ORKNEY AHOY!

A good pal sent me a one line email in July 2023 that read, "This looks right up your street”, followed by a link. I clicked the link, read the opening paragraph of the residency listing and my mouth fell open. Sometimes friends know you better than you know yourself. I read on and it confirmed what I already felt. I have to go on this residency. It’s been a long time since I wanted something this badly, since I felt something was really for me, but this call out felt like that. 

Recently someone told me, “sometimes the things you need find you”. It felt comforting to hear that, whether it’s really true or not. Right now, it rings true. 

The short story is, I applied to this writing residency on Orkney (cue panic, soul searching, determination), I was accepted (relief, immense elation, shock) and then discovered I could not apply for funding in time (crushing disappointment, desperation, distress). A real rollercoaster of emotions. I experienced a short period of agitation where I felt like I was shattering, chasing each piece of myself in a different direction; how to find the money, who to ask for advice, what to do next, how to use my time, could or should I even go? It was the profound disquiet of seeing something you feel is infinitely important sliding away and feeling powerless to change course. 

In the past months I’ve not been sharing much on social media because honestly, I have been struggling. Making new work has felt near impossible, I’ve not had as much client work as I’m used to and my practice seems to be leaning in new, unpredictable and divergent directions. 

I’m also not even sure I want to remain (entirely) freelance, in part due to a couple of personal revelations that mean I’m seeing almost everything through a fresh lens. 

It’s been an exhausting time. But after a morning of disquiet and casting a wide net to find solutions, I had come up short. So I drew. In moments of extreme emotion, often I turn to creation as a form of processing; writing, drawing or making. In half an hour I made some quick drawings telling the story of the journey so far and asking for help. I was desperate. I could think of nothing else to do. I put the story on instagram and within an hour I had multiple comments of support, urging me to crowdfund. The folk reaching out to throw me a lifebelt were instrumental in building my confidence to officially ask for help on my terms. 

The crowdfunder (again) took a few days to pull together and think through. I designed a reward structure to tempt would-be supporters and to encourage me to consider making new work inspired by time on Orkney. Within a day, all the funding was there. ALL OF IT. I could not believe it - it surpassed any funding fantasy I might have entertained. I felt waves of gratitude and such a lot of strong emotion. Each time I checked, the numbers were ratcheting up and each incremental rise made several things evident to me: 

1. People are amazing. The power that even a small group of people have is immeasurable. Much good can come from believing in that and trusting that people have your back. Also it helps that I know some truly wonderful people.

2. I am worth something. I have a discernible worth as a person and as an artist (whatever that means). Often that’s not clear to me - I’m not angling for sympathy because I don’t need it - but for reasons I am still unpicking, I have a low opinion of myself that is debilitating and requires constant work to counter. 

3. Asking for help is OK. Sometimes we need help, and if people don’t know that, then how can they assist? Though it’s almost painful for me to ask, I know now I can do it and it can turn out fine. 

4. This experience is meant for me. Sure, that’s not a measurable, quantifiable fact, but this trip, this learning experience, this whole journey that began with that email feels like it is supposed to happen for me. 

The result is that - painful as it would inevitably be - even if for some unthinkable reason I don’t make it to Orkney, the gifts the residency has already provided have been manifold; renewed confidence in my creative practice, renewed trust in my instincts, belief in the goodness of people and the power of simply asking for what you need. Officially, THANK YOU to all the supporters. Without you I’d be on a different course. Next time you offer support or help to someone else, just imagine for a moment how much that might mean to the recipient. To this one it’s immeasurable. 

WINNER

I don’t think anyone could have been more delighted - or so ruddy surprised - about this than me. The book, written by Gordon M Hay and illustrated by me just WON AN AWARD! I didn’t go to the awards ceremony because of childcare, time, money, distance, hassle and I was so so sure we didn’t have a chance against the competition. I was also recovering from yet another cold and just couldn’t face it.

My disbelief was verging on a sort of panic when I glanced at my phone that evening and it was exploding with messages

just after the announcement (which I missed). This book was self-published by Gordon and thank goodness he was in attendance to collect the award. He commissioned the illustrations himself so it was just a two person project done over email and a couple of calls throughout another year of Covid restrictions. To be honest,

I have rarely been so grateful for a project; times is ‘ard these days and the continued 2020-21 lockdowns shut all my stockists and completely torched any community projects and live illustration I had lined up.

It was all feeling rather desperate, so a chance to draw 50 odd images for a book was BIG news. It was also massive amounts of work - it took me nine months to do it around other wee jobs and childcare - but it really came together in the end. I was - and am - very proud of it.

Scots - even in Scotland - is seen as niche and a minority language (some folk even think it’s just a dialect) despite folk speaking it all over the country, as much in inner city Glasgow as up in the wilds of rural Aberdeenshire.

Doric is only one branch of Scots, so to have recognition for this Doric book is amazing. I guess the award technically belongs to Gordon, but it feels like I won too (not least because he said very nice things about me - I watched the playback!), but we owe our sky high good feeling to the unwavering support of friends, family and followers, to everyone who bought the book, voted, read it and still reads it. That’s the bit I think about. I read it to my three year old, it’s read in several Aberdeenshire schools and there must be a host of folk reading it to children all over the place. What a joy.

HAND UP

This month I’ve had two conversations with fellow freelancers where the same problem has arisen. It’s tough to make connections with other creatives right now as many of us freelancers are alone. More alone even than pre-Covid times. There are not many places we can meaningfully connect, get feedback or share ideas (apart from dreaded Zoom) especially if we don’t live close by. A lot of freelancers spend their days being swamped with work they can barely cope with, quickly followed by the equally frenetic fear that there is no paid work visible on the horizon. Already this year I have experienced both. The question I’ve heard is this: 

How can we make connections and alliances with people who are also our direct competitors, especially if they’re more experienced than we are? Won’t they just think we’re freeloading or trying to steal their ideas? I say no. 

 Well, some might. When I was starting out (over ten years ago now) I reached out and asked for advice from a handful of folk I perceived as being more successful than me, but still within reach via email. I wrote polite entreaties but all of them were ignored or gently rebuffed with the general theme; “work it out for yourself, I had to”. I found it hard at the time and it was also unfriendly in a way that felt unnecessary. They had the knowledge and were unwilling to share it with someone further down the ladder. I do understand! Often it’s hard-won knowledge from years of making mistakes and falling. But think how amazing it would be to extend a hand down the ladder and help someone else skip some of those excruciatingly painful mishaps? Like being grossly underpaid, even working for free / ‘exposure’, awful treatment from clients, pulling all-nighters… 

Each of us have the power to change the narrative of selfishly grasping that ladder. We can be allies, being open to the possibilities of sharing and co-operation. 

Perhaps this sounds a bit too happy-clappy-hippy-dippy-millenial-snowflake to you? Well hang on. Say someone reaches out to you. They say “I really love the work you create, I find it inspiring. I am trying to be as good as you so I can work on similar projects to the ones you do. I’d like to talk to you about your journey.” It’s a coffee or a quick zoom chat. That’s it. You only need to share with them what you want to. If it’s awful, you can politely leave. 

