Crackpots

So, one month ago tomorrow, I did some fun artwork on the Good Morning Show with Brendon Pongia. We had a few laughs, made some poured acrylic paintings and I tootled off to have some lunch and think about my book illustration project in the afternoon. Then I got a text from a friend to say Christchurch had been hit by a massive quake and all my plans went out the window. The past month has been distracting to say the least; worrying about friends and family, glued to facebook and the news media...

But at some point we have to pick up and get on with things; my book illustration job is underway, family have gone back to Christchurch to mend their broken houses and jobs and queue for coffee (now is a very good time to have a mobile coffee cart in Canterbury from all reports). And friends are wondering what to do with their precious possessions that are ‘munted’ (now a Christchurch colloquialism).  

A very fine Christchurch illustrator friend, Jenny Cooper, had a good idea.

‘Don't chuck out your broken plates! Christchurch needs them! Let's all keep our precious broken plates, mugs, jugs, vases, tiles..... anything that was beautiful and has a memory attached..... if we pop them in a box and tuck it away in the garage, in 6 months we can organise a memorial mosaic sculpture, perhaps in the Botanic gardens. Perhaps craft people and mosaic specialists will help, and we can re-use these lovely irreplaceable old bits of china, maybe build some benches or a garden, think of how lovely The Giant's House in Akaroa is. Have spoken to a City Council Member who says yes go for it, please repost this to everyone in Christchurch who might be interested.... it might not happen overnight, but it will happen!’

I like good ideas, so I thought I’d get the ball rolling (or the plates as it were) by making something from a piece of cracked ceramic ware on The Good Morning Show on Tuesday 22^nd March at 9.30am.

Jenny sent me her smashed Katie Gold handbag pieces carefully packaged in bubble wrap to which I then took a hammer (sorry Katie- I was very respectful about it) and created the flower pot you see here. I’m no expert mosaic artist and am learning as I go; there is enough of the broken ceramic to make three small pots looking ‘same same but different.' By the time I’ve finished the third one I’ll be far more useful to the project Jenny is proposing for Christchurch. In 6 months time I’d like to go down there and be a part of creating a public artwork with anyone else keen to be involved. If you have broken china, we have a place to store it, just email me for the details. 

We’ll be looking for sponsors to help with this by way of materials; tile adhesive, grout etc (btw...the fabulous Bunnings donated me the materials for my flower pot) And like all good ideas, we figure this will just evolve creatively and purposefully until it becomes a beautiful and functional reality. Just like the rebuilding of Christchurch :)

Of Mice and Men

I’ve been wondering what on earth to write about since 22/2/11 (note that the numbers are all 2’s and this was the second destructive quake...sorry, part of me leans towards superstition and fate). There has been a lot to absorb and some extraordinary feats of courage...and fundraising going on during this time. 

I had lunch with a Christchurch friend today, temporarily exiled to Wellington until her work premises is made safe, who admired my NZ hearts ChCh tee shirt and said she’d buy one. I said she should be given an ‘I got out alive’ one for free. She said since she’s been in Wellington she’s been dragged along to every fundraiser and charity dinner and spent a fortune essentially donating to herself.

For myself, I’ve given to the Red Cross, the Salvation Army, I’ve bought the tee shirt, I’ve sent care packages to friends to cheer them up, I’ve lent my car and house to evacuees (ok friends and relatives but still in need of a funk hole) and I have followed on facebook all the initiatives to raise money for Christchurch.

But I stopped short of donating my work to Trademe. 

Why would I do this? After all, I have piles of it sitting around at home in boxes being eaten by silverfish.

The reason is this. In good times it’s very hard to get the public to buy art, unless you are a name artist and even then it’s not that simple. Trademe is littered with artworks; some good, some very good and some would be much better kept in the portaloo. For the good and very good artist there is nothing worse than seeing your passion sell for your $1 reserve and find it costs you more to ship it than you anticipated. There is a now a flood of fabulous work donated by fabulous artists and crafts people and managed by tireless co-ordinators for the Christchurch Appeal. You can buy anything nice for a bargain basement price. It’s like the $2 Shop but with talent and class. But there’s something about getting art really cheap. It is never appreciated in the same way as saving up your next three years disposable income for a Shane Cotton would be. I suspect that’s why the trade is a bit slow. Artworks I have given away to people often ends up in their batches, to rot with sea salt. They don't know what to do with it when it's free.

