Up, up and away!

I've been in the thick of it this week, between trips to opposing end of the planet and all. So I don't have a blog for you today. Not a proper one like I usually publish on a Thursday, because I'm actually in an airport right now. And then I'm going to muck you about because for the next fifteen days I'm going to be exploring and discovering Japan and I'll no doubt find loads of inspiration for blog entries.

Watch this space. 

London Journal - Street Art

Last week I mentioned that Shoreditch is the best place in London for Street Art or graffiti. I really like wandering around the area - preferably when the weather is warm - snapping shots of the incredible stuff I come across. 

I have found a few Banksy installations in the time I've lived here, but he is just one of hundreds of incredibly talented artists that make their mark on what are often run down and decrepit buildings. 

A few weeks back I decided to walk part of the way to King's Cross for my now finished Design course at Saint Martins. I'm really glad I did because I came across several new-to-me installations. 

Spotted this from across the road. If you look carefully
you'll see a grey shape above the tail of the weasel. 

Up close, the 'spot' is in fact and incredibly
detailed little owl. 

This is the work of Stik. I first saw a Stik installation
in Bethnal Green. It was on the way to the studio I
took my tarot card paintings to for imaging.
I would have to say that Stik is my favourite London Street Artist.

Also, notice the sausages in the background. 

I do like the ones that use colour. 

This one is actually in King's Cross.
I love that this is a Barclay's bank. 

As good a time as any

I met up for a hot beverage with a friend over the weekend. She's heading off to Australia in a few weeks on the same sort of two year visa I originally came to the UK on. We were chatting about her plans and how she was getting on with her last few weeks of work.

As she talked I was amazed at how similar it all sounded to me when I was getting ready to go. People commented on how brave I was (although I didn't feel it.) or they would play the nay-sayer, projecting their own fear of adventure onto me to downplay any sense of dissatisfaction they had for not taking a similar risk in their own lives.

Of course there is also the FOMO Factor. FOMO = Fear Of Missing Out. As she's getting ready to leave a lot of turmoil is happening in my friend's family and she knows she could put her plans on hold in order to be there for them. When my date to fly was approaching I got the news that my Aunt was pregnant and I remember thinking I couldn't possibly go to London now - I'd miss out on watching my cousin in the first few months of his life!

As we talked about the inevitable FOMO that you can expect to experience when you leave behind friends and family for your own adventures, I felt a sense of growing realisation.

I have long been an advocate and believer in doing what you love, doing it well, and letting money or whatever you define as 'success' follow. I believe it, but it wasn't until I was sitting there across from someone who, when I first met them I would never have believed would take the initiative to fly halfway around the world, that I really accepted what this meant.

We can plan and prepare or follow guidelines or rules or 'schemes' until we're blue in the face, but eventually something is going to give. Something is going to mean we have to take the plunge and just do all those things we're always saying we would do if we had the time or money or training. 

As of right now I am self employed. I have been saying I've wanted it for so long and always thinking there was something I had to do to get there. All I ever had to do was stop working for other people and know that I can rely on myself to make my own income. I'm a talented, creative and imaginative person. I have skills that I can market and a passion for developing more. 

I could wait until I have enough money saved or the right business plan written or a big contract lined up, but it's too easy to fall into a trap of not knowing what is 'enough', what is 'right' or what is 'big'.

FOMO is just one of those things that we can use to justify holding ourselves back. Ultimately, though, it's your life. Basing your life on what other people hope or want for you, and especially what they expect from you, isn't going to help you realise your own dreams.

In short, all the excuses in the world aren't going to stop me from living my dream right now. I'm no longer going to say I'm 'setting myself up' to be self employed or that I'm 'working towards it'. When people ask me what I do I can tell them:

I'm a Creative Specialist. I do graphic design and I'm publishing a book this year. I'm self employed and yes, I'd love to do some work for you. What did you have in mind? 

All the ideas we have

A new character came to me. This used to happen to me a lot, but not so much since I’ve started sending out manuscripts and sharing all the other characters I’ve written in the past.

I saw a name written down and suddenly he started to talk to me. I could picture what he was like – fair haired, quiet, a little moody. It’s all terribly inconvenient though. Because a character showing up is how I start writing a book and writing a book is something I simply do not have time for at the moment. So I’m making a little shelf and I’m going to sit him on it, to wait.

