Diary of an Adventure

As an artist I keep creative diaries. Often they are full of lists of things to do, plus little sketches of things I like or works in progress. I have a whole stack of them and one day my children or grandchildren (if our progeny want to go down that path) will have them to pour over or biff in the skip. I hope it's not the latter. Nearly 12 years ago I started a new one at the beginning of our great adventure. We decided throw our cards in the air and see where they landed and go off to my birthplace and live and work. Our O.E. But with kids in tow. So no Oktoberfest and combie vans for us, but we did hope to see something of Europe. Our parents were slightly horrified that we'd go with no jobs and subject our children to British schools (both sets are Poms). After all, THEY escaped to New Zealand. But they didn't try and talk us out of it, only hoped we'd get sufficiently homesick to come back on our NZ not UK passports.

I kept an almost daily, then weekly visual diary which I am going to share with you all on a weekly basis. I will not apologise for illegible handwriting- you'll just have to squint. Sometimes there will be long tracts of self pity and whingeing, but that's life. Warts, drawings and all, this is not a travel log of a family on an expensive holiday. I learned much about myself and my family over the 22 months we were away. And it starts here on our last day in Wellington...

Careering

Reg the Gnome- my  faithful companion

I sometimes get asked by people," What advice would you give my teen about wanting to be an artist; should they apply for a place in a college of Art and Design, is a degree necessary? What did you find useful and what are the requirements for being in a creative industry?"

Here is my opinion:

Before you go and do an art degree, study typing. In my youth, secretarial school was somewhere you could learn to bash those keys accurately really fast. You also learned how to answer the phone, write letters and do office administration. This will be important for your career as an artist because at some point you'll decide to write a novel or two, using words instead of paint to express your story. You'll also need to apply for residencies, grants, galleries and internships. Writing a succinct application is crucial to your success, and if you become successful, you'll also need to know how to do your accounts. So learn Excel and accounting software. Do a Business degree, that will be useful.

Before you go and do an art degree, study history and the classics. Art is not merely painting pictures of pohutukawa and harakeke flowers, although they might sell at an art show. Art is about making a personal statement, challenging points of view and influencing the world; forming a manifesto. Artists have recorded social history and helped unseat destructive manipulators by exposing truths in a quiet, intelligent and well observed manner. Do a Political Science degree, that will be useful.

Before you go and do an art degree, study acting. Expressing yourself publicly and articulately is vital when you give talks about your work and sometimes you need to be able to put on another persona when you are lacking courage. The ability to project your voice is a gift that can be learned. Understanding how a production is put together is like understanding the structure of a skeleton. If the plot is the bones of a play, then the painting of a set is just the hairdo. Nice but not necessary if the underlying framework is sound. Under every piece of great art and design is wonderful bone structure. Do a Drama degree, that will be useful.

Before you go and do an art degree, look into some teacher training. You will at some point in your career both rely on teaching art methods to supplement your income and then just because you enjoy sharing your world with those students who want to be in it with you. When tutoring children, you need to know how to keep control without squashing youthful excitement when faced with paint and glue. With adults you need to know how to help open long shut doors on suppressed creativity. You need to know when to have it be about them and not about you. Do an Education degree, that will be useful.

Before you go and do an art degree, make sure someone in your life knows how to cook and administer first aid. You will eat distractedly when absorbed in a body of work and your posture will suffer, as will your lungs from inhalation of paint and sculpting materials and fingertips from crafts knives, files and heat guns. Find someone to love you for or despite your obsession with your work and refusal to take a 'real job' because that would destroy your will to live. If they can't love you anyway, then ditch them.

I hope that's useful :)

Tied up in knots

I wondered this new 2013 year what I should blog about. I have spent New Year's Eve and the following days with a head cold which has made coherent thought exhausting. It hasn't stopped me over thinking though; wondering how the year will pan out, how to be more successful than last year which disappointed me in all kinds of ways. Then whilst coughing and hanging out the washing I thought about why 2012 didn't stack up for me the way I wanted it to and over coffee with my husband and adult daughter in a relaxed kind of way, feet up on the scruffy old coffee table and undies flapping in the breeze outside, articulated my thoughts thus:

When you are a kid, your achievements are kind of huge; doing up your shoelaces, going to school, learning to read, writing a story...all of those things. They are BIG things. But when you are a teenager they seem like small stuff compared to struggling with relationships, your changing body, exams and school pressures. And so it goes on through life- each major milestone made to seem insignificant the minute it is passed because of the expectation for the next achievement. By nobody except yourself.