I have been an artist since I was a tiny little girl. I have never wanted to be anything else. The tiny mouse in the photo was one I made when I was 11. There was a fad for them in gift shops at the time and I cunningly sketched one whilst loitering and looking like a young shoplifter, then went home and made a pattern for it. I turned out my entire family in mice. My older sister was getting married, so I made a bride and groom set. My other sister was into tramping so I made one with a backpack, tramping boots and iceaxe, posed on a rock. My mother was a little cuddly matron mouse, crotcheting a rug (I fashioned a weeny one with a bent pin) and my father mouse was dressed in waders and holding a fly fishing rod. I gave them all as presents. Me of course, the artist mouse I kept, because I knew this was my future and nothing would make me happier than to live into it. None of my family still have theirs (note to whanau: feel free to contradict me here). I rest my case.

So, years later, still basically on the income of my prophetic little effigy, I won’t give my art away to help people; because it won’t raise nearly enough money for the very large hole left by the earthquake.

Neither will cutting benefits, subsidies and student allowances. And Prince William is darling, but is saving up for his wedding, so we can’t rely on the monarchy to bail us out.

No, I think the answer lies in Charlie Sheen; the man with Adonis DNA. We should invite him over. He could have a large, last party, and our wonderful student army could go in and shovel the excess cocaine off the porn star’s backs and sell it on. I think that would about cover it.

No words...

In the wake of the Christchurch earthquake can't think of anything useful to say, so I'm posting this piece by Zara Potts, about her experience. A piece from her heart and her gut. My blog post in November last year 'Stirred but not too Shaken' seems totally redundant in the light of the past few days. There is no old eclectic part of the central city anymore. My heart goes out to Christchurch, all my friends there, my mother-in-law who we now have sleeping properly for the first time in days in our spare room and everyone I don't know there too. Kia kaha. Everyone else, please give generously to the Red Cross.

Valentine Verse

I can't remember in the history of this blog if I've ever posted the following verse. It was created quite a few years ago in whilst living in Christchurch. There was a competition on MoreFM radio to write a poem for Valentines Day. I decided I would win it because we were desperately in need of a treat. Now I have learned a thing or two in my years on this planet and one of them is 'A for presentation'. I figured that if my poem was written as a piece of artwork on scroll of handmade paper tied up with a large ribbon, it might actually get read by the radio station. I was right, and it won.

The prize was a night for two at The Chateau on the Park complete with a fabulous fine dining dinner for two in a rose strewn gazebo, a string quartet, a magician AND our own fabulous Geraldine Brophy in a gorgeous ball gown reading my poem out loud to my loved one. We seemed to be the highlight of the night for many Japanese tourists watching us from their balcony. The radio station called us in the morning to find out if we had had a suitably romantic night. My husband had caught a red eye flight to Auckland for a business meeting and was unable to comment but I happily reported that we had slept brilliantly. It was night off from the children!

My loved one has done quite well from my competition entries; it was our 28th wedding anniversary two days ago and we went to dinner at Hippopotamas on a voucher I won at Te Papa last year in a quickfire WOW challenge. The meal and service was divine as was the 2008 Savingnon Blanc from Haythornthwaite Wines in Martinborough. And no, they didn't pay me to say that.


In the meantime, here is the poem that won us such a treat all those years ago:

A Lover's Feast

I'd like to make you dinner,

With French champagne to pour,

I'd drink in your sensation,

You'd be my Soup de Jour.

Then maybe for an entrée,

We'd try some quail's eggs,

Arranged around your ankles,

I'd eat them off your legs.

For main course you'd be something,

With oysters down your spine,

I'd smother you in dressing,

And soak your mind in wine,

Desert would be indulgent,

Quivering with cream,

I'd drizzle you in chocolate,

Then lick your platter clean.

But eating's so domestic,

With the kids at home,

They don't know were hungry,

And long to be alone.

If we had an evening,

Together, just me and you,

I'd love to turn you into,

A Valentines meal for two.

Why worry?

A painting done one day when I was feeling lonely in a new town...

I’m aware that I have not blogged for a month! This must be a record for me, but to tell you the truth, I am a bit of a facebook junkie. I can send status updates by phone ( I have a new and fabulous Android ), post pictures, let people know about up and coming events and well, generally enjoy the immediacy of it. Isn’t that funny? A couple of years ago I thought blogging was very immediate; but the reality is that people seem to like and respond more to small bites of information than long diatribes. Facebook and Twitter have become our new town criers. Should we worry?

I have decided not to.

