At the heart of it

Not sure why, but now seems to be the right time to talk about my journey through art after a personal trauma: maybe this is because I feel my blog needs the rest of the story and perhaps it might be able to help someone else. On December 8th, 2009, my husband Carl, died through suicide: my family life was torn apart and I was left to pick up the pieces and try to continue supporting my two young sons who at that time were just 8 and 10 years old. Now the art is at last finding it's way, I want to share why it has been such an important element in our new life.

Carl was 43 and his death was completely out of the blue. I had no idea how he was feeling and for some time I blamed myself for not noticing the warning signs. But how could I possibly imagine that a loving and passionate man who embraced fatherhood with all his strength could ever be thinking of such a desperate and final act. This dreadful word which I don't tend to write very often, suicide, changes every part of your life that is left and the journey back into some kind of happiness takes a long time and perhaps will never truly resolve. But we are learning  new ways to cope and find ways of being happy again and whilst sometimes this just feels temporary, we are realising that life is very precious and still needs to be embraced. My two sons have and still are being well supported and nurtured in a way that I hope will always let them talk and that whilst life will never be perfect, there can still be hope and happiness.

Spain, April 2009

London, Nov. 2009

Throughout this journey, art has been a very powerful need and support although at times it has also proved an element of struggle. But I have been able to explore the pain and heartache, the confusion and isolation, the anger and the love. I am never short of an issue to work on, it has just been a case of finding the right medium. I have not wanted to upset anyone and tried to be mindful of other family members, but art is about the world in which we live and what better way is there to explore such personal issues and life itself. 

Whilst this is just a small summary of what has happened during this very rocky journey, at least it might explain where the idea came from for drawing Carls's OM10  and the Bosch Drill on dissolvable fabric with thread. I try to make the images perfect, each stitch allows thought and reflection on his life and our lives that we now have: the new skills I have tried to learn. But then I wash the back ground away, I don't quite know what will happen. Will the stitches hold together, fall apart, distort and make a new shape? We had the foundations pulled from under our feet, we still don't quite now how it will all be but the imperfections can allow you to see a new beauty which is not always obvious. 

So whilst I am very pleased with the outcome of my textile projects and I have achieved a very good grade, there is that  element of guilt - if Carl had not died, would my art have contained so much passion and love, would it have been so successful? And can I now keep it up?