 Being friendly doesn’t weaken you. Sharing something doesn’t weaken you. They’re pretty unlikely to start copying everything you do. If they can do that then maybe your work isn’t as original as you thought! If one day they go for the same projects as you, that’s OK, they are as much a threat as all the people you didn’t talk to. Perhaps down the line you can even collaborate on projects – if you like them, you could even work together on something, or they may one day ask you to do the same. 

Sure, it’s an idealistic view of mine, but I know if another slightly more established illustrator had positively responded to my pleas for help and guidance at the beginning of my career, I could have potentially saved myself so much heartache. 

I might have even gained a friend. Now if my pals and peers ask for my input, I always give it if I can. I choose what I share, I choose how I respond, but I am certainly not going to withhold every scrap of helpful information to protect my own interests. 

DOWN THE (JAMES McCUNE SMITH) RABBIT HOLE

Work in progress - 2022

I created a retail range a few years back with the University of Glasgow, it focused on some famous historical alumni of the university; James Watt, Lord Kelvin and Adam Smith. 

Three white guys. At the time I didn’t think about that – I did notice there were no women included in the range, but clearly they selected these very well known personalities, partly because so much is known about them.

Mostly they’re inventors and had so many connections with other renowned individuals that there is a wealth of information on them. Research – done by little old me – was relatively easy. 

Now they’re employing me to add James McCune Smith to the range, the first African American ever to gain a medical degree – and he got it in Glasgow. His life makes for a great story and I’ve been researching him using some university resources and, you know, the internet. Compared with the other three there is a dearth of information on McCune Smith. Sure, some historical documents must be in the United States, but last time I checked the internet, that didn’t matter so much. McCune Smith was born long after Adam Smith died, was 6 years old when James Watt died and although he could be seen as a brief contemporary of Kelvin, they were continents apart. Records were surely better kept and preserved the later we go in history. Where is all the information on McCune Smith? It’s been so frustrating to come up against knowledge brick walls and a complete lack of any helpful images. I started to resent the project because I couldn’t easily find what I needed. I couldn’t figure it out… 

WAIT. It’s racism. McCune Smith was black, so there just wasn’t the same interest in his life either at the time or even now. 

 The university have taken strides to address this with a giant new learning hub named in his honour (the reason I even have this job in the first place) but the fact remains that my work is cut out for me. I have already spent double the time on this one person’s illustration than on the other three combined. Sure, partly my practice has moved on over the years and I am ensuring the quality is as high as I can make it, but really, I am stumbling around lack of facts, pictures, descriptions, there isn’t even a comprehensive list of all his children’s names. His wife is essentially a name and little else. He ran a successful and well-regarded pharmacy – treating white and black patients - in New York for twenty odd years in a time of photography and not one single photo appears to exist. 

He’s described in various articles as a ‘hero lost to history’ or an ‘underappreciated literary light’ and his omission described as ‘historical amnesia’. But the things he achieved are astounding. Excruciatingly, his children that survived to adulthood passed as white, so to escape racism, segregation and lack of support in a white world they cut ties with their father’s legacy and essentially orphaned themselves. If his own family couldn’t accept their own history then no wonder he and his amazing contributions are mostly forgotten. 

I have learned my lesson. But I am sure I will learn it a thousand times over before I’m done making mistakes. I must try to look into the reasons why something may be happening and critique the information itself - or lack of it.

The fact I didn’t instantly recognise the inherent racism during my research now feels so short sighted. 

Before I jump all over other people for their prejudices, I have to first examine my own – and question why and how they got there. I am continuing my journey into James McCune Smith’s life – it is now fast becoming a voyage of discovery for its own sake, not just to put pens on the desk. Illustration; turns out it’s a lot more than just drawing pictures. 

UNSUBSCRIBE

Things are often rather slow in the first couple of months of each year work-wise. I’m not bragging (haha) but often there’s a brief lull after the festive rollercoaster of solo business. Not always; sometimes I leave the tax return as a sticky, out-of-date treat for the last week of January instead of sensibly doing it when it’s fresh in May, there might be organisation and admin to catch up on after the Christmas rush, but generally it’s a time for catching up, doing jobs I have made myriad excuses not to do and looking hopefully at the year ahead. This year I even did a complete clear out of the home studio and did heaps of shredding, recycling, binning, reorganising and repairing. My laptop was sent away for two weeks to get a replacement battery and during that time I didn’t keep a close eye on my emails. The laptop returned and aside from the noticeable speed increase on my digital demands, 

I observed the sheer volume of subscriber emails I received. There were hundreds of them and they were almost all a complete waste of my time. 

I unearthed yet another generic email from a promotion company trying to furnish me with personalised plastic goods; mugs, four colour pens, cheap office equipment and other planet choking horrors. How have I managed to unwittingly sign up to so many of these companies that clog my inbox with trash I never even read? In fact, did I even sign up to them…? I feel like these emails are happening to me rather than I am choosing to receive them. The emails are almost invariably bursting with the promise of job opportunities, print deals, ‘unmissable’ products, workshops and petitions, but each one I clicked past made a tiny impression, left a micro-feeling that stayed with me and often stunk up my mood. It might make me feel guilty, harassed, stupid, behind the times, poor or just sad. Nothing kills my buzz like an urgent email about something I don’t want on ebay, or a depressing pesticide use petition update. OK, some automated emails are helpful, interesting and lead to positive interactions, but they are in the minority.

I took a stand. I started unsubscribing them. If they have no place in my life and only feel negative, they go.

 I think I have successfully jettisoned at least five or six since new year and I intend to continue until my inbox feels tidy. The best is yet to come. Now I have left those emails behind me, I have carved out little moments of time to be freed up for something else. I have created space, not only in my inbox but also in my mind, at my desk. There are so many things out of my control in life, but this feels like something I can have a say in and can opt out of. I’m attempting to escape the constant drain on my mental bandwidth and the leaking of attention into crevasses in my inbox. I want to cultivate my limited time and use it for good things. 

I’m clearing the deadwood of cybertrash to make way for the new growth of ideas, good moods, time away from a screen and just… not having to feel bad.

This clear out is a gift to my future self, a way of clearing things up so Rosie-two-months-from-now is unburdened by the micro-niggles of emails leaking persuasive junk. That’s the plan. Inevitably online purchases, petition signing and networking will lead to another infestation next year, but I’ll keep up my unsubscribing habit to meet it.  

GOOD PRESS

For this small business ( and a lot of others!), there isn’t a lot to look forward to once the boom time of Christmas is out of the way. All that

January brings is chilly draughts and the invariably depressing last minute Tax Return (2021 WILL be different).

There is a slow and gradual pick up of work nearer the Spring, but those first couple of chilly months are often a chance for early business Spring cleaning, piles of admin (I am looking at new branded stationary quotes today) and recuperation from the busy business of the festive season. 

So, from the fug of the business grind, imagine my delight at being contacted by The National this month – recognition! They got in touch via a recommendation from past clients (which is always a nice thing to discover). They must have said some nice things and pointed out some of their favourite items as The National wanted photos for a wee feature called ‘Meet the Maker’. They had a few questions for me to answer about Illustration etc and how I do things.