The first time I had a book published I was over the moon. I'd 'made it'! That was soon replaced by crushing disappointment that it wasn't shortlisted for an award. Same for television work- one minute you are on the box looking glam and the next, yesterday's news. And then it goes on; you produce more and you expect that certain things will follow as a matter of course; money, fame, awards, residencies, grants, magazine spreads, adoration, adulation, a bach on the beach, designer clothes, travel and all the things society puts up as marker of success. And very nice they are too, if you can get them. And if you don't, you go down a hole. I went down one last year in a work starved period. In this vacuum one might expect that you could embrace the free time and get on with that project you always wanted time to finish. But what happens is that you get so depressed thinking no-one will ever want to give you work again that you sit in quiet desperation and bat off all your previous successes as nothing more than being able to tie your shoelaces. Forgetting of course that when you were 5 that was a very major accomplishment.

I have beaten myself up for not being entrepreneurial enough; not taking risks, not sinking a big financial investment into my work to see if it will come off. Then (whilst hanging out the washing) I realised that every time I write or illustrate for the publishing industry I do just that. If I were to cost out my time it would run into the tens of thousands of dollars. So in effect, each project I take on, I sink a huge amount of money into with no assurance that I will get a return on investment. There are not many in the salaried sector who would be so brave. I am not the only one. There are many of us out there, being entrepreneurs, creating new startups each time we sit at that drawing or key board. We are courageous beyond belief.

And this is why I am unreservedly thrilled that Gavin Bishop, a writer and illustrator our children's book community adores for his talent, wit and generosity has received an ONZM for services to Children'sLiterature. Gavin has been tying up his shoelaces with great dexterity for some years now and they look superb; I hope he never swaps them for cheap elastic.What Gavin does reassures me, he has forged ahead because he loves what he does and is good at it and in the end isn't that what we are best doing? 

So in 2013, I'm hoping to rid myself of expectations that unachieved leave me feeling like I can't even do up my shoes anymore. I'm going to carry on doing what I love and am good at and that alone will be enough. With my laces confidently tied, I can walk forward and take new paths without falling over. Here's to an upright year!

Secret Santa

Here is a silly fun thing to make with the kids. 

Enjoy the break if you are having one and see you in the New Year :)

How to make a Secret Snowman:

You will need:

• Cardboard tube
• Dacron or cotton wool
• Glue
• Scissors
• Card
• Small twigs
• Things to decorate it with: buttons, coloured paper
• Lollies or dried fruit (depending on your Xmas diet!)

1)      Cut 3cm off a cardboard tube

2)      To make the body: cover the tube in Dacron or cotton wool – and glue it into place.

3)      Make a head from a circle of Dacron/cotton wool pulled into make a ball. I found it easiest to sew this; hand stitch around the outside edge and pull it tight- stuffing the middle first. Tie it off tight.

4)      Glue the body to a piece of card. I used green, cut into an uneven shape. Glue another strip of Dacron/cotton wool around the base of the body so that it looks nice and rounded.

5)      Decorate the face: black beads or card for eyes, a bit of orange chenille stick for a nose, a red mouth from card or craft foam, buttons from beads (or tiny buttons) and two small twigs for arms. If you are feeling adventurous you can make a little top hat from card.

6)      Fill the body with sweet treats and put the head on. 

The Hobbit and me

photo stolen  from the internet and photoshopped with apologies...

Yesterday I got to go to a cast and crew screening of The Hobbit. This is because I worked on the movie for a few months as a costume illustrator. I'd have loved to work for a few more but I had a book to illustrate, deadlines were calling and to be honest, the work that I was doing there was concept stuff and I was a tail-end-charlie, taking over from Ruth Paul (who also had another book to illustrate) and that part of the job was almost at an end. At some point the pencils are put down and the fabrication of costumes begins.

So I couldn't wait to see what had been done with Bilbo's dressing gown and jacket (over which we laboured many long hours getting the look and feel right on paper and computer before anything was machined up). Before I left 3Foot7 (Peter Jackson's production company) the first full dwarf costume was unveiled and it was simply amazing, so I was looking forward to seeing more.

