Look what I made!

I am a proud mother once more. Look!

My beautiful baby girl was born at the end of June, on her big brother Charlie's 7th birthday. Here they are!

Her name is Florence Daisy. She was 7lb 9oz at birth and she is an awesome baby. She is also an EXCELLENT reason to knit! This is what she looks like these days:

It is a year ago tomorrow since I found out I was pregnant. A year. How quickly did that whizz by? It has been an amazing, joyful year. That said, November and early December weren't so great, to be honest, morning sickness is the absolute pits. I say morning - for me it was morning, noon and night. At one point I was almost hospitalised because I couldn't even stand water and I was dreadfully dehydrated. But even so, she was worth every single second. 

I have just been reading my pregnancy posts with fascination; I haven't read them since the day I wrote them. I wish I could go back in time and reassure myself. Florence is fine - she's bonny and healthy and bright. She is an absolute joy. She smiles, and is just starting to giggle. The boys absolutely adore her. I love being a family of 5, it seems impossible that we ever could have felt complete without her.

One of the best things of all is that I appear to have escaped the much dreaded post natal depression! My experience this time is a million miles away from Charlie's early days when everything felt so dark and hopeless. This time I am tired, but happy. I even love getting up to her in the night (most of the time!) There's nothing nicer than waking up right next to my snuggly baby; she makes my heart melt. Breastfeeding is going well, and she's not showing any signs of the lactose intolerance that Charlie has struggled with. I just feel so blessed.

My pregnancy was lovely - a relaxed, happy affair. I barely had a day's illness. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes at 28 weeks, but it was borderline. I made a few changes to my diet, checked my blood sugars regularly and that was that, it didn't have a major impact on either Florence or I, thankfully.

The birth was a very fast affair and I would love to say pain free, but that wouldn't be entirely truthful (!) I had a lot of niggly pains during the last weeks of pregnancy, but at 37 weeks had a really serene feeling that birth wouldn't be far away. At 38+2 I was having painful surges that were coming about every 5 minutes. Dom was working away, so I rallied my father in law who took me to the local maternity hospital whilst my mother in law took care of my boys. I was monitored and, whilst the pains were rating quite highly, they weren't doing much. I went home a little deflated (unfortunately not physically) and spent an uncomfortable night strapped to my TENS machine pacing through the pains.

At 38+3, I had a feeling I was in early labour, so hunkered down at home. I had a midwife appointment in the afternoon and my midwife told me that she felt that birth would be weeks away yet and the baby would be 10lb+. I felt really fed up, and decided to take the boys out for a pub supper. We had a lovely evening full of laughter - which turned out to be the last night we spent together as a family of four.

The next morning, 38+4, Dom and I lazed in bed later than usual. I had slept properly for the first time in weeks. Eventually Dom reluctantly got up and got ready for work. Just after he'd left the house, I decided to rouse myself. As I walked past our bedroom mirror, my waters broke! Weirdly, I watched at the same second I felt it. We went to the hospital again, and I spent a few hours on a birth ball willing the contractions to become stronger. Whilst they were still present, they weren't doing enough, and we got sent home again in the afternoon. I was hugely frustrated and shed a few tears. We had a long old walk around the big Tescos picking up things for Charlie's birthday, and I felt sad that I wouldn't be spending his birthday with him this year as I needed to go back to the hospital the next day for checking over and a possible induction. 

Next morning I was disappointed that labour *still* hadn't started. I was getting some niggles and period pains, but nothing more significant than I had been getting over the last couple of weeks. Dom and I got up and I spent a lot of time bouncing on my birth ball and listening to hypnobirthing CDs. At about 10.30, Dom phoned the hospital to see what time they wanted to see us. The nurse he spoke to was very abrupt and told him it might be days yet. I was so disappointed, I cried. After another hour or so, with the cramps still present, I decided a bath might be a sensible option. I wallowed for a lovely hour or so, giggling with Dom, listening to my relaxation CD and pouring the warm water over my bump. It was blissful.

