This battered old brown suitcase came from my Mum’s house.
The faint monogram are not initials I recognise.
My Grandad was a dustman. He died before I was born.
My Mum was often the drop off point for the PTA jumble sale.
It is likely this case came into my family after being cast out elsewhere.
I wonder about the owner of the monogrammed case.
Who they were and where they journeyed with this tiny case.
It now lives in my studio filled with books and pens.
My portable nest of creative comfort.
I love card games.
Portable instant fun.
Nearly always easy to learn.
I have lots of old packs of playing cards.
I love the artwork.
I love the battered edges pointing to a game well loved and often played.
I started gathering them with the intention of using them in artwork.
I can’t quite bring myself to use them if the pack is complete.
I chuckle at the thought of beating my neighbours……..
I run an art club in school.
They don’t have any plugs in the art room.
It’s a brand new school. Why no plugs?
I fill a sink with warm soapy water.
The kids think this is the greatest thing.
I am never short of washing up volunteers.
Never underestimate the humble plug.
I collect old tins.
Vintage tins.
Pretty tins.
Battered and scratched, well-used tins.
This one is home to some tiny black buttons.
I used them as eyes on a character I make.
Some tins still contain whatever the previous owner stored in there.
Underground, overground, wombling free,
The Wombles of Wimbledon Common are we.
Making good use of the things that we find,
Things that the everyday folks leave behind
.
I hoard old annuals.
Very old ones with beautiful illustrations.
Nostalgic ones from my childhood.
I paint on the hard covers.
I use the pages for collage and making envelopes.
This one is still intact, no cover removed or pages ripped out.
Too precious to use.
Childhood memories.
The Wombles.
My lovely red cooking pot.
Bootfair bargain at one whole Britsh pound.
Returned to my studio by a friend.
We’d had dinner at theirs.
I made sticky toffee pudding.
The pot needs to go back to my kitchen.
Sometimes I hide snacks in it.
Beach treasure.
A measure of some sort.
Weathered and worn.
Obscured lettering and beautiful patina.
I wonder where it’s journey started.
What was it used for.
Before it was picked up from a beach in Maine.
Then sent to me by my dearest friend.
To sit on my studio shelf.
Playing catch up. Two weeks at once.
Week 13
My son found 17cm of a tape measure.
He brought it home for me.
He thought I’d like it.
He was right.
It’s pinned to my studio wall.
Better than diamonds.
*this is probably my favourite drawing to date.
Week 14
I use falconry bells as doggy bells at home.
My gorgeous dog Beau rings them when she needs to go out.
At the studio she thinks they are ‘let’s go play’ bells.
I’d never get any work done.
They sit redundant on the side.
I missed a few weeks. Pesky kids and school holidays.
I’ll try to catch up.
A brush. Not just any brush.
My Isinis brush. The best brush for smoothing over backcombing.
I’ve had this over twenty years.
Essential for creating awesome beehive hairdos.
I brought this in to the studio to show my then studio neighbour how to create big hair for her wedding day.
When I was done I picked up a can and sprayed it liberally. The smell was familiar yet not like the hairspray I’d brought with me.
Oops, wrong can. There were no flies on her that day!
A shell sits on the shelf.
Most likely arrived at the studio in one of my son’s pockets.
A small boy’s treasure.
It now sits amongst my beach treasure, some from as far away as Belfast, Maine.
It might one day be reclaimed but more likely is that it will become another small boy’s, or girl’s, treasure.
Until that time it will sit quietly on the shelf.
Fat Hen ANd Flo 