I have collected lots of and lots of of damaged shells. I choose them by holding them as much as the ocean, wanting on the form of them and deciding whether or not I need to work with them – and whether or not they may work with my thread.
To me, a shell that’s damaged is extra fascinating than a shell that’s good. A damaged shell has lived a life. I can see what the ocean has performed to it, what has occurred to it on the rocks and stones. We spend a lot of our lives looking for or attempting to acquire perfection. However as I’ve received older, I’ve realised that perfection is unattainable – and the search isn’t value it.
As an alternative, I search for a shell that has been marked by its experiences, the way in which we’re marked on our pores and skin, once we age. I search for a shell that has been by means of lots, that’s been thrown across the sea or broken by a seagull. And but, it’s OK. It’s nonetheless right here. It’s positive.
There are practically 1,000 damaged shells in my assortment now, however I nonetheless go right down to the ocean about 5 instances per week to get extra. Once I discover a damaged shell I like, I’ll weave my thread alongside its jagged edges and thru its holes, and switch it right into a murals. That’s my means of addressing the deterioration of the pure panorama, placing some new life into it and creating a way of renewal.
Once I present my work and different folks join with it – once they take a look at the shells which might be battered and damaged and flawed and discover them lovely – I really feel I’m doing what I used to be meant to do with my life.
It began 5 years in the past after I moved to St Leonards-on-Sea on the south-east coast of England. I used to be strolling by the ocean and picked up some shells that had been damaged. I observed some had holes in them, which I discovered fascinating. I had seen seagulls selecting up shells and dropping them, to create these holes, so they might peck out no matter meals was inside.
I all the time take my stitching pouch with me wherever I’m going, and so afterwards, in a restaurant on Hastings pier, I discovered myself winding my thread round one of many shells and out and in of the holes.
It was a gray and white oyster shell, barely pink inside. I didn’t have a plan about what I needed to do with the thread and the shell, I simply needed to do one thing to have a good time the cracks and breaks. And that’s how I began making my sculptures. I’ve not stopped since.
In addition to the ocean, all my artwork is linked with ageing and time. Typically, I’ll draw the traces and injury marks of the damaged shells and mix it with a drawing of the traces and wrinkles of my face. So far as I’m involved, these traces and marks are a part of who I’m, simply as they’re a part of the shells I accumulate. I feel, as I’ve received older, I’ve come to grasp that every little thing adjustments – and that has given me a way of peace.
My final present was referred to as Good is the Enemy of Good, which is attributed to Voltaire, I imagine. One piece I confirmed was a shell go well with – a sculpture within the form of a swimsuit which I made out of wire, shells and vintage lace. Each little bit of it’s damaged however as one piece, it comes collectively.
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