I also looked forward to being critical, because by nature we are. We look to find fault more than we look for the good- especially when others are in the limelight casting shadows over ourselves. A nasty little Golumish part of me wanted to pick apart the final costuming efforts, the script and the film quality. When I was handed 3D glasses at the door I sighed because I hate 3D films for their unnecessary 'Coming at ya' effects and because they play hell with my progressive lenses. So I sat there among all the other crew with a glass of wine in hand, ready to disparage the film for all the things I hadn't done on it (but would have loved to). I put on my glasses, which actually were quite groovy slightly retro 50's sort of style and prepared to be bored by lengthy battle scenes , overdone FX and not nearly enough women in the movie (I'd read the book- there are precious few).

So, my verdict at the end of nearly 3 hours?

Gobsmackingly fabulous! I could go on and on about how brilliant Martin Freeman is as Bilbo, how disgustingly wonderful Barry Humphries is as the Goblin King and how everlastingly lovely Cate Blanchett is as Galadriel. But I won't, because I just want to say how enthralled, how delighted, how awed I was. The film was crystal clear and I forgot I had glasses on or that it was 3D. I was just there in the movie. The costumes were excellent, as I knew they would be, the digital work mind blowing the script and score thoughtfully and intelligently created...well you can see I'm a fan. The film lives up to the hype.

I can't wait to see it again. And I am very proud that in some infinitesimally small way I contributed to the process and in doing so Peter Jackson nurtured and grew my skills. He'll never know that but I thank him anyway :)

Spiralling

Almost 2 years ago I gave up my glorious space at the Production Village in Mt Cook and moved my studio home. Our son had left to go flatting (leaving a spare room) and having finished my work on The Hobbit movie, I was about to start work on illustrating a book which would earn me no income for a year. So, it seemed like a sensible move. I hate being sensible, but I was.

In that time I got not one but two books illustrated; The Red Poppy and Far Far From Home. I made a piece of wearable art; Vena Immaculata and made Wotwot puppets for Pukeko Pictures. Our son moved back home and we renovated the kitchen. I ran out of spaces to work and it's been almost two years of frustration keeping a dwindling work space tidy and the house free of art clutter. Despite loving creating things, I hate detritus around me when I'm not working. And...it's lonely.

My next big project won't keep me socialised either- it's another publishing project- a book on making Wearable Art; aimed at school students and for that I need space to fabricate things out of a variety of materials and photograph the process. That means lots of stuff lying around the place in various states of finish and that's something I don't want to live around 24/7. So, never one to dither when I make up my mind... I just have taken a space at Nautilus Creative Space in Owhiro Bay, a stone's throw from the beach on the wild South Coast of Wellington. I move in this weekend. It's a collective, a not for profit space and I can make as much mess in my studio as I like and meet a few new people. There is even a climbing wall if I want to do that. Better than climbing the walls at home.

Here are a few photos of the place, only 15 mins drive from home and plenty of parking. And given that I'm in training for walking a half marathon in May, plenty of scope for exercising along the coastline. The room is upstairs, a real garret of a place and in an earthquake or tsunami I will be toast (soggy toast) but I'll die happy :)

Far Far From Home

'Where are you going' asked a big black spider...'

It's a shame that Mark Sainsbury will be looking for another role. I quite liked him, though I have to admit I tend to channel flick between Campbell Live and Close Up for the most interesting stories. Story is really important; much more so than who is presenting it, although it's true to say a bad presenter can kill a good tale. The thing I like most about Mark is his amazing moustache; not that I want it tickling me at all you understand, but I was quite inspired by it for the spider character in the recently released 'Far Far From Home' book I illustrated, written by the lovely Elizabeth Pulford.

I felt that a TV journalist is quite like a spider, trapping people in their lies and wrapping up the show with a thread dangling, ready for the next bite. I salute you Mr Sainsbury; and thank you for your hairy mandibles.

Far Far From Home is published by Scholastic and available at a bookshop near you! (Real spiders not included, cute bug will melt your heart).

Spring Cleaning

There's something about spring isn't there? I'm not normally driven to scrubbing things, but in the last couple of weeks I've moved my studio space within the house, tossed out a lot of books I never look at (to make way for new ones I will), cleaned out the bottom of my wardrobe where odd things lurk, like shoes I will never wear (to make for new ones I will) AND cleaned the kitchen table. That last one might seem like nothing to you, but it is the hub of the house and therefore attracts everything from my sewing box, garden hose fittings, important community notices, our chef son's knife set AND a set of cat paw prints. The cat it seems walks all over it when we aren't looking. This is all in addition to crumbs, cups, plates and packets of cornflour. Sometimes it's just easier to read the paper and have a cup of tea in the lounge...