All press is good press (so they say) but in a Covid-19 world of closed shops and slow sales, the best kind of press reminds folk they can buy nice things made by people who really need that support.

Buying from a wee business and pre-paying for services are the things that will keep folk going during this interminable series of closures and lockdowns. Every order I receive lifts my spirits because at the other end of the transaction there is a person who likes what I do and wants to keep a piece of it.  

I’m lucky that I have anything to sell at all. Many of us freelancers have no work; theatre makers and massage therapists, musicians and hairdressers. That list is just the folk I personally know. I suppose this is a wee reminder that we all depend on each other.

If you can pre-pay your next haircut, donate to a food bank, support another charity or buy a podcast, its worth doing because it keeps it going, but more importantly it keeps the people behind it going.

BRAND REFRESH

I’ve been laboring under the name ‘Illustration etc’ for years now and although I spent what I thought was a long time on my branding, I’ve been wanting to kick start it for ages. Partly I want the look of my site and social media feeds to better reflect my work, but I’m also shifting from precise ink and flat digital colour to more expressive pencil and watercolour. 

It feels like I’ve moved a long way in the last decade, but not so far that I have to change everything. 

I’ve bored pals talking about it, talked to creative peers, looked at what other folk are doing, but I still felt like I needed more guidance. A big catalyst was attending an online branding workshop by Liz Mosley. It gave me the confidence to start thinking about redesigning my ‘brand’ again but to not completely abandon what I was already working with. 

So here it is. My website is somewhat refreshed and the wee person I’ve always had as my logo is now more clearly me. I also eventually decided to keep the name ILLUSTRATION ETC as I believe it still suits what I do – I did remove the comma and full stop from it though – they have always got in the way!

I wanted to keep the azure blue I’ve always had because it speaks to me of bold blue skies, open seas and fresh thinking. 

The new orange complements the blue, but even better, it’s bright, optimistic and the colour combination reminds me of ludicrous 1980s colour palettes – which I love. Obviously. I drew all the elements of the branding using colouring pencils and the wee lines and patterns you might see around the site contain elements of the new logo; blue stripes from the jumper and wee orange triangles from the earrings. 

It’s been quite the undertaking – rewriting copy, moving things around, trying to ensure I’ve changed my logo and branding on EVERYTHING. It’ll be some time before everything is completely in alignment, but

I feel so much more optimistic and positive about my work and my brand.

It’s been a long time coming. 

HOURLY COMIC DAY 2021

My day in comics, hour by hour on Feb 1st. More info under this giant picture!

Hourly comic day, it’s exactly what it sounds like. You’re supposed to draw a comic every hour for the entire time you’re awake! It really is that silly. It is also great. I’ve never taken part before, although I have participated in other internet drawing challenges and always find them rewarding - but I think this one has been my favourite. I was definitely influenced by artist, Lucy Knisley’s superb efforts over the past decade or so!

I’m not a comic artist – YET. 

I have been doing some research into it because of a personal project I’d like to start on which I think might (in some way) take the form of a comic. At least, it’s influencing the way I’d like to tell stories in the future. What better way to try my hand than drawing comic after comic about the mundane routine of my ever-reducing Covid lockdown life?  

Up to this point, my illustration style has been quite precise, in a way. Fairly  representational, it’s been map and architecture heavy and illustrations have been pencil drafted, inked and carefully rendered for adding flat, bright digital colour. Well, not any more! Well, probably there will still be some of that, but 

I’d like to make work that is looser, quicker, less controlled, but with more character.

 Throughout the day I got more confident, more daring as the hours clocked by. I drew the first two or three comics with zero intention of sharing them, except with a couple of pals. I looked back over my work and thought, “you know what? These are nice.” Sure, they are quick, rough and a bit wonky but they’re full of life and honesty and personality. I love seeing that in other folk’s work so I took a deep breath and went for it. 

It was an intense day and creating the comics was really all I thought about, even when I was emailing or cooking or playing with my toddler. Seeing my world as a narrative isn’t something I do naturally, so it was a great exercise for that. Practice makes perfect, of course, so I think my illustrations actually improved, even through one single day of drawing.

I started to look for ways I could simplify shapes or actions to make them quicker to draw or clearer to look at.

Only by the end of the day did I really think about positioning the text sensibly so it would be read in the right order by a viewer, I tried a heap of different perspectives and views so it wouldn’t look boring, I tried to visualise all the fragments as part of one piece. Best of all, there were artists across the world all drawing with me, all covering similar ground and all looking to each other for inspiration and a bit of a laugh. A really great day. Hopefully I’ll be able to make the time to do it again next year! 

Thanks to pal, Ishbel McFarlane for encouragement and to Joe for looking after everything else while I drew. 

Lockdown Limits

So I took a little hiatus there of around a year because I had a baby in late 2018. Woo! That baby is now a walking, chattering person (albeit still quite a small one) and in March 2020 it finally felt possible to begin returning to work. “No no no” said a frankly odious new acquaintance, Covid-19. “Now is really the worst time to decide you’d like to start new projects, contact past clients and fire up instagram with all that new work.” Like pretty much everyone else, my life has been thrown out of whack in myriad ways, some little and trifling, some huge and affecting. It feels like just after pulling myself up out of the chaos of the first year as a mother (which also threw me completely) I’ve been pushed over by the new bully in town. I should add that 

I am lucky and grateful to be in good health and the hardship of spending time at home with my family isn’t making me want to throw anything out of a window. 

A lot of my client work (let’s say practically all) that I had lined up to start in Spring has been shelved. All of my stockists are shut, although INDIEZEB in Edinburgh is still trading online. It’s not what I hoped to return to – and like so many other creatives and freelancers (as well as gosh, just about everyone) – I don’t have much of a safety net if I have no work and I can’t sell anything. It’s a familiar story just now. But here’s the thing. What do I do about it? 

It’s genuinely difficult to unpick the right thing to do when there is no clear path. 

Many of my stockists have an online presence but most have ceased trading completely either due to stock being entombed in closed shops, social distancing being impossible in the workplace, or because of the risks associated with going to a post office and sending items in the post. I’ve seen some folk in my position close their online shops for similar reasons, but in direct contrast I’ve also seen people creating new products in response to the lockdown and sending out orders regardless. 

 This is uncharted territory – there be dragons – so responses to it are also untested and untried. With no real clarity in the news or from other services, I am left to make a decision about what to do about my own online shop. It’s difficult to make an informed decision with so much misinformation (thanks, Boris). In light of new information, I might change my approach, but since I’m forced decide whether to 
a) send out orders to earn a little money to help pay bills, but potentially put myself – and others - at some kind of risk, or  
b) cease all online trading completely and lose any potential income. 

It’s quite the conundrum. Currently I am keeping my online shops open.

