Just because nobody understands you, doesn’t mean that you’re an artist. But having a studio must help; every artist has one of those, right?
My favourite place to be is right here in my workspace. Rather than show you the full horror that would have any psychiatrist reaching for the hoarding section of their diagnostic manual, I shall start with a few highlights….
My favourite place to be is right here in my workspace. Rather than show you the full horror that would have any psychiatrist reaching for the hoarding section of their diagnostic manual, I shall start with a few highlights….

These button drawers come from old treadle sewing machines. One of the many organisational tasks that has been started is button sorting, and these drawers are the proud owners of tidy rows of acid-free board onto which are sewn some of my favourite buttons in a melange of groupings such as colour, (vague) era, material, prettiness, size and kitchness (note the fluffy dice).
So, I have a lot of stuff that I think is fabulous. As a child, I collected shells – but only the littlest, strings of seeds from my mother’s homeland of Fiji, and basically little found objects of any sort. I would store assemblages of these treasures in miniature jars with no fixed intention for their future.
Now, my collected materials are all just that – like an array of paints waiting for me to need each one. The materials speak to me in their own way, and sometimes do drive the outcome of a work, but more often the concept of a work is clear, and I bring to it the assembled objects that to me convey that meaning. Does it matter? I don’t know; it just IS.
Now, my collected materials are all just that – like an array of paints waiting for me to need each one. The materials speak to me in their own way, and sometimes do drive the outcome of a work, but more often the concept of a work is clear, and I bring to it the assembled objects that to me convey that meaning. Does it matter? I don’t know; it just IS.