I gradually started to realise that I was making noises through the cramps, which was a bit alarming. I tried to stop, but realised that I wasn't entirely in control of things. Dom had been timing the cramps, and they were still coming very intermittently - I'd have 8 mins, then 4, then 3, then 7 between them, so, were it not for the noises, I would have assumed I wasn't yet in labour. I decided to get out of the bath. Once I stood up, I realised very quickly that the baby would be here soon.

Dom phoned for an ambulance. It took 20 minutes to arrive. During that time, it was apparent to me that I was in transition, which was a huge shock as I'd barely had any labour pains! I tried several positions to manage the pain, even biting on a towel, but was panicking. The hypnobirthing wasn't helping as I knew I had to get to the hospital to have the baby because of my gestational diabetes, and I couldn't maintain the quiet relaxation that had been so helpful before.

Two lovely, down to earth ambulance men arrived and brought with them some entonox - never have I been more pleased to get my hands on the drugs! They decided that birth was imminent and blue-lighted me off to hospital. By now I was totally off my tits on the drugs, and cracked several "jokes" on the way, the purpose of which, I am sure, was to make me cringe after the event. We also had a rather surreal conversation about Gordon Ramsey. To add to the general public humiliation, I was whisked through the hospital coffee shop*, mid contraction, and briefly remember the faces of several curious people standing up to see what all the fuss was about.

4 minutes later Florence was born. She was delivered as I stood up, after 3 gigantic pushes that my body undertook itself. Pink was playing on the radio, and the midwives were gentle and kind. It wasn't quite the spiritual birth I had imagined, but it was calm and empowering and exciting. The calm professionalism of the ambulance men and the hospital midwives really helped us both to feel reassured, secure and blissfully insignificant in the best of ways - these people do this every day; we would be O.K. 

And here she is, one more time, our little bundle of joy. Life affirming, joyous and life changing. This is a path I hadn't expected to tread, especially if you read the beginning of this blog, but one that I am delighted to do so.

Now I have introduced her to you all, I shall gradually add the patterns and projects I have undertaken over the past few months, and we can get back to our crafting!

With much love, and genuine thanks to the cosmos for our blessings.

Claire x

 

 

 

Brain Dump - Introspection

The bump, 20 weeks.

I've ummed and ahhed about writing this post for some hours. Most of the pregnancy blogs I read are witty, or wise or are infused with a sense of wistfulness, even rage. However, looking back at the path I have travelled, this blog has, at all times, been honest about my feelings. I don't see any good reason to change.

I'm 20 weeks and 2 days pregnant. My scan is on Friday. Hopefully we will then find our whether our baby is a boy or a girl.

I'm very excited about the scan, but I feel very introspective and emotional too. I can feel little Boris wiggling around inside me; last night he woke me up with his kicks for the first time. It was an amazing, joyful feeling, lying alone in the dark and the silence feeling the warm life moving within me, to the sound track of his father's deep, slumbersome breaths. But at the same time I feel a bit anxious, a bit fragile, a bit vulnerable.

Feelings are very hard to pin down. I'm not worried about anything in particular, I just feel naked somehow. I'm a bit worried about whether there will be anything wrong at the scan. Also, I've known 3 people in recent years who have had seriously disabled children and their baby's conditions were not picked up at the anomaly scan. That frightens me too. It makes me feel as though the plans that I make are tempting fate somehow. I feel as though I am holding off because part of me is sure that we will be facing a loss of some sort. I just want to get it over and done with. Then again, I know that the chances of this happening are tiny - about 2% - and that the baby is growing and kicking, and my bump is growing every day. We've not had problems in past pregnancies and there aren't any nasty conditions in our families. Statistically, I'm worrying about nothing. But it has to happen to someone. 

I've been thinking a lot about the birth too. I'm now half way through the pregnancy - which seems to have been very quick and years at the same time. I've been watching lots of episodes of One Born Every Minute and I am struck by what a leveller birth and babies are. It doesn't matter if you're rich or poor, young or old, there's no easy way out. At the same time, I'm hoping to have a relaxed water birth, ideally at home. I am listening to Hypnobirthing MP3s and we hope to go to a Natal Hypnotherapy class. I hope that I am able to deal with birth, and with my lovely baby, with grace and patience. I hope, beyond all else, that I can cope. I want it to be a happy experience for us all; I am trepidatious.