I am still sending out orders, but only by visiting the post office once a week. I’m taking all the recommended precautions to reduce any risks of infection and spreading of Covid-19. As a minimum, I am hand-washing after opening any post these days and being mindful of how easily germs can transfer. When I am out, I ‘pretend’ that everything from outside my flat is covered in some kind of germ-infused dust and it’s transferred to everything it touches. That really helps up my vigilance with sanitising and hand-washing. It feels grubby to even suggest it, but since I have no other paid work on, now is the time to commission something or ask about future projects. Drop me a line, browse the shop, scroll back through my instagram, cruise the dark depths of my facebook page and enjoy travelling to a different time. 

Talking talking talking

So far 2020 has been all about the chat for me. I’ve not been at my desk much; in January I was getting my accounts in order for the impending tax return deadline on the 31st as well as filing and binning a lot of other paper in the micro studio* at home. The only other ‘work’ thing was planning an hour long talk for the Glasgow Society of Women Artists for February 3rd. February brought a second surprise talk as I was drafted in a week or so ago for Creative Mornings Glasgow’s February talk on the theme, ‘INVEST’ this morning. So really, mostly all I’ve done this year is talk. 

With the first talk, I was so aware that I haven’t been actually ‘working’ (aside from keeping a baby happy and healthy**) for a year and that feels like a long time to be out of the creative industries loop. I took it very seriously as it had been in the diary for over a year. When I accepted it, I was a new mother and had a mewling baby on or near me almost all the time. It was easy to imagine I’d be in a completely different scenario after a whole year had passed. Well the baby would surely be two or three times the size for a start and surely slightly more independent of me. Fast-forward a year to now and I have a walking, babbling mini whirlwind of chaos on my hands. 

I don’t really gives talks very often, though I actually relish them. Sure, there’s the few days of anxious planning, the locating and compiling of images for the presentation, working out if I can lend any extra depth or narrative to the content of the talk.

In the past, I used to wing it a lot.

Sure, I’d have some hand scribbled notes on a card but they were generally coded cues for a series of loosely rehearsed ideas or stories. For these 2020 talks, as ever, I got nervous, certainly exacerbated by the hiatus from creative working. So I changed my style to one of meticulous planning. Instead of sweeping together some projects I enjoyed, I chose more carefully the projects I loved the most, that could explain what I do and what I love. I tied myself to a loose theme so the talk would seem more fluid, thorough and dare I say, professional. 

Looking back over this landscape of my own work, I began to see patterns; human connection, experimentation, love and care, local interest, creative expression, stories…

I saw real craft for the first time in my work. I really care about what I put out and the folk I am working with,

so although that doesn’t make a project automatically good or successful, I was starting to see that same care evident in the way I put together the talks. I also notice now how much I want to help others who deal with the same anxieties, hang ups and fears. Rather than saying “Look at all this work! Toot toot!” I’m saying, “Here’s my work and it was all hard won, but I’m happy with what I’ve done.”

I looked over the past eight or ten years in detail, poring over images, illustrations and photos – some cringe inducing – but I also revisited times of great creative output, projects I’m still proud of. What a gift, to be asked to explain the career I am still building and to really see my own (somewhat faltering progress) with some clarity. After a babymaking break, I can see them all with a little distance and with a different perspective. I finished my two talks the same way:

I have made my peace with my limitations as an illustrator.

I always wished to be better, more competent and as successful as other illustrators I see as my peers. Rather than being them, I have come to realise I am my own thing and ‘illustrator’ is just one of the myriad jobs I do. No wonder I’m not the best! Making work I enjoy is what I’d slightly lost along my way [before maternity leave]. I have all these projects behind me to build on, but I’m moving in a slightly different direction, or I hope I am. I’ve loved being a free range illustrator, but I look forward to being a free range, part time, home-grown, inspiration-fed illustrator who is forging their own path and bringing some folk along for the ride. 

* Three days before giving birth in 2018, I moved out of my Barras studio and we had to schlep everything home into a windowless box room in our flat. Three weeks before I gave birth we had a basic mezzanine built in there for all our home guff and the lower section is a ‘studio’. It’s actually tiny. 

** I feel most new primary caregivers / parents would consider parenting right at the beginning as a full time vocation. 

Irons in the fire and a bun in the oven

I’ve been struggling with a problem these past months. It’s not that I’m growing a tiny person inside my body, but thatis happening and is also tangentially related. It’s six months into my pregnancy and up to this point I have been essentially in professional denial of the fact. Some clients I am currently working with know about it because being six months pregnant is hard to conceal and I’m running out of non-elasticated clothes. I have shared no social media posts about it on my professional accounts and unless you’re a friend, family or you’ve seen me, you’re unlikely to have found out at all. The main reason for this blackout is that

I have a genuine concern that prospective clients will discover I am pregnant (and therefore likely to be taking time off to be a mum) and will decide not to employ me.

Maybe permanently. Yup. That is a genuine worry. I’ve expressed this concern to a few people and their initial response is incredulity, but followed by an accepting, “you’re probably right though”. Even if I am back at work soon after the birth, they may find other people to work with and not wait for me. I’ve spent a long time building up a client base and working really hard on my practice and it’s really tough to feel it could all be whisked away because I have a womb and have made the difficult decision to have a lodger in it. Ironically I’m predicting I’ll need more income but will have less ways of generating it as I will be caring for a child. This was not an easy choice, nor was it an accident. I’ve been putting it off for a couple of years because I wasn’t ready for my life to change in that way. Even the practicalities of having no pension, maternity leave or official pay weigh on my mind. It’s a lot for me to take on and it’s difficult to allow myself to be so vulnerable and admit I can’t do whatever I want. So, back to the problem of how to tackle pregnancy when you’re a self employed illustrator.

Last week I had a couple of exchanges with mothers and young women and it made me ask myself, “What would feminists do?” There are likely dozens of answers to this question

but for me, the question I am posing becomes, how does this play out in a way that makes me feel comfortable, allows the door to be open on the prospect of work (but also potentially to close) while also demonstrating good practice for people in this same position after me? WWFD? My current conclusion is that concealing my pregnancy is not going to work long term. Why make my life harder pretending I have the same capacity to work as I did six months ago? Because I don’t. Why am I hiding something that so many people do? Why don’t I think I can ‘own’ it? This is all going on at the same time as actually trying to do my job. 

My life is very different from six months ago, six months from now it will be even further from my previously accepted normality. It may be harder, I may be distracted, it may have a clarity I lacked before. That’s the thing, I don’t know. 

Can I return to work this time next year? Will I want to? Will I have a choice? I don’t know. 

That’s the crux I think. If I am asked, “can you do these workshops in the Spring?” I don’t know. I may not even ever want to come back to work. 

Right now I’m in the process of winding up most client work to make room for life in general (which has been harder than usual for reasons outwith pregnancy), but also because running my retail arm is pretty much a full time position alone and I want things to be running smoothly, even if I can’t be present all the time. 

There are lots of reasons to decide whether to employ me or not, but I feel this one is one I have little control over. If my prices, demeanor or style don’t suit folk, that’s OK, but it feels unfair that I have to navigate the gauntlet of whether the baby will affect my working life beyond what I can control. If they’re an angel child, I can likely get on with work but if they’re anything like Rosemary’s Baby (which they will be, since that’s my name), I’ll just be relieved to get through each day without being hounded by Satanists.