The inspiring view of King's Cross St. Pancras
from Central Saint Martins

Where there is one more will soon follow. It’s an inevitability. One by one I’ll line them up together, where they can wait for me to find a plot for them to live in. Perhaps in a few months, or perhaps in November, for NaNoWriMo, but not just yet. He’s there and with him are ideas and ideas are fuel for my creativity, so he won’t be ignored or forgotten.

He’s not alone of course. His shelf sits above a chest full of costumes I will one day create which is next to two giant sculptures I have planned. Hanging by their laces from hooks on the wall are shoes I will paint and in a filing cabinet are the frames of animations I will draw. All of them are waiting for their moment.

Right now the moment belongs to a book called ‘Wise at Any Age’, which I’ve been working on for three years. It belongs to three edited young adult fiction manuscripts which I continue to submit to agents. It belongs to psychology studies and design courses and freelancing.

When these things are done they will join the list of accomplishments: The shoes I have painted, the animations I have done, the places I’ve travelled, the books I’ve read, the paintings I’ve brushed, the facts I’ve learned, and all the wonderful discoveries I’ve made.

This is how it should be because these are the things a life is made up of.

Accepting the Challenge

I don’t often use profanity in this blog because I believe it’s possible to express myself without using such words for emphasis. I also believe that I can make a stronger, more valid point without it. But for the purpose of this entry I’m going to use a particular phrase which violates my personal preference to watch my language: 

“Life’s a bitch, then you die.” 

This is a common enough phrase that I’m sure I don’t have to explain it. The sentiment is that life is hard and at the end of it you don’t really get any reward for your suffering because it just stops. Quite a bleak and negative message and one which I often hear from people dismissing the concerns of someone or making excuses for their own inaction in the face of difficulty. 

It’s a way to fob off the challenges we face. 

“My boss is really driving me up the wall. They don’t have respect for my time or talent and it’s quite disheartening.” 

“Life’s a bitch, then you die.” 

I disagree. If your employer isn’t showing you respect and it’s affecting your quality of life or opinion of yourself then it’s up to you to do something about it. You could either approach them directly, see if there is an opportunity for mediation or, if it’s really bad, you should look for a new job. It doesn’t help anyone to accept a situation where you feel undervalued. By standing up for yourself you can learn how to take charge, create change and assert yourself for a positive a outcome. 

“I spent all weekend working on my novel but then my computer died and I lost everything.” 

“Life’s a bitch, then you die.” 

That’s harsh. I’ve had it happen to me. I think you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who hasn’t lost many hours of work in one thirty second glitch of technology. It’s frustrating and can easily make a person feel like giving up. But what sets a successful person apart from someone with a victim mentality? The ability to try again, to stick to it and to accept the downs as well as the ups. Sometimes technology fails us. Sometimes other people fail us. But accepting defeat is choosing to fail yourself, and that is really and truly your choice, not  down to life. 

'Strength' is about trusting in your
own ability to survive.
Prints available. 

There is a wonderful analogy that Pema Chodron uses in her teachings. She says that life is like standing in an ocean. A wave comes along and knocks you over. For a moment you’re under the water, salt stinging your eyes, water in your nose and mouth but you get up and wipe your face. Then another wave comes and knocks you down again, and again you’re unable to see, there’s sand in your mouth and you can’t breath. But the trick is to keep getting up because you can. Eventually you’ll get up quicker and quicker and eventually you might find you don’t get knocked down at all anymore. 

The difficulties in life are not there to keep you down, put you in your place and limit you. the challenges we face are there to teach you how to be strong, show you where you’re already indestructible and remind you that growing and learning are never ending.      

I think a better phrase is: “Life is a series of opportunites, so what are you going to do with yours until you die?” 

www.CreativeLifeCoachLondon.com

Memory Lane - Kait's Mixtape

My newest art acquisition - 'Katy Bird' Chickadee

Today I caught the overground from Vauxhall to Wimbledon so I'd not have to go underground on my way home. The sun was gloriously, richly hot as it's not been for about two weeks. It was simply too nice to be in the network of tunnels running beneath London.

I stood on the train platform, enjoying the sun on my face and the music in my ears. I was completely and entirely in that moment. There was the pulse of an approaching train in my feet, the warmth of the sun against my skin, the familiarity of the lyrics which I'd not heard in so very long.

