Making things out of nothing.

On a cold blustery day in the Welsh/English countryside we found ourselves in this wonderful, worn little workshop. Tucked away at the bottom of a garden. Where a ginger cat ruled the roost and roamed in an out. A large old range stove constantly fired up and ready to go. Everything coated in a fine orange dust. Piles and piles of clay. Tools scattered. Projects ready to be created.

There is something about manual arts and crafts which always makes me feel better and more real. Making something beautiful out of quite literally nothing makes me feel myself and takes me back to the reason of being really. As cass as that sounds. I love from a lump of almost earth you can create beautiful objects that have use. I love that out of a sheep’s’ wooly jacket you can create clothes, out of a simple piece of cloth you can create a beautiful garment and out of a piece of led or ink on paper you can create a master piece. When nothing becomes something is quite magical. Thats the reason I make to create something out of nothing, to remind my self that thoughts become things.

Learning how to throw pottery is quite a task, it looks so much easier than it actually is. Its something I really loved doing, so much technique to learn. Its a craft I want to explore more and I am itching to find some studios here in Barcelona. I loved using my hands and getting stuck in, quite literally, I loved the feeling of making something useful and functional but beautiful at the same time.

In this studio, on a cold winters day, we learnt how to make little bowls with the help and guidance (and a hell of a lot of patience) of a skilled craftsman. Just being in this scene, in this studio, made me feel alive again. For its places like these that I do love the very most!

Lost in Cambridge

It’s been a while since I have wondered Cambridge’s old historical streets. Coming from a small market town just a short car journey away, Cambridge has always been ‘My city’. It is the city of my birth after all. You can’t help feeling all of the past goings on and that everything is steeped in some sort of historical importance and magic. It seeps out from everywhere, on every corner you turn. Every nook and cranny. Its a celebration of intellect and pompousness. It feels like Ceremonial celebration of academia. I love the romance of it all, as you wind round its streets and rivers, that have seen hundreds upon hundreds of fellows, merchants, lecturers and general city folk alike punt and walk. It puffs its grand chest out and impresses you with every spire, chimney pot and timber frame. It truly is one of the most romantic, fantasy magical places I know.