a perfect winter day... and so I am content.

Today I have sand on my feet and salt in the curls of my hair, the sky is a scattering of stars, I still have ink on my fingers and poets in my car and I that feeling of freedom only wide horizons and maps can bring... Today I love scarfs and picnics, I love frost underfoot and golden light, I love keys and as always I hate selfishness. Today the woman I want to be can see the beach from her bedroom window and the waves lull her to sleep each night...

Beauty and Truth...

We talked between the Rooms

Until the Moss had reached our lips

And covered up our names

-Emily Dickinson

I have a lot of work to do; everything needs pinned down, gathered together between pages and boxes. My head is still full of Fairy Tales and coffee, and my days not quiet back on track.

Christmas, for me, starts tonight; a weekend of lace and ribbons, decorations and pine needles, stars and paper, i love it so...

And then I'll keep working; moss on mirrors, buried lace, pearls on trees and bones, green waistcoats for Irish princes and books upon books... why am i doing three projects?!

Today my fingers are blue ink and there isn't a star in the sky. Today I love white lace and long colourful silky ribbons, I love apple and blue cheese for lunch with smokey coffee and songs that haunt me... Today I love long scarfs, peat fires and the smell of books and the woman I want to be understands herself and that thing called fate. She slips on grace as other women slip on their shoes and she is a flurry of chiffon, tea and presents...

Wintering...

All through that winter the house smelt of apples and ice. And in the Spring when the frost thawed, he was gone. His boots filled with salt water and no blossoms on the trees...

oooh I missed daylight... cold and golden daylight. Blue fingers and toes, the crunch-click of frost and film. I missed my camera too. The dissertation is over and although I have my narratives and Fairy Tale to get ready I feel free.

The family have been donating old film cameras to me, it turns out we have quite a few photographers amoung us and so I'm gathering up quite a lovely stash...

Today I love pearls, soft jumpers and frost on the glass. I love the beach on cold days, low sunlight on white sheets and a sky scattered with milky stars. I love fresh white notebooks with sharp pencils and as always I hate half truths. Today the woman I want to be keeps film in her back pocket and poetry in her bag, she knows her limitations and keeps her friends close. She sleeps soundly and her life is daylight, she eats jam from the jars and smells like vanilla...

Twice Upon a Time...

The stars fell down; like broken glass, like a sprinkling of salt and ash; hope smashed on a cold floor...

The days all bleed into each other; the soil frozen now, brittle, dead.

The brambles come, fruitless, they wrap around the house. Cold house. Fairy Tale house.

And she has forgotten to leave crumbs on the path...

I've no idea where these narratives are coming from, or what to do with them... I'm still trying to slay that dragon; my head is still buzzing with the old tales and my days are still Topsy-turvy. I eat bread and jam with tea in the depths of the night, and lunch after dark. Winter is truly here, everything has a sugar coated frosting; candy canes and silver lanes aglow...

I just want this writing over and done with, I've left it far too long. I want to get on with my practical work; chairs woven with words and red satin, waistcoats for princes, light and seeds, moss and lace, apples and pearls, books of images and narratives, so much to do and I want to get lost in it...

Today I love my red silk shoes, so high I think I could reach the sky, I love jazz and fairy tales and raspberry jam on hot toast, with steaming tea at 4am. I love words, hundreds of them on white, and the English language; strange and beautiful thing that it is. I love long conversations and I loathe betrayal. Today the woman I want to be knows the poets off by heart, she trusts the ones that love her, and will not allow herself to be cadged. She is a wild thing and the only mean reds she feels are ribbons; long and silky...

Once upon a Time...

She knows the way, she's traced it a thousand times; second star to the right and straight on 'till morning... red velvet on white crumpled sheets, the stars on fire, and him; red satin scars, a mouthful of pennies and dark velvet earth...

I've been working a lot on my dissertation, and so my head is whirling with Fairy Tales; the old tales and their art objects, politics and princesses wielding axes... My nights are spent surrounded by words, writing-writing, the deadline is too close, like a vile Fairy Tale dragon I let slumber too long, but I'll kill it soon, give me two days and I'll cut myself free...

Today my fingers feel like ice and ink, and my hair has started to trip down my back, my days have become nights and I sleep at noon. Today I love lyrics that read like poetry, and dresses that flutter, I love the red feel of the old tales; all that decadent dark. I love coffee with chocolate cake and rosy apples and as always I lothe falsity. Today the woman I want to be wears peacock feathers in her hair, she dances until she can no longer stand, she laughs as if she wont fall apart and is friends with all the stars in the sky...