Since the start of the new year I have attended 3 funerals, followed the news on weather disasters, observed the political unrests abroad and wondered where our cat was after he got into a scrap and didn’t come home. Worrying about any of these things makes no difference at all to the outcome. I spent much of last year in deep concern over things outside of my control or sphere of influence. The economy right now, it has to be said, sucks more than just a little bit, but fretting about it didn’t make more money come in the door. One can only be paid for the work one does, so if there is no work...well that’s not a hard one to figure out.

So it took my breath away this morning when I read in the Dominion Post the following gem from our Minister for Social Development Paula Bennett in relation to the Artists Benefit which is likely to be axed.

"As valuable as the arts are to society, now is not the time to be turning down available work to follow an artistic dream"

I posted it as a status update on facebook and had immediate feedback (this is why I love the medium; it’s a social network).

Here are some of the (abridged) comments- and I have not included names for privacy reasons.

“Calling creativity a "dream" lables it as fluffy, lightweight, fantasy or unrealistic avoidance of proper realistic goals. Now IS the time for innovative and creative answers to our problems, self generated occupation, the time to look at ideas and goals, not turning away and putting them aside.”

“As valuable as politicians are to society, now is not the time to allow the state to dictate that only those in paid employment are valuable to society”

“Then politicians turn up to arts functions and openings on their free invites and drunkenly expound on how wonderful certain artists are.”

There were plenty more, but if you want to read them then you’ll have to join facebook and befriend me.

My big question to Ms Bennett is “What exactly is the available work we artists are turning down?”

Every artist, writer and performer I have known have spent a good deal of money, sweat and time on their education in the arts. They work intensely on their practice, their networking and marketing. They invest money into their businesses and also do work that is not inspiring or particularly creative in order to invest further. Why do we do this? Why don’t we line up to apply for jobs that Ms Bennett says are out there (but in reality aren’t).

Vincent Van Gogh said it perfectly: "The only time I feel alive is when I'm painting."

If he’d become a policy analyst, he’d have died much sooner...

As I said, I’ve been to 3 funerals already this year; the death of the arts in New Zealand is not one I want to attend. But I'm not going to worry; I'm going to stand up. 

What are you going to do this year?

Santa Baby...

With the Christmas and the New Year coming up shortly I pondered my last post for 2010. Should it chronicle the highs and lows of my year? If you are a follower of this blog you’ll know all of those, and if you don’t, trawl back and have a gander through the past 12 months of the creative life of Fifi. I won’t spend any more time rehashing the already blogged. There is only one more thing I’d add to my news and that is: the stars have aligned and I have achieved the never before made possible- a Creative New Zealand Grant. And just in the nick of time. Now I can look forward to making a damn fine job of illustrating an ANZAC book by David Hill in 2011 free of irritating distractions...like how to pay the power bill and buy groceries for the week. Because it’s been a lean old year in our household, as it has been for many New Zealanders.

Which brings me to Christmas and the worship of Santa, the patron saint of Advertising. Now that we have adult children (the last teen turned 20 this week), we are spared the pressure of ridiculous over consumption at the most financially precarious season. How have we managed this? This weaning off consumerism? Simple. They’ve both flatted this year and have really understood the meaning of cash flow. Its Pam’s and Budget everything and they have a distinct appreciation of what is absolutely necessary to live. Food, shelter and washing powder are critical, iPhones are not. Our son has put in a vegetable garden at his flat. Our daughter made a sandwich each day to take to Uni. Clothes come from op-shops (much more groovy than high street) and walking is a healthier and cheaper option than catching the bus. They both work as well as study. There’s no expectation and lots of appreciation for when we are able to treat them to things. They’ve grown up. It’s lovely.

Ten years ago I wrote the above poem for Next Magazine for my monthly column. Our daughter was still a child. Take heart if the wish list pinned to your fridge trails down and across the floor tripping you up as you reach for the visa card. They do change; especially if you don’t indulge every whim for fear of pouting. 

Have a safe and happy Christmas, and let’s welcome the new decade in as one of positive change, growth and abundance.Love to all who read my blog and give me such positive feedback, may your hopes and dreams become reality xxx Fifi

The Artist's Studio

some of my workspaces through the ages...

 I’m on the move again...with my studio space that is.

