Fine Art Year Two Interim Show

This is a snapshot of some of the work beginning to emerge after a term and a half of individual research. Thiscourse sketchbookis the result of a series of seminars where the group as a whole reflected on the progress of each person’s output and the responses it provoked. The text reflects this assessment. Images were then selected, again collectively, to best document each research process.

Alchemy probably best describes Adenike’s practice. Her fascination with the properties colour has led her to make inks using plants foraged in the main from her local environment. The performance of these inks changes quite radically depending on the paper stock to which each is applied and the alkaline or acidic liquids she adds.

Working with the chemical qualities of her medium has required a rigorous methodology and careful cataloguing of her results. In many respects she allows the process to stand centre stage. Rather than imposing a motif, she

works with pouring, manipulating the direction of each run to allow the natural properties of the medium to works with pouring, manipulating the direction of each run to allow the natural properties of the medium

to create each work. The often net-like structures that emerge look almost like they have grown themselves, so, rather than each image seeking to be a representation, nature appears to be embodied in the process itself.


Aurelia’s work is influenced by mythology and history, particularly in relation to musical and dramatic performance. Initially large scale drawings attempted to map something of the experience getting into character, the ‘pushing through’ to occupy a different space. Creating them, their vast scale placed her in the image and made her to an extent part of the depiction. This became the catalyst for her deciding to use her own body to perform this experience.

Locked down and with limited materials she thought about ways to physically portray this feeling, ultimately deciding to work with clingfilm. Wrapping herself in it and then trying to break free or creating barriers in doorways through which to push, she has carefully catalogued these events as moving images. Reflecting on these documents she is beginning to decide how

next to proceed. One big surprise was the incredible volume of the sounds her body made against the clingfilm and she has begun work on a sound piece which may potentially stand alone.

A claustrophobic first lockdown was the impetus for Claire’s often highly charged drawings of her surroundings, in particular her bathroom. The sink, taps and furniture took on an increasingly anthropomorphic quality and it’s difficult not to respond to these works as reflected self-portraits. These arguably express more feeling and emotion than more straightforward depictions of herself might have, posing intriguing questions about the circumstances of the backstory projected onto these ‘characters’.

Out of these drawings grew a fascination with individual objects, toothbrushes in particular, which she imagined invested with life in the manner of a ventriloquist’s dummy. This led her to make a number of rough and ready animations. In one, toothbrushes interact, sometimes amorously, in ways that are both touching and witty. These moving image pieces

create the sense of imaginative escape from confinement and their deliberately low production values invite the viewer to collude in this imagining.

Delia’s work advances from the fundamental truth that we are all migrants or else descendants of migrants. She senses a strong connection between this abstract concept and the land over which these migrations occurred: the trace of life lines across time and topography.

Her knowledge of printmaking has been key to her work’s development. Taking the notion of repeated waves of migration she has overlaid loosely formed figural motifs onto carefully chosen, light-weight papers. This paper stock and the incredibly desaturated colour with which she works has given these pieces an almost ethereal quality, perhaps hinting at the

ghosts of migration stretching back millennia. And the translucency of much of her work has led her to experiment with the possibilities of backlighting. This has allowed her to change the relationship between the (printed) figure and ground creating a kind of just-visible, archetypal

human presence. To allow these experiments with lighting, these delicate, often large-scale works are made to hang freely, responsive to the slightest breeze. The sound this creates has opened up another line of enquiry as her recordings add an aural texture to the visual trace of human presence in motion articulated by her work.

Claire uses fabric to make sculptures; sometimes dressed over armatures and at other times engineered to stand unaided. Her method has involved much research into region-specific techniques (sewing and embroidery) reflecting her interest in the way that fabric can bind both history and tradition.

The material with which she works is often of personal significance: hand-me-down swatches with the capacity to trigger memories and associations for her. In this respect it is almost the embodiment of the individuals who donated it, making her constructions both relational and generational. Whilst her intricately engineered structures call to mind both architecture and

tailoring there is a self-sufficient reflexive quality to them, they have their own visual logic. Yet they are at the same time capable of implying something of this underlying emotional significance.

Domino’s project grew out of a fascination with airspace and how these ginormous three dimensional spaces exist theoretically above us. She took the space in her bedroom as a starting point for her investigations, dividing it up using cassette tape (exceptionally strong and lightweight) to create flat planes and 3D spaces floating in the air. After making a host of diagrammatic drawings in

situ she gave form to these sections of space, making cardboard moulds and then casting them in plaster of Paris. The casts were satisfying, but it was the paper engineering required to make the moulds that really excited her imagination.

