Memories and Museums

Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us. ~ Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

I'm so full of inspiration lately since I started delving into some of the topics on my list.

I've just started reading The Museum of the Mind. It's going to spark a whole lot of new creative ideas, I can tell.

I'm reading it with a pencil in hand so I can underline all the parts that resonate with my art making.

Some more interesting things Ive discovered lately...

These bottled butterfly necklaces
The Uncontacted Tribes, this gave me goose bumps.
The art of Madeline von Foerster

Collecting Inspiration

There’s a soft hum entering through the open windows. Down the hill there, nestled at the water’s edge, the city slowly wakes. Its voice rises up on a gentle mist to greet me. I can look down on the city from here and see that today it is all awash with silver and white. Light, not snow. A summer mist. Not a breath of wind. The sunshine, shrouded, waits.

Inspiration. Where does it come from and where does it go?

As I began to ponder this question a few weeks ago my own inspiration slipped away. How curious. Perhaps this is not something that should be questioned? Considering inspiration and ideas has led me down some twisting, endless paths lately. I’ve only just begun to take the first steps on all their diverging trails.

I like to think that, so far, I have the beginning sketch for a map that I will eventually be able to fill in in detail.

A few marker points on my map so far…

Art

Other Artists and their Art

Nature as Artist/Designer/Creative force

Botanical Illustrations

Memory

Memory as history

Objects as memory / mnemonic objects

Inscriptions (on books and other objects)

Peoples personal stories

My stories

The traditions of discovering/recording/sharing knowledge and how it eventually becomes history

Cabinets of curiosities

Collections (public/museums and private)

Methods of display and labelling of collections of objects (compartments, boxes, labels, files -A container for everything)

Books (especially about nature, or novels)

Maps

Botanical Drawings

Letters (inc postcards and other communication)

Archaeology (lost or buried treasure or everyday items)

Myths

Knowledge

My research/learning about particular stories or objects

My research/learning about Memory/ Collections/ History etc

The Caravan Children captured my imagination years and years ago. I read and re-read this copy from my mothers childhood many times. Through out the story one of its characters secretly undertakes to make a 'museum' to record their caravan holiday. I think my love for objects as memory keepers must have begun in the final paragraphs of this book.

"And sometimes aterwards in the dark winter evenings the childern would ask Peter if they could look at his museum; and he would open his box and take out all the things he had collected. Then they would examine everything all over again and talk of the wonderful times they had had. They would look at the cloudy water in the little bottle and remember how deep and fast the water had rushed along the flooded river bed; and they would touch the piece of burned wood and remember how bright were the flames of fire at Melbury Farm. Then they would shut up the box and put it away, and hope very much that when the summer days came again they would be able to harness Dobbin the horse to the green and yellow caravan and drive away once more in search of adventures."

Photoshoot

The harbour, flat, blue and bright looks like summer today. A few little yachts drift aimlessly out across the water. They're directed only by a little wind and the ocean's whim I think. Their sailors much surely be reading a good book or snoozing on the deck. At least that's what I would be doing if it were me out there.

I photographed my lovely (patient!) sister piled up with books and teacups today. Luckily she has an exceptional sense of balance.

My intention is to produce a small series like this.

The book fair.

I love old books and the stories that entwine themselves between the printed words. The stories that can only be glimpsed through the marks left by their owners or readers and through the patina of time.

I discovered some beautiful gems at the annual book fair last weekend. While there I fell into conversation with an ancient old man, and (since he asked) I told him I was looking for books with inscriptions and the like. His reply, "folks have some strange hobbies, don't they?" Ah... well yes, I guess they do. He soon shuffled away and sometime later another man, not so ancient this time, noticed my pile and he too stuck up a conversation. He told me all about the book plates and inscriptions in a number of books he once owned. I was glad of this momentary company, a kindred spirit I think.

Last night I set out to sea with Mr Crusoe having discovered him amongst my purchases when I got home. I'm sure I was the only one there selecting books without reading the titles first. It was a happy coincidence as Robinson Crusoe has been on my "To Read" list for a while.

Lovely Lady

While flipping through a friends copy of Advanced Magnetism 1925 (a very curious book) on the weekend I came upon this photo tucked in between the fragile pages. The topic of the book was intriguing enough, this little gem the icing on the cake. She gave it to me, it was meant to be, you see.

Hasn't she a lovely face? I think I would have liked her if we had met, and the little one's hat, adorable.

Mrs Archibald

Mrs Archibald's photograph came into my possession long after she had left this life and shortly after the photo's slow passage from Canada. She probably never imagined that a trace of her would end up here. Far, far from where her life was lived.

I see Mrs Archibald wearing a thick skirt, layers and folds of fabric dragging and swishing around as she walked. A heavy key always concealed in a pocket deep amongst that fabric. I'm not sure what door the key unlocked. When she could steal a few moments to herself she would escape to the garden with a book. She loved to read, but all to often instead her mind would wander. Inevitably to wind up in the warm glow of distant memories of Brazil, of Physalis and that one wonderful day.

Promised

On Monday I told myself if, and only if, I was very diligent in my work this week, I would be rewarded with a trip to the book fair on the weekend. Sometimes a little reward can motivate you to go a long way. I'll head straight for the old book section and make my selection aesthetically.

Reading in the Rain

The sound of rain against the roof, the night dark and treacherous beyond the window. A pile of soft and squashy cushions upon a chair. An old, well loved woolen blanket. A mug of hot milky tea and a lamp glowing gentle amber. The old red book, its cover faded and worn, rests in my hands. The tale within alive and restless, waiting for release.

Ive started reading this book, although I never intended to. I bought it for the inscription inside knowing I would use it in my artwork. As I was photographing the inscription my eyes glanced across the first few lines and I was hooked.

Between paragraphs of Tess, Ive been madly creating for the art show which opens in less than a week....