Clover

Lo Siento – I feel it.

I come from fields of clover
from the north.
From the west of an island
of which we share salt water.

I come from fields of clover,
I bring with me, no language.
and I am dumb
except my clay.

I come from fields of clover
and I am sorry
and I feel it
but I can still see.

I come from fields of clover
and I can see love
and friendship
and I still hear laughter.

I come from fields of clover
of soft damp lime green grass
and your streets are hard
and sometimes dark.

I come from fields of clover
and cold misty mornings
and I am sorry for questioning,
I am just trying to understand.

I come from fields of clover
so it takes me a while
to hear the swallows,
and to smell the sea.

I come from fields of clover
and inside I have passion.
But I see your passion
and I am moved.





  

  



 

Purpose. Freer. Adrift.

Made a mold of the most recent sculptures, Dos Cojones and Travel. Rubber went on on thursday and jackets friday by lunchtime, not very big molds but there was purpose. No procrastination. I just got in, did it, cleared up, mopped and out again.

Usually I am sick bored by mold making and I take forever but I don’t seem to here. I knew I hated it so I just got it done. When I work here its done quicker, you start and you get to the end. Ideas like Travel seem to pop out and I can take tentative steps out of boundaries. Not carefree but it is freer. It’s not playing but it maybe less restricted, more adrift.

Maybe its not the freedom, its the intensity of being adrift, you make sculpture quickly like clutching at rafts that go by to stabilize yourself, at home you feel safe on your container ship of stuff. Of phone calls and business. Of the studio, the shelves, the boxes hidden in cupboards stuffed with separation anxiety, of memories of girls gone, me’s of yesteryear in angst written dairies held onto for what? for comfort, for having been there, for marking a page.

Am I not me, now, here. Not the angst girl of 16 in the dairy, do I need to know her, I dont really remember her, she is not me now, so much has happened since I was her, she is no longer, can I go home and throw her away so my little boat remains smaller, more agile, more adventurous.

Here I have 11 boxes, 6 buckets, 4 plinths, 2 tables and 2 easels and a trolly. A van with four wheels to put it all in. Not forgetting my gorgeous boyfriend and sometimes faithful dog. With these I am who I am now and it can be just as much.

Love is……. seeing your boyfriends shirts hanging out of your balcony window when you return home from work.


my little boat person being cast

Two Balls… Dos Cojones

“Cojones is a Spanish word for denoting courage when used in the phrase “tener cojones” (equivalent to English “have the balls to”) or testicles. It is considered a curse word when used by itself as an expletive in Spanish. In English, as a loanword, it means courage, brazenness, “nerve”, “guts”, etc.”

I started out with the intention of making the piece called Dos Cojones as I always heard it as meaning big balls which I now know to be “grandes cojones’ which doesn’t sound as good as Big Balls. Anyway the piece is about what people said then ( what ever it was ) in Los Lobos when men jumped off rocks to surf in shallow water above scratchy volcanic rock, think there were boulders as well but cant see in these vids

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AZ0k9lagz-0http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5HneVHCvJ0
So, in a long about way I dont know what to call it now
Cojones ( which would be rude here )( I think )or Two Balls

I like the fact they are boules ( a man’s game here ) as I wanted….want to paint them playing at some point.

note to self….people laugh in the same language

Travel

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.

‘Travel’