My favourite place in St Ives, the Hepworth Museum and Garden, is hidden by high walls that surround an oasis of art. Hepworth herself wrote that, ‘Finding Trewyn Studio was a sort of magic.’ That magic remains, it is a space of sanctuary and inspiration to me.
Hepworth worked and eventually even lived in Trewyn Studio. Today the bronzes in her garden stand as she left them surrounded the trees and plants all lovingly cared for by museum staff. To one side of the gardens, Hepworth’s studios are maintained, tools, equipment and half completed sculptures laid out, overalls hanging on the door. These rooms wait for Hepworth to walk back in, pick up her carving tools and get back to work, though perhaps only after berating the conservationists who have failed to prevent rust from setting in.
I love her workshops almost as much as I love her art. When I stand at the window I listen for the whispers of Barbara at work. I want to go in and touch her tools, to see if some of her genius is imbued into them. I want to put on my own overalls and get to work.
As I can’t work in Hepworth’s studio, my only option is to keep building on my own, and much like the rusty tools it needed a little care this week. I have been so focused on the inside of the van, the build and budget, that I hadn’t noticed quite how dirty the outside had become. That is until I saw the green patches. The bucket and sponge swiftly followed.
As I scrubbed, hosed, waxed and polished I was struck once again of how powerfully converting my van connects to the personal process of transformation and growth that is happening alongside the build. The metaphors and messages seem to write themselves.
Like the metal shell of my van, I too need to be strong on the outside, to be protected, to be cared for. Without that, my insides are too vulnerable. This could be seen as needing thick skin to deal with the rejections we all, but particularly creatives, face on a regular basis. Or perhaps it’s about presenting myself to the world the way I want to be seen, even on days I don’t feel that way inside. Or maybe it is about taking care of the health of my skin, that vast incredible organ that protects my body from bacteria, from chemicals, from changes in temperature.
I think it is likely all the above, and as the rain shimmered on the waxed and polished surface of my van, I couldn’t help but feel I had somehow spent hours on my own outer body as well. It was a powerful and profound feeling, and one I intend to carry forward with me, both metaphorically and as future instruction of care for us both.
In the coming week I plan to nail down the final budget, to do some notebook making, and if it ever stops raining, to keep building stud frames. I will let you know how they go.
Until then, a quick reminder that my print shop is open for anyone interested in gifting a loved one a little bit of art this holiday season. If you don’t see a photo of mine you like, or the size you want, just let me know. It can easily be added.
Paid subscribers, expect an autumn update from my kitchen this Sunday, full of apples and gorse. It’s going to be a good one. For now though, I leave you all with my van, polished until she shone.