One action always precipitates another, and in this case offered me the subject of my next post. My husband was straightening a long bowed shelf in the pantry and began lifting down the vases and other crockery which often get thrust into those seldom-used spaces. He set down a large yellow jug on the bench, which I quickly scooped up and popped in my studio. I would sketch this jug and tell the story of it crossing the globe in my back-pack, following my first visit to Europe, oh, so long a go. Even before the days of cellphones and the internet!
This time last year, Kerry and I were in the United Kingdom, catching up with several old colleagues and friends not knowing when we would get the chance to visit again. Little did we know then just how special that trip was to become, with Covid 19 stopping us all in our tracks. One of our stops was Yorkshire, to stay with Wendy and Robin. I’d never been before, and like all regions new to me, I couldn’t wait to get out and explore.
This time last year I was in Edinburgh, many months before Corona virus had hit the world stage. It was my first visit, and I had been strangely unaware I would be among thousands of others who had ambushed the city for the Fringe Festival. I was thankful that our friends Mick and Anne only lived a thirty minute walk from the centre, in a lovely, quiet, suburban neighbourhood. We strolled into town past handsome stone buildings on either side; a cobbled street in between – so different from the wooden architecture and asphalt roads I am used to in my New Zealand surroundings.Continue reading
For the past three Tuesdays, while at my volunteer job in the local community art gallery Depot Artspace, I have found myself in an interesting situation. The current exhibition is titled Sex Workers of Aotearoa: A DAY IN THE LIFE OF, 2020, curated by a member of the group. And although the curator and many of the artists have shown their names, for privacy reasons I have chosen not to include them. Our manager had said that we may need to be aware of some peoples’ reactions, and if we felt uncomfortable with speaking about the artworks, to seek assistance from management. Continue reading
Many here have become blasé about the reports of Covid-19 escalations reported in countries overseas. New Zealanders have been extremely lucky in this regard, having a government which acted quickly with a shut-down. There were always the nay-sayers, and there are still some, who criticise the border regulations made for New Zealand residents who continue to arrive back home. These regulations have tightened recently, especially concerning the two-week isolation period each returnee has to face, with Covid testing undertaken on the third and eleventh day. But it is not the rules I wish to talk about here, but the way some people try to evade them. Continue reading
A relative of mine thought it strange that I would write my father’s story as fiction. It makes sense to me, I told her, as he was with us for just a few years, and I was looking back on our time together from many years later. What would the truth be, if I wrote the work as non-fiction? I had to call on my memory as a child to put together the essence of my father’s life, and to also borrow my siblings’ memories to complement my own. It is known that memory is both fallible and selective and fiction is always based on some version of fact. Continue reading
I received my final book proof last week, and set about planning the sketch that I promised I would do of the cover once the print process was complete. Well, since I showed an image of the front cover in my last post, I decided I would sketch the back cover instead. I was already late with my usual Thursday post, but thought; never mind I’ll do it tomorrow, thinking the task of sketching six family members (as on back cover) a relative doddle. Last night I drafted the sketch in pencil, planning on doing the ink and watercolour the following day. Continue reading
The past few weeks have resembled those in lockdown, when I waited to receive the first proofs of my book. I was thrilled when they arrived and to see the great job done on the cover (I had four choices). One was particularly perfect for my story The (almost) true story of a man called Jack. But the hard work was far from over, as I now had the task of scrutinising the printed pages for any errors in the text, or any changes I wished to make to the proof. Before sending the manuscript to the print company I had gone over and over that MS, as well as having someone proof it a little earlier on in the process. Continue reading
On our last afternoon in New Plymouth, we re-visited the Len Lye Centre, which sits within the Govett-Brewster Gallery building on Queen Street, to see the extra exhibits which weren’t on display the day we first went. We had hoped to also look inside the Govett-Brewster gallery, but it remained closed, preparing for re-opening once the Covid levels had lifted. The Len Lye Centre is as famous for its architecture as it is for the artist it is named after; innovative and fascinating in so many ways. Continue reading
With our lockdown almost over, Kerry and I got busy organising the trip to New Plymouth we had planned months before we’d heard the word Covid. Now were were in level 2, the government was urging Kiwis to travel within their own country; to help kick-start our local tourism industry, which had suffered with the border restrictions to overseas visitors. New Plymouth is within the Taranaki province (the Naki to Kiwis) and has many attractions. The most famous being its superb mountain; a mountain I’d only spotted from a distant road, or when I’d flown over the cone capturing a terrific birds eye view in a photo. Meaning always to go and walk around the foothills – sometime. That time had arrived! Continue reading