I am always reminded of Wooburn Green, a village
outside of High Wycombe, where the pitch is
surrounded by the apparent views of your photos:
pubs, workingman clubs and homes. The pictures
conjure time, place, an idyl of John Major; a cricket
pitch with cricketers playing after a cream tea. Here
is history in the making captured in a time warp,
like a message in a bottle floating out to sea. Inside
is a sonnet of what we remember as our heritage. A
message that has explored the seas, and yet
captures a moment in time.
A photo has replaced this previous mysterious moment.
So the mix between a message in a bottle denoting a street from the past. Itself highlighted by tinting as if of architectural drawing provides for us a replacement for the family tree, evidence of a time caught, stitched together for panoramic puzzle of the street. Though the fish eyed lens captures more, a junction of images put together is educating us as passers by. Time gone and still captured for its place whether in an exhibition, or a historic wall.
I note that you have branched out to old Victorian photos of people or family, perfectly composed in squares, peacock feathers.
What surprises me is the diverse and original use of material; photography and textiles, coming in subject terms from different parts of the spectrum. You have not as I have mistakenly done, picked up a brush to paint and called painting the be and end all of art. Your fabric is playfully colourful, reminiscing to shapes discovered by the most innovative of artists of the past. There is something of the enjoyment of making these pieces which most people forget as part of growing up. You still have it: fun creativity.