When I was pregnant with Charlie, I was rather worried about having Dom at the birth. It's not because of anything he would or would not do, it was because I knew I would lose control and I didn't want him to see me in such an undignified state. I wanted him to still find me attractive afterwards. I've been thinking recently how differently I feel now; how much more of myself I have revealed to him over the last 7 years. Its not as though we were newly weds when Charlie was born; we'd been together for 4 years. I didn't realise how much I was holding back. He was (of course) brilliant at the birth, and our shared experience bound us together in a way that is immeasurable. However, this time, there's no-one else I want there. If it could just be the two of us, that would be perfect. The shape of his hands, the sound of his voice, his touch, all bring a sense of love and security that can't be replicated or replaced. Since Charlie was born, I have broken down into my component parts, and that loving man hasn't left, and I haven't melted away. I am OK - and I am loved - even when I feel vulnerable. 

I guess what I am trying to say is that I feel similarly broken down emotionally, right now, as though anyone could reach in and poke that painful place. And some people have. I have, most probably, completely overreacted to tiny things. Like the big, fat, generous tears that come several times a day for the most insignificant of reasons. I am not quite myself, not quite in charge of my emotions. Not depressed, but raw.

When I had Charlie, I was in control of my life. I just knew I would cope. I didn't. I was dogged with horrendous post natal depression and Charlie did nothing but cry. How will I do any better when I am that much more vulnerable to start with? I am about to be a mother of 3, and I feel like a little girl for whom the world's too much.

Then again, there is a side of me that says, OK, so I feel more vulnerable this time. But I have confronted my depression, and the life-long reasons that lie behind it, in therapy and with medication. I've had an emotional clear out. I've developed stronger and more secure relationships and weeded a few unhealthy ones out. Maybe - just maybe - I'm in a stronger place than I was before because I know my demons. I am not depressed, I am pregnant. It's OK to have wobbly emotions. And I know the signs of depression. At the first hint, I can go back to the doctors and ask for the anti-depressants and not battle with the dark shame of having a mental illness. I am past that.

They say love heals all - it will, won't it? Because as sure as night follows day, I love my dear husband, and Jonny and Charlie and this squirmy thing in my belly. The whole world could shut tomorrow and as long as I had my family, I would be OK. And this is just more love, right? I'm not anxious or depressed in a bad way, just a little unsure. This all feels like serious shit, and I want to get it right.

I don't know whether these feelings are normal in pregnancy. They are interspersed with thoughts about the colour of the nursery paint, wondering whether its a boy or a girl, getting Dom to feel my bump, looking at baby clothes etc etc. There's enough love and frivolity and joy. But if I'm not honest about my darker feelings, then who will be?

I just want it to be right. Tell me it's all working out the way its supposed to?

Claire x

Life and Death

It has been an absolute age since I posted here. I'd just like to say thank you to those of you who have checked back from time to time, and I'm sorry there hasn't been an update. I've been in a bit of a funny place. A private place. A place that needed a bit of time and reflection.

I started this blog nearly 3 years ago. At that time, a perfectly nice and happy life had gone tits up, and chucked me into the depths of depression and despair. I can say this honestly now, but I honestly did not think I would get better. I thought I would die. As melodramatic as that sounds, every last cell in my body thought my days were up. How could it be possible to feel so much pain and get better? I'd given up.

Looking back, I can hardly tell you how the recovery process happened. I can tell you that it took a long, long time; far longer than I had hoped. I am sure that the love of my family and friends has been instrumental in getting me back on track, as has the kind and patient help of crafting. Night and day, pain or joy, the crafting has been there to sooth worried fingers and to unbend a twisted mind. Without craft I don't know where I would be. The same goes for my family and friends, obviously.

Anyway, not only did I not die. Look!

I have been filled with new life! As I write now, I am 19 weeks pregnant with my third child. A gift that amazes and overwhelms me and makes some kind of sense of the last few years. A much wanted, longed for child who will bring new love into our family.

