OH ( my other half)  and I are trying to declutter. We know that we have too much stuff, and we also know that none of our family want it. They are all in canada, and will not thank us for having to sort out our home when we are gone. 

I have been reminded of this by the recent death of Margareta Magnusson in March. Margareta was known as the 'guru of decluttering'. Her book 'The Swedish Art of Death Cleaning' encourages decluttering as a means to live more lightly in the present. She said of decluttering; 
                                                     “Living smaller is a relief.” 

OH and I are both working on decluttering our home, and I am also working on my studio, in the knowledge that we may be moving to new premises in the not so distant future. Gone is the bicycle that never got ridden because it might get stolen, the shower head that went with broken taps, the bone china tea sets passed down from generation to generation and the Victorian cupboard doors that sat in the garden shed for 20 years. Those were the easy bits. OH has even let go a pub sign from his Berkshire home, that also sat in the shed for over 30 years. That is a cause for celebration. The shed feels tidy and so much more spacious. Now he can get a new electric bike......

The harder decisions relate to my artistic creations, sitting in my studio taking up space in padded bags. Time moves on, and so does my art. So many images with so much sentimental value. But unclaimed, expensively framed, and taking up space. 

They tell the story of my photography journey, but no longer represent my current ideas and work. What to do?! One thing is for sure; I can't hold on to everything, much as I would like to. Son leads a life free of clutter, but has recently moved into an unfurnished apartment and has had to buy table and chairs to eat off, and a bed. Some things are necessary for a comfortable life. He has enjoyed being able to hang his carefully chosen art collection in relative permanance rather than storing the works in a locked container. It seems that art makes a home. But only if it is on the wall.....

And so it is time for me to let go. Bit by bit I have been donating old framed works to an art studio for the neurodiverse. They dismantle the works and use my frames. New life for old wood. My pictures go in the bin. It feels easier to release my works this way than to take them to a charity shop. I made a big step forward this week when I released works from my time at Central St Martins in 2011; my first photo exhibition as a photography student. 

I still have the digital images, so they are not lost forever.  Just no longer taking up space in am overcrowded cupboard in my studio at Rye Creative Centre. It felt surprisingly hard to let them go, even though I wouldn't hang them on my wall.

As Margareta Magnusson said

And this week I shall let go of a whole bunch of works that are weighing me down. It gets easier each time I do this. This includes works created during the Covid pandemic, that no longer feel right. Repurposing Karl Blossfeldt's images was a happy way to spend time during lockdown, but essentially they are not my images ( even though using them is perfectly legal).

Some of the works are going because their frames are not of good enough quality. The mounts too white, or the frames too black...... framing is another learning curve, and fashions change so fast. 

But strange feelings overcame me this weekend at Open Studios; a strong attachment to more recent work, to the point of not wishing to sell a hand made book that contains my first ever photo lithography prints. 

I made the book to hold these first prints, and when asked if it was for sale, I couldn't ( and didn't want to ) put a price on it. I had spent two days printing the images and another day making the book and the cover. It has become a reminder to myself that creating a special book takes time and effort. 

A respected friend asked me if there was a value at which I would let it go. I guess that if the price is high enough it would tempt me to sell, but it would currently be a price that would make the book unaffordable. I keep it as a reminder that I can, and will, make more books like this.

So for the time being it stays with me. A less bulky record of my art life than framed works, and therefore easier to justify. 

And then there are the 'treasures'...... all the items that I have brought to my studio from outside. The pebbles , feathers, seaweed and dried sea kale. They are the decorations for my studio shelves and reminders of what my work is about. 

I have noticed that increasingly people would like to own part of my collection. A yellow shell, a seaweed 'heart'. I normally say 'no', for the collection comes from far and wide, and each item is unique. Each has a memory attached, and is a tactile object, so much more satisfying thatn a two dimensional image on a computer screen. 

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But this weekend two people asked to buy some of my seaweed collection. These are the woody roots of a seaweed plant; what is known as a hold fast. The hold fast anchors the seaweed to a rock or stone. 

I said 'no' to the first request, but the second was more persuasive. In the spirit of letting things go I let a small piece of seaweed go to a new home. One that came from a local beach and not from the other side of the world. 

When it was gone I felt so sad. Two days later I still regret my decision. I don't want to start selling objects found in nature. Not even dead ones. I have learned my lesson. 

I will hold on to my hold fasts, for it seems that they mean more to me than old, badly framed prints.