I have always admired Tegan & Sara. Born in my home town, they are a true testimony to doing what you love. They went from being a locally known duo playing in a local coffee shop in Kensington (The Calgary Kensington, not nearly so posh at the London one, but still very nice) to having their music featured on the L-Word soundtrack.

Their second album is called, interestingly enough, 'This business of art' and today I found myself listening to 'More for Me'. This is a brilliant song. I've always thought so, but today it was just what I needed to hear.

Had a bad day, as bad as they come.

Time to get a real job - you gotta stop having fun.

So I got a real job working nine to nine.

Making five bucks an hour til the day I die.

We are conditioned to believe that we must work and that work must be done out of obligation and that if it's work then it shouldn't or can't be fun.

If I could have one wish I sure wish I had never grown up

got a picture of the way I looked when I was three

I came out laughing, screaming, dancing.

I came out laughing, screaming, dancing.

When we are young it is so easy for us to celebrate the beautiful things in life. To see even the seemingly minor things, like a beautiful sunny day, as something to be celebrated.

I used to be free spirited

Now I'm just free of sleep

I've got a burning passion in my throat

I've got a burning passion inside of me.

I've got a job that wastes my time and gift

I've got a life that needs a serious lift.

It's easy to become complacent. To stop seeing the pure joy at the simple fact that you're alive and the world exists. But we can get into a place where we feel like we're bursting to get out, fidgeting with an energy that just won't go away, and this is where we can tap into our potential. This is where we can give that push.

I'll always have more for me.

I take a little more for me.

I take a little more for me.

I take a little more for me.

More for me.

Remember to always take care of you. That you can be selfish without losing compassion. That when you take care of you and do what you need for you, you will be able to benefit others more.

Remember why you're amazing and why you deserve a job you love and that you should love the life you lead and lead it as if you own it... because you do own it. It's yours.

"Tell me what you plan to do with your own wild and precious life."

-Mary Oliver

Me and the Sea - Thailand Correspondence Pt. 2

Growing up in Calgary I was often met with a raised eyebrow when I made the statement, “I miss the ocean.”

“How can you miss the ocean? You were born and live in a landlocked Province.”

Now that I live in London the ocean is in closer proximity but still not easily accessible, and still I will say, “I miss the ocean.”

I don’t think you need to grow up with something to be able to miss it. I don’t actually have any tangible memories of my first encounter with the sea. I was about four and there are photos taken on a family vacation in which I am a happy little fish frolicking in the waves. But from that moment on, the ocean and I became best friends. I have an affinity with it and anytime I take a tropical holiday, no matter the country, culture or food I may encounter, the single thing I look forward to the most is playing with my dear, old friend.

From the moment I can hear the gentle shifting of sand as water slides in and out, the flowing of the current and changing of the tide, I can think of little else about my surroundings. I will explore the hotel, wander local shops, and all the while my mind will be on the first moment when I can set foot into those beautiful waves calling me to play.

I will walk down to meet my friend, enjoying the warm sand beneath my feet, the way it changes from soft to firm as I move from sun baked and dry to ocean soaked and mucky. The sand squishes beneath my feet and oozes up between my toes, all the while the waves rush up to meet me, asking me to join them. And then I can’t help but run, to splash into the water and feel the layers of it - the sun warmed surface and the refreshing cool of the incoming tide. I let it splash up my legs as I gallop through it and then I fall, collapsing into the wonderful liquid, tasting that intense saltiness on my lips, feeling the swell of it play in my hair, pushing against its ebb and flow with my arms and legs.

Oh and the toys it has. The delights and discoveries to be found! Swimming under the waves and exploring the abundance of colourful and strange creatures never ceases to amaze me. Glorious parrot fish, neon anemones, shoals of squid, foreboding barracuda.

And then, out of the sea, the things it has pushed forth, the little discoveries to be found on an evening walk lit by a burning bright orange sun. The delicate remains of creatures that seem almost otherworldly. The unusual and almost sad blob of an unfortunate jelly fish. The perfect daisy shaped dots on a sand dollar.

Or the things which live at that edge of the sea, living off the land and waves in equal measure. An intricate and beautiful shell which is home to a hermit crab. The odd and delightful little sand crabs which make stunning works of art as they filter food from the sand and discard it in little balls. An equally as odd crab with spinning fins which can bury itself deep into the wet sand in a matter of seconds.

