Decluttering is going well.

Out went the things that son didn't want but I found it hard to let go of.

Out went two oboes. There is no point playing the oboe if you can't count bars in an orchestra. And as the oboe doesn't play a lot of the time in classical pieces the bar counting is mega. More counting than playing in fact.

Out went several more framed art works, a lot of old hiking gear and more books. No one needs three spare lightweight anoraks.....

Mental decluttering is another thing altogether. I am trying to make more space in my head for creative thoughts. I have made some progress using the 'screenzen' app for my phone. I now have about one extra hour per day to be in the real world, thinking about creative projects.

I have resigned from my poetry group. It was hard to say 'this is not really working for me', but having said it, I feel relieved. No more writing for a specific reason. No more listening to poems that I really don't understand or enjoy. No more cake.

​All of these actions are freeing me up to make stuff. And what could possibly go wrong with making stuff?

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Quite a lot, it turns out.

Making a book requires many different steps. Designing, making a mock book, printing the pages and then fabrication. Unfortunately a lot of effort goes in before the fabrication stage, but so much can go wrong at the last hurdle. And does.

Bin it or make it anyway?

​My new motto is 'make it anyway'.

Make it even if you trim the pages wrongly and chop the bottom off the images. Done. 

Make it even if it looks too small because you wanted to be economical with an expensive sheet of Japanese paper and fit all the pages onto one sheet. Done.

Make it even if the cover paper rips as you flatten it down after gueing and have to hide the error with black marker pen. Done.

Make it even if you have a lot of pages where the printer made a mess and you have to cut off half the page. 

​Make it when the paper is too thin and the cover shows through on the last page and you got glue on the page that leaves a mark.

I realised that people don't mind a few imperfections when they wanted to buy the book that I didn't want to sell. The fact that it had empty pages and that the typewritten poem had typos didn't seem to bother them. I even wonder if they like it because of the imperfections. An enjoyment of the hand made.

If I had binned each book when it went wrong I would have nothing to show for the last two weeks work. Instead I have three new books, all different, and all trying different papers, covers and shapes. I now know that I am no longer happy with standard photo paper with its harsh white pages. I love the off-white shades of Japanese papers in differing thicknesses. They feel better. 

​But most of all I love the book made from all my errors with my 'test my patience' printer. 

It got its name from the idea of cutting up the photos with scissors to remove the ink blotches added by my printer. Stones the topic, paper the medium and scissors the method. 

I am ready to make more of this collage style of book. It allows much spontaneity and as many errors as I like. For who is to know what is intentional and what is mistake? And I get to do more hammering out words on my tyepwriter which is more therapeutic than almost anything else I know.

​Life is not perfect. And nor am I.

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.