How I learned to love Lichtenstein. (Not really)

Lichtenstein was not my choice.We all had to pick a piece of paper out of an envelope; on each was written the name of an artist. My colleagues got Klimt, Klee and Rothko. Delauney, Josef Albers, Rauschenberg. I got Roy Lichtenstein.I've never been a fan of his work; subconsciously aware of WHAAAM! and the ubiquitous reproduction of his iconic images commercially, but it's not my sort of thing. Our brief for our BA hons Surface Design and Textile Innovation was to create textile samples inspired by a particular artist. Not only was I miffed to have been landed with someone who did nothing for me, but when all the names had been drawn I commented (well, actually I ranted) to the tutor that they were all men. "What about Bridget Riley?" I moaned. "Louise Bourgeois? Paula Rego? Frida Khalo?"One of the group piped up: "I've got a woman! Joan Miro!"Anyway.I struggled to create textile pieces inspired by Lichtenstein's bland two-colour dot paintings, his Brushstrokes series, and his Mondrian copies. While everyone around me was creating dainty delicate stitches, on chiffon, velvet and silk, I was lost in a chasm of disengagement. An inspired moment of combining pages from comic books into my knit, stitch, and textile work kept the boredom at bay, and I managed to pull together an excellent (in my opinion) samples book for the final assessment.

Hand felted Lichtenstein 'Eye'

Although I got a B for my project, I wasn't happy. I felt I had really worked hard with a limiting brief, and had created something out of nothing - something varied and beautiful. At least, I thought, I could forget about Lichtenstein for ever now. After the festive break we started on a new brief: again, just up my street (not). To work on woven designs for cushions for the choral area of Bradford Cathedral. We would be weaving samples based on our drawings and interpretation of elements within the building. However, my interest in the course was starting to unravel.On a cold January morning, all three year groups met up in the centre of Leeds to be sent off to research fashion fabrics. We got denim. Yawn. We spent the afternoon debriefing; two hours of monotonous chitter chatter about baby clothes, lingerie and coats.It was Kate Moss who saved me from more of the same; forced to watch a video of her at a lecture, her inane gushing over textiles and fashion left me cold. It was then, in a flash, that I finally realised - I was doing a degree on fashion design. WTF was I doing?Not creative textiles, as I had envisaged. There had been no real opportunity for experimentation. The lovely people in my group, and the second and third years I got to know too, were all warm and friendly. But they all ooohed and ahhhed over pictures in Vogue; had photos of designer dresses up on their cubicle walls. I was not of their ilk.Immediately after Kate imparted her exquisite knowledge, I went straight off to get a college brochure outlining the other degree courses at Bradford School of Arts and Media. Visual Arts jumped out at me immediately, and it was like an Eureka! moment. This is the course I should have taken! There was no time to waste. I managed to talk to tutor Heather, who encouraged me to go to see Wendy, head of department. Wendy was busy and I spent a good 15 minutes waiting nervously outside her office before she was able to break away to see me. I blurted out that I was on the wrong course and wanted to swap to visual arts. "Come and see me tomorrow at 1, and bring a portfolio of your work," said Wendy, and vanished back into her office.I could hardly contain my excitement. Bursting, I managed to get through the rest of the afternoon where we were painting colour schemes of textile fabric colours  in our sketchbooks. Dull.At home, I pulled together a few bits and pieces that I had done over the years and which I felt could qualify as visual arts. Some large drawings, a zine, some altered books and a painting. In the event, Wendy loved my work and said she would be delighted to have me on the course. The relief was incredible; that was it, no more knit and weave and bloody fashion design.It was strange, swapping courses half way through. I didn't know anyone on the VA course and the early days were uncomfortable; I felt like an outsider. News of my departure from the textiles course was greeted with indifference by the tutors, with one snapping at me that I would regret my decision. It had been hard enough for me to find the confidence to return to an educational environment after so many years, so I put the negativity behind me.As a latecomer, I had to fit in where there was space, and thus a section of wall and a wobbly table were found for me wedged between year 2 and year 3. For the first few weeks I didn't really have a clue what was going on; however In 2D and 3D drawing I have surprised myself with my mixture of mark-making and collage; in print I have discovered a whole world of surprises. I was really starting to enjoy studying.