Stone and Lace...

"And have you any dreams you'd like to sell;
Dreams of your loneliness, like a heartbeat drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering what you had,
And what you lost..."
-Dreams, Fleetwood Mac.

I haven't posted in a long time, I've been thinking a lot about my work recently; how it exists. I've been trying to move the narratives into tangible objects, attempting to make the ethereal visible...

I have discovered that this is more difficult to do in the imposed white spaces of the university studios, in the heart of the city in the old co-op with its deco staircases, warehouse sized spaces and antique, all but destroyed, ballroom. The old has been stripped from these places, the quiet ripped out or painted over, the old building faces one of glass and steel. The road becomes motorway right outside our door. Nothing is still.

I want to create some sense of quiet, like a pause in time. A stillness that only exists when time becomes slow and even light seems to hang in the air...

My work exists in the quiet places of this world, and bringing that into the studio and consequently gallery is going to be my main challenge...

Heathcliff...

"I am Heathcliff! He's always, always on my mind..."

-Emily Bronte "Wuthering Heights."

A copy of Wuthering Heights, weathered in the garden for a year and a half. I'm so happy I left this out all that time ago, it now fits seamlessly in to my "Oracle" project. As it dries it starts to look more like a book again, the pages curl up, the print becomes visible and the soil crumbles away. I'm not sure what to do with it now, perhaps theres a place for it in the museum piece.

I love Wuthering Heights, although I haven't read it in years, but that type of love, that narrative isn't what I want to do with this project. They say you have to be young to fall in love with Wuthering Heights, to want that kind of destructive relationship. I think I'm well past that, give me a Darcy rather than a Heathcliff any day...

Today I love tea and breakfast for lunch, my long lost claddagh ring and long lost friends. I love Autumn and filtered golden light and as always I hate regrets. The woman I want to be has long dark hair, she smells like oranges and dark chocolate and that hurt in her soul doesn't keep her up all night. Give me time...

Faded

Slowly, very slowly that light made its way through the rooms until all that once meant something started to fade away...

Lilydale, scanned photo treated with sandpaper. Something ghostly, something fragile? A faded memory or lost family story. I'd like to explore this further, I like the effect but as with the rest it needs more development.

Today winter has gone again, and Autumn has returned, I've had a lovely long golden morning, full of peat smoke, crisp leaves, books and coffee, light grey rain and knitted scarfs. ooooh Halloween!!!

And there she stood, by the mosses, her hair turning green in that deep summer rain...

This is the moss locket and narrative from earlier in the term, I wanted some sense of decay or neglect to it. An abandoned or lost object, or something beautiful with a secret. That secret hidden a year too long...

It needs more development, I've planted moss in one of my fragile white tea cups, the green just creeping onto the saucer, that change in the leaves perhaps? Delicate tea spoons tied with white lace, some feeling of normal among the strange.

I've also left one of those tea cups outside, we'll see what the winter does to it, a change, destruction, decay beyond my control...


This is another experimental set up, the same narrative as above, on the plinth and moss planted in the glass urn. Again it needs development but I want to move on from just images, I need something more tactile... To create an interplay between the image, text and object.

I wish I had buried something in the soil, so it was just visible against the glass, the locket or a piece of bone perhaps. I'll create that "bone jar" within the next few days, perhaps in something more domestic, a jam jar maybe.

I want to create something beautiful but a little unsettling with this narrative. It is turning more than a little dark, but at the moment I'm ok with that.

I'd like to experiment with one of the glass cases we have in college, create a museum set up with this work, I'll just see where it takes me...

Snow White

"snow! Wonderful Snow! Don't you wish you could roll about in it like dogs?!" -Jo March, Little Women.

Its snowing! Yesterday morning I woke up and my world was painted white. Its surreal it melts to reveal orange and gold autumn leaves. I've always loved snow, its like a pause, like catching your breath or a blank page in a new notebook, and then its gone... close your eyes, breath deep and life moves on.

This is part of an inspiration line for the Twelve Wild Geese project, Aran knits and woven bog cotton. In college I am currently printing the Fairy Tale, My fairy Tale, onto the wall, letter by letter, with tiny stamps and ink. Its taking a long time but I love it, I'm surrounded by words and ink, getting lost...

Today I love toast and jam, knitted jumpers and Autumn snow. Today the woman I am has ink on her fingers, stars by her veins and frost in her hair. Her house smells like ice and peat smoke and it feels strangely like home.