She took this method and applied it to the different sections of airspace initially looking to recreate real life airspace shapes in proportion. She made ‘flat-packed’ versions of these spaces, cutting them from cardboard and paper sheets with a scalpel and then folding and fastening them into what became small models of space. The void left by each cutout immediately felt significant too, directing the viewer to try to figure out how it fits together. Inspired by these shapes and by earlier drawings, she made a whole range of different repeating and systematically created forms from paper and wood.

This way of working has become the mainstay of her practice as she explores increasingly pure, geometric but also irregular forms and explores moving from 2D to 3D and back again.

Surveying Ellen’s output is a bit like trying to crack a cypher with an incomplete code. Elements are recognisable but presented in ways that suggests a different frame of reference. Fragments of the everyday are re-presented so that they hint at something quite individual and diaristic. Drawings drift from delicate articulations of quite understated images into mark-making that reads potentially as

written language, so that whilst much of what we see is discernible, the content of this work feels private. There seems to be a constant play between the interior and exterior world. In one piece, an outside space is made inside a box using what looks like a projection from a camera obscura. Yet this index of what is seen through the

window is daubed in one small section with what looks like a symbol. It’s a small intervention but its effect is quietly unsettling: is it graffiti on the pane, something added to the screen, and is it significant or not? Even when the questions each piece poses have been addressed, there remains at heart something quietly enigmatic about Ellen’s work.

Fatima decided that rather than alluding to the pandemic, its constraints to life and creativity, she would tackle it directly. She began by making very graphic accounts of the virus, working to understand her thinking about her subject. After many iterations her images have gradually become less recognisable as research into virus diagrams has increasingly influenced her working methods. Specific, graphic accounts of covid have become more abstract, as surface pattern,

repetition and chance are used to create iterations of the theme, indirectly describing the replication and mutation of the virus. Cognitive and emotional understanding of the pandemic has gradually been translated into symbolic colour, line and pattern, to an extent mirroring the very necessary scientific and medical abstractions required in tackling it.

Iliana’s work reflects on the everyday labour that goes into making a home in the context of migration. She takes the marigold glove to be emblematic of this often arduous physical, emotional, hidden work. Marigolds also bring to mind low paid cleaning work, a sector where immigrants are massively over represented. Her work alludes to the challenge of trying to establish a safe and secure home in the midst of current xenophobic discourses and policies and/or whilst precarious external economic factors are a constant threat.

In her spare drawings, gloved hands appear in pairs, delicate but graphic, bold, active, anonymous. These line drawings she has reworked as embroidery on domestic fabrics like tea towels, jay cloths and even paper towels. They seem both precious and mundane, her choice of technique ensuring an

acknowledgement of the gendered nature of this work. She has also drawn this motif with rice in a frying pan. The image, painstakingly created, feels delicate, tenuous and, through its cookery associations, vaguely nurturing. Yet whereas her embroidered pieces

bear testament to the time invested, here one shake and the evidence of this work disappears.

Jackie is interested in processes of growth and decay and the relationship between the surface appearance of things and what lies beneath. Initially she tried to find ways to preserve items of fruit, wrapping them in a variety of materials, from tissue paper to porcelain. Rotting from within, some forms became deformed by this process whilst others remained remarkably unscathed. When she finally cut them open this decay was often incredibly beautiful and a tension between

attraction and repulsion is at the heart of her work. She’s also worked with latex mould-making as another means of preserving. The unstable quality of this material led to a struggle when casting to ‘hold together’ the emerging forms and a real

anxiety about ruining what had taken so long to make.

It’s interesting that she doesn’t think consciously about the aesthetics of her work and has no desire to please an audience. Viewers are invited to share in her fascination with cause

and effect, the play between ugliness and beauty and the relationship between an outward calm and what lies within.

Initially Jane began made paintings based on her prints, a formal activity requiring a degree of pre-planning. Increasingly though a less consciously goal-driven form of making emerged as she began fashioning small constructions using ephemera from her immediate environment, perhaps as a corrective, or involuntary response to, thoughts of recent bereavements within the family.

These constructions are both strange and familiar, and seem to function a bit like corn dollies: figures of sorts, where the materials of their making are always visible. The process of their construction is described as being like a ‘nervous tick’, intimately related to the practiced movement of her hands. This determines both how they are constructed and also their scale. This

relationship to the body’s is very present in each piece, which is possibly why they tend to become imbued with human characteristics. Oddly, their unsteady balance seems quietly heroic.