'Life' drawing

Then Lichtenstein reared his ugly head again. To be fair, it wasn't entirely his fault. My brief in VA was entitled 'transcription', and was very loose, to the point where if you didn't like it you could set your own brief. I had a few ideas, but somehow ended up thinking about dear old Roy and coming to the realisation that a) I had done a bloody hell of a lot of work on him for textiles which had gone unappreciated b) I could transcribe that work to fit the brief.For my presentation I put together a show entitled "How did Roy Lichtenstein engage with comic book art?" It went well, and some weeks later I was informed that I had got a B+. The next stage was to write a 2000 word essay on the same subject, incorporating feedback from the presentation. Duly submitted, and some weeks later I was informed that I had got an A-. Roy even managed to creep in to my modules of studio practice and techniques & processes. Experimenting with lino, intaglio and letterpress blocks, I printed a variety of satirical artworks mimicking Lichtenstein's work. A collage of lips, train tickets with beautiful women and speech bubbles, and I even managed to sneak in some of my textile pieces from the previous course.For my final modules I received an A and an A+. Pretty good letters to end a sporadic but ultimately invigorating first year on a university degree course. And I owe it all to Roy Lichtenstein.

My studio space with my final work on show

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Lud's Church. A philosophical adventure.

Lud's Church became the focus for my first brief at University.

We nearly missed it.

My black and white interpretation of the journey to Lud's Church

Well, actually, we found it, but didn't know we had.

Max at Lud's Church

In July last year, I went for a short break with my son Max to the Peak District (Derbyshire, UK). We had arranged to meet up with our friends the Behrens from Berlin, to spend a few days in the environs of a youth hostel in Gradbach,
On arrival at this former flax mill in the middle of nowhere, tucked away in a verdant valley, we decided to explore the area before meeting up with our friends. A sign pointed to 'Lud's Church'; and so we set off, on a stifling hot July day at the start of summer 2013.
Max and I had no idea what Lud's Church was. After trekking along a riverside, over a stile and up a muddy bank, we asked the walkers we met how far it was.
"Oh, maybe half a mile," they said. "You can't miss it."
In our imaginations we saw a derelict church ruin, tucked in an open field, amid the woodland.
Onward we strolled, through dense woodland, past the mound of rocks where a young couple had paused to enjoy the view. After half an hour or so of walking, wiping sweat from our brows and swigging from a bottle of now warm water, we were still no wiser.
A break in the thick trees revealed boulders with strange steps leading down to an open cavern. We both reveled in the coolness of the stones; commenting on the refreshing draught.
Then it was back to the path.
Another 15 minutes later and we had both had enough. We had admitted defeat; we just could not locate Lud's Church. So we backtracked to head back to the youth hostel.
As we passed the strange cavern, Max noticed a faint carving of the words Lud's Church on a rock by the entrance. And sure enough, as we were able to confirm with the couple we had seen on the boulders who were now by the cavern, this was indeed the site we had set off to see.

We explored again with a renewed vigour. Heavy rainfall the night before meant getting down to the lower areas was not feasible, for me anyway. Max managed to balance on a plank of wood, clinging to the rock face, as he disappeared into the gulf. "It's huge," his voice echoed back. "Goes on even further."
On a drier day I would have explored further, but we were happy that we had actually experienced Lud's Church after all.

Now the philosophical bits:

Lud's Church:

1. We find it, but don't realise what it is, so carry on
2. We turn back, find the cavern, and still don't realise what it is so return to the hostel.
3. We turn back, find the cavern, realise it it Lud's Church
4. We don't find it at all ( walk past it, walk back.)
5. We don't find it at all (don't walk far enough)
6. We don't find it, but when we return to the hostel, someone tells us that the cavern was actually Lud's Church.

How would we have felt if we realised we had visited Lud's Church without realising it?

Some historical facts:
The rock cleft known as Lud's Church was used for Lollard meetings in the 14th Century, a secret place of worship for Wycliffe's Lollards, taking its name from Walter de Lud-Auk.
It also set the scene for a famous medieval poem Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

For our first university brief, we concentrated on 'drawing from memory' and 'mark making', using black and white mediums. I was drawn to concentrating on our visit to Lud's Church, and as I learned new techniques, my sketchbook developed as did my work towards a final piece.

In knitting I made tubes and inserted pieces; we learned how to make Suffolk puffs (don't ask); we have drawn with our eyes closed and sketched in Saltaire; and couched lines and chain-stitched on embroidery hoops.

I enjoyed the brief and it was rewarding to be given a B+.

A detail of my Lud's Church final piece

Generation gap? More like a cultural chasm.