Return of the Mack II

Illustration: Some Mackintosh designed buildings with the GSA's Mackintosh building highlighted. 

It’s the middle of the night in Garnethill, Glasgow. I’m all cried out. 

Shortly before midnight. Joe woke me up as he pulled his jeans on, ready to find out more about the raging fire he could see from our kitchen window. I became aware of distant sirens mirroring the ones I could hear close by, the recognisable roar of fire engines up Buccleuch street took on greater significance. “I think it’s the Art School”. 

There are not many things he could have said that would have lifted me out of bed more quickly. Two minutes later in the street, the drama was obvious from the moment we left the tenement close. A neighbour walked towards us and confirmed my fears. “Maybe it’s the Reid Building?” Vain hope.

The new Art School glass building couldn’t create such glorious sparkling ash, puffing above us in plumes of amber smoke. Only wood can do that.

I felt weak. I started to cry in shock but after a while I barely noticed the tears continuing as we circled Garnethill Park to discover conclusively what was on fire. I still had some small ember of hope in me in those short minutes, but the familiar pockets of people standing at street corners, their faces illuminated by the timber of the Mackintosh building brought back stark memories of four years ago. I knew. I had known even as I woke that the Mack was on fire. A tight knot had formed in my chest and it still hasn’t dissolved. It is the stress of looking at so much damage, squandered effort and pain, hearing the buzz of engines and the heavy pumping of water hoses. It also reminds me of the simple fact that I have been here before, and now I am watching the same hell happen over again.                                                                                                                  

I knew too that we knew nothing. Know nothing. We spent a section of tonight walking the perimeter of the Art School, as near as the barriers and police tape would allow. We heard the crash of glass blowing out onto the street – it was the sound of a pub recycling bottles at the end of the night. Dull explosions, timber falling, thudding, tinkling, smashing, it all added to the hopelessness of watching something I had already seen in a different light. This time it is worse. It’s not only that this time so many people have been working so hard on the restoration after the 2014 fire, but it’s literally worse. From our kitchen, the flames licked above the tree line in the park, the fire was on all floors at once, everywhere at once. We were so close to it we could feel the vague heat of it. We are living just moments from the largest fire I have ever seen – and I’ve seen big fires. After all, I’ve been here before. 

Exhausted as I am tonight, I wanted to be with the building. I want to hold its hand and let it know we’re all there.

It’s irrational, but I wasn’t out to take photographs, I was out to be there. Be with it and with other people and to bear witness. I tried to tell myself “it’s a building, not a person. All the important things are here and they’re safe”, but it doesn’t make this fresh loss any easier to bear. On our procession, east to west, clockwise around the fire, I was able to see all angles of the unfolding inferno. My hope was that it would seem less chaotic and more salvageable from behind and below, but I haven’t learned my lesson from last time at all. The places I have stood so many times, the glazed Hen Run at the top of the building that I so recently visited with my hard hat and hi-vis is once again completely obliterated, barely any traces left. I saw no floor without vicious yellow flames dancing all over it. Large fragments of scaffolding fell onto Scott street, disgorging sparks as they made impact with the tarmac. All that work, all that way we’d come and we’re back to square minus one. 

Snatches of conversations surrounded us, notably so much conjecture; arson, travelling fire, accident, demolition, death, evacuation, road closures, rain, slow responses, quick responses. We know nothing. We passed so many grieving students, worried neighbours and interested passers-by. Everyone has a read on the situation, everyone speaks with such false certainty about what is and what will happen. “They’ll tear it down this time.” “It’s dead, let it die.” “That’s not going out anytime soon.” 

I know nothing. I know I am sad, but beyond that, nothing.

I feel a lot. I’m sorry for the GSA. They’ve had to deal with so much disruption and the loss of a truly special asset these past four years. I’m sorry for the generation of students that have never stepped inside the Mack. I’m sorry that perhaps there will be GSA students that never will – that is a tragedy. I’m sorry for the Garnethill Community who will be directly dealing with the aftermath and how it affects the area itself. I hope it will make us stronger and we’ll support each other. I hope we can foster better relationships to make this area wonderful, whatever happens in the days, weeks and years to come. 

SELF DOUBT vs SELF CARE

I recently confided to a pal that I was not enjoying my job much at the moment. Heck! It’s still basically winter (it’s MAY), it’s been a bit quiet in the studio, no one’s buying much of my stock for their shops, deadlines have been constant for months it’s all feeling a bit… difficult*. OK, whinge over. I need to check my privilege. My pal was basing their assumptions on social media. My instagram feed is full of colour, smiling children (not mine) and positive vibes. Of course it is! Illustration, etc. is all about spreading fun, education, eco (and other types of) friendliness, so that’s what my feeds should be packed with.

If I shared images of me occasionally crying at my desk or showing off some half-baked ideas, would folk pity-purchase a teatowel from me?

It would undermine all the good work I actually manage to do. That super feed of ‘success’ images doesn’t mean that I don’t worry about work or I’m not plagued with self-doubt constantly. I am. I have to at least make it look like I could be skipping past reams of finished illustrations and high fiving thousands of smiling fans. 

I constantly doubt myself, my decisions and then, inevitably, my work. All it takes is a short exchange with a potential client or retailer in which I feel slighted or lacking in some way. Recently (based on one of these meetings) I questioned myself in terms of professionalism. It’s tricky if you pour so much of your character into your work to remain unoffended if people don’t like it. Turning up to a meeting with my cheery work, banter and wearing a jazzy jumper is my way of working. It doesn’t mean I won’t take your project seriously, I’d just rather keep the serious stuff to my desk and make the rest of my life as pleasant as possible. Plus jazzy jumpers make me happy. 

I procrastinate, sometimes by using social media, but almost never by relaxing – no, no – but by creating more work. The other week I decided that Illustration, etc. needed compliment slips. They needed designing immediatelyand I should spend half an afternoon on them instead of drawing. Right this moment I AM AVOIDING WORKING ON ACTUAL PAID WORK because I am in the mood to write this. So please enjoy my social media channels if you look at that stuff. Just know that

behind the colours and the maps and the illustrations just-the-right-side-of-quirky-whimsy is a person just trying to get through the day

and trying to get their rent paid. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed and stressed out. Sometimes I don’t get any drawing done for a week because of all the admin. Sometimes I have to basically beg someone to try out my wares in their shop. Recently I convinced a shop to take two cards. TWO. It’s not all swanky pens and petting dogs in the studio. 

The past few weeks I have changed my approach a bit. I’m spending a bit less time in the studio to try and clear my head. I’m one of those hard workers you hear so much about. It doesn’t always pay off, but I like working hard and I want it to pay off. Having a rotten seasonal cold (IT’S MAY!), which followed another nasty cold means I have had to take time out. I feel a bit better. I mean, today I am coughing less, but I also feelbetter about work and myself. That time has been somewhat eaten up with Netflix in a sleeping bag on the sofa, but some was quiet reading time, reflecting time, calling family on the phone time, napping in the day time. I’m no nearer changing anything about my job exceptI am going to take more time off.

