My Studio Adventures

A studio is a sanctuary. A studio is somewhere you can escape to. Escape from the noise, from all the other commitments. The stresses of the world.

Here in a studio, you are able to immerse yourself in inspiration and creativity. It’s a personal space where you can be yourself, enjoy the freedom of taking risks and daydreaming without interruption.

Over the years, this has been what this space has been; Living Wild Studios. These studios were created so I’d a space online to explore my creativity and myself. A safe space where I’d be able to pick up pen and paper, paintbrush and glue and not worry about what was about to pour forth. I felt secure in my ability to explore and learn from it. I’m so grateful for creating these studios for me, first and forth most. But over the years, I’ve grown to love being able to share them with you.

Now that I’ve moved homes after a separation from my husband of nearly 25 years, I’m fixing to created another studio, closer to home, a physical studio to call my own.

Over the years, I’ve tried to create this space through different homes and means. At one time, I had a corner in a sitting room, another time I took over the spare room once the eldest went off to Uni. At another time, I had the privilege of being able to pay for a purpose built studio along a train platform. But that didn’t last.

I’ve lived for the last few years between rooms in a flat as a studio. Always having to move my resources and supplies as the room was needed for something or someone else.

This is my studio as it stands now. Needing a lot of work. But I can see the potential of the space as I attempt to zone it into the different art forms and headspaces I occupy when I create. Of course the bike isn’t staying. It can’t stay. But I think as it stands in the middle of my studio now it’s an indication of how I’ve been treating my creative genes for the past few months. A dumping ground as well as neglected and discarded.

This room will be changing next week. Check back into see the studio take shape and become a working wonderland of curiosity and fun.

June Readings

I’ve started, so I’ll finish. My thoughts when I think about coming here to record my readings for last month; June. This is the only way I’m keeping track of what I’m reading in terms of books, and when I started I felt it would be a worthwhile pursuit. Something to look back at, at the end of the year, and be proud at the achievement. At the fact of reading so many books. I didn’t set a target I don’t think. But forgive if I’m wrong as January feels so far away now. And thank God for this practice as I can’t remember what I read back then. Or even last month if I think about it. Hence being here now, before any more days of July rolls by and I haven’t marked down what books I read in June.

So here is the list of completed reads. And I’ve got so many other books on the go at the moment that I won’t be able to share them all, but I’ll share a smattering of them to give you an idea. There have been times when it’s been difficult to concentrate on a long read. I’d read a chapter and then skip off to do something else, or read something else. Concentration and focus have been elusive. I think that’s where poetry collections come into play. Quick and easy and brief.

Books read this month:

1. Horses Make a Landscape Look More Beautiful by Alice Walker

2. Mama Amazonica by Pascal Petit

3. Between the Islands by Philip Gross

4. Hare Soup by Dorothy Molloy

5. Ledger by Jane Hirshfield

6. Postcolonial Love Poem by Natalie Diaz

7. The Creative Doer by Anna Lovid

Books in progress this month:

1. Overstory by Richard Powers

2. Becoming by Michelle Obama

3. Grassling by Elizabeth-Jane Burnett

4. The Sea Inside by Philip Hoare

5. Seeing the Body by Rachel Eliza Griffiths

6. Ecotherapy: Healing with nature in mind edited by Linda Buzzell and Craig Chalquist

Day 17 – Why did Victorian glass domes of stuffed birds make people happy?

behind the scenes

dusty corridors lead to musky back rooms

where cold vats of animal carcasses wait for a steady hand.

2 partridges, a blue jay, a cedar waxwing and a hummingbird

positioned amongst a tangle of blossoms,

wings ever spread, bodies ever ridge,

gathering around a nest,

the wild and exotic brought in close, perching in a domestic setting.

Species preserved through behaviours which made them extinct.

such a colourful display; the fashion for an object of art;

stuffed birds for our delight, for our ever expanding egos.

Day 14 – Did you notice the Primroses at the edge of the path?

Their influence upon me was unacknowledged.

A light touch, with the hint of lemon,

at times translucent like a petal.

It was only when someone pointed out

a cluster of her words and his images

sprouting between mine

that I made the connection, that I caught

their dark shadows napping within my lines.

I had to apologise as I went about pulling

them out by the roots , laying out new foundations

in order to breath life into my own creations

growing from my gut to my heart to my hand.

Day 6 – Curlew, Sphagnum Moss, Peat

a spongy carpet;

clusters of green stars

holding water

storing carbon

amongst cotton grass

big rosemary and cranberry.

Curlew, Steng Moss Bog

peatland upland graasland.

blue stockinged long long legs

wading curved bill down.

I miss the air

against my skin

flicking hair impressions.

before they breed

the male bubbles a call

high pitched across the greyish mist.

threatened they skim

mudflats and dig for shrimp.

this closeness to nature

of cream of buff

of feather is like love

being ripped out

from the roots and fashioned

to fit the narrow folds of life,

yet still being golden and wild.

Day 4 – Dreamscape – Our own longing for silence is the rhythm of fire

Someday soon, in the distant past,

with an evening the colour of falling

maple leaves, I am trapped in a windowless

room – the desert is within us all.

I pose, pleased with my skin of darkness

and I will speak to you in lizard tongue

and shining face.

But night is still night to conjure

a backdrop of Georgia O’Keefe’s

bleached bones and bountiful blooms,

I come to you with my wild soul

thirsty for sugared water with fruit

nestled into my indigo hair.

Day 3 – NaPoWriMo – Music doesn’t always have to be about love

Trying to eat crayons,
I lower my carbon footprint
by losing weight

Working against the yellow of the sun
I circle the moon buttoned into the night;

warm as blossom,
silver as fish.

It’s hard going over pebbles
and shingles, jagged and raw.

Their shouts disturb my sleep,
Fuck off and go back to where you come from.

Is he referring to me?

Not even Harlem has this sorry soundscape. Halfway through life,

an awkward texture between the air and me, I’m too blind and too mute

for the ugliness and
violence found in such beauty.