Open Studio!

Angel is a cute town of old-style pubs, bustling antique markets and the most fantastic three-storey art shop I've ever seen.




I went there to look at some studios. As part of an arts program, heaps of studios in London are having days where you can go visit, talk to the artists, look at and purchase their work.

I went to gather some inspiration. To find out a little about the reality of being an artist.



The artists from Hertford Road Studios are having an art auction. The picture above is of Mark Wainwright.

It's difficult to capture in photographs the thing I love most about artists' studios. It's the smell of paint, the freedom to make a mess, the buzz of creativity that surrounds you. It's being unconventional, allowing your furniture to be covered in paint. Having conversations that go deeper than the weather.

I talked to every artist I came across - about 20 people out of the forty studios I went to - asking about the meaning behind their work and how they support themselves as artists financially. Basically, I found out that yes, being an artist can be very difficult financially. But I also found out that it is incredibly satisfying to be doing what you love to do.

I came home inspired and with a new cute mini box of watercolours and some special paper from the amazing art shop. I am even more determined to find a way to make my own career path a more artistic one.

Minibeasts

Minibeast with moving legs - a gift from a Reception student

Today I was teaching in Reception - the 4 and 5 year olds. We spent the day drawing pictures of mini-beasts, in between doing fun stuff like playing in the home corner and singing songs.

Four children and I were sitting at a hexagonal table drawing worms and butterflies. Suddenly, without warning, one of the children who I was drawing with, vomited across the table.
"Woah!" I cried.

Luckily, in my short career working with really little kids, I have seen a lot of this type of thing. Within seconds I had whisked a garbage bin next to him, swiped some paper towels through the mess and sent for some of that stuff that soaks up nasty messes on the carpet.

The part that was funny for me was when I sprinkled the magic stuff, which happens to look like a pile of gravel, on the mess and the kids kept on pointing to the floor and wanting to clean up the mess.
"Oh no, Miss Lexonline! Look what happened there! Shall I sweep up that gravel?"

I had to clarify.

"Children, it is time to tidy up. But in this spot HERE (pointing) there is a mess we CANNOT clean up because somebody has been ill and we must LEAVE IT RIGHT THERE until later."

How much sense must it make to children, that a mess must be left just exactly where it is?

More than likely they have already worked out that adults are mysterious creatures.

Patches of Ordinary

The thing I like about living somewhere and travelling, is that in between the travelling you have time to relax and have a little bit of mundane time. I've spent the past week having a patch of ordinary.

It rained most days. Rained so much that when I walked to the bus stop sheets of water sprayed up at me from the wheels of cars. I haven't been cold though, snuggled up in layers of woolly jumpers, coat and umbrella.

These were the highlights of my week:

* Two year five girls sidling up to me at lunch time.
"Miss Lexonline, what will you be doing next year?"
"I'm not sure, why do you ask?"
"Well, I was just thinking that maybe you could be our teacher."
Wouldn't it be interesting if teachers were hired by invitations from the students?

* Trudging through the puddles to pick up a parcel from the post office. Opening the parcel to discover that four of my friends have got together to make me a birthday parcel. Thank you SO much for that!

* Going for a jog around the biggest park I've ever seen (maybe I'll take a photo for you when it stops raining) with my flatmates. Making it one lap around the park - I told you it's BIG - and being unable to keep up with my flatmates. When I'm 30 I want to be as fit as they are.


Spectators at the London Marathon - literally thousands of people


Runners - Can you see me here next year?

Actually, when I went to see the London Marathon last month I thought for about a day that I would go in it next year. My uncle went in it a few years ago. Yes, I was pretty sure I wanted to get really super fit and run something like 42km. Until I found out that a 21-year-old guy who had done it had died. Maybe being able to do two laps of the park will be enough for me!

French, Art and Patisseries

We landed in Charles de Gaulle airport and the first thing I noticed was that everything was in French - all the writing, everywhere. We lined up to buy train tickets into Paris. I watched a man at another ticket office trying to get help from a French ticket seller.
French ticket seller: “Je ne parle Anglais! Non!”
Angry man: (loudly) “… just want to get some MONEY! F*** you!”
The man stormed off and I stood there, trembling in my boots. Don’t speak English! Gah! They’re all going to hate me because I’m a foreigner!
“Bonjour,” said my ticket seller solemnly.
“Bonjour,” I said.
I took a deep breath and in my best French said “Two tickets to Paris please.”
She smiled at me and handed me the tickets and my change. I pointed to the map she was holding and she said in English “For you I will explain!” She proceeded to give clear directions in English on how to get into the city.
She understood my French! She was friendly! I proceeded to spend the weekend using my pidgin French at every given opportunity, loving the fact that the people appreciated my effort to speak their language and that they didn’t seem to mind if I made a mistake or two.

Lauch and I turned up to the Louvre at 8.30am… only to join the queue of about 50 people. As we waited until it opened at 9am, we watched the queue snake around behind us and grow to a size of about 2500 people. Nothing like getting up early!