I feel very blessed.

I have also felt frightened, overwhelmed, thrilled, under prepared, anxious, excited, scared, amazed, shocked, worried, delighted - just about every emotion under the sun.

We don't yet know if the baby will be a third son or a first daughter. Our 20 week scan is on the 24th February (12 days and counting!) and we hope to find out then. I am just starting to feel the wiggles and kicks, although my belly feels massive already!

Doesn't life take a funny path? Twists and turns and ups and downs that we can't possibly understand at the time. If you're reading this in the depths of depression: have hope. I know that hope doesn't come easily and, if it's too much, just have an open mind. Life is rarely as bad as we think it will be in our darkest moments.

I guess this blog will become, in part, a parenting blog from now on. I still feel the need to record my feelings and thoughts, now more than ever. I still hope to craft and will keep you updated on what I'm working on, and our family life. I'm just letting you know because I know that, for some of you, that will change your views on how often you visit me here at Knitted Back Together. If pregnancy and babyhood is a difficult subject for you, then I understand and I send you my best wishes. I hope you understand that its something too big for me not to talk about.

Most recently, I've been working hard on the first module of my OCA Textiles Course. You can see what I've been doing here. It's not my usual blog style as it forms part of the formal assessment of the course, but I hope you'll enjoy looking at the pictures!

Much love - and as a very wise friend of mine said, when it all gets too much, keep breathing. Who knows where life will take us next?

Claire x

The T Shirt Blanket

Well hello, dear reader. How are you? I hope all is well. I'm good, thank you, but busy, busy, busy. I like being busy and this makes me happy. My textiles course is brilliant, and is taking a couple of days per week of my time. At the moment I'm doing lots of work on learning to draw and making marks. Sometimes it's a little frustrating as I'd like to leap ahead to the sewing bit, but I'm realistic enough to know that I need to work on this stage pretty hard; my drawing is terminally rubbish. I'm going to set up a separate blog to track my college work, I think. I'll share a link when it's up and running and, if you're interested, you can pop over and have a look at what I'm doing.

Today I wanted to talk to you about the second of my columns in Handmade Living magazine. It was published in the August edition. It talks about our family days out at Spurn Point.

 

Spurn is an amazing place. It is a spit of land that's slowly being reclaimed by the sea. It is wild and lonely, with raging hot-chocolate coloured tides and sandy beaches peppered with wild sea grass. The skies are massive as the surrounding land is very flat, and the beaches are peppered with long gone coastal defences: well worn bricks, rusted pieces of metal and eroded concrete. We go to take photos and walk and throw stones into the sea. 

I took these pictures at Spurn in 2009. It's amazing how much the boys have changed since then!

Jonny was just a boy, bless him. Now he's tall and muscular and strong. A man. 

I love the texture of Spurn Point. At one point the path narrows, being eroded on both sides, so that the sea is to your left, and the Humber estuary to your right. One side smells briny, and the other brackish.

There is something about the moodiness of that picture of Dom that makes me weak at the knees. He's bemused by this, and his mum thinks it's a dreadful picture. 

 

Charlie is but a baby! He's lost his baby cheeks now, and is a proper, lithe, six year old boy. I miss those chubby baby cheeks.

Last time we went to Spurn there was an unusally high tide. The power of the sea was utterly magnificent. That night part of the road was washed away. Spurn is a land that will be reclaimed to the sea in the next few years - often large chunks disappear overnight. That overpowering feeling of loss and the raw power of nature pervades the place. It forcefully reminds me to live in the present, and to appreciate all the things that I currently hold dear.

In the spirit of this magical land, I wanted to make a beach blanket that was respectful to it's environment, but also provided a base for family adventures. It needed to be cheery and comfortable and practical. 

At the same time, I was sorting out bags of clothes the boys had grown out of, and was trying to find time to take them to the charity shop. Then an idea hit. Why not re-use those fabrics to makes something special?

In order to make a family sized beach blanket, you need several T shirts. I used 17, big and small. As you are knitting in squares, you can knit up a square each time you have some spare fabric - it'll take a while to get enough together to piece the final blanket, but it'll be worth the wait.

