They Fuck You Up Your Mum And Dad*

Dear Mother

Thank you for your recent email which I found very illuminating, maybe a little too illuminating, and just about the cherry on top of my cupcake of a month since my father appears to be back. It did however fill in a few blanks that therapy would never have revealed, so thank God I did not bother with that.
I know if we sat in a room the memory of my teenage years compared with yours would be very different. You have always, if the subject was ever discussed, painted me as a humourless, sour, sulking monster of an adolescent. Your words at the time were more vindictive, I seem to remember your favourite was "slut" amongst other vicious put downs. I also remember the anger that occasionally spilt over into blows which I did not exchange. I have never felt so miserable as when they rained down, with my pathetic father watching but never intervening.
The worst years were the teen years, I don't remember you being so vicious when I was younger although you once confessed you did not ever remember cuddling me after my sisters were born. I used to think that your anger was with my father who spent his entire life shagging anything with a pulse was the trigger for your outbursts, including your friends as well as the mothers of my friends.
After he finally divorced you to marry someone young enough to be his granddaughter I tried really hard to make your life more pleasant, having decided to draw a line under the dark days and try and move on. We have never discussed the past and any insinuation of your vile behavior towards me seemed heartily denied by you.
I now realise that your anger was directed at my inability to warmly welcome someone I had not realised was the 'love of your life' I was about 14 at the time and distressed at the implosion of my family life. I would not have called your relationship an 'affair' My father had, I remember left us for fresher pastures at the time, but moving a new boyfriend in was probably at best naive and worst a little selfish, which when I think about it is a word you continually apply to me.
I had never realised he was 10 years your junior, and I am sorry you felt unable to leave and fulfil yours and his desire to begin a new life together, clearly your maternal instincts must have taken a hell of a battering, to have to swap someone so tender and considerate for the moron that was my father, but you stoical put the family first and I clearly paid the price mentally and physically.
As I say water under the bridge, until it dawned on me that Daisy and Kitty's father is 10 years younger than me and I vividly remember how vile you were to us when you met him for the first time. You spat out the words 'toy boy' "How dare I bring someone that young to my house" Of course I tried to smooth things over, I hate conflict, but as with every single boyfriend I have brought home, you have barely even bothered to conceal your disgust and irritation with them. You sneered at their academic achievements which were no less than yours, but you seemed to measure everyone by my fathers academic brilliance, only you were not were you? It was your lovers success they failed to match.
Of course you got your comeuppance with Emin who saw straight through you and told you what he thought of you and the way you had treated me. But all this time I have carried the burden of guilt that somehow I have let you down, that I should love you as a mother, that it is wrong to be physically repelled by your touch.
I guess this guilt has manifested itself through pity and desire to make you happy. I am so angry now, especially by how you treated the girls father, which is such a negative emotion, and yet bizarrely I feel as if a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders because I no longer have to pretend ever again. I no longer have a duty to love you or make excuses for my life. I am who I am and you should have been proud of me, you should have told me I was beautiful and clever and funny, because I was and I never realised it. I have spent over 40 years of my life believing I was ugly and worthless, not very sound foundations to build a relationship on but it has probably made me stronger, my confidence has grown through a lifetime of self depreciation.
I now realise that your European weekends were in fact romantic liaisons, you hate liars yet became a consummate one.
Clearly by hooking up with your ex lover after our father divorced you, you had already moved on and had no need of all those holidays we organised to give you something to look forward to.. Good for you. That it is a transatlantic affair is your business, although the words two faced hypocrite seem appropriate having railed against the 'other woman' all your life you have become one.

Regards Alison

*here

Howard Hodgkin

Feel the studio love

Just feel the love

I LOVE Howard Hodgkin.

Much has made of Damien Hirst's recent announcement that anyone can with time can paint as well as Rembrandt, that he was no genius. Hirst's recent foray into painting has been met with universal derision since he clearly has not an original thought or idea in his head or the skill to articulate the ideas does have and best of all really cannot paint like Rembrandt.

I did laugh at a recent photograph of him sneaking around taking photographs of gallery windows. Why sneak, I do it quite openly, who cares to me what is wrong with visual note taking unless of course you want to hide the origins of your ideas. Hodgkin nails it for me with this and Hirst would do well to read and digest this.