I loved the art, especially a couple of contemporary installations alongside the traditional French sculptures. There was a man (not a real one) with a microphone near some fighting marble statues. There was a group of mime statues holding clocks in front of their faces. There was also a strawberry patch surrounding some sculptures. Yes, with real live strawberries. We saw the Mona Lisa and I was most impressed not with the painting but the celebrity that the painting holds. See above the mad crowds coming to see Mona.

This weekend – seeing as it was my birthday and all – I ate exactly whatever I wanted. Which included, in no particular order: strawberry tart, chocolate éclair (with real chocolate, not cream in the middle!), risotto, baguette with gruyere cheese, chocolate coconut macaroons, crème brulee, chocolate tart, croissants, viennoise petite, tart aux fruits and pain au chocolat. Oh, and a few glasses of wine. Yes, the French definitely do have the best patisseries and boulangeries ever.




We spent the evening walking along the Seine. Wandered out of the Marais district away from a loud group of what looked like protesters. We heard lots of police sirens heading back to that area of the city and wondered what was going on. The next morning in the paper we saw that the French presidential elections had taken place - Sarkozy had beaten Royal by just 6% of the vote. We walked along one of the bridges, where an accordian player was busking just like in the movies. It was a perfect end to my most exotic birthday ever.

How Did Your Hair Get Orange?

On my way home, West London

I've been working, doing relief teaching in a nice school that is some distance away. The good thing about being up so early at the moment is that the weather is gorgeous and the sun is always shining brightly when I leave. So far, the work's been great.

Each day I've been in a different class. Today I was in a reception class, which is like kindergarten. There was me and two teacher's aides and 26 cutie four and five year olds. I - I mean, the children and I - did construction with boxes and glue. Lots of glue. I was talking to the group of kids I was working with about names that can be for both girls and boys - like Alex and Jordan. I asked one of the girls of African descent whether her name could be for a boy or a girl. She solemnly informed me that her name could not be for boys, it was "Only for a girl, a brown-coloured girl."

Later a little boy with a round face came up to me and looked at me for a minute. "How did your hair get orange?" he asked me. Er.... I can't say I've ever considered that question before. I told him it just came that way. Sometimes kids ask the best questions.

On the topic of good things, today was the day our shopping came. After two gigantic shopping trips that involved carrying all our groceries for what felt like several kilometres (have you tried carrying a bag of potatoes for more than a block?!) we decided to do our shopping online and get it delivered. Well actually Lauch decided and I eventually agreed with him. The man came today to deliver all our groceries and it was so much fun opening all the bags. Bagels! Haagen-Dazs! Shopping bags of joy! I'm completely won over to the whole internet shopping thing. I'm going now to have pitta pizzas and icecream and a small bite of everything that is delicious and new inside our fridge.

Icons

I found this stall in a market in West London. It sold almost entirely images and models of Jesus and the holy family.

I am fascinated by the icons that we humans use in our daily lives. Not always, but often to symbolise protection and our wishes and hopes. When I left Tasmania, I was given several different gifts to keep me safe on my journey.

A mother hesitated after school one day. "You don't have to accept this," she said, handing me a tiny silver image of Mary. "It's been blessed several times and is for safe return." I was delighted. Somebody wished me protection enough to have an icon blessed more than once. I slipped it into my luggage.

Another friend gave me a rainbow-coloured bag with an agate stone "for protection." I nearly left it behind, having little faith in the power of stones, but got it out to look at it just before I left. I turned it over and over in my fingers and something felt right about it coming with me.

Maybe I'm crazy to bother carrying these things with me. But somehow, for me, just the fact that somebody has wished for my safe journey enough to give me these objects makes it worthwhile. I believe there is enormous power in wishing.

Things I would have told you if I'd seen you...

Picadilly Circus

You know when you have a secret but you really want to share it?

Yeah. I have one of those. Well, not technically a secret but it is from you guys.

It's one of those I-just-haven't-told-you-because-I-haven't-seen-you secrets.

I'm going to Paris for my birthday! Lauch and I booked the tickets yesterday. But I've been secretly dreaming about it for weeks. Doodling 'Paris' while I've been taking messages on the phone at work. Finally! I get to eat in patisseries, examine French people to see if the women really are chic and if the men really all have big noses. We're just going for the long weekend. Anyway, no more about Paris.

Here are some photos of L and I at Picadilly Circus. We went to Covent Garden on the weekend, went out for dinner (v. romantic) and walked down to Picadilly Circus to check it out. In the photos I look like a pig and then a turtle... guess which one's which! However these photos make me laugh when I look at them so I thought I'd share. I secretly love photos that show off my inner goofiness.

Man With Head in Wall

Lauch and I were down near Oxford St yesterday afternoon when we came across a funky art gallery.
An artist called Mark Jenkins was exhibiting. In the doorway was a garbage bag with two legs wearing jeans and sneakers sticking out of it. I had to look twice to make sure it wasn't real.

A lot of his art was installation, where he'd create these human looking forms that were wearing clothes and there was something odd about them, and put them out in public spaces. Like, there was a man who looked like he'd stuck his head into a wall. Or a man sitting down cross-legged on the pavement with his hooodie up but no head inside the hoodie.
Anyway pictures explain it best. Click on the links below:

Man With Head in Wall

Man With no Head and other pictures