Making the yarn

Cut the T shirt across the body under the arms. This should give you a tube of fabric. At the bottom seam, cut into the t shirt at an angle, until the cut is about 2cms deep. Then start to cut the shirt horizontally, 2cms from the bottom seam all the way round. You should aim to cut into into one long strip, so will need to work at a slight angle, like peeling an apple. If you do end up with a shorter length, fret not, just tie the ends together tightly. Don't worry about plastic transfers or embroidery on the T shirt, just keep snipping. These add to the texture of the yarn, and give a visual reminder of where the fabric has come from.

Knitting Up

You will need huge 20mm knitting needles. Cast on 20 stitches. Knit five rows in garter stitch. Cast off. Knit as many squares as you have yarn available.

Colour Correction

You may be lucky and your t shirts all look good together. On the other hand, you may end up like me with lots of mucky, stained school shirts that don't look great even when knitted into squares. If this is the case, you can correct the colours with dye.

I used Dylon Machine Use Dye, that I purchased from Hobbycraft for £6.49 per colour. I chose bright colours as I wanted something to cheer us up on beach days. However, with dye, the world is your oyster. The only things you must bear in mind are this:

1. Man made fibres will not dye easily. Most t shirts are different blends of cotton and man made fibres like acrylic. This means that you will get varying shades from one load according to the amount of natural fibres in each item.


2. Most modern items are made with acrylic thread. This means the thread usually stays white even when the rest of the fabric changes colour.


3. The larger the number of items in any one dye wash, the lighter the shade will be generally. For very intense colours, use a small number of fabric pieces.


4. It is very difficult to lighten dark colours. I would recommend only dying lighter shades.


5. Normal colour mixing rules apply. For example, if you dye yellow fabric a blue shade, then you will end up with green.

I really like Machine Dye as it's so simple to use. You just add cooking salt to the drum, followed by the powdered dye and the fabric pieces. Set to a 40 degree wash and leave alone. Watching that first turn of the drum where the colour first meets the fabric is a special kind of magic!

Joining the Squares

If you have several different colour squares, it's worth playing around to see how best you can put together your pieces. Do you have enough for a gradual rainbow change? A chequerboard pattern? Something random? I like to take a photo of each of my pieces and arrange them as a photo collage. I use Picnik, but I am sure there are other equally good photo collage services out there (if you know a better one, please let me know!)

Once you have decided what sort of pattern you want, join the squares with single crochet, with spare t shirt yarn. A tutorial can be found on the web here. 

 

Et voila! A new use for old fabrics you have knocking around the house, and a blanket that will hopefully be the scene of many a new family adventure. Here's hoping many a picnic is consumed upon her, and many sandy feet run across her - and that Spurn stays around for a good long time yet.

With love

Claire x

So, I've been keeping a little secret....

And before you ask - NO! I'm not pregnant! hahaha.

Earlier in the year I had the good fortune to come across some very lovely ladies who work at All Craft Media, the publishing company that produces such brilliant magazines as Handmade Living, Sew Hip, Knit and Inside Crochet.  The link was made through the Folksy blog, as they were looking for craft writers. I sent off a quick 'hello' with some ideas, fully expecting to hear nothing in return. To my amazement I was offered a regular gig - a monthly column at Handmade Living. Yippppeeeee!

I've got a few editions under my belt now, so I wanted to share them with you. I wanted to keep this under my hat for a bit, because it didn't seem fair to share the content of my pieces with those who had not read the magazine. I'm going to use my blog to share the back story of my pieces, and to point you to the places you might buy this magazine of fabulousness. It's available from Hobbycraft, WH Smith, Morrisons, Asda, Sainsburys and Martins. Good local newsagents will order it for you if you ask them. You can download an individual digital edition by clicking here, or you can subscribe by clicking here.

Here was my first piece:

Called "Tea at Nan's" this piece reminisces about my summers as the youngest child of a gaggle of 10 cousins. We would chase each other around the vegetable patch, play hide and seek and feed our dolls with a bakelite pink plastic teaset.