But September comes and October brings longer days, the promise of warmer weather and a great deal more light- which shows up ALL the clutter. The following is a poem I wrote some years ago for Next Magazine as part of my regular column. It still rings true today though  as I finish organising cupboards and filling plastic bags with things destined for the op shop, I am reminded that the once great tradition of garage sales have been replaced by Trademe...though their fees are now so high and the profit margin therefore so marginal, it might all swing the other way. That would be nice. They were so much fun!

Magpie

There's blossoms on the cherry,

Yellow daffies in the border,

And like a squirrel storing nuts;

I have been a hoarder.

Useful things for later use

Through winter I did store,

But now my cache is breaking free;

I cannot shut the door!

There's twenty cans of spray paint,

All with one burst left,

And my grand attempt at weaving;

It warped but never weft.

Paper bags from fashion shops,

Complete with visa chits,

Giftwrap saved from birthdays past,

And bows with curly bits.

There's baby gear as well of course,

And though I've done with that,

How can I throw out one small sock,

Or a tiny fluffy hat?

Still, with summer ever looming,

Resolution must not fail,

I'll gather strength and sentiment,

For a mighty garage sale!

Illustration Assessment

http://portmanteaunz.blogspot.co.nz/

I've been an illustrator for a long long time. I trained at Wellington Polytechnic (now Massey University) have been a commercial illustration for advertising for 32 years and a children's book illustrator for 28, tutored illustration at Christchurch polytechnic and Massey and well...I know a few things. So does my colleague Adele Jackson. Between us we create illustration for trade and education and are often asked by people wanting to  get published if we can look at their work and give some direction.

It's our business and it's a publisher's business and it's in an aspiring illustrators business to know how work should be presented and crafted for publishing. So, we decided to get business like about this advice and offer an assessment service.

We've called it Portmanteau and you can visit us here and find out what we are all about and what we can do for you.

We are committed to having the very best illustration out there in the world. So if you want yours to stand out and get noticed, we can help you take it out of the bottom draw...or suitcase!

Portmanteau, taking illustration to new places. 

Having a Grimm Time!

Illustration by Robert Anning Bell

UPDATE!
My story got a mention in the Listener! from the highly respected and wonderful Kate Di Goldi. 
"so I’d like to commend several other stories: Jeri and Del, for its economy and wit and re imagining of the witch as a producer of reality television..." 

How cool is that?!

Well, I didn't win the Goethe Institute Grimms fairytale competition and I guess we will find out shortly who has, although nobody I know that entered did (and just about every children's author in NZ had a go!). I wasn't expecting to win at all (no really truly). I wrote it because writing for a competition gives you a really good end point to write for and I have always been deadline driven. Speaking of deadlines I have a book to create for Scholastic by the end of February. Really exciting and I can't really say any more than that except I might have been working my entire creative life to do this book. It's that perfect a topic for me and no, it's not about sauvignon blanc! 

Jeri and Del

(based on Grimm's 'Jorinda and Jorindel')

Once upon a time, in a large field near the River Hutt, there stood a tall tower that dominated the land as far as the eye could see. It was cold, grey and imposing and it was known to all as Avalon.

The tower was ruled by a fearsome witch. Her lips were red as blood, her fingernails sharp and she had a hooked nose that no amount of surgery had managed to fix. She wore her black streaked hair in an exquisitely styled bob and designer clothes only ever graced her back. Her many servants did her bidding in fear, lest they might be put under the axe.

The witch spent her days concocting new formulas by which the ordinary folk might be drugged. They had strange and curious names like 'The Stars Do Dance,' 'Masters of Banqueting' and the most stupefying of all; 'The Hapless Apprentice.' With these she could control and influence the hearts and minds of simple people and consequently dine with the rich and famous. With the aid of her alchemists, sorcerers and the company accountant, she had devised a new and more bewitching enchantment and named it 'Aoteroa Hath Talent'. With it she would be able to capture artless maidens and callow youths then starve and control them until they were slim, stylish and sang like nightingales. They would then be signed up to contracts that would keep them slaves to the Tower forever and make her a real rich witch.

One day, a pair of young lovers, Jeri and Del walked beside the river, picking daisies and sharing a cigarette, which were precious in this land since the King's Treasurer had increased the taxes.

         'I love you so much Del,' said Jeri as she exhaled, 'I want to hang out with you forever and one day maybe like, get a pet?'

Del tucked her tiny hand into his and carried on texting with his other. The rumble and hum of horsepower on the Autobahn beyond was suddenly broken by a sweet sound filling the air around them.

