And the cat. She leans through the stair railings and drinks the water.
It’s just one little moment that gets me moving. Once that moment hits, watch out – this is where I transform into a bull at a gate. The impulse is deep and profound. I immediately start fabricating this girl with glass and smalti from an image I’ve drawn years ago in one of my sketchbooks. Without noticing it before, I’ve ended up filling it with ladies. Life drawing was always my thing, but why always girls? Youthful ladies, faceless, with long limbs, engaged in nano snippets of life.
I imagine ‘young Emily’ in these moments and am drawn to recall how I felt at this age. I remember being these girls. I did these things. In my hometown I remember spending hours laying in the grass, with the sun warming my skin, eyes cast upwards to bluebird skies – and spending time just absorbing the shapes of the clouds – and the closest I’ll ever get to meditation.
I would naturally empty my mind once the sun hits my face, close my eyes and quietly engage all senses. From time to time, past conversations and moments would seep in. I would shoo them away again. A constant tug of war between remaining present and overthinking things.
I drew her. Me. Back then.
I moved away from the sun on my face, lying in the grass and a head full of empty thoughts and song, no more cloud absorbing and became a girl with a career. I moved to the big city where I was affectionately labelled ‘country bumpkin’, ‘sweet’ and ‘naive’- because I was. My street smarts hadn’t kicked in yet. I believed people were good and kind, and ulterior motives didn’t exist. Had no idea about networking, instead just doing my own work.
This happened. I was at a ball in a big puffy skirt like this, but black tulle. I was on the fringe of turning my back on the big city, and moving away. After years of racing in traffic, working hard, and complicated weekends – I longed for simplicity and ease. A slower life again. The undercurrent at the ball was beyond me, and here I was again. ‘Naive’, gangly and ‘sweet’ – I no longer wanted to understand the language of the city, I didn’t want street smarts anymore.
So here – still a work in progress, she is. (She was nearly named ‘Something’s changed’ a nod to Miss Sharon Jones.) ‘Sweet thing’ won out, her title inspired once again by Van the man (Van Morrison). Listening to this song – I instantly feel warm, comforted, any troubles are instantly put aside, and I remember, the days of lying in the grass.
Here I am, getting back into it all again; inspiration to create images of the gloriously mundane is no challenge for me.
My latest offering –
‘The greatest view’ 2016, Emily J Hogan.
Reclaimed marine ply, glass, beads, mirror & gouache.
I imagine I find the simplicity of these images satisfying due to my ease of moving in and out of a fairly meditative state, on a daily basis. I need white space, and if I am in a position of being in the midst of chaos, which is a realistic summary of my work days – the switch goes off. Emily is officially off the grid.
This is about the metaphorical teetering that goes on in life. Treading on eggshells, delicately inching forward, in a vulnerable and exposed stance, maybe there are strange feelings and butterflies taking over your insides.
The practice of meditative behaviour. The tightrope walker must pay close attention to both their physical and emotional state, as both situations are precarious and dangerous.
‘Always had a roof above me, always paid the rent…’
Yep, that’s me – but I do love camping, so there Lemonheads! This is about not taking risks. I’ve taken a lot of risks in life, and passed on some too. Didn’t feel right at the time. That happens, nothing detrimental I imagine, I can’t help wondering if things turn out as they should anyway.
The simple act, of tea in bed, the strange and snuggly feeling of wearing stockings on their own, (sort of like a human glow stick, cold around the edges and snuggly warm in the middle) hot soothing liquid comfort, not overthinking the day, enjoying the quiet – surroundings and mind, the gentle embrace of my favourite place. Bed. I’ve spent evenings like this.
This image was a fast response to the creative urgency ovulating brings me. And even though I took my time to make this, it’s only once the piece is grouted that I think, ‘Oh shit! I should’ve paid more attention to my cuts and grout lines.’ And to this I say, screw it all! It’s done, am I going to pull it apart and try to fix it? No. And that is now it – move on. Risky. Oh yes.
Today was a studio day, the weather was glorious, the music was Brazilian chill, the dog was by my side, rather than her hysterical human licking obsessed self, the chickens were digging in the garden. The conditions were perfect.
And, there was a tradesman arriving, we all know how that goes. An entire day is wiped waiting around for the knock on the door, announcing they are here – just 3 hours later than expected.
My story was a happy one today, after 6 weeks of tardy arrivals, today 8.30am did really mean 8.30am.
I revisited this old mosaic and got stuck into the background with some black gouache. And I was instantly happy, I may have found my aesthetic. Finally. Mixed media. I love that this marine ply had been something else, repurposed. Then once the black paint hit the bumpy, flawed wood – I felt like I had finally found it. Something I would like for myself.
Then I started on this glass panel. This door is over 100 years old and comes from a sweet country town. It was brought to me, to love. Which I do. I built it into my studio as an exterior wall flanked by full glass windows.
One of the yellow panels loosened on the trip, and smashed into pieces. Rather than repair I decided to stick a clear panel into the space and set about filling it with glass bits and pieces. A work in progress.