It is not until you paint that you can appreciate the complexity of these images, they look simple but in fact they are beautifully layered and composed and if I played the lottery let alone won it, one of these would set me up for life. I would never tire of looking at one and I know each day I would see something new, there are few painters that can provide such a gift in an image and I do include most of my favourite St Ives gang in saying that.

Honestly?

The lovely Belette Rouge tagged me to spill a little honesty. Mmm As a consummate liar this should be easy peasy...although once I had a think I came to the conclusion that honesty for me is a euphemism for things that piss me off. So I have tried to reign myself in a little.

1. I miss Christmas. There I said it, in fact I told him last week, I hate not having a tree, I hate not decking the hall with boughs of holly, I hate not having twinkling lights draped across the fireplaces.
I do not however miss the stress of trying to conjure up the miracle of Christmas, though. For years I tried everything to create something magical One year I took the girls to a large country house hotel the whole works. Cost a fortune, The room had a four poster bed and even had a fireplace and do you know what Kitty remembers? That Daisy and her cousin got posh barbies and all she got was a Polly pocket fairy tale castle. Seriously she has fed and nurtured that grudge for years. This year they are going to Dorset to spend Christmas with their step mothers parents, this is a good thing because both houses are HUGE one even has gold taps which is what my daughters measure success by. So pressure off, but still I wistfully gaze through the windows of others...

2. I honestly could not be this lazy without quite frankly, the most amazing assistant in the world, as I type inane mundanities she is lashed to a photocopier preparing my next lesson. I really need to buy her something big for Christmas, no?

3. I honestly really rather love walking the dog. I martyr myself daily so I pray he does not read this, the dog is currently acting as cover for a new photography project, without him I think I would be arrested.

4. Don't laugh but I am currently try to teach Leyla the grammar section of her 11 plus, I am officially crap and am only just unravelling the difference between a noun, pronoun, verb etc etc etc.. Thank you Bramham County Primary School for providing me with such a crap education.

5. I don't drink enough water, I just don't like drinking it unless I'm thirsty which at this time of year I'm not, all I crave is tea and coffee. The thing is my skin looks so much better if I do drink water, it looks far more hydrated than when I moisturise, yet I lack the discipline to keep myself in check. My kidneys too are screaming after sharing a couple of bottles of wine this weekend. Historically my kidneys are fucked thanks to some seriously shit doctors who failed consistently to treat a litany of infections when I was younger. Don't laugh but our homeopath finally managed to cure the problem, for that alone she deserves a knighthood.
I am now toying with the idea of going tea total over Christmas, I always do when I go to Cyprus, but that's because it's so bloody hot when I normally go, so all I crave is water. There are no bars or restaurants that serve my favourite tipple out in back of beyond so I will have to take what I need. Do boxes of wine travel or do they explode at high altitude? You can just imagine the look on his face as I exit duty free with cocktail cabinet of spirits, but with his sister coming needs must.

6. I love Alan Bennett and managed to watch some of his television stuff Sunday night, A Day Out is just sublime viewing.

7. I sulk if I don't get my own way

8. I did not get that job with the Arts Council, I am officially trapped in my world.

9. I wish I had worked abroad before I had children, I love being a mother but it does limit your horizons somewhat, or maybe I am just using them as an excuse. I feel that I am now wishing my life away just to start travelling, which I can only do once they all bugger off, which lets face it since Leyla is only 8 will be when I retire.

10. Honestly? If I did not eat so much chocolate I too could have a figure like Elle Macpherson. Chocolate is my downfall.

The view from here

So, Lucy phones me up and asks why I have not responded to her text. She invariably has to text me to get me to check my emails, I had forgotten to check both! She phoned to ask if I wanted to go and see the new Alan Bennett play Habit of Art, currently on at the National. I felt like I was having a bit of a deja vu moment since she had asked me a couple of months back and I had received an email with the date she had bought tickets for. She could not remember the conversation or email, but having checked her 'sent items' box she had to admit that "yes" she had indeed already booked the tickets and "yes" she had quite frankly lost the plot. I had to promise under sufferance that I would not gloat about this rather insouciant loss of memory to Mother, since we tease Mother remorselessly about her shocking ability to remember a single word we say.

