A Garden of Shoes and The 1960s Psychadelic Mod Fashion Plate

I keep everything. I have broken dishes, an entire couture collection of single shoes, (Belle, my mastiff-laborador, having chewed the other mate--most recently a pair of handmade snakeskin Italian leather pumps that I picked up at a thrift shop in London years ago. Alas.) almost every single piece of correspondence that I have ever received, and boxes upon boxes of clothing.

I have it in my head that someday I will create some sort of art from my history. Most likely these treasures will remain in my attic, sit in my basement and wait to be moved to their next domicile.

My imagination can actually see the beauty I could create. The broken dishes to be made into a Gaudi style backyard bench, the clothing resewn into gorgeous new frocks, and all those poor single shoes? I once saw a famous garden where old purses were bronzed and placed about. I liked the way it looked. Could definitely do the same with the shoes. Especially my old cowboy boots.

This week I went through my art studio looking for inspiration. I always joke that my workshop looks as if it was hit by a natural disaster. People don't quite believe that until they see it. It's quite amazing, actually. Utter chaos. I love it.

So I am sifting through boxes and drawers and find a linoleum block/woodcutting kit bought about ten years prior. Thought I would give it a go. I found that I truly enjoyed carving the blocks with my various Art Deco inspired images, retro fashion plates and an Art Nouveau inspired nature scene as well. And I enjoyed the printing itself. A new found medium.

Pictured is my 1960s Mod Psychadelic Fashion Plate. A limited edition, signed and numbered linocut print, she is available in my Etsy shop.

1960s Mod Fashion, London and Me

London is perhaps my favorite city in the world (thus far). My deep connection to 19th century literature, my love for Brit Pop and mod fashion as well as pub culture, rain and a bizarre fascination with the monarchy, all make London feel like home.

I always stay at the same hotel near Hyde Park. A bargain at £55.00, it includes a full English breakfast (stewed prunes and all), a very small television, views of bustling Bayswater, but no bathroom.

As London is one of the most expensive cities and the pound worth twice that of the dollar, I spend most of my days walking or in the depths of one of their many incredible, free museums. Again, London serves as the focal point for all that I find interesting, and the British Museum its centerpiece and crowning empirical acheivement. I've been to Troy in Turkey (now a parking lot with a phony Trojan horse), but saw Troy in the British Museum. I have traveled to Egypt but saw a mummy for the first tme in the confines of the British Museum. In addition, the Elgin Marbles, Rosetta Stone and much of the Roman Empire lie in wait at the British Museum.

Colonialism has made its mark in the museum world. At the end of the 19th century the study of archaeology began in earnest as various European empires scrambled for power, seeking to conquer and spread "civilization." Looting their conquests of national treasure (and thus depleting signs of native "civilization"), the British, Germans and Austrians among others filled their coffers nicely with what were essentially stolen goods. To visit Troy and see a parking lot or want to go to Tunisia and see Carthage only to find it exists wholly in Berlin is depressing, to say the least. Thus I lift my spirits and drag my thoughts away from quagmire colonialism has created by utterly enjoying myself with all London has to offer.

Pictured is my tribute to London: my illustration of a 1960s mod fashion plate, beautiful but a bit cold.