Watched “Slowhand at 70”. Ole Clapton doin’ his magic at The Royal Albert Hall. Drunk in denim blues. Genius. Taken to church. Sheriff shot. Always wonder what twenty somethings hear and see when Clapton, Procul Harem and others come on telly. For me, there is no eye-candy but a love of performance, photography, editing, sound and music all joined together by memories of The Flamingo Club and school friends, holidays and finding my place on earth. Of course all that is big business now: Ward off dementia and engage with the elderly using music and art, music and memories, music and writing explosions.
My beautiful niece has given up modelling before she began. She is sick of people gasping at her height and the length of her legs and rather than being spotlit she opted to retake her Psycholgy A Level to upgrade from a B to an A grade. She’s stuffing her job at Superdrug, where her contract changes daily and apparently legally, and moving on and up.
I too am changing course. Yesterday I gave away my box of easel, acrylics, oils and water-colours to Sense. Stopping this art malarkey. Going to auction off my canvases and wipe my slate clean. I have my reasons.
Joining in the memory game though, I just deconstructed a quilt creation of mine to revamp it for a summer exhibition. It’s part of my RAGWORKS collection and all about Leyton going from 1969 up to 2014 or whenever they moved the three concrete columns and sphere from Bakers Arms and replaced the elephant with benches. So my work includes embroidered depictions of the slipper baths at old Leyton Baths, the paraffin kiosk on Cathall Road E11 when it had houses, the pawnbroker balls, the old pub pineapple decorations and the Freemason bank ( allegedly) at Bakers Arms.
It’s rather like those Victorian and Edwardian samplers done by young girls where they sewed the alphabet, sewed Christian messages and block-stitched pictures of peacocks, church spires, crescent moons etcetera.
My work about Walthamstow below nods to those nimble thimble Essex girls.
Entering that time of year when pots rattle at 4 am and mothers over-produce in kitchens. Curry smells entice us at the end of the fasting day at 9pm. Today Tesco was packed with bulk-buyers. Tesco responds to all its communities and today there were beautiful notices about helping us to spend during Ramadan. I found my bargain of three jars of well- in-date mincemeat at 10 p each. And not Tesco own brand either.
So the weekend was one of sewing, shopping, Eric Clapton, storing memories, and changing direction.