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I have to remind myself on the importance of what at first glance might seem insignificant holds potential for discovery and reflection.
Two lumps of dried dirt—one of which I’ve created a hole in—on a slightly elevated shelf. By playing with these materials and a lovely root ball that I place on top, I create a totemic shape. This exercise is not just about the arrangement itself but what it represents and the ideas it sparks. Why This Matters: The process of elevating these small, undesired, and often overlooked objects plays with broader themes I’m currently exploring. By focusing on these pretty humble materials, I’m playing with notions of importance, value, and belief. Objects and materials usually seen as mundane or insignificant, can take on new meaning when positioned mindfully, maybe even becoming symbols of contemplation and reverence. The Power of Elevation: Rearranging and elevating objects isn’t merely about aesthetics. It’s a deliberate exploration of how we assign value and meaning. A simple piece of dirt, when placed in a new context, can transform into something significant, prompting us to question what we deem valuable and why. This activity is not just about the immediate visual outcome either but about the themes and ideas it brings to light. It’s a way to find new connections and inspirations that may have always been there but needed time to breathe. This week I begin a time of contemplation at Tremenheere Sculpture Garden where I’ll be doing a residency for 8 weeks, researching, spending time with mud and considering ways forward. I can’t wait.
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Sharing these snapshots of my process is helping me see my work from a new perspective.
There’s something special about documenting these moments of exploration and discovery, an activity I have always taken for granted. This is a very short close-up of me rearranging three objects: a round pebble I found on the beach, a fragment of a bowl I made, and a small maquette made from two broken pottery fragments. These small-scale compositions are an exercise in finding some kind of narrative within the chaos of broken and found objects that are scattered around my studio Why This Matters: There’s a real joy in handling these objects, each with its own history and texture. The pebble, smoothed by the sea, contrasts with the rough edges of the broken pot and the small maquette. As I move them around, new relationships emerge, and what was once a simple pebble or a shattered piece of pottery becomes part of a larger conversation. The Power of Context: As I mentioned in my earlier post, this practice of rearranging and experimenting is a crucial part of my creative process. It helps me understand how context changes perception. A broken fragment, when paired with another, can suggest a narrative or evoke an emotion or a message that wasn’t there before. This activity of rearranging objects is about finding new connections and inspirations to move forward with—about themes and ideas that are always there but need some time to breathe, if you like. It’s a continuous loop of creation and reflection..
I realise it’s been good for me to look back on the little I’ve written here. I’m not a fan of websites; there is something 'static' about them, or perhaps they just don’t feel reflective of me and my practice. When only final work is shown, it’s just a small glimpse of an artist's journey. That’s why I thought I’d try documenting my process in the studio here. I plan to share new posts a couple of times a month, offering a more intimate look at my work and inspirations. For me, first and foremost, but for anyone reading this I hope you’ll find something that resonates with you.
Today in my studio, I did what I often do when I first get in and I'm not sure where to start or when I'm bored, stuck, or just waiting for things to dry: I played with objects. I can totally lose myself in the positioning and repositioning of my work. Usually, I arrange them on shelves, seeing how they sit together, whether there's a kind of 'conversation' between the pieces. I’m intrigued by how something can stand alone with no story, but the moment you place it next to something else, or elevate it on a plinth, a rock, a piece of wood, or even a lump of dry mud, it transforms. Suddenly, it has a narrative, a meaning that wasn't there before. I lose myself in this process for hours, photographing each arrangement, capturing each fleeting interaction. These photographs become my sketchbook of ideas. I don’t look at them right away; it’s usually a week or two later that I revisit them. And when I do, it’s like picking up where I left off, seeing the work through fresh eyes, discovering new connections and insights. The act of positioning and repositioning objects isn't just a distraction; it's integral to my process. It’s about exploring relationships, testing ideas, and finding unexpected connections. This meditative activity keeps me inspired, even when I’m stuck or or having a down day with my work. This cycle of play, documentation, and reflection is crucial, keeping my work alive and evolving. It helps me make sense of what I'm doing and possibly subconsciously thinking. So I thought I’d film some snippets too.  Thought I'd share these miniature kurinuki sculptures. Tiny vessels for small offerings—a dried weed, a dead flower head, a feather, or sometimes just some incense. It's become a ritual for me, a moment to unwind and contemplate, not only making them but placing items in them. Each sculpture is unique and when I arrange them on shelves, they form these little interesting groupings. They encourage me to find beauty in the everyday, celebrating the small things that often go unnoticed. A meditative practice—an opportunity to slow down.    I've been browsing through my sketchbook, hoping for new inspiration for my poppets. Even though I don't work directly from my sketches, they still spark ideas and set the tone for what I create. The drawings themselves come from this almost automatic drawing method I use with paint. I lay the paint on thick, then once it's dry, I go in with pencil, like taking rubbings. It's a bit of a mystery each time, not knowing exactly what will emerge. This process keeps things fresh and fuels the magic behind my poppets.  Similar to stream-of-consciousness writing, this kind of sketchbook work involves me creating drawings without overthinking, letting instinct and subconscious impulses guide the process. This approach allows unexpected and unique elements to surface, which I love. This technique is central to my work, especially for my poppets, as it seems so fitting to the whole process. 
 Been making these little clay shrines. There's something about these places of devotion that has been a constant source of fascination for me. Shrines in all countries, in all shapes and sizes—from grand temples to simple home altars are so beautiful. The fact they have so many purposes from honouring gods, remembering loved ones, or just having a spot to reflect makes them so accessible for all.My current shrines are tiny and a little temple-shaped, with a small space for a little offering. I don't want them looking 'finished' so I'm making them in quite a quick immediate way.        I've been spending a lot of time with my bone collection, which I gather almost daily on my walks through the fields and dunes to the beach. Most of the bones I find are likely from rabbits and birds. Recently, I've been experimenting with the suminagashi technique on these bones, I'm particularly drawn to creating patterns that resemble mould, symbolic of life/death cycle.   I recently visited Madron Holy Well and Chapel site to collect a small amount of dirt for a special poppet commission. This ancient site in Cornwall has deep pagan roots and is known for its healing waters and sacred history. For centuries, people have come to Madron seeking blessings and healing. The earth and water here feel charged with powerful energies. I'm using this sacred dirt in a poppet made from a blood-stained nightdress worn during a particularly difficult birth. The customer specifically requested dirt from Madron, as the site holds personal significance for her. Along with the dirt, I'll embed a birthstone in the poppet, symbolising new beginnings and healing. This poppet is part of a ritual to celebrate her son's first birthday and to help her move past the trauma of his birth. Creating this poppet feels like weaving together threads of history, pain, and healing into something meaningful and transformative, it's a bit scary making a commission piece, I'm hoping I get it right.  I’ve neglected this blog …. Again. My last post was written in the beautiful Studio 9 at Porthmeor, St Ives. So, why can I not keep up this up to date. A weekly musing post? An update of studio practice (I’m forever taking photos in my studio) I guess it’s another role I’ve created for myself that I struggle to keep up with ... engaging in Facebook, updating Twitter, my accounts, researching worthy opportunitites, applying for funding/opps/residencies etc .. did I mention studio practice? Looking back on previous posts I’m glad I’ve written them. They’re a good account of where I’m at what I’ve been doing and in some posts a reminder that I do get through the bad days! I thought I would write regularly during my time at Porthmeor but I couldn’t. Being in the thick of it, immersed in it it was almost impossible to reflect where I was at and what I was thinking in a coherent manner. I did write (just for me) but I guess I’ve needed this time and distance to fully absorb what those 3 months meant to me and my practice. Time to back track.  |
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