Then there is that smell. That fresh, salty sea air which blows in over the waves. Invigorating, enlivening, gorgeous.

How can I miss the ocean?

How could I not?

Steam Punk Inspiration - Thailand Correspondence Pt. 1

I arrived in Thailand three days ago. The plane journey was knackering, as an eleven hour flight is expected to be, making the arrival in such a gloriously humid and lovely location all the more wonderful. Stepping out of the air-conditioned airport into the stunning Thai heat, my whole body relaxed. The humidity wrapped itself around me like a warm, damp cloth and I wanted very badly to be instantly rid of the jeans and t-shirt I'd worn on the rather chilly plane.

A van scooped us up and took us the relatively short distance to the Indigo Pearl, the hotel where we would be able to rest our feet at the end of each day.

Where I stay when on holiday is of little importance to me. As a child, many family vacations were taken in a big blue Chevy camper van my dad had kitted out with a double bed and an overhead storage cupboard which could be opened up as a 'bunk bed' for my brother and I. Being a girl guide meant camping weekends in tents. Family holidays to more exotic locations were usually in the hands of my dad and could range from a pretty decent condo to a hotel room with so little space that the double bed my parents shared and the single bed I got had about an inch between them.

Either way, I've never been too bothered about where I was staying. For me, it's about the culture, the food and when it's hot - The Ocean.

As it is, my partner likes a nice hotel. Nothing too swish, but she does go for a higher star rating. In the case of this holiday we found a package deal of flight and hotel all rolled into one with breakfast included. Food is very important to me so a guaranteed meal at the start of the day was a huge bonus.

Anything else was just icing on the cake. The fact that the hotel is in a nature reserve, set away from the main cities to be found in Phuket, and therefore less touristy, was a nice plus too. We both looked at their website a few times, reading about the history of the grounds. Tin and rubber were two key industries in Thailand and this hotel used to be an old tin mine.

I didn't realise how very cool this would make the space until we arrived.

As we got off that van we were both bleary eyed and sticky. We were too early to check into our room so the staff sat us on lovely large pads with big comfy cushions, brought us the most delicious spiced iced tea and wet scented cloths, and did a little orientation of the grounds. As we listened to Aon, the lovely woman who patiently explained where everything was situated to our sleep deprived and heat addled brains, I began to notice the distinctly quirky art around us. The twisted chandeliers, tin lined tables and restaurant signs all had an industrial edge to them. Near the main entrance is a TV screen set in what can only be described as a Steam Punk display.

But it was when we finally saw our room that I became so delighted I actually had to do a little dance of happiness. This is by far the best hotel I've ever stayed in simply because of the style. Unlike the sterile boxy rooms of so many hotels I've been in before, this place has character and history. The tin mining theme runs throughout, with delightful little details and finds that inspire a lot of ideas.

It's like staying in a giant art project, all Steam Punk themed and tin mine inspired. As a result I now want to do some Steam Punk of my own, just for the fun of it.

Chair back in restaurant

Box in hotel room

Wicked cutlery

Girly Boy Tin Miner sculpters

My favourite - The Nut and Bolt toilet paper holder... it unscrews to change the roll.

So you're an artist?

My psychologist is more like a business and life coach than the typical stereotype of a 'shrink'.

If there even is a typical stereotype.

But I digress.

My psychologist twigged me onto a great Blog by a fellow artist who is also a musician and author. Summer Pierre is author of The Artist in the Office, a book my psychologist insisted I seek out. I'm ever so glad that I did!

I read the opening pages aloud to my partner. She cut me off part-way through to ask if I was certain the book had not been written by myself. I laughed but it's true that, as I read Summer's words I felt a strong sense of camaraderie.

This was all just before the holidays and I put the book to one side. I wanted to wait until I was back at my day job and more able to appreciate the worksheets provided throughout the book.

This morning, in the few minutes I had after getting ready and before I must leave to catch my train I curled up on my day-bed, The Artist in the Office and a pencil in hand. I didn't get far before I found my assignment for the day:

Evidence Collecting.

