pondering my next venture

I have taken some time to reflect, to consider several options, and to ponder what my next project will be. Next year will be my last Legato Exhibition for Commemoration and Peace in Cassino, Italy. It is the 80th anniversary next year. In 2019 I remember thinking "If this is my last Legato, it has ended on a very good note." And then 2020 happened. There has not been another edition since. But next year I think I will curate one last exhibition for those who suffered in that terrible battle. Then the remaining works will find their way into local museums, to be shared in years to come. I have stored and exhibited some of these works for close on 14 years, and I am calling time. 

But without Legato, or the desperate urge to protect New Zealand from the unfolding pandemic, where do I put my passion and energy now? 

I have always left global warming and conservation issues to those who know more about them than I do. I am a greenie in my life, but not a very vocal one. At times I have considered doing a PhD in arts therapy as an alternative form of discipline in schools, but doubt that post covid I have the energy for such intensive research. 

Sometimes I am tempted to finish the novel I started writing - 30,000 words languish waiting the final push. Eleven or twelve children's books are in the pipeline, side-lined for now. A calendar has been painted, but not published. At other times I simply want to paint uplifting things, to draw attention to the beauty that surrounds us, if only we would take the time to look. 

I have been reading some of Helen Clark's speeches as she travels the world inspiring us to do more, urging the world to embrace equality, and to work for the common good. I once read a book about the work that women do for peace, and was so inspired by it that the late Richard Wassell gave me a copy to keep. I also value the time I spent in London, studying with the late Douglas Lyne. He taught me to think big in all that I do. We can make a difference, each and every one of us, if only we just begin. 

In 2011 I stood in Westminster Abbey, London, holding a wreath to place on the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior. While standing there I looked back at my childhood, barefoot and carefree, running about the fields, climbing out my window at night to look better at the moon. I still pinch myself. How did a girl from a tiny two-teacher school in the back-blocks, growing up north of Wairoa, who loved teaching calves to drink, and picking mushrooms, and even enjoyed pulling ragwort for pocket money, end up there? 

I still don't know how those dots were joined. I do know though that there is another chapter to be written. No, not a chapter of the novel, I may never finish that. It's time to write a new chapter in my life. And there is nothing more exciting to a writer or an artist than a brand new, fresh white page. 

Welcome, 2023

Oh creativity, you are such a fickle mistress! 

In this New Year period I am sitting at my studio desk (where I paint in acrylic and watercolour) having just visited the space where I paint in oils, and I am torn, torn, torn. Which one am I to follow? Or can I make room for all three? 

Around me are some works from my Italian painting time. Some are straight out art therapy, and they remind me of how strong I can be, and how much I have overcome. Some, like the huge works that were in the museum in Cassino, Italy, but are now in storage here, give me a real sense of having achieved something. Tucked away with them are the works confronting domestic violence, painted especially for an event in Cassino but shared more widely. They are also in oils, painted away from my living space because the subject is a tough one. I needed to be able to walk away from them at the end of each working day. They too are powerful works I am quite proud of. 

In front of me, in contrast to the strong oils, is the watercolour I painted for the recent exhibition, representing those left behind when women are killed. The subject is tragic, so I painted it without a model. I keep it where I can see it, because it felt as though the painting flowed through me, rather than was painted by me, and I marvel at how quickly I achieved what I wanted with that work, and how I can look at it as a painterly object of beauty rather than as something sad. 

Up on the wall behind me are two cheerful sunflowers, again painted for an event in Cassino last year. It was the opening of a garden dedicated to women, with the red bench seat, and I chose fast drying acrylic to paint sunflowers for the women of Ukraine. It was painted at very short notice after arriving back in Italy, and the fast brushwork gives the work an energy that is not my usual hand. 

 

Rolled up on the storage bench seat beside me is the recent major acrylic work, hiding from view. The acrylics are packed away, that project is started, I am happy with the big exploratory work I did (which has already gone to a private collection). There are many more in that series, but when can I paint them, and what size will they be?