Being old has its advantages. You tend to know more - stuff - than 18 year olds.

There are 14 of us in the college textile group - three of us are 50 plus; the rest are 18 to 20 years old. There have been quite a few occasions recently when the difference in age has revealed itself in amusing anecdotal examples.

Choosing yarns recently, Zanab said: "Gold!" Immediately the song started playing in my head, and I mentioned it to Katie, 18. She had never heard of it. Of course Jackie and Denise knew what I was on about, and we sang the chorus to the bemused youngsters.

We had a 'guess the word' session where we all had to create a powerpoint show with a 'secret' word we were given by Andrea, our lecturer. Jackie showed slides of sweets from the 1970s, 1960s clothing and toys like Scalextrix. I guessed correctly - nostalgia; half the class had never even heard the word.

(Nostalgia, it struck me, is really only reminiscent to anyone over, say, 40. We are bombarded with trips down memory lane; vintage shops abound with kitsch; biopics on TV of Kennedy and the return of Dallas; Dr Who being 50 years old; repeats of Top of the Pops from the 1970s - without Savile, Gary Glitter, Jonathan King and others; we have to be politically correct these days).

Other words which baffled some included 'eclectic', and the aforementioned 'kitsch'. There was one word which was actually new to me - ecochic. What is the world coming to...

I've been working on a separate powerpoint presentation with Chloe, also 18. In pairs, we are to stand in front of our peers and talk with slides about a designer. Chloe and I are doing Celia Birtwell and Ossie Clark. Going through it together, I relayed that Celia had been on Desert Island Discs last year. Chloe looked puzzled. I guess I'll be explaining what Desert Island Discs is when we give our presentation!

Lichtenstein - work in progress

Our brief for the second part of this year's term has been to create textile samples inspired by a particular artist. We all had to pick a name out of a bag - I got Roy Lichtenstein (and was not happy!) When all the names had been drawn, I commented (well, actually I ranted) to the lecturer that they were all men. "What about Bridget Riley?" I moaned. "Louise Bourgeois? Paula Rego? Frida Khalo?"
Sana piped up: "I've got a woman! Joan Miro!"

Going by the book.

September 2013


"This is your timetable for the first semester. I suggest you take notes."

I already had notebook and pen at the ready; having trained many years ago as a journalist, scribbling reminders using a pen and paper is second nature to me.

Virtually everyone else reached for their phones.


Two young women (are they women at 18 or still girls?) are so attached to their phones that I don't think I have yet to see them put them down. They appear to be permanently attached to a hand. In years to come, will generations evolve to having a third hand into which a phone can fit snugly?

(I bought a Blackberry earlier this year; it's pretty crap but it suits my purposes. And yes, it's an old-style Blackberry. My husband announced that I had bought a Tardis and gone back in time to buy a phone. My older son sniggers when I produce it for use - for the occasional text or email. Writing notes on it is anathema to me.)


Inspired by the project brief, I took to scribbling notes this weekend in one of my many little books. I think it was comedian Sarah Millican who I read having said that she had hundreds of notebooks - all blank, as she couldn't bear to write in them. These aren't just bog-standard supermarket spiral-bound books - each is unique, and chosen for its style, cover, bindings etc. Today you can get notebooks with little pockets in the back for bits and pieces! I have a Moleskin diary which I love and really don't know how I managed to cope without one in the past.


I must have in the region of 50 such notebooks. Some have sketches, notes, ideas, cuttings from magazines. Many are still blank and awaiting an inky introduction. I have even been known to tear the previous scribbled pages out of notebooks and start again; but even these pages are not discarded and are kept in a drawer, not forgotten, but not sorted either. I have little books in a box from the 1970s and 1980s - I would carry one around with me and write poems about my friends in them. Friends who I have long since lost touch with also wrote in my little books, so they are a nostalgic treasure from the past.


So now at university, I can wallow in my joy of note-taking and notebook-obsessiveness. The course hasn't even started and I already have three on the go - one for timetable and finances; one for sketches; and one for notes.


Oh, and just to finish - this is what one friend. Becky, wrote when I posted on Facebook that I had started my degree:


"Now you're going to be a student, label all the the things in the fridge that are yours, cook for yourself but no-one else, only tidy your own things, occasionally nick someone else's milk, marge, teabags, and go by the mantra of my ex-housemate 'I don't use the floor so I'm not cleaning it, I don't use the plates so I'm not cleaning them'."