I actually ended up thinking about it as more of a treasure hunt but the outcome is the same. Spend the day collecting things you encounter and paste them to a sheet of paper or in a journal. Below is my end product, of which I am very pleased! It's a peculiar mis-match of my daily tasks and observations.

The other assignment I went for today was playing I-Spy on the train. As I was alone I needed to make it a personal challenge so I decided to pick a colour to seek out. I did a quick scan of the car to see what colour stuck out. There was a lot of red and a lot of navy and then my eyes fell on the headphones of a rather beefy gentleman sitting across from me. The long and twisted chord leading down to his black iPhone stood out quite noticeably against his black shirt, hoodie and sweatpants as it was bright orange.

I wrote the headphones down in my journal and began seeking out more orange. Initially it was quite difficult. I spotted an orange pencil in the hand of a man sitting further down the car. He was working on a Sudoku puzzle or a crossword. Then I recorded that the London Overground is shown as a double orange line on the tube map. Next to me on the seat was a crumple Oyster Card registration information pamphlet, coloured a light orange hue.

Once orange was stuck in my head it became much easier. There are the squares in the pattern of the Northern Line seats, the date line on the cover of an Evening Standard, the orange stripes on my rainbow scarf, the arrows and word 'Open' by the doors, Ryan Gosling's shirt on a movie poster when we stopped at Balham and of course, the scrolling text which announces what station we're coming up to and where the train terminates.

Suddenly orange was as abundant as the navy and red had been. I filled an entire page of my journal and could have filled another but my stop was coming up.

This book is turning out to be quite fun. I'm excited to play I-Spy tomorrow and to read on and discover more clever ideas for keeping my creativity flowing whilst working an almost entirely uncreative job.

Maslow again

A little sketch I did on a whim after a sudden burst of inspiration that, like most of my sudden burst of inspiration lately, was fleeting. I was reading a blog entry by a fellow artist when I was struck with the idea. This is one of many blog entries written by artists who don't make quite enough with their art to sustain themselves day to day. Contrary to popular belief, artists do like to eat and as a result many of us who should be out taking photographs or playing an instrument on stage or tapping away on a keyboard, compiling a manuscript, are going into offices or shops and helping other people make money.

I'm really good at administration. I'm organised and efficient and I have a strong enough work ethic that even if I really, really don't care about what I'm doing, whilst I'm getting paid for it, I will do it to the best of my ability.

This aptitude I have for administration has landed me a relatively well-paid position in a charity. Everyone working there is lovely and the job itself is decent in that I'm making a contribution and not just pushing paper for some huge company. Whilst my hard work has lead to me making enough dosh that I can purchase canvases, get art imaged and stock up on other supplies, it leaves me with very little time to actually do the things I want do. And honestly, it's still not like I'm making some glorious sum which allows me the freedom to spend willy-nilly. I'm on a tight budget with time and money and it's all making me feel a bit robotic.

I get up early and on the walk down to the tube I usually find myself buzzing with ideas. Thoughts on looking up publishers, sending out manuscripts, seeking a gallery space, starting my next Tarot painting, starting an entirely new project, updating my blog and visiting museums whirl through my brain and add a spring to my step. The first few hours in the office I'm running on this feeling. I'm feeling zippy, full of ideas, full of creativity. I'm alone for the most part and I can tackle my to do list without interruption or distraction. I get emails and phone messages out of the way and delve into something creative. Something I've been storing up, like designing a pamphlet or certificate. My lovely co-workers trickle in, the rest of the country wakes up and the phone begins to ring. My inbox begins to fill.

Suddenly I'm pulled away from my creative task. It's shut and put aside whilst I stuff envelopes, write letters, prints documents and do data entry. My day becomes filled with these tasks, seemingly without end, until it's four o'clock and I'm free to go.

Its only a twenty minute tube ride home but when I get there the sun is already setting and my energy wanes with the disappearing light. This paints a bleak picture (pardon the pun) but I'm trying my best to remember that this is a spring board for other things. CS5 is on it's way and my line manager appreciates that I'm a creative soul.

I've got food, water, shelter, warmth. I feel safe and secure where I live. I'm loved both here and afar. For the most part, I feel pretty spiffy about myself. But I'm finding it extremely difficult at the moment (just at the moment, mind you) to get to the plateau where true self-fulfillment is found. Where I don't have to worry about making enough money to have all those lower levels met whilst also meeting that top level.

