Once upon a time, quite a long time ago, I lived an uncomplicated life of drinking coffee, sleeping in, walking without purpose with my camera and crafting until dawn. At the height of my totally blissful egocentric existence, I resided alone, with cats, in a 17 foot 1979 Monza single axle caravan, in a quiet side field of a camp site by the sea. I stripped the caravan back and filled it with exciting and pointless items of kitsch loveliness, I had little requirement for cooking but infinite solutions for sewing paraphernalia and knickknacks. I hand painted the large window at the bed-end of the van in a euphoric stained glass mural of rolling hills and sunshine which bathed me in colour each sunrise.
In this time, I made handbags.
I called my handbag enterprise ‘A-La-Kat’ and the handbags has little menu cards which elaborately described the materials and processes in the style of obtusely fancy restaurant menus
“A bold yet naive collection of Apples, presented uniformly in acrylics on a rich creamy muslin, lightly laminated, partnered with a garden twine lattice & the flamboyant essence of Summer”
I transformed broken and found objects into little portable creations and became totally one track minded.
It matters not.
All of the joy of sitting in my dimly lit, incense heavy van; drinking wine, listening to music and fiddling with fabric and glue guns and scraps and sewing and creating without boundaries exists always as one of the most beautiful capsules of my lifetime.