I have projects for 2011 that require much time input right now but won’t output anything in the way of income until sometime in the future, so it’s time to review the financial sense of having a space for which the rent is becoming a tiresome burden. Added to that, now that the kids have gone flatting, it seems ludicrous to have not one but two guest bedrooms, when in the past guests were happy enough to sleep on the lounge floor in our deluxe airbed. So, in the grand tradition of making your son’s bedroom into a sewing room, I am making his into my studio. It has a wooden floor (good for paint spills), great light and a view out to Lyall Bay where I can see the waves twinkling in the distance which is important for me because I hate feeling landlocked. Plus my espresso machine is at home, and my husband and I can share the phone and broadband as we keep each other company in our freelance work. The cat will be ecstatic; I’m far more generous with feline appreciation than my SO is.

So, I am given pause to think about my studios over the years, and how they reflect my stages of life and development in my career. So, if you are interested, read on, if not, just look at the pictures. This is a long post, so sit down with a coffee sometime when you aren’t too busy...

0- 20: The Formative Years

My bedroom: this included sharing with my sister who was more interested in outdoor adventures than arty farty things. When we moved to New Zealand (I was 8) I saved all my drawings and because we were renting at the time and weren’t allowed to stick things on the wall, I pinned my pictures to sticks of bamboo and stood them upright so I had a gallery of sorts. Later when we had a house, I had a huge wardrobe that I filled to the brim with bags of feathers, felt and saved packaging ready to transform into art and craft.

Later still as a design student and in yet another house, my father made me a fold down drawing board in my small bedroom so I could work on assignments on somewhere other than the dining table after tea. I also spent long hours at Polytech working late into the evening at the desk space allotted me. We each had our own and in the 3^rd year were given partition walls each to make our desks into tiny studios. We were queens and kings of our own workspaces.

20-27: The Eager Years

My flat bedroom - not so good for bringing clients into. It was soon clear I would need something else. The first was a space in Christchurch’s Hereford St in an old building that was fairly deserted on my floor. I had small space at first then negotiated with the landlord for a larger one. My first celebration of it was to invite all the Advertising Agency creatives for a party so they could see where I was and use me. I possibly served Pink Chardon and chippies. Everyone came- it was a blast! I had fun times in that studio, gathering together other artists for life drawing sessions and creating theatre posters, brochures and mastering airbrushing skills which would become my main form of trade. I got tired after a while of being by myself on that lonely 3^rd floor though and when Murray Freeth, an animator said the box room was available to rent in Salisbury St at Orly Productions, I moved in. It was the 80’s, and my husband was now working at Saatchi & Saatchi. We went out drinking and partying a lot. I wore huge shoulder pads, had more work than I could handle and was working in TV as craft presenter on What Now too. But human nature being what it is, and biological clocks ticking early, I embarked upon motherhood. Because having children wouldn’t change my life would it? No, a baby would gurgle and smile at me in the corner whilst I got on with my work.

27- 36: The Sleepless Years

If I thought I was busy before, I barely slept now. I tutored at Polytech, performed on TV, illustrated and became a committee member for everything from Plunket to illustration communities. I worked from home in the spare bedroom of our little cottage, until the lack of space for work and more babies necessitated a house move. Once again in the new house I worked in the spare bedroom until the babies; now children, needed rooms of their own. So we did a ridiculous thing. We purpose built a studio onto the house (not a shed in the back garden), spent a fortune on landscaping and redecorating...then moved to Wellington.

36- 40: The Juggling Years

Not knowing if I would find a community back in Wellington to ease into (how silly- Wellington is the best place to do this!) I took up an offer of a studio in Courtenay Place with fellow illustrators Debe Mansfield and Ruth Paul. We had fun! We gossiped, drank coffee, smoked illicit cigarettes out the window and generally behaved like schoolgirls, whilst churning out illustration for design, advertising and publishing. I had to rush off to pick up kids at the most inconvenient of moments; usually when the girls suggested drinks at one of the many bars round the corner. I formed a lasting attachment to those women and when babies arrived for them and I had itchy feet, the studio was waved farewell and I worked from home for a short while before our family headed off to England.

41-43: The Wandering Years

Packing up my studio and rationalising my art materials down to what would fit into a Pooh Bear lunchbox, I worked from the dining table in our basement flat in Bristol. I bought a portable drawing board on which I illustrated two books for Huia Publishing back home and my monthly column in Next magazine. I made wearable art. We travelled and I painted in visual diaries and on our return to NZ, my studio was wherever I could find space in the kitchen. 

44-47: The Dissatisfied Years

Fed up with battling the family for space to work, I took space at The Production Village in Mt Cook with a bunch of other illustrators. It was great until I was too distracted (I have a huge tendency to chat). So I moved into another studio in Tory St with a great and old friend. But the space was too ‘officy’ and the parking an issue. I finished writing a novel in there then moved back home; which drove me bananas.  If you think small children are distracting, try teenagers.