I am surrounded by my watercolours. There are bees and lizards and a frog peering at me. I have two more to complete in the series. That will happen soon. 

Yes, as I look at the year ahead, I am struggling to fit everything in. My nomadic lifestyle is exciting, colourful, but also uses up a little of my painting time as I travel.

The oil paints will be packed away for a while. Much as I love them, I can't see me getting back to them in the next year. Acrylics are better for painting on the move. Unstretched canvas is easier to transport, not so easy to paint on unless you are well set up. Watercolours are easiest to work with but not always suited to my subjects. They definitely go in the suitcase though!

And just when I think I have my projects narrowed down and nearly sorted, right up to the next major exhibition in Cassino, Italy, in May 2024, a whole new series pops up in glorious, fun colour, simply begging to be squeezed in somewhere!

My task for today was to slot each project into a time frame and location, and that's where I come unstuck. It's a little like doing a jigsaw puzzle, with new pieces being given to you just when you thought you had the border all sorted.

 

I'm not complaining, I'm a happy artist (my one-time email address). I'm just more than a little bit excited about the year ahead! 

Well this is a surprise!

 I'll bet, like me, you thought this blog had been consigned to the archives. I certainly didn't expect to feel the urge to write on it again. But here goes... 

I was looking for a post to share with a dog-loving friend, and decided to read a few more myself. I'm enjoying the trips down memory lane. I found this post about my turangawaewae particularly interesting in these present moments/times/days. 

Christmas is coming. With no children around me, and consumerism not being my thing, I haven't really thought about it too much. Random gifts have been distributed by mail order, and as I prefer not to have things delivered to me - far too much effort trying to retrieve them from the post office - I am not expecting any. I am joining friends to eat too much food, but our celebrations will be moderate - at least, I am hoping so! 

I sometimes wonder why, in these secular times, we continue with these traditions that cause so much stress within families. The original Christmas was simple, a birth in a manger, with cattle around. It bears little resemblance to our commercial chaos today. Have I become the Grinch? If I have, I don't mind too much. After all, the Grinch did learn that Christmas was more than presents and noise. I don't think it is Christmas that upsets me, but all the stress that can go with it. The stress not so much for me, but for those who believe that they must stretch themselves beyond their means to create a "Christmas" for others. 

On Wednesday I bought a Christmas gift. Of sorts. At the weekly market a stall holder tried to persuade me to buy some of the extra Christmas fare she had on her stall. Her usual domestic wares were not selling; these are tough times. The market was empty, noone was buying. I didn't need the things that were for sale. My meander through the market was purely to collect a parcel of a product I was trialling with my paintings (delivered to a shop, it's better that way), and for company on an otherwise quiet and bleak day. I turned her down. I moved away about four paces, then returned. I had changed my mind. I bought two things. Because Christmas is really about giving, after all. 

I have been back in New Zealand, living behind closed borders for two years while recovering from Long Covid, re-establishing myself in the community I left, wondering about where I really belong. My physical health says Italy is better for me. My mountainside does me the world of good. But at Christmas time thoughts of grandchildren pull me in different directions. I live in two completely different worlds, and that is something that I simply need to accept. It's not that I "want my cake and eat it too" but the reality is that there is something in each place that fills some need within me.

Here in Italy I am free to paint, I am not being squashed into a box of expectations because, with my faltering Italian language and independent ways, I will never truly fit in. In New Zealand I am closer to family, and things are so much easier, but I also feel an unspoken pressure to conform to the expectations of others, whether those expectations are good for me or not. I have never seen myself as being a non-conformist, and a lifetime as a teacher would suggest that I am pretty good at conforming. So perhaps I was a well-trained conforming mis-fit all along. I can wear that. And so I will continue to live with the best and the worst of both worlds, for as long as I am able. And this year, that means Christmas on my own, which is quite OK too. 