 

 

Sunday tea was always a special occasion. There were loads of us crammed into my Nan's best room - twelve adults, ten children and sometimes other friends and neighbours. The adults *all* smoked - the men mainly smoked pipes, from what I recall, and I still remember it's heady scent, mixed with the tang of coal dust, fondly. After tea we were allowed a sip of sherry mixed with lemonade, if we were lucky. I don't even think that the adults were allowed undiluted sherry, and one was very definitely everyone's limit. My Nan was extremely concerned about What The Neighbours Might Say.

 

Whether it was winter or summer, tea was always tinned salmon sandwiches (cut into triangles; a luxury in our house), plain crisps bought from the pub, salad separated out into individual bowls and pork pie. Woe betide the person who ate the last slice of pork pie! Pudding was a community affair - my mum and most of my aunties were keen bakers, so we often had a selection of home made shortbread, chocolate cakes and - best of all - my Nan's pointy little rock buns. These delights were usually served with warm Cornish ice cream (Nan had no freezer, so someone would dash to the village cafe for the ice cream before Tea, and we would eat it semi-melted.) Strangely enough, our family would also eat bread and butter with their pudding - my Mum tells me this is a war time trick to make the good things go further. Even if it sounds weird, brown bread and butter with ice cream is delicious, believe me.

During The Tea, my Grandad's friend would always turn up with a contraption that was something important to do with racing pigeons. To this day, I'm not sure what it was. As a five or six year old, I was never allowed to accompany Grandad to talk to this man in the hall. Instead I used to stand next to the door, and push my face against it's creamy, smooth gloss paint in an effort to work out this mystery.

 

I thought I'd share with you the recipe for my Nan's delicious buns. The photos are ones that I took this summer, having given them a bit of a modern facelift. Nan's were always plain and, as I said earlier, always pointy. They didn't come in fancy cases either. This is a war time recipe passed down my family, and it's still just as good today as it ever was. I only need to bake a batch to be transported back to my Nan's happy, hot and slightly damp house. My sons love them too, unaware of the history behind them. Enjoy! X

 

225g Self Raising Flour

85g Margarine

30g Vegetable Fat (like Trex)

110g Caster Sugar

2 eggs, mixed with milk to make 1/4 pint

 

1. Pre-heat the oven to 90C / 200F / Gas Mark 6

2. Rub the margarine and fat into the flour, or whizz in a food processor, until it has a breadcrumb-like texture

3. Mix in the sugar

4. Whisk the eggs and, if they measure less than a 1/4 pint, top up with milk

5. Add the egg mixture slowly (I drizzle it in whilst the food processor is whirring). The final mixture should be a dropping consistency - slowly add more milk if it's dry.

6. Spoon the mixture into greased bun tins, or paper muffin cases.

7. Bake for 15-20 mins until golden brown.

 

You can change the recipe by adding 110g of dried fruit, glace cherries or chocolate chips. You can also substitute 30g of cocoa powder for the self raising flour. Decorate with melted chocolate and brown sugar.

 

Starting Anew

"Starting Anew" has been the caption under my Facebook profile for a good couple of years. Way back in the dark days of 2009, it was the only way that I could put a positive spin on the depression. Part of me, deep down, knew that I would get better, and that I would move on and maybe even flourish on day. "Starting Anew" sounded a bit like I was getting divorced (again), but I knew what it meant to me, my husband didn't mind, and so it stuck.

Well, today I am actually starting anew in a real and tangible way. Here before you stands a student! I have not been a student since 1997, although I was slimmer and prettier then, so I'm kind of hoping my new status invokes some of the old. But even so. Me, a student! Wow!

My last post didn't actually work in the way it was intended. I doubt very much that the tutor visited my blog as no-one responded to me email. Boo, Hull College, poor show. On the other hand, maybe this was a nudge from the hands of the Gods. Maybe Hull College was never meant to be. Rather than an Art Foundation course (which, if you think about it, is designed just to lead on to other courses), I am now a student on no less than a BA (Hons) in Textiles! Get me!

