100 Pieces of Work

So this month, as well as working, parenting and Sketchbook Circle, I have to produce 100 pieces of work before 3rd September, when I go back to uni in Birmingham to start the second phase of the Artist Teacher Scheme. I have chosen to work in an 8×8 square sketchbook, purchased at New Art Gallery Walsall, where part of the summer intensive was hosted. I don’t feel that all my work has to be contained in this book; last week has opened my mind to ways of working which I have never considered before. Rather I am treating it as a diary or visual journal where I can record my journey. I have already taken lots of reference photos, and done some pieces of writing, both of which I have done before, but not really considered to be ‘part’ of my artistic practice. I have written copious amounts of post-it notes, which I intend to stick into my book. I am, after all, fascinated by the process, by making my thinking visible, by what it is that draws me time and again to the same things. I am reminded by this task of the poem written by Loris Malaguzzi, founder of the pioneering preschools in Reggio Emilia, Italy:

The child is made of one hundred.       The child has a hundred languages      a hundred hands                                        a hundred thoughts                                  a hundred ways of thinking                    of playing, of speaking.                           A hundred always a hundred…

I am reminded to grasp this opportunity to be childlike and engage in play.

I’ve even cleared my work table.


Artist Teacher Scheme 2016

Summer school of the Artist Teacher Scheme 2016-17.

An amazing week, which I am still processing. More soon 🙂

July Book

My sketchbook has returned from Louise, giving me some new directions to follow. Memory seems to be an enduring theme in our shared book, an open-ended theme with almost limitless possibilities.

On the theme of memory, I have The Song of Wandering Aengus by W B Yeats bashing around in my brain, looking for a way out onto my sketchbook pages;

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.