It’s OK if I don’t post to instagram every day, I won’t be immediately forgotten.

It’s OK if I ask for a deadline to be moved (clients can only say no), it’s OK to say, I’m ill / I need time / I have to take a break. This is the new approach and I like it. Hopefully I can stick to it…

* On balance, I have a studio, I have work, a roof over my head, I eat out sometimes and buy earrings occasionally. Things are far from terrible. 

7. NEW STUDIO

With acknowledgements to Lynn Semple

New year, fresh start.
Well that’s what we all hope. Somehow at the stroke of midnight as our eyes light up under fireworks, we watch Jools Holland become more incomprehensible on the Hootenanny or we’re clinking glasses

on New Years Eve, there’s supposed to be a big reset.

Everything we didn’t like about ourselves will fall away and we’ll be reborn in the glare of a new dawn. Aye right.

I’m becoming cynical in my old age. Or maybe it’s that having my studio in what should be a spare bedroom in my flat has marred my home life for some time. It’s been creeping up on me, a feeling of anxiety and stress about work. I can’t shut the door on it because work is spilling out of the home studio and filling cupboards and other rooms. I can’t escape it. It’s like the Blob*. The worst thing is it hits me at night, a fear that I should be, could be doing more, better, faster,

I should meet more people, network more, get bigger commissions, contact more shops etc. etc. ad infinitum.

More than that, working at home is lonely. My husband gets home after being in an office full of people all day, looking for quiet home time and I just want to go out and meet pals or attack him with an animated verbal list of everything I’ve done that day.

This new year, fate lent me a hand. Through a web of pals, acquaintances and chats, I have moved into a new studio! It’s 25 minutes walk from my flat or a 15 minute cycle. Ideal distance. Too far to travel home for lunch and far enough that it feels like a mini commute. I’ve moved into a studio with three other creatives; two photographers and a designer who are all genuinely lovely. The space is airy, white walled and watertight. The heating is good.

Each time I enter the studio, I feel more at home, more professional, more like I should have done this a long time ago.

I can now go home some nights and play Zelda with impunity, I can be in the kitchen for chats at lunchtime, I’m meeting new folk all the time, I am out of the flat and happy to be at the Barras. It’s one of the best areas of Glasgow in so many ways. It’s a tricky time, January, but I feel like this is one of the new year changes that’s going to stick.

* Schlocky horror film of yesteryear about a big ball of space goo that eats people.

6. ESTONIA TRIP - SUSTAINABLE TOURISM

Interior with table and samovar - our wooden hut at Lake Peipus, Estonia

I knew practically nothing about Estonia before I went, “they’re in Eurovision, right?” My expectations of Estonia and the things I would learn there were unexpectedly life changing. The enthusiasm and love exuded by our constant guide, Maarika and her clear sense of pride in her home country served to accentuate my feelings about our experiences. It ended up that by the end of the week saying goodbye to her actually made me an emotional wreck. I was also sleep deprived and we had all been doing long, long days of travel and discovery, but she did end up in my 100daysofHerstory (number 67). That’s the real deal.

Maarika allowed us - as foreign visitors - a unique insight into life as an Estonian person in the twenty-first century, but also facilitated our understanding of Estonia’s chequered and often confusing past. Her use of words like ‘emotions’, ‘nature’ and ‘beauty’ kept reappearing. A clear sense of general Estonian priorities became clear through her presence, of simplicity, returning to nature, folklore, science, using available resources in the best way, learning from past mistakes and celebrating the firebrands and game changers of their history.

The RMK, essentially the Estonian forestry commission, impressed me in many ways with their use of natural materials left in their organic state. Amongst these were a trio of dioramas made of rolled paper or cut from thin sheets of birch. These were on display at the Lahemaa national park visitor centre and proved that

elegant simplicity wins out against overdoing tech

These displays would have been relatively cheap to produce, doubtless using local materials and when they require replacing, I can only assume they will be repurposed or they can even be composted! At the same RMK centre we were taken for a hike by Triin and taught to look for cultural heritage in the landscape. She pointed out that walls and dykes made by people hundreds or even thousands of years ago can still be visible and mistaken for natural features. Since then I’ve been trying to ‘read’ every rural landscape I have been in, looking for clues of times past. It also made me want to learn more about wild plants, especially after munching on some tasty wood sorrel. Although... if you eat too much you start hallucinating, so maybe good to know a few other edible plants. 

At Kivioli, we visited a former shale oil ash hill. The whole area used to treat the hill as a source of pride in its prosperity, but with the decline of mining the hill became a dark blight on the landscape. Local people attempted to ignore it, despite it casting a literal shadow over them. Thanks to the foresight of two adventurous friends (yes, really) since 2005 the hill has been an outdoor adventure and ski centre.

The hill was volatile and hot even after decades of inactivity

but that residual heat has been harnessed in order to power a hostel and conference centre on site. Interestingly no one seems to know how long that might last. The slag was covered with soil, allowing new growth and rendered it safe for international motocross, ski slaloms and discgolf* courses. They've built a colossal zipline from the top of the hill over the new lake they've created, but disappointingly wouldn't let us on it. Rather than shying away from the huge hill, it's being embraced, even some wildlife is returning. The UK could learn a lot from making use of such a negative and depressed site, converting it into a sustainable and enduring asset both locally, nationally and internationally.

Along the ‘Onion Route’

we stayed in Varnja in a traditional Peipsi lake cabin with rustic interiors and no running water.

I made the ink illustration of it from a sketch I did at the time. It had a traditional sauna and a pretty full composting outdoor toilet with a simple bucket toilet inside. It was basic in aspect, aside from electricity, we had none of the usual comforts expected when staying in a cottage. However, the reliance on a well for water and on wood burners and lanterns for warmth made me appreciate how unsustainable the way we live has become. Treats here were the sauna (except in Estonia it is simply a way of life... I wish), air dried fish and the near silence of sleeping birds, toad calls and insects. It was one of the most pleasant places we stayed because of the quiet, the large interior space and a glimpse into a simpler way of living, at one with our surroundings. I also recall the hilarity of being one of five naked women in the sauna when a pan was accidentally dropped into the hot water tank, closely followed by a second one (she was trying to get the first one out). Maarika was furious. I nakedly watched one awkwardly laughing naked woman being scolded by another cross naked woman. Great entertainment.

All these experiences led me to the conclusion that tourism and interpretation can be sustainable, both in terms of being eco-conscious, but also that it will last and can be easily maintained. There was a complete lack of touch screens and audio visuals in most places, but I didn't feel the lack. If anything, it was a refreshing break. More posts will appear in this suite about Estonia - I thought it'd be good to share them as a record for myself of a work related foray, but also just for fun.

*Discgolf, or what we would probably call FRISBEE GOLF! Why is this not a thing in the UK? We asked one local about it and she said "where have you been? Here, Finland, everyone is crazy about it." It's exactly like golf, but instead of a caddy of clubs you have a series of frisbees. Sign me up!

