It is Winter and I am in a state of consolidation. My wonderful home is in flux as I prepare to make a new studio. I do not like disturbing everything. I feel deeply disturbed inside and doubts come rushing in. I keep small sketchbooks of skinny black pen drawings, and try to bridge the gap across the upheaval with my own flimsy trust in the future. Meantime I have a new stainless steel long handled bulb planter and at intervals I go out to my drying green and plant a batch of blue camassia bulbs in the certainty? that they will thrill me in the Spring.
A consistently beguiling, confiding, proclaiming voice.
You are really raising the bar in all the galleries Eleanor.
“Your work is really up there, Eleanor, really up there.”
“Your work is distinctive and intriguing”
“I see a girl rolling yet another world, with others already deflated and a new one waiting. Very impressive.”
“Oh it’s a little bit of fantasy.”
“We love the poignancy of your work.”
“Turneresque and disturbing. Amazing feelings. Thankyou.”
“Stunning composition and colour….moving.”
“Sparse and rich, constrained, organic and free, tight and loose – an emotional experience. Your work plumbs the depths yet aesthetically very exciting and unexpected.”