Art as thanksgiving.

Last week I went to see an art exhibition at the Wellcome Collection called 'Mexican Miracle Paintings'. I loved it! Basically the exhibition consists of about a hundred small paintings commissioned by various people to give thanks to a particular saint for a miracle in their lives. Each painting was accompanied by the story which preceded it. I was struck by the simplicity of it all and how each work of art has its own very unique story.
Here are a few examples. (You can see more of these on the Wellcome Collection website or if you can, do go and see the exhibition, it's on until February of next year I think and I would heartily recommend it. I left feeling very uplifted and some of the pictures actually made me giggle!)



"On 7 May of the year 1904, Sr Elias Chavarría was working with electricity cables when he suddenly fell and was on the point of death, but by invoking the Holy Virgin of Solitude of Santa Cruz he was saved, and in gratitude and thanks he dedicates the present retablo."
















I like this one about being rescued from a storm.

"On 2 March 1840, Doña Gertrudis Castañeda, having set sail, was caught in a furious storm at sea and in such a terrible predicament she invoked the Virgin of Soledad of Santa Cruz and in finding safety she dedicates this retablo."








The story of this one is quite remarkable! 

"In the R. de Pastores in 1917, Roman Camargo twice found himself in great danger of dying, first hanged and then executed. After they had released him from the hook and he landed almost dead, he knelt for the firing squad to shoot him. His mother invoked the miraculous Saint Nicholas and he was immediately released."

  






So when I got home, I got to thinking. Each work of 'art' in our lives has its own story. Every cake I've baked for someone has a story, perhaps of my own need to communicate love or in celebration of someone's life or the passage of time. I baked a cake for my friend for her birthday a few weeks before she died. We knew at that point that she was dying, after a long battle with cancer. It was a beautiful cake (I was in a state at the time so didn't get to take a photo!). It was a chocolate cake in three layers with vanilla buttercream in between each layer. The whole cake was covered in white fondant icing. The top was covered in white sparkly sugar roses, and on the sides were sugar pearls and white sugar blossoms, with white organza ribbon tied round it. I baked this cake with so much love, overwhelming sorrow and a terrible anxiety that I wouldn't get there on time. I needed to communicate in some way other than with words how much I loved her, how much I was thankful for her, even in the pain of knowing we would lose her. I am still thankful for my friend, now more than ever.

The same applies to every song, painting, gesture of love. I love the fact that we tell stories through our creations. We as a society put a lot of emphasis on the finished product. We like things polished and done and dusted. But the finished product is only a part of the story. I am much more interested sometimes in the stories behind a created thing. I think that's why I loved that exhibition so much.

So, in thanksgiving for each other, myself, hubby and two girls decided to make a painting using our handprints.

  
I love the fact that the canvas ripped in the corner by accident, because it shows that in some things there is a bit of brokenness and I'm thankful for that, because it makes our hearts all the softer. 
 

Out of the mouth of babes...the joy of discovery.

My seven year old daughter said to me a few weeks ago that she'd written a new song. So I asked to hear it, and she started to sing the most wonderful song, accompanying herself on the piano. Some of the lyrics went like this:

"The world's in your hands, this is the hour
No time to run, no time to hide, it's the hour
No time to shout, no time to cry, it's the hour
The world's in your hands, this is the hour...."

I briefly wondered if perhaps she'd had some kind of angelic vision warning of an imminent apocalypse, or some other dramatic inspiration, but when I asked her what the song was about, she simply said that it was about not wasting time on things that are not important.
Every morning she wakes up between 5 and 6am, bright and sparky, and gets on with her mini projects for which she's completely self motivated, before she gets ready for school.
She's writing a story at the moment about a purple dolphin, and sometimes she spends the time working on the illustrations for this, or she practises guitar or piano, or works on her songs. Sometimes she reads a book on a subject that interests her, the current preoccupation is with volcanoes, earthquakes and the solar system, or sometimes she spends time 'making' as she calls it. I'm constantly finding various mini installations round the flat and have to try very hard not to tidy them away.
I'm going on a bit I'm sure, because like every parent, I've got a bit carried away talking about my beautiful child... But the point I'm trying to make is, my daughter knows the things that are important to her, they are the things which are in her heart to do, and she realises the importance of devoting time to the things that she loves doing, the things that feed her, the things she is curious about. It's about discovery. She got very excited when she discovered a new chord on the piano, (Ok I knew it was an E major chord) but to her, it was completely new and she thought it was magic.

This challenges me. I sometimes wish I had the eyes of a seven year old. The eyes of wonder, not cynicism, the commitment to the things that I love doing, simply for the love of it, without worrying about outcomes or people's opinions, or whether I might earn a quid or two.