5. DOING THINGS BY HALVES

Shades make me feel cooler than I really am

Occasionally we all get the feeling we’ve taken on more than we can handle. So it was when I started half marathon training back in late 2016. “Anyone can do a half marathon” they said, “it’s totally achievable” I read. The additional fact that my mother goaded me by saying if I did a half marathon, she would run it too spurred me on. It was too good an opportunity to miss – my mum in shorts, that is. Once I told my friend, Anna, we were three.

The official thirteen mile run is fast approaching in late May and

I’ve got a long way to go, but I have to remind myself I have also come a long way. Profound, right?

In October 2016 I thought I wouldn’t like running. I hate running. If I ever have to sprint for a train or rush off to a meeting, I feel like part of my body died. I like retired people things like swimming, walking (sometimes quickly) or 8 year-old kid things like trampolines and bouncy castles (for less than ten minutes), a gentle game of rounders in the summer, that sort of thing. Running seemed snooty to me, sort of smug. Running always felt like it was better than me, better than I can do. Well, I have news, and it’s mostly good.

I like running. Not fast and not always, but in general, I actually kind of like it. I work sitting down in my studio 85% of the daytime so leaving the house is not a daily given unless I’m shopping, delivering, meeting, visiting. Running gives me an out. I make excuses not to go and the first five minutes are the worst. That’s when I think

“I could just turn back and watch Netflix. No one would ever know”.

But I know. And the guilt of being more sedentary than a limpet is worse than the five minutes of leg-and-lungburn at the start of a run. That’s the bit I still have to push past. However, in the late autumn when there were some real golden afternoons, I would run along the Kelvin river and hit almost euphoric pockets of vim and sunlight unexpectedly.

I started by doing walking and running in sequence, taking breaks and then powering forward, but I’ve realised over the weeks that playing the long game is where I like to be. If I stop, there be dragons. That’s when I play mind games with myself, “I’ll start running at that tree… nah, a bit further at the bollard… well, I may as well just wait until I get to the road…”

It’s a slippery slope away from pushing myself. Now I’m more inclined to go the other way and see I’ve hit 6.8km and push through to round up to 7km before I stop. The down sides are the Glaswegian rain, the silly synthetic gear*, where you’re supposed to put water or keys if you don’t fancy the bumbag option (the nineteen eighties called…), the lack of public toilets and all that. I had a disastrous run over Christmas when I had food poisoning that only manifested at the furthest point of a run and I had to walk, crippled, white and sweating to a point where my sister could pick me up and drive my clammy body home to perform emergency ablutions. Now I scan the canal edge for good foliage as I run out of fear it might happen again.

A massive benefit (sort of) was having a painful knee and hip in the new year and discovering that was because of how I sit at my desk. Cross legged at a dining chair. Yes, I know. Now I have a footrest (it’s heated!) and a proper desk chair and everything. I’m so business and

now I am one of those vaguely smug looking jogging types.

Turns out I am good enough to run. Oh wait. Anyone is.

If you would like to sponsor us, we’re running for FCIC who help children suffering from facial deformity in Cambodia. 

*Which I have just discovered turns into microplastics, goes into the sea, fish eat it -which is horrible - and then we eat our own microplastic bits when we eat fish. Gack.

4. UNFINISHED BUSINESS

A small inked section of A Midsummer Night's Draft, Act II, Scene I. Puck first appears and we are introduced to the King and Queen of the fairies who are having some time apart.

I’ve started 2017 trying to overhaul Illustration, etc. That involved looking for help, mostly! Amy helps me for a few hours a week, I’m trying to take more time away from my desk, but still organising, sorting and cataloguing my past projects and work. I also decided it was time I went to the Cultural Enterprise Office last month for a one to one session to talk about Illustration, etc.’s future. I see these sessions as a kind of semi-emergency business therapy.

If I’m stuck and I don’t know what my next step is, I go for a chat

and I always feel so much better afterwards. I’m sometimes lacking another perspective and I can’t be very objective about the little business I’ve built for myself.

The upshot of this latest meeting* was that I should find more time to be creative, to pursue my own goals as well as those of my clients. HOORAY! Sounds like a great plan. Finding that time is part of the big overall plan, but for starters they encouraged me to consider taking on only projects that further my ‘story’.

So the things that interest me, that make me excited to be an illustrator, that I really believe in –heritage, equality, stories, community, education, all that sort of thing.

I joked about my recent organising and the folder marked ‘UNFINISHED’. It sits chronologically last in all my shelves of folders, encouraging me to add to it, or perhaps to finally migrate something from the folder to my desk and into a completed projects folder. The biggest of these ‘on-hold’ projects is pictured above. I call it A Midsummer Night’s Draft.

It’s so big. It sometimes feels pointless, but one of my goals (deep breath) is to illustrate the Shakespeare play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream as one single long panel using only Shakespeare’s words, like a lengthy tapestry. Back in Summer 2013 when I began this project (so long ago!) I edited the play down to (what I felt) was the minimum amount of text to tell the story properly. The play is set in ancient Greece, so my illustrations will reflect the vernacular art of that period. In this case I chose blackware pottery, you know, the elegant black and terracotta colour urns with all the people running around them, jaunty patterns, beasts, folk drinking and all that? The speech would go in the top and bottom borders, like a comic. I thought it would be fun. Turns out it is MASSIVE. Also, I don’t actually have a reason for doing it except that,

1.     I think it would be so beautiful if I get it right.

2.     It would be amazing to see the whole play all at one time so you could see all the themes and character arcs and mischief play out all at once.

3.     I actually think as an educational tool, it’d be a great introduction to the (let’s face it, pretty confusing) play.

4.     Folk who assume Shakespeare is too intellectual, too out of date, too boring would be able to see how much fun this magical play is right from the get go and would be able to see it and read it and understand it and it would still all be Shakespeare’s own words.

But it has been shelved. I don’t know how I would make it worthwhile, you see. Once I’ve finished it, then what? It’ll take several weeks to do at least, maybe months of not being paid. I just can’t do it. Who would fund something like this? The only remotely finished, inked section is the one I did for this blog post! I have only done the pencil sketches up to the end of Act II, Scene II and that took me at least an hour a day for three weeks in 2013. In pencil! Also, I’d do it a bit differently now so I guess it’s a page one rewrite.

I hope that other creatives have these folders - whether in their head or on a shelf or tucked away somewhere secret

– they feel to me like the dreams we return to when the rest of our working lives can feel somewhat staid or cynical. The thought of returning to this unfinished draft fills me with trepidation, but also I can still see its latent potential. It will give me pleasure to revisit it and build it up, inch by inch. I might even tweet some images at the Globe or the RSC or something - they might like the idea too. Looking through the folder of half baked ideas and forgotten sketches, I look forward to the possibility of placing some in the bin where they belong, others back on the shelf for another time and the occasional one onto my desk for much needed reconstructive surgery.

*Overall I have had three CEO meetings, two in 2014 that were connected to the Glasgow Alphabet Map project (it lacked direction initially) and then this latest one once I remembered it was an option. 