Christmas. What will it look like, this year? For me, this strange 2022, Christmas is a rather funny looking reindeer who invited himself home with me. I think I'll keep him. He's quiet company while I paint, and I haven't started talking to him - yet! 

May your December be stress free, healthy and filled with family and friends - or peaceful and serene, with enough to eat, and good music to keep you company. 

Powerful work by Robyn Hughes

Some years ago I was privileged to meet Robyn Hughes, and to later visit her in her home to view her then "works in progress" based on the research she was doing into the battles for Cassino.

The inaugural exhibition of these works in 2014, described by the gallery as "unmissable", was held in Whakatane, New Zealand. The works are on a very large scale, which no small screen can do justice to, but Robyn has kindly allowed me to publish the work here on the Legato blog. Please turn your sound on to hear the words of the soldiers as they went into Cassino.

Link: Into Cassino by Robyn Hughes

Updating and looking forward to 2019

Preparations are underway for Legato 2019.

It seems a long time since I posted here. A new hard drive in my computer and forgotten passwords, missing photographs that didn't arrive despite being sent three times, and a lot of travel to visit my veteran father in New Zealand. No one excuse big enough, but that was the reality of my life, so this blog, along with my children's book blog, was left to wither in cyberspace.

But we are back! It's the 75th anniversary of the battles for Cassino, and Legato (which has been visiting smaller towns like Colfelice and Roccasecca since the 70th anniversary - see the Facebook page for the Roccasecca event) will return to Cassino this year to a new venue a short walk from the railway station. More posts will follow on the Legato blog. 

onwards and upwards

I have been perusing my Legato blog as I make preparations for the 2019 Legato exhibition to commemorate the 75th anniversary of the battles for Cassino. On an impulse I returned to this blog, and decided to update it briefly. 

At the time that I "abandoned" my blog I was being troubled by emails from stalkers. I simply jumped ship and let the stalkers (all two of them) think what they liked. But to those of you who might have been confused, I do apologise. 

I have spent quite a bit of time renovating my apartment and planning ahead for future exhibitions. Life continues to be great, and new family members are the biggest gift of all. 

Today I am grateful for good health and true friends. 

eight years

Today marks the beginning of my ninth year in Italy. Eight years ago, on the 24th of April, I arrived here to make a complete change in my life.  Today on the Italian calendar it is now 25th April.

When I arrived here eight years ago, on a one year visa, I had no idea how long I would stay. Three months, perhaps, and then I would have an annual painting holiday here? Instead, my 'bolt hole' apartment became my home.

A year after my arrival I wrote this post. I am less sure of where home is now, or perhaps I am more sure that I have at least two homes.

The commemorations for 100 years of ANZAC hard on the heels of the 70th anniversary commemorations here last year have left me in a more fragile state. This week my heart and head have both been in New Zealand, and it has been harder keeping my daily life here moving smoothly.

Three days ago my permission to live here expired. My application to stay another two years is in. I play the waiting game. Will this remain my home, or will I become that visitor on a painting holiday every year? Rules are being tightened all through the systems here. I can't take anything for granted any more.

If home is where the heart is, then I am lucky to have many homes.

Today, the festival for the liberation of Italy (WWII) I take stock, paint some ANZAC Day poppies (see note below), and reflect on my fragmented life. I am grateful for all that I have learned over the past eight years. It hasn't been easy, but it has been a good life.

Happy anniversary to me.

Today I am grateful for options and choices.

Poppies: I am exhibiting here in June, and chose to focus on the poppy in all its meanings. I began with the joy and brightness of it, lifting myself away from the commemorative meanings. That series is the strong ones in the previous post. I have worked my way back to the poppy for commemoration. The timing is perfect, but it doesn't make the work any easier. I will be focusing on the art making, more than the significance, as I paint today. ANZAC Day has been emotional enough for me already. (Painting above is a detail from a poppy I painted last year).