Fund-Free Fun: A Little Inspiration For Creating In Frugal Times!

 

 The pandemic of 2020-2021 may have had its many frightening horrors, but one good thing it brought us was the government furlough scheme, which allowed my husband to stay at home safely with me. We enjoyed that time together so much as we are both naturally antisocial people, passing many hours with him in his garden and me in my studio. Time to play, to take our minds of bigger problems and focus on our own little universe.

    Money was tight as my work dwindled to zero and Glynn's wages took a hit so there was no extra to spend on supplies and little treats. The thing is, that to most artists the leaner days are pretty much a standard affair. Our wishlists may make us look like we're near-terminal hopeful Rockerfellers, but in reality we're usually reduced to that squeeze and scrape activity that is the 'making do' with the almost empty tubes and pots of dribblesome gunk that we've had for years. As my Grandmother would always say, "Necessity is the mother of invention."

    So I thought I'd share a couple of projects here that were good fun when the world stood still - a distraction that proved that art isn't about money or endless supplies, but more about using your own creativity to produce something from ingenuity, a sense of fun and the things you already have around you.

 

    This  here thingy was a thoroughly enjoyable little project that used up odds, ends and scraps. It really had no purpose other than, well...fun! 

    It started off as an old box from my incense sticks, cut, trimmed and prepped with black gesso. One side was to be covered with some designer paper from my [worryingly/satisfyingly substantial] stash, and the other prepped with old saved tissue paper and squidged acrylic painty base:

 

    Messy old fun.....

    Joyous texture - is there anything more satisfying?

    Everything from hereonin was just ...fun. I didn't take pictures of every step, but it wasn't complicated. I used the base as a template to cut three paper pieces which I glued onto the scrappy prepped base, then used the remnants of the acrylic paint to grunge up the edges. I had a fancy to make it look like a prop map from an old adventure movie... I LOVE those things!

    The fastening is just a circle cut from leftover cardboard covered in more leftover paint. It's glued to the top flap and two slots cut into the overlap part allow the ribbon to be threaded through, wrapped round and tied. The ribbon's an old salvaged bit of sari silk.

     I glued a couple of lengths of waxed linen thread under that cardboard disc and ferreted about in my spare beads 'n' bits drawer for some pretty twinklies to thread thereon, because there's no downside to sparkles and shiny things! I glued a couple of my [again - thousands of] hoarded pre-cut embellishments onto the back, all grunged up with increasingly dwindling paintyness that was rapidly drying in the summer heat...

    A few little faceted gems glued on, and a little heart - again made from offcuts and painted - finished things off nicely.

    The inside painting was, well, you can see.....a mermaid. I do love a mermaid! Painting/drawing/making them just makes me happy!

    She's painted with acrylic paints of varying brands.  I didn't plan her or sketch her, I just let the paint find its shape, so she's not perfect but she's fun so I love her.

    Her scales are spotted and splattered metallic shimmer paints and her shading/outline is made using Derwent Inktense pencils and a bit of water. The textured peaks in the basecoat of tissue paper are picked out a little with gilding wax (Treasure Gold) and a little very runny mica shimmer paint.

 

 

 

     Hearts float in bubbles surrounding my mermaid, matching the one she holds close to her chest. They're painted in acrylic again, with Inktense pencil and a white gel pen. 

 

    Looking at this, I think its meaning is open to interpretation - the fun of painting intuitively! I think I chose subconsciously to represent isolation and the loss of so many souls in this piece. I just painted - the mediums chose the outcome, I swear!

    I really enjoyed this project and it cost me absolutely nothing. I like things even better when they cost me nothing....AND upcycle rubbish!  

    I hope you like this and that maybe you might be inspired to have a rummage about your home and workspace and see what you can reuse and repurpose into something colourful and fun. Save your pennies - we're all feeling the cost of living pinch! Have fund-free fun and celebrate creativity for creativity's sake!

    Thank you for visiting - please say hello and if you like this post maybe have a look through the blog and maybe follow me to see upcoming rambles and colourful distractions! Much love - Shroo xxx

An Abstract Foundation

 

 

 

    In pursuing the path back into painting, I'm finding - as I always do - that leaning into the abstract is what calls to me. It's more loose, more free, more visceral. I get to FEEL the paint and the various other mediums that speak to me in the moment, and enjoy the textures and the chance combinations that are never the same twice. 

     When I was a kid I hated finger painting. Obsessed as I was with cleanliness and neatness, the idea of touching paint or chalk threw me into a very literal panic. All these - way too many - years later, I can hardly believe the pure joy it brings me to fold myself into the paints and powders and feel at one with the piece that I create. I find that I dont even care what it looks like - it's abstract and random, a product of emotion rather than planning. It's just....fun. Layer upon layer, I finish when it FEELS right rather than when it looks right.

 

 

     Once everything's dried and set solid, I can go back and explore it like a landscape. Invariably these cards and canvases become backgrounds for a more defined piece, but that sense of freedom and artistic adventure seems to determine the outcome, removing that feeling of compulsive and debilitating control that leads to artist's block and leaving me free to just...make....play....work...create. 