James’ work appears delicate and fragile but at the same time can seem oddly disquieting. Its surface quality is central to this. The paper on which he works is treated as a medium in its own right, intrinsic to the development of each image. It can be distressed, stained, scratched, pierced or waxed, and often calls to mind skin. His sketchbooks signal how his broader practice functions, with individual leaves often reworked over many months. His

method is slow, meditative and often employs insistent, repetitive actions (whether this is scratching, rubbing, tearing his physical works or in the development of his stop motion animation). Rarely is a motif imposed. Only occasionally do seemingly random number sequences appear, and

these tend to be subsumed by his work process. They read as traces of something specific destined to be lost or damaged. The result in the main is a patient series of quiet, still works whose calm exterior belies an ability to evoke strong feelings.

Centred around the corruptibility of memory, Jane’s project explores the inheritance of a family photo archive: the convergence of collective and individual narratives. Her painting, collage and film works deal with specific moments within this raw footage of her childhood and we are asked to make sense of the illusionary nature of captured moments that are not our own. In each piece the family structure is discernible but the

ambiguous detail leaves nearly all else open to interpretation; obscured and blurred facial features making her subjects unknowable, pointing to the irretrievability of much of the past.

The chromacity of Jane’s palette alludes to the often ‘rose tinted ‘ framing of family

histories, but an undertow of melancholy appears to undermine this. It’s like a cherished memory has become suffused with forgotten pain. With her reappraisal historical photographic evidence her work creates an unsettling prompt for the viewer to likewise reassess their own nostalgic memories of childhood.

Working from small site drawings of the contemporary architecture that forms a major part of her everyday visual experience, Laura has fundamentally reimagined her source material into images that defy easy categorisation. Whilst there’s always a sense that they has evolved from an observed source, they are difficult to pin down. An early part of the process informing her work’s progression

was a series of large-scale reinterpretations of the original sketches in ink made over the course of a single day. These encouraged an immersion in the surface rhythms of the image, a construction and deconstruction of it, and a repeated overlaying of the most arresting motifs. This she has explored more fully with stencilling, where the repetitive possibilities of the technique has created the feeling of something slightly automated,

almost kinetic motifs. This she has explored more fully with stencilling, where the repetitive possibilities of the technique has created the feeling of something slightly automated, almost kinetic. But perhaps the most striking transformation relates to the spacial dynamics of these works, the tension between surface and depth. The evolving visual logic generated by her working processes takes us away from the idea of

an urban landscape that is predominantly grey, flat and about surface to one with hidden depths and surprising stabs of colour. This defamiliarization invites us to perceive the familiar in very unfamiliar ways.

Mark’s work is a meditation of sorts on how the natural and urban environment intersect. It began when the purpose of walking shifted during the first lockdown: no longer directed towards a destination, but becoming an experience in itself. He started mapping his routes, photographing the vistas he encountered (often trees against the sky) and exploring these back in the studio in a variety of materials. But as he became more present in this daily act of walking, his gaze gradually settled on the ground beneath his feet.

Here, on pavements, he encountered the faded ethereal prints left behind by fallen leaves. These fragile, impermanent silhouettes became an impetus for the evolution of a working method where he used found

natural objects (flora, mosses, branches) collected on his walks to mask out sections of paper over which he worked with a variety of materials (including ink and spray paint) before removing them to create a 1:1 index of each form used. This play between

absence and presence creates an echo, perhaps suggesting something of how we carry within us these small interactions with nature, how noticing can inoculate us against the anxiety of feeling hemmed in by an unrelenting, often austere urban environment.

Loss and ways to pay homage have been the impetus for Mina’s output. In the midst of an emotionally challenging situation, the sorting and rescue of a number of artefacts (predominantly animal figurines) perhaps marked the unconscious start of her visual

research. Subsequently she has explored a number of different ways to respond to this collection, allowing sometimes quite impulsive making to shape her thinking. Large scale paintings are ‘jumping off without knowing’, indicative of her creative journey. Her work never tries to explain itself and is never explicit about its subject matter. Lately she has been making ink drawings of this collection of animal

toys and ornaments, working with an old dip pen, its broken nib making a beautiful though scratchy line. It’s hard not to see a metaphor of sorts here. In these works there is a tenderness, as well as something less human centric, and a real sense of her communing with her subject.