One day.

Ingrid Michaelson - Kait's Mixtape

Music fuels a lot of my artwork. Actually, it fuels me in general. It is very rare when putting music on won't help me to focus, breathe and centre. There are some songs which are particularly good at giving me a lift and occasionally I'll find an artist who's able to do this with almost all their songs.

I'm not actually sure how I found Ingrid Michaelson. I think I heard it whilst I was working at the big blue box, or perhaps the song just happened to find its way onto my iPod like Natalie Merchant's My Hands. Regardless of how the song got there, Be O.K. just stuck and soon it found its way onto my OCD playlist.

To qualify for my OCD playlist a song will have one of three things:

1. It never fails to lift me up.

2. I can (and will) listen to it several times in a row without growing tired of it or wanting to hear it less.

3. It inspires me to do something new or renews energy for old projects.

Be O.K. is about remembering that everything, even when it feels absolutely awful, will be O.K. Life is ups and downs but neither lasts forever and that in itself is O.K.

I love it, and as a result I decided I should just go ahead and get a whole album of her stuff. I've not had loads of time to listen to music during the past month as so much of my time is taken up with work, school and the seemingly never-ending commute.

My course finished up on Thursday, Hallowe'en has come and gone and despite the few fireworks popping and crackling outside, Bonfire Night has come to an end. I've got no obligations, no entertaining to do, no errands to run. I came up to my room to sit and try to update this blog with something substantial. I opened up a window and stared at the blank space. Next to me I have some canvases displaying current works. Nothing I want to share yet.

I began to feel itchy, a bit off. What to write about?

I opened up my iTunes and put on the mixed play list of my most recent musical purchases. The xx, old school Tegan & Sara, Hot Chip, David Byrne with assorted other artists, 10,000 Maniacs and Ingrid Michaelson.

I never know what song is going to stick out to me on any given day. I like it because it makes my iPod a mix bag of fun surprises. A song that's been on my OCD playlist for ages will suddenly fall flat whilst a song I've often skipped suddenly becomes unbelievably addictive. In this case, however, a song I've never heard before suddenly becomes the best song I've heard in weeks.

I don't know what it is exactly, but You and I has become one of these songs. It's light, it's simple, it has a moment of silence followed by clap-stomp clap-stomp. It makes me want to twirl in a field of yellow flowers. It makes me want to skip on my toes, bouncing lightly. It makes me want to share the feeling it gives me with everyone I know and everyone I don't. I offer the feeling, the wonderful light, warm, happy glow, to every being on the planet.

Then a little further down, past The xx and Hot Chip comes another one of Ingrid's incredible pieces, Oh What a Day. One of those perfect break-up songs that isn't bitter and isn't spiteful but speaks with great truth of the pain of heartache and the consequential growth it inspires. It serves as a reminder and it makes me smile.

Then Keep Breathing starts, reflecting much of the same wisdom to be found in Be O.K.

All we can do is keep breathing...

All we can do is keep breathing...

All we can do is keep breathing...

All we can do is keep breathing...

I still feel a bit fidgety and a bit...stuck. But it's not pressing into me with urgency. It's just how I feel at the moment and this is but a moment and then there will be another one and another one and another one.

I'm going to sketch for a bit, perhaps prepare one of the new canvases that arrived last week, maybe work on some character sketches. And I'll remember that everything will be O.K. be O.K. be O.K.

Inspiration

I love music. I can't compose it, write it or perform it, but I am a great consumer. I appreciate lyrics. I am thrilled by the skill that it takes to master an instrument. I love how a really good song can get right under my skin and send crackling ideas through my brain.

I've listed some of the music that has had such an effect on me on this blog before. My Mix Tape entries are a taste of some of those songs I can listen to daily without tiring of them. But my mix tape needs to grow and it can only do that if I find new music.

I'm inviting you to share your favourite songs. I want to know about the music that lifts your heart, raises your spirits, puts a smile on your face and makes you feel invincible.

Post your own mix tape contributions below or on my Facebook page or send me a tweet @faunawolf on twitter.

Fellow Artists

When I was a child I was fourtunate enough to be reared without a television. Often my peers would ask me what I did with no TV around to distract me. The question always seemed silly. What did I do? I played tag, hide-N-seek, board games and cards. I climbed trees or went on bike rides. I explored the banks of the Bow. I went to the Zoo or walked the main street of Inglewood. I drew and painted. I had an abundance of toys and a bright imagination. I wrote books. I journaled. I read.