        'It's Lady Gaga!' said Jeri, 'I so want to be like her!'

Del stopped texting and listened to the music.

         'It's coming from over there,' he said pointing to the tower.  Jeri pulled his hand.

         'C'mon, let's go!'

Del shook his head, he stood rooted to the spot; he still hadn't finished his filter tip.

          'Don't go near that tower Jeri, nothing good ever came out of it,' he warned.

          'But listen to that, it's awesome!' Jeri said and let go of his hand. Del watched as she ran towards the music and he knew that she was lost to him. He could neither weep not speak, so he texted his mate Zach Ruru and asked what he should do. Now Zach was a wise young man and said : bro git a puppy, chicks luv dem

So Del set off to the Olde Animate Shoppe to find a canine that might win back the heart of a star struck maiden. He wandered through the door, past guinea pigs in foul smelling straw, sly kittens clawing carpet covered poles and turtles like rocks in their warm watery tanks, until he came to the dogs. There was a hairy beast with teeth as large as dragon fangs, a sleek hound baying for biscuits and a fat poodle with clan tartan coat, but he could not see a pup in sight. At last Del managed to attract the attention of an assistant. She was stout and kindly and reminded him of his grandmother who had been eaten by the wolves of Social Development long since.

           'I have but one small dog' said the woman, 'and it is very special with the power to charm all but the hardest of beings.' She reached inside her fleece and pulled out the tiniest pup imaginable, with ears like a bat and eyes like huge black baubles. It wore a pearl studded collar and trembled in the harsh light.

            'Gross, it looks like a rat,' said Del.

            'Hush, 'said the woman, 'it's a girl thing. One look into this dog's eyes and any one you desire will follow you to the ends of the earth.'

As she handed the minute animal to Del, she told him 'Her name is Daffodil and you must be very, very gentle with her: she has a fearsome bite.'

Del paid the woman all the money he had saved for a new spoiler, tucked the dog into his hoodie and journeyed off towards Avalon. The gates of the tower were heavily guarded by the witch's henchmen. Nobody could enter without a golden pass, which were kept on guard's belt. Del heard music coming from inside the tower, but outside people wept and moaned and threw themselves onto the ground in despair.

            'Why?' they cried, 'oh why are the judges so cruel?'

Del was terrified of what might be inside; wizards, torturers and makeup artists, but most especially the powerful witch. Summoning all his courage he walked up to the gate and took Daffodil out of his hoodie and showed her to the guards.

             'Awww!' said Lars, the fairer of the two, 'Who's a bootiful widdle puppy den?'

Whilst Lars played with Daffodil's ears and kissed her little nose, Del was able to lift a golden pass from the guard's belt.

            'Pass!' barked Ralf, the other guard. Del showed him his card of gold and was let inside the gates. He followed the music up a long corridor until he came to a green door. From behind it came moaning and wails and the occasional right chord. He was sure Jeri was in there but as he turned the handle, a chilling voice said behind him,

             'Have you come for the audition?'

Del turned and found himself staring into the bloodless face of the witch herself. She poked him with her sharp finger. He thrust Daffodil at her, rather too roughly and the dog snapped, biting and tearing at the witch's hands, ruining years of expensive manicures. Whilst the witch screamed and called for her guards, Del yanked open the Green Room door. Twenty five surprised maidens and a few buff young men turned to look in surprise. The wailing stopped as they swallowed back their song practice.

            'Del! What are you doing here?' asked Jeri, walking to the front of the crowd wearing nothing but small silver shorts and an inappropriate tee-shirt.

             'I've come to save you!' said Del, 'from yourself!' he bent down and picked up the dog who had finished savaging the witch outside, 'and, I have bought you this.'

              'You'll need more than that' said Jeri, ignoring the dog, 'I've got through to second round!'

Del looked at her and realised they would never live happily ever after, not whilst she had a microphone in her hand. He turned to leave and bumped into Lars who was daubing the witch's hands with Dettol.

              'Here,' he said, handing the little dog to the guard, 'her name is Daffodil, you can keep her.'

As he walked back up the corridor, he heard Lars running to catch up.

              'Wait,' shrieked the witch, 'come back to me this minute.'

              'No!' yelled Lars over his shoulder, 'I'm going with him.'

The witch screamed at him and demanded to know why her faithful servant would leave her.

              'Because, now I have Daffodil,' replied Lars, 'and you don't bring me flowers anymore.'

                                                                   
(bahahahahahahahaha!!!)