Natalie’s project began with a desire to work with the human figure coupled with an uncertainty about how explicit its depiction ought to be. It led her to experiment with different ways of masking and obscuring this central motif, often employing aspects of print technique with everyday ephemera: the inked texture of netting from fruit packaging for example has been used regularly as a foil, as a means of camouflage. It’s given rise to a working process

involving multiple layerings, where traces of this activity have come to direct not just the formal arrangement of each image, but also its mood, atmosphere and palette, creating what might be termed the ‘colour of memory’. It’s given rise to ‘dreamy’ non-spaces, causing her to ask questions about how the figure sits within its context and about the

fundamental boundary of the body itself.

Having experimented with a variety of figures, she has migrated towards the female form, culling her collection of images to find poses that ‘tell me something’ so that, whilst each figure is an archetype of sorts, there is a tangible link back to herself. Developing her work, what has emerged

is a fascinating contradiction: the greater the number of layers she adds, the more she seems to uncover something essential, almost psychological in her figural traces.

Rosie’s paintings and drawings deal with the possibility and uncertainty of growth of natural forms. A recurring motif is the rose hip bud, often represented as a singular form. It is observed with an almost alarming intensity, often with the aid of

a magnifying glass, yet her work couldn’t be more distantly related to botanical illustration. Her depictions are visceral and bodily; the red of the bud, and the way

the sticky physicality of each work’s surface often subsumes its image. Sustained visual research depicting the stages of transition after bloom has given her an innate feel for her subject matter and she increasingly focuses on the material qualities

of her medium to capture an almost painful sense of renewal. Projecting, rescaling and overlaying her initial drawings, she has created an open-ended and ongoing exploration in paint of the promise and fragility in the repeating forms.

Sabrina’s project revolves around the physical properties of a growing collection of throwaway or low-key materials, often involved in packaging. Testing their innate qualities, she cuts, separates, re-orders and transforms them. She has retooled the use of tape and glue-gun from hidden enablers into identifiable elements of her constructions. Her approach alternates between being very methodical and chaotic, typified by the careful cataloguing and analysing

of her results. This has even extended to making sound recordings of materials under deconstruction. Yet out of this order and disorder there is an obvious pleasure in the stuff of her making. She identifies touch as key, and this has

caused her to reinvent her materials in quite unexpected ways, often resulting in hybrid forms somewhere between 2 and 3-D. The materials of their making are sometimes recognisable and sometimes not. Everything she produces comes

almost entirely from detritus and her work’s delicate and complex structures ask questions about the volume of material normally discarded and by association, the impact of this on the wider environment.

Sara’s project emerged from thoughts about restriction and freedom whilst living on a small sailing boat during the first lockdown. From this immersive, meditative experience part of her focus became the centrality of the wind to her existence. She set about finding ways to capture this, ultimately deciding to use the power of the wind itself to make drawings. Taping a piece of paper on deck and placing the tip of a pencil

on its surface (attached to the boom by a piece of string) changes in the direction of the wind created a series of line drawings.

Whereas sailing harnesses the wind to shape a direction of travel, with these drawing she limited her agency

allowing chance a significant role. These images describe visually an element that is invisible. And each has a temporal dimension, with some drawings made over many hours. The challenge she has set herself is how to find meaningful ways to relate her site work to studio making: does it document, plan or mirror in some way her fieldwork?

Sally is interested in how different approaches change the way a familiar object is experienced. Her project is rooted a rigorous research programme examining the effect of iterative working in a variety of media including drawing, casting, collage, printmaking, painting and photography.

Throughout she has used a primary source artefact, a classic Bialetti espresso

maker. By limiting one of the variables in this way she has created a valuable constraint, one that has challenged her to continually reinvent her processes to keep herself engaged. She acknowledges an impatience to resolve things and so this steadfast engagement with a domestic object, is both interesting and tactically astute. It acts as

a kind of catalyst for a restless experimentation and a rapid turnover of material whilst maintaining a common thread. The works she creates spark unexpected moods and associations leading to new areas of research which are pursued in a cycle of exploration and learning.

Samia’swork mediates on the nature of her history of lute playing and its broader cultural significance. She wondered why she had ceased and she began her project by making drawings of herself performing in her youth. These felt perhaps a little tentative and a desire for a more concrete connection with her subject led her to take custody of the family instrument from her brother. What followed

was a series of increasingly animated drawings and paintings made from direct observation, often at speed, where the rhythm of her mark-making began to convey something of the joy of performance.

Her work often oscillates between traditional, schematic forms of representation and something less formal, as when she listens to the

music and draws the notes. And flipping between oil, watercolour and charcoal there is a sense of an accumulation of experience where these different practices have cross pollinated into a visual language with quite descendible aesthetic qualities. Her drive to work things out through doing has accented the performative aspects of her drawing and painting, allowing her to communicate more fully the intrinsic qualities of her music making.