48-50: The Free at Last Years

The cottage at the Production Village came up for rent. So I took it. It cost me a comparative fortune but with at times 2 studio mates to ease the rent, made it possible. In that time and space I have made 2 WOW pieces (one award winning), created artworks for 3 solo exhibitions, run workshops, co- convened the planning for a highly successful conference, launched my last novel, made inroads on my new one, made dozens of plaster cupcakes for sale, created pieces for my regular spot on the Good Morning Show...then ran away and worked on The Hobbit Movie.

Ironically, the one time the studio rent was really affordable was when I wasn’t there, but in Miramar for a time. So back at home I am once again, with no distractions from children, my old wooden plan file and drawing board have come with me. It’s almost full circle, except that I’m not working out of my bedroom. Work spaces can be big or small; they can be purpose built or converted from a chook house. I’ve found after 30 years in the creative arts, it doesn’t really matter where you work from, because what counts is being excited about what you are doing. For me, that’s the large illustration project I am ready to start in the New Year, another piece of Wearable Art, the author visits to schools I do, the fun things I make on Good Morning, and the two novels I will finish writing; all from Hataitai, a very handy spot 5 minutes from town.

Sorry, we will not be renting out the house for the rugby World Cup.

Stirred but not too shaken

I had a great weekend down in Christchurch for a friends 60^th birthday. I caught up with friends and family, thrillingly experienced a small aftershock (a Wellingtonian is saying this...nuts!) and went to see the Ron Mueck Exhibition.This is a pic of me looking at the giant newborn which gives you a sense of scale. If you haven’t been to see these extraordinary works, then book a cheap airfare and go. Do not miss it... and don’t be put off by that quake business.

Yes, there are houses with cracks and held together with ropes but there are houses totally unaffected. There are empty spaces where buildings have gone and then standing surprises like Shands Emporium (built 1866) where my favourite vintage clothing shop, Tête à Tête was mercifully undisturbed and doing a brisk, friendly and super helpful trade. But apart from some busy cafes and the selling of vintage corsets, things were pretty quiet retail-wise in the city centre. The locals seem pretty fed up with the state of things; the limbo that remains after a civil disaster in the midst of a recession. And it doesn’t help Christchurch if you stay away.

Whilst there, I went to a mall to buy a birthday card and it was packed to the gunnels with tinkly Christmas music and the overpowering smell of muggy people and stale food halls. I couldn’t wait to get out of it. This isn’t the Christchurch that I knew and loved in the 80’s and 90’s when we lived there. If you shut your eyes and opened them again you could be in St Lukes, Westfield or any of the cloned soul-less malls that dominate retail. Thank God Wellington is so geographically compromised that we adhere happily to a few well trod mainstreets in the heart of the city, leaving the malls to far flung satellite cities. It’s what keeps a city alive and kicking.

So, go to Christchurch but go to the heart of it. Go the art galleries, the markets, the art centre and the old eclectic parts that still remain and defied the earthquake. Go and spend your Christmas budget there on presents, eat in the cafes, enjoy the coffee, go and see the deliciously decadent Cabaret at the Court Theatre. That’s the way you can help, far more so than ticking a ‘like’ box on facebook. And go to the launch of a new book by Gavin Bishop and Diana Noonan (two of my oldest and favourite colleagues with my most supportive publisher) of Quaky Cat- authors doing their bit to help in the very best way possible.

 Thats all for this week, cheers Fifi :)

Into the future with a book about the past

I'm getting quite desperate to start on illustrating a book in the new year for Scholastic. This requires that I will need to cease my job on The Hobbit, because there isn't a way that one can spend 10 hours a day at one illustration job and squeeze another 10 hours a day into another. Ah...so little time, so much to do! Such opportunitites of varying financial return...do you take the gold now and stop building a personally developed nest for the future? Or starve whilst creating your magnum opus that may or may not reap dividends. The work I'm doing on the film  will never have my name on it and at the end of the day I am a hired hand (literally, my hand is paid to render). I guess you have to go where your heart and soul is and as I said, I am quite desperate to start on that book and I intend for it to be a work of exquisit art. The pastel study I've attached here is a preliminary sketch- it won't appear in the book but will give you a feel for where I am heading with it. I hope it will touch the hearts of its audience because the story has certainly touched mine.