The Easiest Part

My Victorians of Cambridge project..

I am trying to focus on one picture at a time, not get scattered and lost in my wave of ideas, keep my mind from straying. Admittedly not my strongest side. But, research and to some extent time pressure keeps me there..
The next picture/s I will do are the market place ones. I have many willing subjects for this one! I'm looking into the world of market sellers of the 1880's. My main characters are set already. I have an apple seller, a gypsy and a rag-lady. Possibly a flower girl.
Because I have more of a purpose this time, I want to tell a story as well as show pictures, it helps to know as much as possible about their lives. This is why I turned down the opportunity to do a citywide project involving shops and other commercial bits..I want to do things well, not profitable. I like my little Mill road way, my slightly shabby artistic corner. I want to see people as they are. Ironically.

Luckily there are lots of pictures out there helping me get an idea of market life in late Victorian times!

The story continues...

And in my dreams

I will always find

my way back 

to you.

The Hardest Part

"No..! That is just it, this is not my first time. It doesn't seem to matter how far I go or how many years pass, it follows me. All it takes is someone to ask 'How much do I owe you?' and I'm back to..absolutely nothing.." 

*swipes the whole glass of wine*

I see all these people now, with their selfies and hashtags on mental health, speaking out... Inspirational posts about how you are responsible for your own happiness and little steps make a long way.

This is not one of those posts. 

Because there is no inspiration, only tragedy, in making it all on your own. And even though I think a beautiful story, if told well, enriches life far more than some luke warm truth.. Tragedy was always best raw.

The hardest thing about everything I do is that it is unnecessary and because of that, unwanted. Why would anyone pay me to do things that are merely pretty.. Because that's all I ever was, right? Entertaining.. Lying, probably. When no one cared for the truth. Putting a veil over peoples eyes to con them into thinking for one moment they were happy. So everytime someone asks me how much? I feel like they are asking me to cut my self open and spell it out with my intestines because I don't actually think it is worth anything and I hate the reminder. No one ever really thought it was, don't lie to me, I can tell..! Like I'd rather cut off my hands than put a price on my work, on momentary happiness essentially. That will never change. How can I possibly know how badly they want it..? 

It is the best thing though...to watch as people feel. That's why I love to do it. To affect, to change how people feel. To create something we all wish was real.. Like an addict I crave the expression on their faces. It is the one thing I know how to do, why could you not let me have that, why, why did you have to make it evil and dirty, why, you made it now fucking look at it! I will have it, it is all that I am, it is what makes me me, it is what I live and breath, it is the only thing that's always been just me. 

To me it is necessary. I do this in the hope that one day the world will seem so amazing that no one will ever want to go back to ordinary, I can not do this alone.. And don't tell me you didn't notice the shine fading when it was gone...

 "I's just the maths, darling, it ruins it all"

..and from nowhere I'm pulled out of it, into the light. Maybe I do not have to make my own way, maybe this story hasn't yet ended. And what beauty didn't start with tragedy after all..?

*take a deep breath*

 

"She once said when I cry like in the movies. Vulnerability and defiance at the same time."

Yes. I still remember..

And then one fine morning..

So a lot has happened since I put my metaphorical pen down sometime around October last year. A lot of good things. I call it my cleanse and reawakening.
 (In the least self involved way possible but admittedly, it's hard not to sound like an absolute monster douche saying that..!)

Now, if you wander down to the Market Square in Cambridge on a Thursday or Sunday you can find some of my creations on the rails of the slightly eccentric and very beautiful Serpentine Swap stalls. Just follow the music... Mending is what I do most there though. Vintage clothes with holes or missing buttons. It reminds me of the old days.
Sometimes I join her in pop ups, like the one at Relevant Records, it feels like this new exciting world I'm suddenly finding a door to. The people, the music, the psychedelic patterns... It makes me want to be a part of creating a new world. A world where the over the top is the norm.

But in this new world exists something of the old world as well. The new series of Victorian photographs is slowly taking shape, more vivid and authentically alive than ever! This time, with the help of my young new photographer, I am aiming higher than my own roof, I am trying for them to reach outside my world into the world of the others, maybe even into the world of other artists...
For a while it got swept away, picked up and enlarged into a project more commercial than I ever wanted to be and I recoiled in horror..putting the lid on..I want to keep it as close, as full of meaning, as it was meant to be. I have all the time in the world to sell out and step into the light. Maybe one day. But this is about the way as much as it is about the result. It's about us, about the human existence and the unchanging times. About the darkness. About the softness of our souls.. And as always, about the people who let me under their skin..

the stories so far

My next important work though, hopefully, will be my collaboration with the story tellers of Epic Tales. I'm quite excited about this one! It involves a little more planning, a little stepping outside of my comfort zone and a lot more maths than I'm used to but I have a plan... I wont elaborate too much until I know more, I am and always will be mysterious like that, but there will be some hooded creatures walking out of my sewing room later on...

To be continued.

Where's my fucking boombox?

"What kind of men have you met exactly? We're all different. How young are they? I don't like your generalising of 'all men' here, that's sexist."

My friends lover meets the awkward silence, the wall of  exhaustion at this predictable response.

"95% of men really does deserve a generalisation, we all have these experiences, you can't know that better than we do."

She has heard it all before.



Navigating the world as a free woman has taught me a very strange lesson. Men are afraid of free women. As a married woman you can flirt, you can be provocative, you can pretty much behave as you like and make any gestures you feel like, men will love it. Before their hearts break and their tears pour into my cup of male tears. But with no repercussions. As a married woman you don't, by default, create any assumption that you mean it. There is no obligation to follow through, no want of commitment. And I mean from my side, not theirs! Many a man wants to commit to one already taken.
This is not the case when you are free. I can not speak with passion anymore, I can not be the one who throws stones on a balcony window, I can not live as I feel in the same way anymore.. Even if I now were to behave in the same way as I used to, with the same intentions, I am now a danger to mens liberty. They conjure up images of snares and traps and emotional outbursts are strictly reserved for the logic of the male mind. Men still imagine us as machines with a code that will get them things and it seems they are the ones who needs to make all of the decisions and take all action or the world will end! And of course we are all scurrying around looking for a stable relationship because were will we be without a head of our house hold..! It does not matter how little intention there is for a practical seriousness, they will find the evidence and pull away in horror. Charming.
It makes me sad though, how badly it affects us all, how we change to please while respecting them a little bit less every time...we all stand there, with our restricted emotions, our carefully chosen words because a mere 'hello' in the wrong tone will signal want of excessive commitment. Free women are the least liberated of all in this particular way.. It makes life unnecessarily boring.
I think my point is, if you feel targeted by this, which 95% of men will, I have one thing to say: All we want is to be allowed to feel freely, without shame or plan or retribution because feelings does not equal commitment. Lighten the fuck up. There is no need to be afraid. Suck that cowardliness right up,  just because we are free does not make you a better catch. Clearly.

As someone once said to me, emotional intelligence is the only kind of intelligence that counts.

"Yeah, it's true, we're not allowed to express feelings, only men can do that, although I'm not a fan of it from either sides."

She rolls her eyes.

But of course he, the man standing in front of me wading through the awkward silence, is different. Just like all the other ones who behave exactly the same way. Just so different.

In the festive spirit