Sally’s work investigates the potential of systematic and repetitive methods of working. A painting series explores the processes of revealing and concealing, construction and destruction. Multiple layers of paint and paper are applied and then partially removed, the final painting emerging slowly and meditatively, the result of many small decisions and the process itself. The desire to

explore a similar repetitive technique while harnessing more elements of accident and chance, led to a series of multi-layered monotypes.

Interested in the chance element introduced by ‘found’ objects, Sally began printing using pieces of discarded chocolate wrappers and wax paper. Working with understated colour she   

initially made prints that were quite identifiable indexes of each fragment of paper. Not content with the limited ‘history’ of these papers, she began to create falsely aged papers, manipulating them by folding and burning – both by flame and with chemicals. These papers eventually disintegrate, materially

effecting the performance and shape of each printed piece. Gradually Sally increased the number of printed layers, trusting more in the process; she also migrated towards black. The resulting works are a potent manifestation of her intensely repetitive process. There is something elemental and mineral-like about their rich blackness, the visible image turning into textured surface. The sense of time embedded in these prints is striking

Much of Sandra’s diverse output is linked by the preponderance of one colour: deep red. Here she identifies an autobiographical link, connecting it at a visceral level to the colour of the earth in many of the places she has lived, especially Kenya.

Her work says something about place and (un)rootedness. It’s born of restless experimentation with a plethora of methods and materials, appearing to oscillate between the

implication of something the size of a continent (or even planetary) and that of a tiny specimen of earth. At times it can look like ore and at others becomes more personal and internal, its physicality hinting at a connection with the body, where history and life experience are carried within its physical form.

Sue’s project revolves around a hidden wooded space discovered on her daily walk and her attempts to capture its very particular atmosphere. She has paid close attention in situ, made drawings from memory and generated monotypes from an array of images gathered on site.

What typifies her practice is a careful, immersive approach and close attention to detail. It’s given rise to a number of slow discoveries about her relationship to this

place. Drawing comes to act as a form of meditation, an opportunity to be transported and ultimately have a different perception of the woods. The dreamlike images she creates imply a sense of mystery, inviting the viewer to reflect on a different kind of relationship with nature. And more recent works have involved more selective depictions, accenting the uniqueness of each encounter with this space.

Tatiana feels a strong affinity for drawing. She allows herself to be led by its familiarity and expressive potential. At times she works solely with the abstract tensions created by the medium, and at others she allows these applications to help an image to suggest itself. Her recent drawings have an autobiographical quality (lived, imagined and remembered) and in this context individual images can be quite

deceptive. What might initially read as a fairly straightforward depiction of a domestic scene can come to feel quite loaded.

These are principally images of confinement, about being caught in someone else’s space. They can feel claustrophobic and

overwhelming, with odd perspectives or chaotic distribution of visual elements. Yet increasingly there’s the sense of drawing carried out as a small meditative act, as a way of finding beauty in everyday things. Some images are quite complex,

others more cursory (or simply the record of her hands feeling the paper’s surface), but they all give the impression of drawing as a place to hold her thoughts, an activity offering solace in an impossibly difficult situation.


The first national lockdown in March demanded a seismic shift in group behaviour which as a psychology teacher, I found both strange and exhilarating.  Suddenly we had permission to stop, to stay at home, to be vigilant.

We had time to notice small things, neglected details in our domestic hinterland, to look and to listen …

Where we live, close to the forest edge, on the perimeter of a feeder road to London’s North Circular, the sudden drop in traffic volume gave way to a quieter soundscape & a different air quality in the microclimate of our suburban garden.

I found my way into it’s overgrown and secluded corners where I could watch & listen  undisturbed.  The tactile qualities of these quiet and shared spaces came into focus. 

As we were not going out, I began to play with what came to hand – lockdown loo rolls and off cuts from rampant garden pruning – this precious garbage was the fodder for my work.  

A theme emerged … the tension between freedom and containment

that arises when the rules of collective behaviour shift…

Perhaps it’s possible to discern a play  between forms and beings with a degree of freedom to conform or defy clear rules in this work?   

Shifting rules produce unpredictable results… and chaos spreads the virus…

Recommendations #3 Three decades of William Kentridge’s animations available online – this week only!