The course looks brilliant. It's with OCA and well worth a Google. I am desperately excited at being given the opportunity to experiment with new techniques and to make things with art as their primary function (for me, that means aesthetic and meaning, rather than being something that needs to be useful first and foremost). I've already done a BA once, but didn't feel confident enough to tackle an MA in a different subject, especially after all these years. The only real consequences are time (it'll take about 5 years to complete the BA, but that's cool, I'm enjoying raising my family at the same time and wouldn't want to short cut that) and money. It's eye wateringly expensive, for us, at least. I do worry about money, and I know that Dom does. But it's important to find some sort of meaning in the experiences of the last couple of years, and I really need a new direction in my career. I have high hopes that this course will suit both.

I'm very intrigued by the other students I will meet. Unlike last time, pretty much all the students will be "mature" like me. They all have their own talents, opinions, thoughts, families, home circumstances and personalities, and I'm really hoping that I get the chance to meet as many fellow students as possible, even if it is just online. University is quite unique in bringing together likeminded people, I think.

It's a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. I'm thrilled, excited, terrified, anxious, worried about how I'll fit it all in, buzzing with ideas and really keen to actually get stuck in. I'm also going to have to get a grip on our finances to enable us to do what we need to do with the resources we have. It's going to be a challenge, but I'm hoping it'll be a good one.

So, that's me! Back at school and feeling rather first day-ish. I'll keep you posted.

Lots of love

Claire x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Things of which I am proud...

I am considering going back to college. When I was there first time around, I studied English, Media and Politics. I did a year long PGCE. These were all enjoyable things at the time, but as I've grown older, I've changed.

I'm doing a lot of research into what my next steps would be. I'd LOVE to do the year long art foundation course, but I'm not sure that I have the required drawing skills, to be honest. I really want to push myself, though, and I haven't got 2 or 3 years to do a course in; I need a relatively quick fix. I am passionate about textiles. I love what I do. I want to get better at it, and I want to meet local people who are good at it too. I'd also like to learn what else I might be good at, with the right effort, instruction and opportunity. I'd really, really like to do print making, with a view to printing my own fabric.

I have sent a link to my blog to a college tutor. I don't know if he/she will take a look, but it got me thinking. How do I want to represent myself? What am I most proud of?

I'll tell you my insecurities. I'm worried that my work is parochial and twee and not arty enough. I worry that I'm too old and too frumpy. I worry that I don't have enough talent or skill to make it work in that arena known as "art" rather than "craft"

I love the work I do, but it's work that I do for money, so it's necessarily commercial. Who knows what I would make if I could make something for art's sake?

Would it be any good?

 

 

I wonder if I am *really* good at something that I haven't yet discovered. I love sewing, quilting and crocheting. I'm not especially excited about making garments, but making stuff for the home makes me fizz with excitement.

 

 

I am inspired by: vintage fabrics, old fashioned household tips, recycling and living more greenly, children's creativity, illustrations from children's books, the changing seasons, beekeeping, the sea.

 

I enjoy making pieces that are personalised, and also quirky. I like to use domestic styling to shock and compare modern life with past times:

 

I like stuff that's just a bit different:

..and stuff that's pretty...

All the items I have shown you above have been made since January 2011. There are lots of things of which I am proud from previous years (you may see some of these in the folders on the right --->) However, THIS year I decided to stop working from patterns, and start focussing on making what I want to make. This has been a scary, but liberating, experience but I have learned a great deal.

I'm not sure whether the pieces I have shown you demonstrate a particular style that is demonstrably mine, but they do represent a journey I have undertaken, in which I am striving to do exactly that. I hope, in a year or two more, to get that licked.

Most of all though, I love what I do, and I am extremely lucky to have the time to indulge my passion, and customers who want to buy the things that I make. And for that, I am very grateful.

 

I feel as though a formal qualification will be part of the next stage of my journey. I want to push the boundaries of what I can achieve, and experiment with new materials, processes and ideas. I want to watch and learn from other people. I want to be able to use equipment beyond what I have at home. I want to grow in confidence - and the feeling of legitimacy - so that I can confidently say "I am an artist" (and believe it)

Claire x