They are a tangible reminder of happy journeys, and a great conversation starter in my studio. I like people to hold them, to feel their weight, their strength, and then to leave them where they belong. 

So in the spirit of decluttering I remind myself of the question asked by the other queen of decluttering, Marie Kondo

Isn't it wonderful that a small gathering of dead seaweed hold fasts still brings me joy.

I give myself permission to hold on to them in this month of letting go.

I have been in South Island, New Zealand for three and a half weeks. My other half is on his retirement 'trip of a lifetime'. to the Cook Islands.   I, not keen on hot, humid beaches, get to tag along and remain in South Island whilst OH goes tropical.  Better still, I persuaded son to join us for part of the journey, and to be my companion while OH fulfils his dream. 

I haven't been to New Zealand for 9 years, since my last attempt to work here as a GP locum ended prematurely due to personal challenges at the time. But now I am retired, and this was purely a holiday. A chance to revisit this country that I love so much. One more time......

So many things I had forgotten about. The space, the quiet roads and the colours of the ocean. The sunrises and sunsets, the sounds of the crickets drowning out the birds in the bush. The single lane bridges on many roads, the delightful cafes that serve tea in a teapot with bone china cups. I love it all. 

I had also forgotten how the nature conservancy department is battling continuously against imported predators that destroy the natural vegetation and birds. On every hike we passed many traps and monitoring devices for possums, stoats and rats that do so much harm to the indigenous wildlife and plants. But that's another story, and if you wish to know more, you can read what son has to say on the matter here. He says it so much better than I ever could.

 Three and a half weeks on the road with my other half. That is a long time to be in close company. Away from my studio space and all my art materials. I knew that I would have to work on something creative whilst away, so I am carrying a small box with pencils, crayons, some Japanese paper and a cyanotype kit. 

How do I do cyanotype when travelling and staying in clean modern Airnbs? Good question. 'With difficulty' is the answer. Cyanotype chemicals are seriously blue, and stain everything in sight without a moments hesitation. The biggest challenge was finding a place to be safely messy, and some glass frames. I bought second hand frames from a charity shop, and acquired a large cardboard box to be  messy in from the supermarket. I have attempted wet cyanotypes in several places, but the constraints of keeping everything clean, and the lack of a shady spot to set up was a challenge. I have made several exposures, but as yet none are washed, as I will need to do that in the safe space of my studio, where I can make make as much mess as I like while hanging them out to dry. 

Being on the road makes it difficult to have a meaningful project. I didn't really find a focus for my attention until our last place of stay, when OH had been safely packed off to his tropical island, and son and I settled for a few days in Kaikoura.  We were living right next to a spectacular beach of white limestone. Wonderful formations of folded rock, and some pebble and rocks that looked like porcelain. I was hooked. 

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I have never seen so much white rock. With so many interesting patterns and crevices carved out by history over millions of years. I found myself researching the geology of the area, and learned that the limestone is 50-60 million years old. It is the result of the laying down of sediment layers of tiny marine organisms called foraminifera (there's a word to love...) . When they float they are a component of plankton; something that the many whales in the area consume in vast quantities.

These barely visible creatures have a shell made of calcium carbonate (chalk) , and when they die this gets compressed on the ocean floor over millions of years. Never before have I been so enthralled with the geology of a location. Billions of tiny sea creatures squashed over time into pure white rock. Quite extraordinary in my view.

I searched for images of foraminifera and found some beautiful illustrations on the Picryl website, from the 1904  book of Ernst Haeckel.

Looking at the rocks and pebbles knowing that they were formed from these microscopic sea creatures filled me with a sense of wonder. I spent hours sitting on the beach photographing them, drawing them and observing the tunnels and patterns on their surface created by sea creatures that must have crawled through the sediment many years ago. 

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Nothing makes me happier than a 'project' to work on. It doesn't matter to me what comes out of it. What matters is how much pleasure I gained from exploring the beach and sitting with my chosen stones. My attempts to draw them were hopelessly unrealistic, so I resorted to a 'no pressure' technique of drawing them without looking at the paper. This created some pleasing, rather 'childlike' abstract patterns, that I hope to work with when I return to my studio in Rye. By manipulating them to black and white I am exploring the possibility of  printing the images as photo lithography prints. 

Now I am waiting for a plane to bring me home. OH is safely returned from paradise. Son has flown back to Canada. Normal life looms. 
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As I left the beach abode I felt tears rising. A sign that I found a special place, and also that I had enjoyed special days with my son. 

I thought this was going to be my last trip down under.

Now I am not so sure.......