Don’t miss William Kentridge online film festival

September 29 to October 3, 2020

at 5pm each day on Goodman Gallery website (

Waiting for the Sibyl by William Kentridge


29 September

Drawing Lesson One: In Praise of Shadows (2012), 1 hour 2 minutes

30 September

Second-Hand Reading (2013), 7 minutes

Waiting for the Sibyl (2020), 6 minutes 3 seconds

1 October

Drawings for Projection – Part 1

Johannesburg, 2nd Greatest City After Paris (1989), 8 minutes 2 seconds

Monument (1990), 3 minutes 11 seconds

Mine (1991), 5 minutes 50 seconds

Sobriety, Obesity and Growing Old (1991), 8 minutes 22 seconds

Felix in Exile (1994), 8 minutes 43 seconds

2 October

Drawing for Projection – Part 2

History of the Main Complaint (1996), 5 minutes 50 seconds

WEIGHING… and WANTING (1998), 6 minutes 20 seconds

Stereoscope (1999), 8 minutes 22 seconds

Tide Table (2003), 8 minutes 50 seconds

Other Faces (2011), 9 minutes 45 seconds

3 October

Premiere of City Deep (2020) on The Art Newspaper website, 9 minutes 41 seconds

Year 1 Thursday: Drawing and Print Modules

Claire Parker Instagram: @funny_little_marks

Being encouraged to experiment with both instinctive mark-making and rigorous perspectival drawing has brought out a tension between freedom and constraint which has felt very real during life in lockdown.

Domino Pateman Instagram: @dominopateman

I enjoyed the drawing exercises we were given and, in lockdown, being forced to use only the space and equipment we had. Following the instructions in the exercises and riffing off them, made me realise I was interested in space itself, how it might be sliced up in different ways and put together again – and how exciting it is to try to represent that as a drawing and in 3D.

Ellen Thornton Instagram: @quiet_ellen

London Bridge Hot Desking

Drawing on old microeconomics text

Francesca Giuliano Instagram:

Drawing has been a revelation for me on CLFA. It has released a lot of creative energy that I hope will, in turn, inform other areas of my practice. A nice surprise was noticing a long-running love of parallel freehand lines and unfinished dangling threads in my textile work from many years ago that is re-emerging in my drawings.

James C

Charcoal and chalk on paper.
Charcoal and chalk on paper.

James Shahdin

Developing and using the contrast between darkness and light as a vehicle to reflect the social and economic climate that has changed throughout my teens and into adulthood.

Laura Madeley Instagram: @lauraraborealis

Today is not just for today

When lockdown wasn’t a lockdown, revisiting previous drawing projects to explore home-based print techniques and create new work was the obvious solution. Breathing new life into a site-specific project about the solar cycle gave me space to reconnect with ideas of time and transition. These images are of work in progress created on the last Saturday session of yr 1. The title is taken from tutor Brian Hodgson’s advice, words which landed somewhere in my head and haven’t left yet, bringing with them ideas about how to combine print, paint and drawing in my practice in year 2.

Mark Engel Instagram: @markusengel27

Return of Nature
An experiment in mark making with charcoal, incense and singeing paper

Dreamscape mark making
An experiment in trance like mark making using charcoal, tea bags, frottage and baby oil.

Nasrin Parvaz Website: Instagram: @nasrin.parvaz

Under lockdown

Under lockdown

Natalie Dee Instagram: @art.journey4

Down Memory Lane

The human psyche has always fascinated me, but it wasn’t until I started this term that I realised how much my work is trying desperately to unravel the mysteries of the mind. This project started with drawing a random cube and some screwed up paper and ended up evoking a surprising childhood memory. Inspired by this process, I am now experimenting with making prints using random objects like masking tape and plastic bags, hoping that these unintentional marks will eventually evoke more and more memories.

Rosie Mayston

Castles in the sky during lockdown

I moved from work grounded in observation to drawings and objects tied to internal states, the result of which was darker and more raw.

Samia Mallek Instagram: @samia.mallek1

Freedom after lockdown

Experimented with ink, charcoal, teabags and watercolours which lead me to an abstract figurative painting.

Sandra Beidas Instagram: @nomadicpens2018

Unconscious memories

When I put these images together for this blog I noticed there were recurring marks and vocabulary. Yet they were produced at different times and with no conscious thoughts of reproducing the same imagery. Are they subconscious memories of the many times I have spent gazing down at landscapes from the air or are they related to something else? Looking forward to CLAF2 to probe more deeply!

Tatiana Solowjowa Instagram: @taniczka_s

Emotional subconscious

Exploration of inner landscapes

Year 1 Tuesday Final Drawing Research Module: Narrative and Process

Once upon a time, someone opened a box…..