  

     So - get the foundation right, and the whole process becomes more organic and satisfying. Sounds like a life lesson to me...! 

 

 

     Anyway - I feel like some company, so here's one of my background-scapes with all its peaks and troughs for you to romp through. It's with it's sisters right now, awaiting its final purpose, but in the meantime it's still a glorious happy place for me to visit and bury myself in its layers and random textures

 

A Fragment of Inspiration

So many ways to find inspiration. 

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     From journaling daily life events to illustrating inspirational quotes, celebrating nature, loving your pets, your family; sharing spirit or faith or recording dreams, there are so many ways to bring art into our everyday lives. One of my favourites is to illustrate a favourite poem and disappear into the lines and words; lose myself in a more eloquent space and find peace. 

 

This was a [kind of stream of consciousness] doodle based on Samuel Taylor Coleridge's 'Kubla Khan'. I've not had time (or will) to paint or draw this week having been alternately rushed off my feet dealing with problem after problem, or too knackered to move. Searching for some sense of solace and feeling of regeneration I took time to look through my older journal/inspiration pages and found this doodly brain ramble. 

 

     Tracing the lines with my eyes I took time to breathe and recite the poem - a long time favourite - in my mind. The words work like a spell, conjuring magical images which fire and spark in my brain and before I know it my muse has begun her wild and intricate dance again. I have an urge to read poetry and make marks with colourful things. 

 

     Whatever ignites your passion, whatever makes you laugh - or cry - take a moment to record the moment and expand your creative world...there will come a time when you may need to make a withdrawal from your artistic bank account, and every deposit pays out with interest!

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Kubla Khan

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

 

Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

   Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round;

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:

And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;

And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

   The shadow of the dome of pleasure

   Floated midway on the waves;

   Where was heard the mingled measure

   From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

   A damsel with a dulcimer

   In a vision once I saw:

   It was an Abyssinian maid

   And on her dulcimer she played,

   Singing of Mount Abora.

   Could I revive within me

   Her symphony and song,

   To such a deep delight ’twould win me,

That with music loud and long,

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Alarming Lumps

When life gives you lumps, make journal pages.

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     Well it makes sense to me... And it's true - there are times when an art journal page can be the best gateway for self expression and catharsis. The awesome thing about art journaling is that there are no rights or wrongs, no judgement and no rules. Grab a piece of paper, card, slow moving child, very tired lion and decorate it with all manner of shiny things until it represents or reflects your mind/heart/dreams/state of being/craving for chocolate/desire to instigate a zombie apocalypse and hey presto! You've taken something abstract and ephemeral and given it form and substance.

     This is my page of cacti....big, pointy, spiky things with lumps. They're not everybody's cup of sneaky Irish coffee, but I love the prickly critters. They may look like angry harbingers of stabby pain, but just when things may be at their worst, as rain pours down from stormy skies, beautiful flowers in the brightest most glorious hues burst forth from the ugly and alarming lumps, turning the darkest day into a carnival and colour - hope and joy from something so intimidating.

     .....When I paint a page like this I have no real idea how or why I choose the direction and the form. I make marks that make me feel better, that provide affirmation and release. Only when the page is complete can I sit back and take stock, view it as a whole and finally find the meaning. It's not a process that suits everyone, I know, but to go with the flow - to allow the process to lead me rather than trying to force my hand to interpret my fluid mind - just works for me.  So, when I paint a page of lumpy cacti the day before I go for an emergency mammogram, having found a lump in my booby-boob, I just have to appreciate how this whole thing works. I painted the flowers.

     Cancer took my family, my pets, my friends. It is my nemesis and I hate it with a vengeance. The feeling that it may have gained a foothold inside my body isn't easily put into words. But I can paint a picture... At face value it means nothing to anyone but me, but isn't that the point? Finishing it last night somehow made me ready to face today, ready for a showdown if one be needed. I had made my mark - a part of me existed outside of myself in defiance of the alien existing unidentified within me. My cacti have big spikes; I see them as a "fuck you" to the possibility of cancer breaching my defenses. I have felt small and afraid, but I am strong and spiky, and I bloom brightly in the harshest of environments.

     I do NOT have cancer. My lump is benign - a zombie in my chest, but one that's likely harmless. I have more check-ups, but cancer can't touch me right now. My spiky defenses are in place and holding and my colours aren't dimmed....not for an instant. Fuck you, cancer.

     I have a vegan zombie boob. Hurrah for vegan zombie boobs! I may paint a version, I may not....knowing me I will actually paint my actual boobs - something that I assure you will most definitely NOT be appearing on a blog post! Art is self-expression as much as it is skill, style and technique. Long live every page, every graffiti-adorned majestic lion, every be-glittered toddler...long live every mark we make....we give them worth, they give us meaning. May we bloom like a cactus. May our strength be our beauty. Kick arse, we're awesome.

