New Year 2009 and I find myself in a place I’ve never been before. Not the physical space- Hataitai remains the same as ever; Salvation coffee down the road annoyingly closed until the 14th (but I’ll be there panting at the door for Graham’s great brew), the weather mysteriously changeable and the garden suffering a great lack of weeding. But this year, both offspring are working at pizza parlours and restaurants and no, they don’t go back to school at the end of the month; they start Uni semesters late Feb. So we now have two adults in the house all day living vampire hours. I feel in an odd sort of limbo; the ‘going back to school date’ has always been a kind of deadline for me to regroup for the year and start work again. You know, the endless putting stuff out there and seeing if anything comes back kind of life that freelancers have. So here I am on the 13th January thinking ‘Crap! I probably have to start now because if I wait until Uni goes back we’ll be well into the year and I’ll still be dithering, not to mention broke.’
So I have started gently by running a summer writing and illustration workshop with Saradha Koirala who is an upcoming writer and poet with a string of successes under her youthful belt already. We have a keen bunch of 12-14 year old girls in my studio daily, learning skills to inspire them into the future and I am relishing the delight of that age group who are old enough to make witty and entertaining conversation without the teenaged slouch and emo that comes with turning 15.
Our own daughter has been there and done that (giggle, slouch, emo) and has now emerged as a fine young woman about to turn 21. I found this picture I did of her when I had a new box of pastels and she was a ten year old. Who knew at that age what she would find as her passion other than her cat? Who knew who or what would inspire her along the way? As teachers of one sort or another, we can show, point and ask questions of our youth until they find out what it is they love. I hope that out of our little group of aspiring writers and artists this week, some will find their way with words and images in the future and be the storytellers of tomorrow. Because without them, society is colourless is it not?
I'm teaming up with Saradha Koirala this January to run workshops on writing and illustration for 11-14 year students- our storytellers of the future. Saradha recently won 2nd prize in the Wellington Sonnet Competition and she, like myself, are both graduates of the Victoria University IIML Creative Writing MA Programme. Saradha will be running the writing part and I'll be teaching the illustration all in my wonderful sunny studio in MT Cook. Here's the flyer; please feel free to pass it on. We are looking forward to a great summer nuturing bright young talent. .
Well here they all are; my Pin-Up Honeys. Click on the picture to see them in full resolution. My favorite is Gloria- which one appeals most to you? I hung them last night with the help of my fabulous other half Adrian- it so helps to have a tall man at your disposal, that picture rail and those hooks were a long way up! Juanita sold before she even got to the cafe, but tonight is the opening and if I haven't contacted you about it, get your own back and come and drink my bubbly at 6.30pm at the Deluxe, Kent Tce, Wellington. I'd love to see you there!
I waved my 18 year old off on the bus today- on an adventure north to meet up with his girlfriend, the school part of his life having finished for good and the next part of his journey through the world about to begin. I watched him climb aboard the Naked Bus Company, long hair flowing, skinny black jeans clinging and his head plugged into ‘Tool’ via MP3 player and was reminded of the last time I waved him goodbye. The following poem addressing my emotional state was published in Next magazine back in 1995…
Here I am with my velvet- this is how big they are in relation to...um...me. I am quite small, but bigger than a hobbit. Note my lovely clean, white gallery wall where they are hanging waiting for transition to the Deluxe Cafe where they will grace the walls on the 8th December amongst the fine aroma of coffee and the delicious smells of pizza the like of which I have never found anywhere else. They load them with baby beets, feta, spinach, pumpkin, rosemary, portobello mushrooms and all manner of amazing combinations. I don't know how they think of it, but only grateful that they do. You can buy EPs from the Wellington International Ukelele Orchestra there too. Fine food, fine music and fine velvet all in a cafe tucked in by the Embassy Theatre. Ah Wellington, how could you be any more satisfying?
I have been busy creating for my next exhibition at the Deluxe Café (8 Kent Tce, Wellington) opening Monday 8th December. Following on from my sell out exhibition ‘Velvet Resurrection’ last year and my win at the WOW awards with ‘The Birth of Velvet’, I have continued exploring the medium and come up with a collection of 'Pin Up Honeys'. Sweet and sexy gals from the 40’s and 50’s, each are painted and airbrushed on hand cut shaped board stretched with velvet and finished with black felt backing and brass hanging ring. Every honey wears a piece of vintage jewellery and will be flanked by framed seamed (and sometimes silk) stockings in their original packaging. My works are around 45cm high (Carmen Miranda is a little taller because of her sumptous fruit basket hat…) Pictured here is 'Betty'. If you want to see the works before the show, you may visit my studio at 26 Wright St, Mt Cook where they are in residence on my gallery wall, have a coffee with me and enjoy a bit of Vintage Velvet.
