You might have seen similar photos printed in the book I shared last week. They’re from a personal collection of family photos my Nan took in the 70s as a young girl. Tucked away into two worse for wear photo albums most likely from Boyes or the like.
Upon first looking through them it didn’t strike me that although my Nan took most of them, she didn’t take them all, yet it feels as though the eyes doing the seeing never divert or change. So naturally just right in every aspect and really just so, so beautiful.
The way the colours interact with the environment, the movement, how they all feel so considered struck against the charm of not really knowing what she was doing. The composition, the colour, and again, the movement. They feel like what someone would try and conjure up for an editorial shoot these days. Not here though, just pure spontaneous love for Sam, the family sweetheart rescued from not very nice owners. For her Auntie and Uncle, Rosie never seen without an apron and of course the most quintessentially British caravan holiday, the ease of a full English in the uncomfortable heat of a metal tin.
I’ve been going to the caravan with my grandparents for as long as I can remember which makes these feel even more special. Hopefully now you can enjoy them for a while too. Quite frankly I think they’re the best set of photos I’ve seen, and I think I would feel similarly if not the same even if they weren’t anything to do with me and my family.
♥️
HELLO! I’M RESURFACING!💋
Been away for the last two months; questioning, considering, reconsidering, refining, and repeating that process without arriving at conclusion of action to take, if any. The fact of the matter is that I’ve been struggling, struggling with change, adapting, the paradoxes life presents.
Towing to and fro with the idea of savouring as a means of sacredness living alongside the desire to share. Wether these can both exist at the same time for me personally, and if so, to what extent do I wish for them to.
In the face of that, a power greater than myself has forced my hand to slow the fuck down and sit with it, moving towards believing that sometimes it’s okay for me to just exist.
This week I’ve felt less like I’m one step away from tripping myself up at any given moment & so my capacity to feel like I can return has infact began to return.
Whilst I recognise I’m not obliged to provide reason or justification for rest, I also recognise that there is community here; people to show up for, people that care for one another, inspire one another, community that I feel part of and is of such importance, something I don’t want to neglect or be absent from. As well as the support from so many of you that has paved way for opportunities and achievements that I’m so grateful for.
Whilst I’ve only maybe allowed myself to acknowledge it more recently, I feel I’ve built something truly special here, and I’m looking forward to being back in this space and nurturing it. I’ve been exploring avenues I feel compelled to, and revamping my website in alignment with where I’m at.
Continued in comments…
Collection of ongoing cyanotype experiments that I’m excited to develop —͟͟͞͞★ some paper, some fabric, all imperfect but all beautiful🍀 It feels gorgeous working alongside the sun, my back step where I do them all is almost in the shape of sun beams and I think that’s beautiful
I started the journal I made for myself. Finished it in five days after months of getting in my own way and not getting myself on the page. Adds up. So, should probably get to starting another without leaving it too long.
A handful of people have come to be aware, and presumably quite annoyingly, of my anally retentive relationship to books. The writing kind, not reading, and especially if it’s in the assertive nature of a book and not a loose bit of paper. This presents the possibility of putting something into perspective, the things you can’t ’just do’. Perfection. Ego. A handful of people as a point of reference.
Usually the water spill would be enough to send it spinning and get chucked into the two pager pile (if I made it that far) with the rest of them. These ones then get resurrected when I’m not being as much of a fastidious arse. I commend myself for seeing it through when it now sits outside of its perfect order.
So, I can use it because I made it and it’s too precious to not, or I can not use it because I made it and it’s too precious to. Chose the first one this time. Opposed the fastidious arsery. The flower vase being blown off the windowsill and onto the first page wasn’t the end of it all, and you can suppose I’m better for it.
About the book itself. Cardboard packaging from the recycling bin clothbound in a linen from, I think, somewhere in Shepherds Bush. Kindly given to me, for free! In this economy! Wasn’t enough to bother ringing it through, enough to cover an A5 book, though, and for free, may I add again. Champion. Stitch bound with a faux leather and engraved initials attached. Enjoyed annoying the neighbours with this. EAC. Double exposure cyanotype from last year on the inside cover. Written in with the pen I like the most out of the ones I’ve tried.
Spinning moments from 2024💐:,) Missing it, the spinning, the gushing over locs, and all the little finicky things that present themselves in the process
Pattern notes for my socks. Onto my fourth pair now, these red ones. Started using ergonomic DPN’s rather than dead straight ones and while it took a bit to get to used to they’re great on the hands. Maybe try them if you have the means and tow a bit with smaller circumferences.💋
“The knitter also remembers where the sock was knitted, sitting on the sofa at home, perhaps, or on a splendid vacation, or maybe at the sick-bed of a beloved relative. Each stitch captures the tick of the clock while the curtains stirred the breeze, the vista of the mountains unscrolling through the train window, the love and concern for the person in the bed.” Josephine Steed
Although she’s alright now, throughout knitting this sock my Nan was in hospital and so I thought of these words as I found myself embodying the knitter being sat at the sick-bed of a beloved relative, with love and concern for the sick person in the bed. It’s seen Olivia’s kitchen table, also.
Suppose I can rock up in just the one until I get chance to finish the other, could be all the rave. Feels like a prompt for some fiction. Like the woman with the wooden log. One foot in, one foot out.
Yarn is one strand of Isager Spinni, 100% pure new wool held with Ito Sensai, 60% mohair and 40% silk.
💐#sockknitting
Morning. Can feel myself moving into a new container of time for how I go about stuff creatively which seemed to call for a stripping down of the pinboard. Feels good. Has room to do something that it wasn’t before. So, I’m commemorating what it used to be, albeit on a grid post on Instagram. Scattered some close ups of some of the projects pinned to it. Hefty sock, polka dot and double exposed lace. Been writing loads. Trying to navigate how or if I want to share that, almost feels too potent to do anything with. So much love lies there right now. I think it always has and I’ve not tended to it enough. Doing the dance and trying to balance. Hope you can do something today that makes you feel good about things.💘