Lucy then informs me that our errant father had tracked her down via her Facebook page. This was not good news, we have had no contact with him for 7 years since he disgraced himself in more ways that one. She was pissed off but I felt quietly smug that since I did not posses a Facebook account I was safe. In true panto style it was "Oh no you're not" I do not know how, but he infiltrated my flickr account. I felt sick, miserable, pissed off and totally violated. I then stupidly checked his profile, only to discover he is back not just in England but London. Obviously with his new wife who he met in China who clearly married him for his charm, wit and youthful good looks, absolutely NOT for his British citizenship, since he is over seventy and she is in her early thirties and looks younger. Wrong, wrong and very wrong. Judgemental moi ? Absofuckinglutely.
Nothing like pissing on my parade of sanity. Lucy is toying with therapy I will try to push the elephant in the kitchen to a small dark place and pray he buggers off.


Another late night working saw me yet again here

I was struck by an almost Edward Hopperesque feel to the station this late at night, although even Hopper would be hard pushed to winkle out any hint of romance from this hideous dump.
Friday saw me glued to the computer writing an essay about Othello! yes Kitty's homework.

Wills crime of passion

Self fulfilling prophecy

of affable oaf

Sadly I was not able to submit a haiku so had to write 1000+ words instead, but I think I nailed it with the haiku. I had neither read the play or even seen the play, so had to research it from scratch which alongside teaching took up my entire day.

I then met Daisy for a bite to eat washed down with a delicious Prosecco before watching the amazingly brilliant production of An Inspector Calls it is as good as they say and has just transferred to Wyndhams. We were upgraded so lost our favourite seats, better view but felt a bit hemmed in. A women in front kept making the weirdest noises as she fell asleep. On the way out someone remarked it was like sitting in front of Chewbacca, which set me off for the rest of the night.

As if that wasn't enough entertainment I went Saturday lunchtime with little sis to see The Priory on at The Royal Court. We ate downstairs in the cafe again but this time our food was sadly mediocre and a bit of a rip off, especially when they charged my sister for asking for more bread!
The play too was a tad lack lustre. First half was fine, the second half a bit flat, Like a toothless Alan Ayckbourn.

Next stop York!

Studio Love

You can see his work here

I think this is his studio in Normandy, where he settled after living in Moscow, Israel and England

Many, many years ago, in the days before we sat glued to our screens searching the Internet for inspiration, I kept folders of pages ripped from magazines postcards & leaflets. You know the stuff, your flicking through a Sunday supplement and you think, that's lovely, and out it comes.

I would then place all my bits in plastic wallets and file them. I must have had about 30 folders when I left my previous job, some were thematically coded many were not. About the time I changed jobs the Internet really took off and I kind of became addicted to using it. The folders did not languish or collect dust I would often flick through them for ideas. But invariably they became less and less used.

I have now embraced a kind of digital folder and its name is PowerPoint. I do not use it the way others do, I just use it as a place to put work thematically grouped. I have recently been scanning many pages from my folders to place into my PowerPoint areas. Some of the PowerPoint's have nearly 200 pages! but they are the best place to store images and allow students to access them. Plus it has given the work currently buried in my folders a new lease of life. Which in a round about way brings me to the studio above. I found these ripped pages in one of my folders and what an amazing studio it is. I could happily move in tomorrow. I girl can dream can't she? As she wades through the second tranche of marking with the prospect of another very late night looming.