Write a short story with the following as your first sentence as written by Emily Perkins:The smell was overpowering. …and conclude with this last sentence contributed by Joe Bennett:Dear Stella.Don’t forget to include your kiwi food item in your storyMaximum word length = 1000 words
What fun! I thought I’d give it a go and this is what I came up with. Obviously I wasn’t the winner, but I often think of this blog as a Second Life for writing that never got to print and used illustrations that I can’t afford to frame. My effort isn’t likely to make the Six Pack, but if you make a cup of tea and sit down with it, it may just entertain you as much as it did me in the writing of it.
I did start out with a woman sitting in a café, but, Dear Stella, it all went another way when Hirst put his calf up for sale and my character took over the story…
Influence
The smell was overpowering, it completely drove me out. The poisoned rat in the roof; I can’t create another thing until it goes! You have to understand Stella that my art needs solitude and brevity and aesthetic to happen. Not rotting corpses. I should never have fed it all that bait but it was feasting on my creation as fast as I was making it and turning it in to crap. It was me or the rat. At the moment, the rodent is winning. I should have put up with the droppings. Have you ever inspected them close up? They looked like henbane seeds. Fabulous narcotic properties; drops one in an instant. The henbane, not the droppings.
I’m losing track of how many days I’ve been here, except that the bach has ponged for at least four, so I’ve escaped to the nearest café. Five kilometres down the road. There are only two to choose from and very hard to gauge from the exterior which might serve an approximation of an espresso. Both have net curtains and dim interiors, so I went for the ‘Du Pop Inn’.
I immediately regretted walking in the front door and pretended to look at bottles of water in the chiller until I saw that there was indeed a flat white on the menu board not that dreaded filter coffee, so I’ve taken a gamble and passed over $3.50 and stroked the cat which has now knitted itself around my trousers. The wrinkled old gargoyle manning the counter is all smiles now; nothing like brisk trade and cat appreciation to break down barriers. I was just about to turn away when I saw the lamingtons and you sprang to mind again.
Oh God, the coffee is awful after all. Milky and lukewarm; soy isn’t even an option here. Damn. The lamington looks digestible though and it’s sitting here on a very collectable Crown Lynn plate. I wonder if I can slip it into my pocket? Not the lamington; I’ll eat that. This one’s not made from foam rubber or covered in pink paint. Oh how you laughed when I bit into the jam and coconut you’d rolled it in. My jaws sprang back immediately; I couldn’t understand it. Thought my teeth had lost their edge. The paint was only a teeny bit toxic; I recovered eventually didn’t I? You were so full of pranks my dear; I never knew if I’d be brushing my teeth with haemorrhoid cream or finding a kipper in my dress shoe. The day you painted over my latest canvas with test pots and said you were dragging me into postmodernism was a hoot.
I like to think you contributed to my art in a positive way; because without you, there would be no ‘big idea’. This one’s a real winner. I resisted applying for funding; I didn’t think the panel would get the concept, even if I pointed them to Hirst. His Golden Calf has been quite an influence. I don’t expect this piece will sell for millions of pounds; in fact, I don’t plan to sell it at all. You’re such an integral part of the thing; it would be hard to part company with it. I want to have it installed and stare at it for hours. It’s my magnum opus. My homage to you; you had such fun with me. Such a tease; every time I look at my work in progress, I have to grin.
Laugh? I virtually split my sides when you announced you were leaving. With the contents of the house. You were quite right, failing artists earn diddly squat and that property developer; well yes, I can see how you were attracted. It was nice that you let me stay in the bach; for my work. Pity he put it on the market last week. Nice you came down to see what you could take with you. Pity we fought over the Sydney. I thought you were going to tear it in two for a horrible moment. It was more than I could bear and well, yes, I reacted badly. I’ll admit that.
My stomach is churning at the memory, or perhaps it’s the coffee. I really don’t think I can eat this lamington after all; I’ve completely lost my appetite. Its just the smell in my nostrils won’t go away. Bloody rat. I should have grabbed it, squeezed it, trussed it up, fitted it with golden feet and pickled it in the formaldehyde too. Dear Stella.
... here are some bugs and blossoms; the Huhu beetles were snapped up before they'd barely had a chance to crawl up the wall! Click on the pic for a better view.