There was wiring, and spanners

The machine came to life

And transported us to a strange island

The home of a goddess

And a benevolent alien.

The little bird was safe in the grass.

We set out across the hills

The weather was controlled by a sleepy beast

It was raining when we got to the city

It was a place of many different forces

People had adapted to live there

It was time for us to fly

But how would we ever get home again?

Thank you Mina for curating this and for your overarching narrative interpretation,





“There exists for each one of us a house of dream-memory that is lost in the shadow of the past,” says Gaston Bachelard in his Poetics of Space; “thanks to the house, a great many of our memories are housed, and if the house is a bit elaborate, if it has … nooks and corridors, our memories have refuges that are all the more clearly delineated. All our lives we come back to them in our daydreams.”


OTHER ROOMS started as an investigation of domestic spaces by way of building small-scale, portable, assemblage structures, and it has been growing into an ever-expanding installation inside my home studio. OTHER ROOMS explores domestic interiors as spaces moulded by real and fictional memories and by daydreaming. The geometry of these domestic spaces is transformed by the way they are remembered; the joys and horrors that have happened within their walls; the stories that were weaved in their corners. Their nooks and crannies are resting places for human intimate lives. As the physicality of the room dissolves with the passing of time, the only way to experience it is to conjure its fiction.

Autobiographical to an extent, OTHER ROOMS aim to trigger the viewer’s own intimate narratives and dreamscapes. After all, “the house is one of the greatest powers of integration for the thoughts, memories and dreams of [hu]mankind. The binding principle in this integration is the daydream.”


OTHER ROOMS reaches out to include other stories as it grows to encompass the room it is installed.

Contributors are invited to send me

* a personal memory (story, impression, dream) – connected to a domestic interior (room, corner, piece of furniture, object) of their past, and

* a piece of cardboard and/or any other materials they wish, including photographs


The text can be as long and as descriptive as contributors wish. Contributions can be anonymous.

I will use the materials and text sent to me to create a three-dimensional structure which will be my interpretation of the memory. If the text contributors send is used in any subsequent publication, permission to reproduce it will be sought. The structure will be incorporated in the installation. If the contributor wishes they can respond to the finished piece any way they wish (drawing, painting, film, performance). The contributor’s response may be included in the installation.

OTHER ROOMS will conclude with an exhibition held inside the installation (subject to social distancing rules). Possible outcomes include a video piece and a publication.

See the work on my website


on Instagram

Please send your contribution to

Lito Apostolakou

41 Donovan Avenue

London N10 2JU

or if you live within an 8-mile radius I can walk to you and pick it up.

Any questions, contact me on Whatsapp or email me on

Here is an extract from Proust’s Remembrance of Lost Time, vol. I on memories of rooms

“These shifting and confused gusts of memory never lasted for more than a few seconds … But I had seen first one and then another of the rooms in which I had slept during my life, and in the end I would revisit them all in the long course of my waking dream: rooms in winter, where on going to bed I would at once bury my head in a nest, built up out of the most diverse materials, the corner of my pillow, the top of my blankets, a piece of shawl, the edge of my bed, and a copy of an evening paper, all of which things I would contrive, with infinite patience of birds building their nest, to cement into one whole; rooms where, in a keen frost, I would feel the satisfaction of being shut in from the outer world … and where, the fire keeping in all night, I would sleep wrapped up, as it were, in a great cloak of snug and savoury air … in a sort of alcove without walls, a cave of warmth dug out of the heart of the room itself … or rooms in summer … where the moonlight striking upon the half-opened shutters would throw down to the foot of my bed its enchanted ladder (…)

Other Rooms installation

Other Rooms installation in progress.


Picking up a box of materials from the first contributor.

The quoit is skimming across the deck…

The quoit is skimming across the deck, it lands with a wobble. I win a prize. This is my first memory. I am on the deck of the Queen Mary transitioning from being three years old to being four. I am somewhere on the sea between England and Sri Lanka, or is it Sri Lanka and England? Exactly where, and even the direction of travel matters not.

I am mixed, mixed race.

Some say mixed up. I don’t, I am privileged, though sometimes confused. I certainly discombobulate others, but I’m no nincompoop.



Wendy Manel de Silva, May 2020

WIP (work in progress)


Inhabiting and journeying through the house,

I live in my brown skin – always.

I live in my rusty house, the rust chosen to echo and fix

memories of the disappearing industrial landscape

of my English husband‘s hometown.

It’s been my home for over 15 years.

