It is the story of my adult life. When I know the way around the supermarket, when I can confidently navigate the back roads it is Time. Time to get the boxes out and say my goodbyes. My daughter was only seven when she suggested to me that we were Travellers, although, given her creative imagination she was probably already referring to time travellers!
This move is a strange one in that it is very piecemeal. First we packed up the house and put everything in store. Then we started creating the house that we will move into next summer. Now I am packing the studio and taking on a temporary space at Lanhay and, whilst the new space will be bigger and cheaper and closer to the building work, I don’t like the act of moving out! Don’t get me wrong. I am extremely excited about going to Cornwall. I have wanted to live there since I was about ten and this is a dream coming true. But Wimbledon! I feel this is where I have come of age.
It is almost exactly four years since my lovely friend Regina suggested that we should share a space at Wimbledon. This was pre diploma. My work was amateur and I was completely unsure of what I was doing.
Regina, on the other hand was a skilled thrower who knew precisely how. Four years on and so much has happened. I have completed the Course at City Lit and what an experience that was! If I had not had a space at Wimbledon to practice and develop, the diploma would have been virtually impossible! Since then, I have had about 20 months of flying solo – Regina left for pastures new and, without the rigour of formal study , I have been developing my practice, honing my skills and getting ‘out there’ at shows and in galleries.
And always, in the background, a supportive group of ‘proper’ artists to whom I could turn for advice and support. We have had great discussions about my work and theirs, they have helped me with my first approaches to galleries, we have held each other tightly when things were tough, we have talked over the kettle about everything under the sun and I have really appreciated their company.
This week I have dismantled my studio in preparation for moving out on Saturday and everything is one chaotic mess.
Well I can cope with that. But what is more difficult to bear is the metaphoric drawing out of the tent pegs. The hearing of conversations in the corridor about a future that I will not be part of. The knowledge, which comes with experience of so many moves, that it is time to let go and get out fast – no fuss, no drama, just gone!
I hate this part!
And so I am stalling! Not really going at all! Having my cake and eating it! Making in Cornwall but hanging on by my finger nails in Wimbledon. Thanks to the wonderful Louise Diggle I have a small corner of a studio in Wimbledon in which to lurk. Somewhere to talk to clients and discuss my work.
Maybe even take part in the future of WAS. I realise that I won’t belong properly and I am aware of how hard that will be but I just can’t quite let go so, Cornwall, here I come but in Wimbledon. . . . . I’m still standing!