me

I made some paintings over photos recently because I was thinking about all the old fun stuff I used to do a lot when I was super into constructing books or taking a very heavy collage/junk journal kind of approach to journals. I would do so many strange little experiments with putting anything and everything together, or printing out stuff and getting it wet, or painting on it, or tearing it up in some way.

Sometimes I really miss that stuff, all that messy and thick and weird journaling stuff. Things that feel so tactile and things that don't work and that are rough and hanging, torn apart. It's that kind of chaotic, and hurried, and collected creativity, where I'd make these dense and nonsensical things. I guess I've done so many straightforward drawings lately and used so much clean and inviting paper, separate sheets that invite a certain kind of neatness and cheerful mode of drawing, that I've sort of forgotten about this kind of stuff.

I also was thinking a bit about author photos and things like that. I've been editing a portfolio site that I made a while ago and left to sit lonely and incomplete, and I thought about making a painting over a photo that could work as a nice introductory self-portrait for that. A nice combination of some kind of art feeling (a satisfying painty texture, perhaps) and my actual face.

I really like the way this one turned out. An old picture of me in the woods turned into a strange, dark, fairytale space. And of course, a bunny is here (to judge).

I haven't really done anything art portfolio-like since my art school days, but there's something really satisfying about having some place to sum up some part of you. I guess that's what people like about using listography as a sort of digital business card. It's nice to have one place to point to to say "this is me and my things", and it's really easy on social media to just sort of not to do that, and have a jumble of links. So I thought, maybe I should focus on having a portfolio again, at this point. And looking at my old portfolio(s) made me remember more of all the old fun, experimental stuff I used to make, and I want to try and make more of this very particular, very scribbly, very swirling, and very "me" stuff more.

I also want to do some kind of very singular thing there. A page of just horses. Just a lot of horse drawings. Something like that. You go there and you know. About the horses.

There's something so satisfying about painting on photos, too. I was thinking while painting some of these that it would be so great to make a hand tinted film with some black and white footage - or maybe I could collage over the frames to make some strange collaged film. Just one little idea splintering off from this (and that's a reason I miss this sort of experimentation - it feeds a million little ideas). I can film a rose fluttering slightly in the breeze, me emerging from the bathtub, shots of pouring water. It'll be an art film, it'll say "fin" at the end in a serif font and everything. But I'll need some more printer ink first.

The Glory of Ugly Shoes

It's getting towards Real Summer Time again so of course I'm noticing the way my jeans cling and the way my shoes rub more than usual as I'm looking through the big magnifying glass of steadily increasing temperature, but also I just went on holiday too, so I'm naturally thinking a lot about the endless wrestling match between style and comfort. I'm pleased to announce that I love ugly shoe.

These are my Skechers. My ugly beautiful children.

There's just something good about wearing the mildly ugly but intensely comfortable shoe of choice at any time while going outside. Shoes, after all, are the item of clothing most likely to become ugly spontaneously while being worn. Maybe this is partly because I wear work brogues to the woods at an alarming frequency because I am the fool who was transported directly from a Tumblr 2012 forest photoshoot of a girl carrying a satchel and wearing brogues, and inexplicably, cream (dangerous yet so cute) [editing note: I am talking about the colour cream, not the substance, to clarify]. Except really I'm a more gremlin-like and gurning version of that sweet, innocent, " maybe I'll make a lookbook.nu account" relic, but the point stands.

These brogues? Only Tesco's finest.

To be clear, I love my brogues - they're a soft and comfy shoe choice that works in the most professional and most casual situations, and the forest debris does clean off just fine, but there is the matter of having to constantly tie and untie your shoelaces. This is usually okay with me (I know, I'm so brave, so resilient), but it does get a bit old when you have to awkwardly do this at the door of your airbnb every day while your host presumably silently constructs a list of your hideous faults and one of those faults is probably your lack of swift shoe conjugation.

These are my spicy Primark boots - the most exuberant of all my shoes - and only a small section of the little metal studs have fallen off so far after a good year of use!

Moreover, being on holiday always makes this thing happen to my brain. Always the same smart thoughts, which are either "why did I bother trying to look nice when tbh I could've just worn Big Legging?" or "wow why didn't I at least make slightly more effort to look nice when tbh I could've Brushed My Hair?" The constant dilemma. Actually, I think I did pretty okay on this holiday, but this post is really much more about the aftermath a week later, when I found myself wearing a long, pleated navy skirt and some Skechers.

This is the kind of clear and beautiful image you can expect on this - my photography blog. My Skechers look really good here because you basically can't see them. Mmm, cute!

It's kind of a weird combo - the neat and cute but loose and unassuming skirt, and these cute little honkers on my feet - but listen, I have never been more comfortable in my life. I just live for these Skechers. They are sort of ugly in a cute way. There's something satisfying about them. This is the same way I feel about a lot of the sorts of outdoorsy outerwear gear that every single member of my family wears. Little comfy fleeces from some kind of camping shop. The ubiquitous walking shoes. And that's how I know that my love for the ugly cute comfy stuff must be genetic.

But also, y'know, it's just a sweater thing. Seeing all your friends in big comfy jumper? In a jumper with a hole in it? In a jumper that is clearly borrowed from someone, a little out of shape? Sometimes those things that are a little bit broken or dirty or ugly are just better, or they have their own beauty to them, or they're just comfy as hell. And that's why I respect the power of ugly shoes. Sort of.

I know that you come to this blog to enjoy multiple pictures of me holding shoes, so here you go. You're welcome.

I don't know, okay, just look at my Skechers and love them as I do. Thank you.