Hagstone

My daughter at the weekend took my easel and became very comfortable painting at such a height. She was enjoyed seeing her makes with paint dash across the page. I make it my intention never to force her into creating art. The materials there- I simply put on the table and she investigates of her own accord, which I love to see. She gets lost in the process, and begins humming along her own little made up tunes. She reminds me of hay it’s all about, just enjoy the process.

I made a pilgrimage to Masons Yard in London to visit the other elusive White Cube gallery today. I made a day trip out of it and brought my daughter and met up with my good old friend Davoc afterwards. Abstract art can sometimes leave me a bit cold (Unless it’s Lee Krasner or Helen Frankenthaler) This combination of embroidered threads flexing and breathing through the paint on unprimed canvas was refreshing and engaging on a new level. Both my daughter and I had to resist the urge to stroke and caress the threaded surface like it was cloth on a hanger.

Existential questions amid circular shapes as titles. The titles of the artworks themselves were carefully embroidered along the edges of the canvas. Those parts were actually my favourite.

I spent my precious solitary hours today finishing my self portrait, sat in my bathtub, with some of my daughter’s toys near me. It was a collage, an acrylic painting and an oil pastel drawing all rolled into one. I treated this work like a collage to erase the fear of failure. The knowledge that I can layer up mistakes, overlap or conceal is a great relief to me. It felt good to be finished/ I’m actively working with my menstrual cycle to identify what kind of work best suits my ‘seasons’ I used to ignore my period mood swings, thinking I was being erratic and hysterical but instead now I know that hormones can seriously mess with your head. This is my luteal phase, where I’m a real grouch and argumentative and highly sensitive. According to the book ‘The optimised woman’ this is the best and most productive time for editing and completing work and for journaling and reflection- this is the Autumnal phase before the hibernation phase of winter or the ‘period’ happens. Working to the rhythm of my body has been really an eye-opener and I’ve a lot more self compassion. I can be productive all month but I have to allow for different types of productivity depending on the seasons. Definitely worked for me today.?

Back in my shed, in my happy place. I haven’t painted my portrait since I was 19- that’s 20 years ago. I wanted the composition to a bit weird a bit out there. I was happy with the big loose brush strokes and just getting stuck in. I spent a good deal on the drawing beforehand, drawing just myself in my sketchbook. I did the background thinking ‘Oh I’ll just get this done out of the way but with my limited palette I love it. It’s chunky and blocky now but I actually like the tones and the forms that have emerged. I turned it upside down to break down what ‘should’ be there and what I actually see. I forgot how much it’s an internal dialogue while painting. I did a little journaling beforehand just to clear the head because you draw with the mind not with the hand. Will try and plan and draw another portrait in front of the tv while my daughter sleeps again tonight. But yeah, progress all good. Can’t wait to go over it in prisma colour pencils and oil pastels.

I’m entering a few competitions this year and I had a lovely afternoon drawing a friend and fellow mother from a baby group I joined before my daughter was born. I’ve also started drawing my self portrait for another competition and at first my attempts were so rubbish- I actually struggled recognising myself. After quite a few attempts and relenting to the grid method for proper proportions I’ve finally gotten somewhere. I’m drawing this on the floor of my living room while watching the Traitors with my husband. Our daughter sleeps upstairs. I began to imagine her taking our guest room so I could use her small box room as a studio someday.

I did something that I wouldn’t normally do and that’s when I joined Reddit. Not only that but I actually started a community post- to see if there were other artist mothers out there who we could share stories with, discuss the best strategies for coping with family and creativity. In some ways it feels quite lonely but I know I’m not alone. I know there’s other artist mothers out there, making and creating in the quiet hours.

Tomorrow I have a few delicious hours to myself to construct a self portrait for a competition entry. I’ve sketched it and planned it out all ready for tomorrow.

I was recently diagnosed with inattentive ADHD and Autism. At the age of 39 I can now fully adapt to life’s situations with greater self compassion and understanding. I struggled with creating in an ad hoc manner as a young graduate. Now I’m working with my own abilities rather than pushing and punishing myself for not adapting to a more neurotypical timeline.

I spent my creative day off writing and making a note of all the exhibits I plan to enter this year. 2026 will be my year of living artfully, of properly pursuing my career as an artist. Over the holidays I drank in as much creative culture as I could in Wakefield. I loved walking around the Hepworth museum and loved the stunning muted palette of Elizabeth Fritsch. I had never heard of her before

The simplicity of her style belied her sophisticated glaze application and construction. The way the shapes played with perspective in a childish way was visually a treat to behold. I just loved the teacup below!

I found this work of art within the Hepworth gallery and it stopped me in my tracks. It was at once abstract and yet so recognisable. I loved the natural tones within the vegetation dye used to soften and deepen the layers of calico. There was a feminine feeling of rumpled skirts, a discarded dress that had been trampled and flung into the soil. Did this garment harbour secrets? Did the stitches whisper stories when you turned away? I imagine a narrative in my own way and it reminds me of a scene in Lorca’s play ‘The House of Bernarda Alba’ where a local woman is mentioned in hushed tones who cavorted at night time under the stars with male revellers. ‘He played her like a guitar’ one character spits in disgust but I imagine it’s out of jealousy. These fabrics reminded me of the skirts that rebellious woman would have looked and been trampled by in the morning

I love the lurid colours in mid century prints and I was delighted to stumble across ceramicist Axel Salto. I adored the maroon with pale blue in one of his printmaking pieces that was turned into a book cover (See image below) The shapes and curves flowed throughout his work, from pots to prints. Loads of ferocious spikey prints of aloe vera-like plants that comfortably contrasted with yellow and purple.

I came across his playful work in the Hepworth gallery yesterday. I find myself drawn to abstract patterns and textiles. I would never have imagined this because when I completed my foundation diploma I hated sewing machines! I struggled with using different materials and surfaces. Now I find that I’ve grown bored with representational art. The abstract allows for playful experimentation and expression without rigidity of proportion and perspective.

When exhibitions show the sketches behind the work, it’s like looking at the engine beneath the car bonnet. To me it’s the most exciting part, the what-ifs, the what-could-have-beens. I love it and had to photograph some of the work (as seen above and below) I loved the bold mark-making within the sketches as it revealed the weight and solidity of the clay that would be within the construction.

I also have a soft spot for anything deer-related because it’s what my daughter’s name means.