3. IMAGINARY FRIENDS

The Glasgow International Comedy Festival 2017 lineup

Four years ago I didn’t know what improv comedy was. I understood the terms improvised and comedy but I didn’t know what it looked like or why a person would do it. Fast forward to mid 2016 and I am an active member of ‘Imaginary Friends’, an improv group founded by then boyf, now husband, Joe. When it began, he recruited friends from his uni days, many of whom had performed in student theatre. They started practicing these games and putting on occasional shows at a local pub. I helped in my own way by collecting the £3 fee (from our very dedicated friends) to get into the shows. Over time, folk moved away or didn’t have the time to devote to prancing about in a room

pretending to be Catman at a volcano’s edge, a lion with self esteem issues or a plum.

The improv died. Last year it was resurrected with some new blood. In my wildest dreams I had entertained the notion of joining in, but was deterred by my own lion issues, but also not wanting to attach myself to every aspect of my husband’s extra curricular life. It took a lot of encouragement to finally take the plunge. Mind you, eventually it was pretty difficult not to be involved since the sessions were often happening in our living room.

For the first practice I chose my clothes so carefully, did proper makeup, I was becoming increasingly nervous all day. These people - the Imaginary Friends - were already my actual friends but I still had to concentrate on looking like

I was playing it reeeeaaal cool

by the time they arrived to play improv games. I was terrified. Unnaturally and disproportionately terrified. Now a practice is something I look forward to and never prepare for, I don’t worry about how I look or what happens in the practice, I just enjoy hanging with my pals.

With improv performances I have to allow myself to fail, to relinquish control. I don’t like that. I hate failing and looking stupid (doesn’t everyone?), I need to be a team player and go along with the ideas presented, whether I like them or not. I suppose I don’t often have to deal with that. Usually I am working on my own, at my own pace, to my own rules and caprices. Sure, clients can surprise me or a job takes a lot longer than it should, but it gets done inside a framework I have some measure of control over.

I find improv tough. Every single time we perform I get myself into a bit of a fankle and say things to myself like

“I’m just not feeling it”

or “I’m not ready”. It’s never easy, despite our brave exteriors. We performed this month as part of the Glasgow International Comedy Festival and it was our most popular show. I actually lay down for five minutes before I left the house, just to try and quell the nerves, but after that first laugh I got from the audience (yes, it’s cliché) I started to enjoy myself. The audience is on our side. They’re our pals! There’s something about performing that allows for bigger risk taking and heightened creativity. That night I was Guy Fawkes on a dating show, I was an ancient Egyptian God buying sandals and an alien who had to come out to their friend after 32 years.

The fear of being out of control is the most powerful barrier to enjoying improv – but with a lot of other aspects of my life too. However it’s also that lack of control that creates the sassy new characters, wacky situations and amps up the creativity of the whole team. It’s taken me the longest time to realise that’s on me. It’s a job for each one of us. I will probably always be afraid of failure and I’ll almost certainly never stop worrying about being judged, but I realise more and more it doesn’t matter. It’s within my power to recognise it’s just my own perception and that it can change. It’s on me. I can be a hilarious sexy spacehopper or whatever I want. The great thing about improv? If it’s not funny, there’ll be another topic coming along in a minute.

Follow Imaginary Friends on Twitter here or have a look at the Facebook page.

2. BURNOUT

A major project I was heavily involved in for a large part of 2016 was inspiring and huge in terms of scale for me as an artist as well as personally. Its focus was mental health and building an imagined positive future for its treatment and care. I got to meet incredible people and work with them. I learned such a lot, it was amazing.

However, it was during the course of the ten months of the project that I began to (ironically) notice my own mental health degrading. I’m not blaming the project entirely (it was many factors, being 31, being lonely at work, my perennially predictable creative existential crisis,

“what is the point of me?”

and a general feeling of events being out of my control) but certainly the workload was staggering and I really struggled through a lot of late nights and early mornings, sometime drawing upwards of ten hours a day with very few breaks. My wrist felt like it belonged to someone else and I had a genuinely revolting blister peeking out from under the skin of my calloused finger. At one point my (utterly wonderful and understanding) husband, Joe was doing all the cooking and cleaning and evening tea-making as I only stopped to visit the toilet, to feed myself and then have fitful sleep. It sounds ridiculous, but the intensive drawing and emotional state I found myself in made me completely overwhelmed.

Freelancing can be lonely. Many self-employed folk are lucky to have varied jobs, stints in offices, travel, meetings and so on, but often I find myself on my own, in a chair, at a desk with only podcasts for company. (I can recommend some superb ones.) Now couple that feeling of being alone with having heaps of work to do and having no one to ask for help. Tight deadlines, important clients and this isn’t your only work. No one could take the work and help me do it, I couldn’t see a way out. I muddled through but near enough burnt myself out.

Things are better now.

I have my studio manager, Amy coming in to assist me one day a week – this makes such a difference. We chat, have a dance, listen to music, we talk about decisions I have trouble with, she makes suggestions and just takes some of the workload off me. I went for a round of CBT. I have brilliant people around me that understand these things. Now I take time. Even if I’m really busy (which is pretty often) if I feel myself spiraling into an anxiety whirlpool, I treat it like a cough. Stop. Have a cup of tea, take a couple of hours off. Go for a walk or rest. Sometimes I even dabble in deep breathing or meditation. If symptoms worsen, take some more time off. It’s all health, right? Hopefully with this approach I can stave off the worst of it, when I can’t remember how to sleep, have crippling IBS*, panic attacks and when I think no one likes me.

I’m not writing this for sympathy, or to show off how millennial I am, but to prove it’s OK to ask for help from people around you,

it’s OK to feel overwhelmed and it’s OK to talk about it.

To ‘admit’ it**. It should be something we can ‘own’, that we’re aware of and look out for, especially as so many people I know (whether they know it or would admit it) have suffered from some kind of mental health fade at some point.

*I was gluten free for nearly two years and it turns out I don’t have to be. I’m sensitive to wheat, but basically I was stressing my body into not working properly. Yup. Intense.

**I don’t like that word in this context. It implies guilt – should a person be ‘blamed’ for their mental health?

1. WRITE ON

Writing is something I have always done since I could even do it. It’s part of who I am. I often go months without writing anything, but then I return to it inevitably. I have buckets of journals and diaries stretching all the way back into the early nineties when I used words like brill, doofus and ace and my biggest concern was my sister hitting me. I’ve more than dabbled in poetry in the past too. Haven’t we all?

My first (and until now last) blog was all about my early twenties and my travels in China, living there and experiencing everything I thought I knew anew. Now in my early thirties, it feels like time to blog again, but this time about living where and how I am now and experiencing everything I thought I knew anew, anew... What?

It’s not all going to be about work, but it also won’t be a personal diary (sorry to cheat you of gossip). I don’t really know what it’s going to be, but I’ve felt compelled to write about a few things already, so see this as the BIG INTRO, the first of many pieces to come! I’m going to use it as an opportunity to do a wee sketch or experiment. Like this gif of some pencils. I actually don’t get to play with images much anymore, but I’m trying to make it part of my job again.