Oh the books I read. My parents provided my brother and I with an abundance of novels, in all different genres by so many fantastic authors. There were mysteries, science-fiction, fantasies and historical works. There were books about animals or the solar system or the human body.

And there were books about art.

My introduction to art was through these fantastic books. First, there were incredible mathematical drawings by the brilliant mind of M.C.Escher. I would examine the twists and turns of his drawings and often attempt them on the plentiful sheets of paper available to me. My dad fixes photocopiers and as a result we always had reams of paper about. I thought it was strange when I'd go to a friends house and they wouldn't have blank paper at their disposal. Such a thing seemed barbaric. How, exactly, could they manage without such a resource? I was as baffled by this as they were by the lack of a television in my home. I could pull Brian Froud's book of Faeries off the shelf and settle onto the hardwood floor with a piece of paper and pencil in hand. I could sketch out the shape of faery wings whilst learning all about the different types I needed to keep my eyes open for when I was playing in the garden.

Sometimes I would just sit with a book and examine it, rather than using it to enhance my own passion for sketching. I adored the pages of the Roger Dean book, which showed a sort of organic futuristic world. His darker images like 'Gollum' made my shiver in a delightful way. But no one was as dark and twisted as Ralph Steadman, whose artwork was not in a book about him, but rather, a children's story he'd illustrated.

It was this treasure trove of brilliant artwork that fueled my young imagination. As I grew older I began to pursue my creative side in my schooling, taking art throughout High School. I stopped following artists very closely, however, and life took me in another direction upon graduation.

I have since begun, once again, to research art and artists in earnest, which is made easier for being in London. With so many museums at my fingertips, how could I not take the opportunity to gaze upon the original works of Picasso or Monet and to discover the whimsical delight of Koons?

Of course, it's also a new century and a time when a whole wealth of artwork is available through the click of a mouse. I've discovered the incredible force that is Hazel Dooney and come to admire sketch-artist extraordinaire, Andrea Joseph.

Combining the original influences with the new discoveries has been pushing my art in so many directions. I am able to understand social media marketing through the blogs of Dooney and Joseph, not to mention the inspiration their work provides. I continue to find energy and motivation from my old favourites, like Froud and Dean. But I'm open to more and excited for who will touch me next and find their way into my psyche and in some way, onto my canvas.

Always on a plane or a fast train - Kait's Mix Tape

All my bags are packed and I'm ready to go...


When traveling anywhere I usually have a large carry-on bag of 'entertainment'. This includes a novel, a journal, my laptop and sometimes a sketchbook. It always includes headphones and a device for listening to music. If I was told I could only bring one carry-on item my ipod would be it.


In preparation for this trip I've been noticing more and more lyrics about change, growth and adventures. I'm already thinking of ways to incorporate them into my artwork. A lot of the lyrics influence my journaling and this leads to inspiration for my paintings. I'm busting with ideas and I hope that a few of these lyrics will help inspire you too.


"Oh What a World" Rufus Wainwright

This song was first introduced to me by two friends who sang it A Capella. One of them did the 'back-up', providing his baritone voice as substitution for the drums and cello used in the actual song. The other sang in her classically lilting tones. I love the rhythm of it and the original is just as wonderful as the version done by Nancy Price.


"Walk This Word" and "London Rain" Heather Nova

The first is full of innuendo, but it's also a beautiful love song about adventuring with someone who knows themselves as well as you know yourself.

London Rain is just an obvious one for me.


"Recessional" Vienna Teng

It's set in an airport...or possibly a bus station. Either way, it's beautiful. It's so important to see what is beautiful in each moment we have.



"Dogs Days Are Over" Florence + the Machine

I'm not quite sure what it is about this song, but I can listen to it anytime, anywhere. The lyrics are fantastic and the music itself is incredible. It's the sort of song that is likely to make my foot 'heavy' whilst driving. It makes me want to twirl and dance and laugh and sing along at the top of my lungs.


"Mushaboom" Feist

My favourite line: 'It may be years until the day my dreams will match up with my pay'

And it may very well be, but I'll never let that hold me back. Money can always be made, but once time is gone you can't get it back.