Like a hermit crab, I’ve found,

sometimes made myself, several homes in London,

the city I landed in, on a BOAC aeroplane in January 1971.

Enoch was dreaming of bloody rivers.

What greeted me on my journey from the airport

was a cold, cold, grey sky

blackish sludge on the edge of the road

and children skating on the duck pond in Broomfield Park.


I’d moved from  Park Road in Havelock Town

named after Arthur Havelock, the British Governor of Ceylon,1890 -1895,

to stay with my generous aunt and her family

in an upper level maisonette in Palmers Green which is named after a field,

Palmer’s Field, in records that date back to 1204.

My parents, eking out their Sri Lankan exchange controlled £50 allowance

lodged in a bedsit nearby.

My two brothers dispatched north, to Manchester, for a sojourn with our maternal grandparents who lived in Fallowfield, neat Platts Fields.

The family rumour is that Nanny was disinherited, why we never found out.

But we learnt, 50 years later, that there were probably two sides to that story.

My Grandpa’s sister spoke Ancient Greek. Her (uncorroborated) history included being headmistress of Manchester Grammar School for Girls.


I did not mean to end up reading like a page out of out of

Indeed, with a start I realise I can’t nestle in there.

People; kind, curious, nervous, alarmed, racist maybe,

will ask me where I’m from, where I’m really from.

Maybe in one sense they are right,

I’m not really from Highbury in North London.


My art practice is an attempt to answer that question for them.

For me, it’s a question that keeps presenting multiple answers

with shimmering lights and black holes

which I explore when I’m feeling strong.

It’s about living in my skin, more or less comfortably.

It’s about living in this world, on this planet,

from before I was born, to after I am gone.



Wendy Manel de Silva, May 2020


Symphony for the speechless

Aurelia Duplouich May 2020
Sound Collage Duration: 3 min 41 seconds

The idea of making a soundtrack came from being in lockdown in a farm in the French Alps, isolated from any other human beings apart from my own family and two farmers. Like many, I experienced this time as a moment of introspection and because everything around me was about nature, the cycle of life and death became very present.

I started teaching myself how to mix tracks for my vocal harmony group, so my new routine included lots of time spent practising vocal parts, mixing them with others and basically producing music rather than making it.
I began recording sounds of my life here: my kids playing with newborn lambs and shepherds dogs, or walking in the fields, but I have also given them lines to read. They decided it was more fun to act them out. The incredible variety of sounds in an isolated rural place I hope were giving an idea of how beautiful and unspoilt it all was here.

In the same time, we were witnessing death all the time, not just the death toll that was painfully enunciated at the evening news, but also right here, a couple of meters away, a dog dying of old age, chicken eaten by the foxes one night, a baby lamb slaughtered by the shepherds dog because he wouldn’t feed….and more tragically, many pine trees dying of viruses, a direct consequence of recurring droughts and rise in temperature.

The idea of a collage was inspired by Robert Rauschenberg and his view that anything could be used, not just what is aesthetically pleasing. I have, in the same way, left mistakes, spontaneous laughs or curses, background noises and done a very basic editing.

I’d love to continue developing this piece back into a proper 4 parts symphony type composition, and collaborate with a performer/mime or signing-artist to develop a full installation of it. AD

Composition /Voice: Aurelia Duplouich
Piano: Ricardo Gosalbo Guenot
Readings: Evie Raford, Teo Raford, Noah Raford

Image: Aurelia Duploouich – Mapping research
Aurelia - Mapping Research

Recommendations #2

The Encounter is free to watch online from 15 May until 22 May 2020.

The Encounter tells the story of National Geographic photographer Loren McIntyre who, in 1969, became lost in a remote part of the Brazilian rainforest while searching for the Mayoruna people. His encounter was to test his perception of the world, bringing the limits of human consciousness into startling focus.

“We are, as a consequence of this pandemic, bodily cut off from one another. Disconnected. Isolated. But perhaps this sense of our separation one from another, is simply a heightening of what we felt before this all began. We are thinking now, not only about how long this will last, but also what happens on the other side. To reconnect we need, perhaps, to learn to listen more closely. To each other. To our communities. To other cultures. To nature itself. The Encounter is at its heart a story about ‘listening’, not ‘hearing’ but listening; to other, older narratives which, at the deepest level, form who we are, and if we do, we can imagine how we can ‘begin’ again.”

Simon McBurney, Complicité Artistic Director

I saw it at Barbican in 2018 and was under its spell for a long time after. I am really happy to see it return, even if in this substituted form.

Monika Kita