Rubbish Is In The Eye Of The Beholder

What a LOAD OF RUBBISH! Something we hear from others and say ourselves all the time. It's a common enough phrase, but in the world of art it can be a serious de-motivator.

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     In an ideal world, we'd never judge anyone else's work or play favourites, but the nature of art is that it is emotive and subjective. It's ok to have an opinion and it's ok to have preferences. Ideally, unless critique is solicited, it's best to be encouraging at best and noncommittal at worst. As artists, we're all pretty darned fragile with brittle egos, and very little is required to have us plunging mentally and emotionally into a swirling abyss of self-loathing, self-doubt and despair. So why on earth do we - with gusto and spiteful relish - hurl judgement rocks at ourselves throughout our creative process? Huh?

     I'm no innocent in this. Ye gads! I have spent years and ever losing all confidence, dashing my hopes and aspirations against the rugged rocks of oblivion and plunging headlong into the storm of angsty gloom and doom with no torch or map to guide me... Seriously - the amount of art I've schlepped into the garden and burned whilst in floods of tears...Doesn't bear thinking about. Why? 

     Ok, so here are my thoughts: Artists... we're a funny bunch. I don't think that any other calling - whether it be hobbyist or professional - requires the practitioner to present heart and soul, thought and emotion, love and pain and lay it bare for dissection. To view our art is to see our innermost fragile self, the part of us that, like a child, yearns for approval. With our art we speak, we dance, we sing, we build, we create, we beautify the world. We hope and need to connect with each other to feed our creative muse, and also with the part of ourselves that helps us to navigate our way through the complex landscape of life. We hope to see recognition - a flicker of kinship - from those who share our passion. Approval of our art is also, by necessity if not by intention, approval of our essential selves.

     That's a LOT of pressure to put on others and on our own mercurial emotions, eh?

     Oftentimes, we feel perfectly fine about our work...UNTIL we see someone else's....someone who we [subjectively] deem "better" than us. We say things like, " I wish I could paint like that", or, "I could never be that good", or "I can't compete with that" - and the following thought is, "....so why should I bother?" It's that 'imposter syndrome' raising its ugly, nagging little head.

     Now is the PERFECT time to utter the phrase: "WHAT A LOAD OF RUBBISH!"

     Nonsense indeed! There are MANY artists I admire, whose works and styles have influenced my path as an artist. I have wasted a crazy amount of time comparing my work to theirs, weighing up skill levels and grading myself poorly. Why? Really - WHY? A huge influence for me was a spectacular artist called Bernie Wrightson (go Google the man - he's worth it, or you can read an article I wrote back on my old blog HERE). I first encountered his work as a young teen and from that second on I have been captivated by ink and line work. Look...here's an example of his work, from his series of illustrations for 'Frankenstein':

....mmm-hmmm. Yep. It blew my mind when I read that after over seven years of crippling work on these illustrations all he could see were the "flaws". HE.....thought HE wasn't good enough! Mind officially hanging in tatters....

     It's really not about being "as good as" or "better than" someone else, it's about the process: seeing, learning, practising, enjoying. Be proud of every line, every scratch, every blob, smear, smudge and spill. When something doesn't go to plan, shrug and make it something else. It's only paper. It's only paint. Start again. Use the old piece to inspire a new one. If we were all perfect we'd lose our creativity. We are as much a product of our mistakes as our successes. We're not robots on a production line - we are heart, we are fury, we are sadness, we are joy....we are laughter, pain, love, loss, sorrow, delight, fragility and strength. We are imperfect creatures - rejoice in the reflection of your imperfection.

     Lastly, and this is a personal one, so it won't apply across the board, but here goes. I recently had a series of significant strokes. The effects were ranging in severity, but amongst them was a partial loss of sight, depth perception and basic motor control in my hands and arms. I couldn't grip a pen, see the paper in front of me or raise my arm long enough to scratch my nose, let alone draw a picture. The depression that followed the strokes was crippling and motivation was lacking to say the least.

     Thankfully, I am a completely, objectionably, irritatingly stubborn pain-in-the-arse! One day I picked up a pencil and started making what marks I could on sheet after sheet of paper. It hurt my hand, my arm, my shoulder and I ended up with a headache that would floor a rhino....and I cried. And cried...and cried...and swore a lot, had a good few very over-the-top tantrums, but I kept picking up that pencil. When I started I couldn't hit the paper with a barn door..then I could. I couldn't draw a circle or a square.....then I could. I couldn't control the pencil.....then I could. And so on....

     The word "can't" is no longer part of my chosen vocabulary. The work I do now I could never have dreamed of doing two years ago. I have some way to go and I have so much to improve, and I know I'll make mistakes.... But long may I be able to make them. 

     To sum up - stop feeding cream cakes and chocolate to your inner critic.... it just gains more weight! It can feed from the big bag of "shush!" you know it deserves. Let your muse out to play. She's a flighty one - a bit of a flake - but if you allow her to waltz to the music of your heart she will lead you through the brightest, most beautiful dance of your life.

     And that's really not a load of rubbish.

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