"Live Like You're Dying" Lenka

I discovered this Australian pixie when I heard her song 'The Show', which is also fabulous. But this song has joined the ranks of my OCD mix. There's not a line in it that I don't believe. We are all dying, everyone of us. Some are doing it faster, but that doesn't mean we can't and shouldn't all live like each day is our last. All we have is the moment and the moment is what we make it. We choose how we feel and we choose where that takes us. We are only given so many days, and we cannot trade them in for more.


Essentially, in the words of Mary Oliver:

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

And finally:
"How To Say Goodbye" (Smiles fondly at the spelling of 'au revoir' on the link provided) Paul Tiernan

Goodbye, so long, farewell, au revoir... *smiles the widest smile*

Until next we meet...

Thanksgiving and National Coming Out Day - a double feature

I'm thankful for my family and friends, who always show incredible support for me in everything I do.

I'm thankful for all those who fought for equality, who spoke out against oppression and bigotry, so that I can declare "I'm queer. I'm a dyke. I'm gay!" proudly and without fear.

I am thankful for an endless source of inspiration from a world so full of potential.

Happy Thanksgiving...Happy National Coming Out Day.

*bows to the very talented Karrie Arthurs*

The Muse

I think every artist has a muse, or perhaps several. Mine is in the form of a small furry little creature with a silly face and a sweet nature. Delirium (Named after the character from the Niel Gaiman Sandman Series) will be a year old in July, but in the short time I've been graced with her presence she has already given me what feels like limitless inspiration. Something about having a cat in my life has always given me so much to think about and write.

My first cat was Gummitch, who found me when I was one and who was like a fuzzy little sibling to me. She died a few summers ago. It was quite devastating for me, like having a cat shaped hole torn from my chest. I remember the grief I felt was unlike any I'd ever felt before and it was accompanied by the usual misinformed or naive comments from people who simply didn't understand that she was not just a pet. "When are you getting a new one, then?" "Is your family going to wait to replace her or go right away?"

Gummitch was no more replaceable than my brother would be had he died. So I waited to get another cat, knowing I could not fill the hole because Gummitch had been so much more than just a cat. She was a wise old woman who graced my life since childhood. She was my sister, my first best friend and the constant soft comfort I'd grown so accustomed to.

When it came time to find another cat that might choose me, I knew I was ready because I no longer felt quite so hollow when I thought of Gummitch. As Gummitch chose me, so did Delirium. Of the dozens of kittens I looked at in the four months prior to finding Delirium, she was the only one that purred. I scooped her up and she began this deep motor thrumming inside. I knew it was right, then and there, and within an hour I was driving home, with one of my best friends holding a cat carrier with this little creature inside.

Unlike Gummitch, Delirium feels more like a baby to me. Gummitch was my equal, Delirium is more my dependant. She sweet and silly and so very different from Gummitch, but so very right for me.

Today she ate a fly that was too big for her. I came outside to find her pacing and looking quite queasy. After a moment she threw up and there was the fly, lying in the little puddle, still buzzing a bit. This filled me with such love and joy...a sweet little kitten with eyes bigger than her stomach. I could just about burst at the thought and immediately I wanted to write it down. I've already begun a painting of her, one of many artistic interpretations that I'm sure will follow. As I filled a sketchbook with Gummitch, so I will fill one with Delirium. A sweet purring creature to sit upon my lap as I type, or to rest at my feet and play with paintbrushes as I sit before a canvas.

So I found my muse.

For Every One of Us

The Nature of an Artist

Since a very young age I have aspired to create fantastic art. My brother and dad are incredible at sketching something quickly and efficiently and by watching them I was able to learn a lot about proportions and shading. My brother drew dinosaurs and my dad drew planes...I drew dragons. I would take sheets of paper and tape them end to end so they encircled my entire room in a long, thin poster. Each sheet had a different dragon on it. Any dragon at all was fair game for me to experiment with my techniques. I evolved the shading of muscles or the tilt and turn of a twisting body, the life given to an eye through a shiny spot...and I learned a lot.

No matter how uninspired I may be feeling I am always able to sit down and sketch out a dragon, any dragon. This is my root of art...the initial step I took towards discovering my potential.

Tattoo by Karrie Arthurs of BlackBirdCustomStudios.com