I walked past a man on Tuesday, lying on the pavement doing something really intriguing with a blowtorch, paint brushes and some paint. I really really wanted to ask him what he was doing, it was so detailed, it didn't look like very much at all, but I was too shy to, (I was also worried he might be a nutcase!) On my way back, he'd gone but on the pavement was a small blob of chewing gum with really intricate artwork on it!! Someone told me that this man goes around making miniature works of art on dried up chewing gum on the pavements.
Wow! how on earth did he make this discovery? He is willing to lie on dirty central London pavements for the sake of his art. It's certainly not for recognition I don't think, (though he is actually very well known, I googled 'chewing gum artist' and his name is Ben Wilson), but most of his work is probably trampled underfoot. This man does it because he wants to, perhaps he needs to. I have since found a couple more of his wonderful creations on the same pavement. Here are some photos of his work, (helpfully photographed by hubby on his camera phone on Tottenham St),

Chewing gum art by Ben Wilson.

Chewing gum art by Ben Wilson.

Chewing gum art by Ben Wilson.

 I guess my point is that it's in the staying faithful to the every day things that new discoveries are made. Moments of magic may be found in the sitting at the keyboard feeling uninspired but committed, or simply putting pen to paper even when there's nothing much to say or the mixing of paint even when the canvas looks too blank and unfriendly. It's about spending time on the things that matter, whatever that is.
So here's to more magic moments...

Love, loss, nakedness and sparkles.

I had lunch a couple of days ago with the 15year old daughter of my best friend who passed away 6 months ago. I cannot express how precious this was. It was just the two of us and we were able to talk about her mother and laugh about shared memories and also shed a few tears. The thing is, I remember when this girl was born, how perfectly formed she was, and how proud her mother was. I was stunned by the beauty of both mother and child in their newly formed but somehow eternal, relationship. And now here we were, 15 years later, sitting at a table in a restaurant, still reeling from a terrible terrible loss, and realising that the precious relationship I had with her mother was continuing, but had developed a newly blossomed bud which will flower with each passing season.




I went to a life drawing class! I hadn't been to one in years and years. I loved it! I had to get  over the ridiculous urge to giggle uncontrollably with embarassment at the sight of a naked person and had to remind myself several times that I am actually a grown up. ..and then I started to relax. What was interesting was the arrival of my inner critic, "You can't draw, this is rubbish, everyone's pictures are better than yours, you're too tired to do this, time to go home now"...etc etc.  I'm so used to this with songwriting or singing, but hadn't expected to listen to this voice whilst drawing with friends. I realised that the artistic process is the same, even though the genres and contexts are different. I realised the importance of letting go of perfectionism and ignoring the critic on my shoulder, and enjoying the process rather than the end result. There is value even in the unfinished product. We did an exercise where we only had a minute to draw the model in a series of poses. I found this really frustrating at first because I wanted to draw the perfect picture, but looking back now at those hurried charcoal scribbles, they have value in their own right, because they tell the story of my struggle... so more drawing classes methinks...

Last but not least, my daughter was given a pair of sparkly red shoes by a friend who has outgrown them.  My daughter loves these shoes with a passion that only those who love shoes will understand. She wears them everywhere and has even clicked her heels and hoped for something magical to happen, like Dorothy in the "Wizard of Oz"!






Anyway a gift so bright and sparkly deserved a bright and colourful card to say Thankyou!

Love and joy round the kitchen table...making love cakes.

Earlier this year, myself, a couple of friends, and my beautiful daughters, decided it would be nice to meet and spend time with each other doing something creative. So I thought it would be nice to make 'lovecakes'. We decorated heart shaped almond and chocolate cakes to give as gifts for Valentine's day. We drank wine (thoughtfully provided by my hubby)(the kids drank juice!) we chatted and laughed and had moments of silence when we were completely engrossed in the task at hand. It was a wonderful time and I thought I'd share some photos of the fruits of our labours.

So if you fancy giving the gift of a love cake, find a cake recipe that you like, make heart shaped cakes by pouring the cake mix into heart shaped cases. You can actually buy heart shaped cupcake tins or silicone ones, from a cake decorating shop. Decorate the cakes with fondant (ready to roll) icing, sprinkles, sugar roses or whatever takes your fancy, and spread the love! xxx

Watching the world go round, ..Observations at the Launderette

I found myself at the launderette this morning because I had to wash some sofa covers that were too big for my washing machine at home. I found the experience very therapeutic. There is something levelling about a launderette, everyone who walks in has the same thing in common, we are here to do washing and we need to be here to do it.

I found the sense of community comforting, as well as the monotony of sitting and watching the washing go round, and the world go by outside. I had to be there for that forty minutes it would take to complete my wash, and in that set time there were riches to be found.

I observed a young man walk in, utterly terrified and at a loss of what to do, he seemed like a young student who was away from home for the first time. He was helped by an older woman, who seemed to be a regular. She showed him which machine to use and where to put the money in. She smiled at me and wished me well on her way out. In the middle of a bustling city, there are people like this lady who quietly go about their business and bring comfort and reassurance in the littlest of ways. It was so interesting to watch people first come in, floundering, not knowing how things worked, and then watch them figure it all out, and then settle in for the duration. Here we all were, literally airing our dirty laundry in public, some surreptitiously, and others taking their time, folding each garment thoroughly before putting it away. As I sat and watched my machine finish its spin cycle, I felt myself return. The world seemed safer and more ordered somehow and I returned home with optimism and renewed hope.