A yearly adventure on Chatsworth Road, E5, where in true advent calendar style a new addition is discovered every day. This year contributions will reflect on who (or what) is getting us through the Corona crisis? Where are the rays of light this Advent? Follow us on twitter and instagram @chatsstarsE5
The installation some how felt a little, slightly, rebelliously naughty. Any way l just wanted to make a brief statement about my star but l don't know how to do it but how about...
A star of hope & a prayer of light for the approaching year ahead 2021.
Quinn, my daughter of 21 months, and I had a bit more time on our hands when Corona hit. Instead of whisking her away to exhibitions or playdates we spent a lot more time pushing our own creative boundaries in my studio. We started designing into everything we could find and pouring over artistic books from our shelves. Old clothes, scraps of paper, things destined for the landfill, all was our treasure to explore and rework. After a while I realized some of the clothes we were upcycling could be used to solve a serious problem that had been bothering me for ages. Before I had her I worked in the 2nd worst polluting industry in the world, Fashion. It sickened me that my creativity was feeding a machine that was eating up her future. I loved to create but I wanted to be part of solutions that she would be proud of and want to follow. Lockdown gave us the extra time to discover the magic of upcycling clothing and inspired me to start a book. I wanted to teach others simple tricks to make their wardrobe incredible. Why consume more or discard something that can keep being revived through your own expression. Even better I wanted to teach others how to bring their child into the making process and let them design their own wardrobe. What better way to combat fast fashion then to show the next generation the value of clothing and the power of their own creativity. The first chapter is on painting into our clothes so I drew from the Lascaux Caves, our species first recorded artistic beginnings. There is something unspeakably beautiful about the simple repeated shapes of our hands outlined in pigment blown through hollow bones. There is one theory that these caves were painted by pregnant women who might have been the only members of the tribe with enough time resting indoors to reach for something deeper than just survival. When I showed Quinn books of these works she reacted excitedly exclaiming, “Hand! Hand!” She loves to make handprints in any medium, a simple connection with the material and an identifier both universal and all her own. We tried replicating the Lascaux Caves with spray bottles of paint into fabrics and paper. The idea that these ancient mothers were reaching through time and still inspiring the youngest of minds today filled me with gratitude for the healing nature of art. It may have been a hard year with many setbacks but my daughter’s burgeoning mind and my ability to give back through sustainable teaching kept us feeling light and full of possibility. It’s incredible how loss of freedom can open up so much and how slowing and looking back for inspiration can bring the newest change.
If you are interested in learning to upcycle clothing or want to teach the small ones in your life to upcycle please find us at https://www.instagram.com/genupcycle/
"Lap Swimming"
Stephen
This year I have acutely felt among the lucky ones. Anne and
I could work from home. We weren’t furloughed or made redundant. No one in the
house caught the virus (that we know of).
None of our family back in the US caught it either – until recently, but
in that case with a swift recovery.
Of course, there were losses on a lesser scale – no theatre,
no museums, no live music. Cancelled visits and cancelled trips. No going to
the pub after work.
But then again, we made the most of what we could do. A week
in the Peak District. Meeting colleagues for a picnic in the park. Chatting with
friends on Chatsworth Road.
And let’s be honest, London in lockdown was wonderful, in a way. Clean air, quiet streets, empty skies. Every few days I would cycle around the city, over London Bridge and then back across Blackfriars Bridge, stopping to marvel at the sight of Fleet Street or Old Street with not a soul in view. Cycling changed from being a way of commuting to being a way to catch an hour of freedom.
This autumn, as the days grew shorter and the news became ever grimmer, I discovered – or rediscovered – the pleasure of lap swimming. When I was younger, I swam for play or I swam to compete. This time around, swimming has become meditation. From the moment I enter the pool and drop under the water, thoughts fall away and I can only and simply be in the moment: Pull, kick, breathe. Pull, kick, breathe. Pull, kick, breathe.