The view from here

I once read a book by Gerald Durrell where he described how having collected a variety of animals he was then unable to ship them home, he opened the cages to release them and they just sat there so used to the confines of their cages had they become.
I felt a bit like that on Friday, I had carved a couple of hours out of my day and so decided a walk around London was in order. But where to start? So, Julie Andrews style, I started at the beginning and walked up to Jermyn Street, through the Burlington Arcade, up Cork Street, over to Bond Street, the across to Bruton Street, Over Berkly Square and across to Selfridges.
I popped into Zara, hugely disappointing, they have had little I want in for ages, but that is because I no longer require glamorous evening wear, the outfits I have rarely see the light of day.
Muji too, was disappointing. In Uniqilo my patience was rewarded and finally I bagged a pair of +J tapered trousers,I love them. The cashmere was in the sale, but the women's was a little too snug and the men's only had naff colours.
I prevaricated for ages as to whether to buy a polo neck, they are not flattering but I think I may crumble as the impending life of a peasant looms ever closer.. anything to stave the chill of cold concrete.
Emin is laughing at my impending confinement in his village, I have looked forward to other breaks more it has to be said.
On to COS, oh the damage I could do to my bank account, I whittled down eight wants, into two eminently sensible purchases. A simple fine knit grey round neck merino wool jumper, really lovely with brown, as you can see later here. Plus a fine knit long blue drawstring V neck, it is a lovely colour and will rock with my new trousers and ankle boots, if it stops raining I may wear and draw them tomorrow.
One shop I have virtually stopped even going to is Jigsaw. This is a shock even to me, but one of the main reasons (apart from the ridiculous prices they now charge), is when I hauled out my heavy duty winter clothes last week, you know the stuff, tweeds, velvets, the thicker woolies. All the jigsaw stuff looked so flat, limp and lacklustre. The knitted stuff is so poorly made, it pill's at the touch of hand, it sags and looses it's shape after a couple of wears, for the price it is not worth it. They do some lovely styles and I have always liked their shapes but compared last years Uniqlo it looked very sad. Both COS and Uniqlo knitwear looks good after one season and I see little sign it won't look good next year, so I will stick with that for a while.

Louis Vuitton Bond Street. Waving a cheery two fingers up to global warming!

Stella McCartney Bruton Street using eco' energy' I would have thought using no energy at all would have been better. I do hate rich people that bang on about using more expensive resources, they should try living on a normal income before moralising.

I did feel a little sorry for her as bang next door. Matthew Williamson had a window FULL of fur!

Selfridges, not quite as amazing as in the past, but fabulous all the same. It had a kind of Panto' feel to it, very colourful, if a little manic/Steven King like!

Bennetton, my favourite Christmas tree, isn't it lovely? I used to buy loads of sweaters from here, and now I don't even look. Even this time I only went in to take a photograph! I have a hunch they don't knit for chunky monkey's like me.

Anthropologie, finally I made it. It was like stepping back in time for me. All the clothes reminded me of what I wore in the late eighties early nineties. I used to make skirts out of vintage fabric and wore them with vintage beaded cardies I found on Greenwich market.

Even the hotch-potch eclectic mix of ceramics reminded me of when we ate off charity shop china. what was very noughties was the prices, I stepped away pretty quickly. You can still source a similar look far cheaper than this, but I guess they have rent to pay.

Maison Martin Margiela, I think this is from there. How lovely is this dress?

Jane Edden @ Flowers Gallery I saw little on Cork street that rocked my boat except this, I would if I were less obsessed with all knitwear that is grey have bought this. I loved her work and this piece was my favourite, simple, but beautifully executed.

I then went to see The Taylor Wessing Prize on at the NPG. Brilliant Go see.

My batteries are charged. I had the dullest weekend you could imagine and I could not have enjoyed it more if you had wrapped it in marzipan. Perfect. My last for a while however. Coming up a weekend of theatre and dining. The following weekend York and then Cyprus. Oh my middle name is globetrotter!

More ideas for the scrap book of style*

LOVE this silhouette from Filippa K. I fist saw this store in Stockholm, I love the clothes but only one place stocks a very limited selection in London. What is particularly inspired is she also has a shop that sell second hand clothes from past years. I would love a COS version too, often I have regretted missing something the following year and the chance to pick up a piece later would be great. EBay without the stress.

and this reminded me that I failed in my quest to find 'that' camel coat.

* I have a scrapbook full of bits of inspiration I find like this on the Internet, often it is how you put pieces together that is important, as frequently I already own the individual bits. Like above you can see a knitted hoody, only this image has it belted which I might try next time. The top image however reminds me that we all need a nice tailored white shirt which on it's own would make me feel like a waiter but layered under a cropped cardie it would look great.