I’ve been to one or two studios over the last twelve months. My inner studio ‘voyeur’ has taken great delight in seeing artists in their creative space… hearing about their work practice where it all happens. The arrangement and storage of paint brushes has become a public pre-occupation of mine.

Now I’m having a felt experience of inhabiting and being creative in my own studio. The space here invites work. It’s all windows onto the bush and the pond. All brick floor. This morning I rearranged it. Taking an interior design tragic’s pleasure in adding a table here, a chair there.


I’ve placed sheets of paper with headings on a long table …ideas for creative exploration while I’m here. Life drawings have found floor space. Reminders of my other (not so public) preoccupation with the female form.


Then of course there’s the painting/weaving that’s pretty much covering most of the floor. I spent several hours (in my jammies) early this morning, working on that one. Several times I’ve set up a blog, complete with a photographic progress report…to let you all in on how that little creative project is going. Then I delete them. Coward, or maybe just a good little mother, protecting her baby from real or imagined danger out there in the big wide world. I prefer to think the latter is the case.


Mostly, my very best friends have been the only ‘critics’ of my ‘dabblings’ with paint, so carefully do I guard that little pleasure. I know I’m a tease but I’m only going to publish a few details of the work so far…bits I’m happy for the world to see. For now anyway.


I’m in the studio right now, writing this for you. Cecilia Bartoli is belting out an aria from Mozart’s “Cosi Fan Tutte” on the IPod. Every now and again I hear the birds answering her bell like voice with an aria of their own. Quite frankly, I could get used to this.