making space for the things that hold meaning
It’s often commented on that I enjoy ‘stuff’. Far more linens than beds, used art books, a hearty salvo of shells from cherished beaches, curiosities from charity shops, pre-loved paintbrushes and a rotational hunt for the perfect antique wine glass. Some of these things have a fleeting shelf life, passed on to the next person with love and feeling, continuing their long-winding historical journey. Others are for life but not at all static.
Collecting and loving objects lives deep within my DNA. And though I feel a jolt of the self-conscious acknowledging my harboured treasures and though there’s a laugh at how often I rejig the layout of a room, I’m learning that acquiring or curating - with careful consideration - is crucial to my creative process (or madness; no doubt it needs keeping in check).
I like how seeds are collected, grown, collected and shared. Postcards bought in their tens from a wonderful exhibition sent to a friend to share the pleasure, or vintage napkins brought home just in case you find the match to someone’s initials.
Standing back to look at these things, imagining, layering, absorbing colour give me the direction for composing a new painting, whether landscape or still life. They tell me a lot about who I am and what I need and how to tell a story through art.
This week I listened to two podcasts about our relationship to things and home and spaces - episodes I know would raise a familiar smile for a lot of my closest friends as we often talk about what makes a place feel like home. They really resonated.
In the first, Alain de Botton and Matt Gibbard, on Homing, talk about why some people fill a space with lots of objects, colours, and loved things, moving everything around constantly. And the opposite, why some need sparcity and calm. They consider how this helps people feel safe and loved in their environment, how it heightens feeling, and what it says about a personality.
I piqued at the part that said that new perspectives in a home can encourage new ideas and ditch stale ones. Like putting an unfinished painting on a wall and thinking about what it needs next. The regular need for freshness.
In the second, Alice Vincent talks to Milli Proust on Why Women Grow about the power of building a garden. Milli confesses to confronting the mildly terrifying and raw loneliness after moving to a solitary rural space from a busy city life; how the quietness forced a necessary growth, ploughing into soil, making connections and learning how to move forward. I remember feeling this when we moved to Yorkshire and in the upheaval created spaces that, now, seem a true reflection of who I am and how I create.
In almost the opposite vein to de Botton v Gibbard, Milli’s recognition of ‘enoughness’ was heartening, to make sure we also have satisfaction from sameness.
Both told me how impactful our spaces and objects are. A chance to gather perspective. Leaning into the burning need to create in spaces full of noise and memory, while also taking quiet comfort in things I know are very much out of my control.
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Find my new series of abstract landscape paintings, Recollected Delight, at The Old School Gallery, online and on the walls.
I’ll be heading to Suffolk in June to Kristin Perers’ Trinity Cottageto show paintings (above) as part of Open Studio.