Breakfast on the beach

OMG ( sorry had to write it ) just had an amazing journey to work this morning. Checked out the new apartment ( for last 2 months aug,sept ) its in Barceloneta and I just wanted to make sure we can take Molly for walks etc, there is a nice park which first thing in the morning is really lovely and if we got up really early, a run along the beach or a swim in the sunrise might be an amazing way to start the day me thinks!
couldnt resist a coffee on the beach and then a practice cycle from there to work, all along the marina. Watched about 6 competition sailing boats circle waiting for the bridge to change, beautifull shapes and amazing to watch after making my little boat yesterday. You could imagine the day they would have out on the water, a big crew,  big sales and the hull cutting through the water, it looks like a very sleek sharp axe……terrifying!

Molly’s new morning park, we are still round the corner from cuitadela park though for longer walks, and of course there is all that jogging down the beach we will be doing in the mornings!

 Outside the flat

Having a coffee a stones throw from the flat, about 8-9am ish people are swimming already, a good sign! Cant believe the massage touting people start so early, they even asked this comatosed man if he wanted one, v funny.

then cycling to work

think barcelona have won something….prob should remember what it is, will ask Graham!


Playing with my clay, alone in the studio quietly expressing my anxieties I realize the possible simple answer to my wrangling and upset over the past few days. And why, when I decided not to paint for a while, I felt a sense of ease. Like a strong plunge of colour dispersing as it filtered through. Like strong red tea in clear hot water, a puncture of the hot surface and in, the colour seeps, curls, drifts, creeps round the glass and finally disperses changing the liquid completely, into something delicious.

Sculpture, my clay, is the way I communicate with the world, in painting I was speaking in a language I knew nothing about, no wonder I was feeling so dumb.



JJ Cale

Since cambridge and my attempt at a foundation course, since ploughing the fields as a summer job in hampshire; there has been one constant man in my life. A calming influence that glides over the ruts in the road, slides through the days turning them silky warm and sunny.

Went back to him today after my turbulent days of painting, back to JJ Cale* and I also returned to my clay. Maybe yes, out of cowardice but also to enjoy life.

as the man says

aint no shame in tryingaint no use denyingeverything will be alright

I am adrift when I am painting; in Barcelona I am just too much adrift already. I am bobbing about and I want to enjoy it. Take away home, friends, family and language and then change my work as well is maybe too far from the shore for me to feel ok.

With my sculpture my raft is large, I can enjoy the turbulence, lie back in the sun and feel the movement beneath, not care if I go into deep water, just think its funny and exciting.

So bye bye to the rotten vegetable shop ( we keep missing the market ) with the flies, bye bye dark peaches and wriggly peppers, I am gong back to the flying girls of my imagination.

It could be lack of cojones but I am not worried, I will try again later, just thinking of it makes me feel light again. I had put so much pressure on myself to be Rembrandt in a few days and I only had this chance here to do it, now, it was wearing me out. Like Chesil beach with its slippery pebbles, weighed down by heavy diving gear, in shallow water so the weights weren’t carried by the free deep sea, crawling on all fours trying to extract myself from the cold foggy water as each wave pulled me back under. Half drowning in shallow water. Quite the beach babe I seem to remember.

I send Graham a link on spotify of a ‘sensitive kind‘  as a way of an apology for being such a nightmare these past few days. He said we knew it was coming, the transition from holiday to living, the come down from the excitement of all the work to get here and getting here, the moving to the bedsit in the dark streets from the lovely apartment with the sunny terrace of opera.

But I am going back to holiday, to being a tourist, to seeing the world in it’s best shiniest light. I remember thinking this living in London part time, I think its the best way to see things, just remain a tourist so you remember to enjoy things, see them for the first time. Do the nice things as well as the work. I am going back to being a guiri* and to bobbing around on my big raft of sculpture.

Think this is pretty much finished now after leaving it a while, I couldn’t decide about the hands before wether they should be flat on her legs like the swimmer sculptures ( it sort of makes them point forward more ) but I like the idea of the hands making her look like an insect more. I also couldn’t decide wether to fill her wings in, I have wanted to do fragment sculptures for ages so this is a part way to that I guess ( and I can always fill them in later in wax ) and I like the idea that

she has put on her wings and her flying hat but it is futile,
she cant fly.

( if thats too sad I can fill them in )

she can fly in her head?!

John Terry‘s comments

I love your ‘bug’, poor girl with great holes in her wings -but she will fly despite or because of them – it’s how we use our faults that defines us. No room for ego – which is a lead balloon.

* not what he looks like mind, just his voice and his music!

* ironically a teenager shouted guirri at me as I cycled along on the way home, I was completely fully dressed, I am not burnt, I was not wearing flipflops, I was not looking at a map on a street corner, I was not lost! Maybe the little cow bag was just reminding me of my place here!

apologies for the cheesy water analogy, it must be the sea getting in, its a bit much this time but I cant help it!

Poblo nou party

Left home about 10 ish to go to studio party in pablo nou, biked pass the willy building and the design center was open as it was galleries open all night night. Part of the studio mezznine was held up by shelving, if I ever worry about mine I can think of these tiny ones holding up about five studios. It reminded me of the sculpture shed a bit apart from the performance parts, we didn’t tend to put a square marked out by red tape, get naked and rythe to music, well not the naked bit anyway!