Coast Magazine

This month some of our products have been photographed for the lovely ‘Coast Magazine’ in their UK Craft feature. The pieces were styled by the talented Emma Clayton who had seen our work in the SIT Select 2014 brochure. 

We couldn’t be happier with how the pieces look! They work brilliantly with the crafts from the other artisans. It’s so wonderful to see so many British craftspeople and we're especially happy to see four we know from Stroud! What a hive of talent we are.

Thank you Coast Magazine for a lovely feature!

My journey to creativity

As an adult I am lucky to be surrounded by creativity. There is music which whispers to me in the night as I sleep. Art that tugs on my sleeve when I happen to be looking the wrong way. Books which find their way into my bookshelves without me quite knowing how they got there. As a child I remember staring at sculptures in  shopping arcades which pulsed with creative invisibility, which seemed to be hidden from everyone but me.  A small child with dark eyes, a wonky fringe and a predisposition for finding the hidden things no one else saw. 

I would point and ask questions no one knew the answers to; ‘Why is that man’s hair blue?’ pointing to a scary-looking punk on the bus. I soon learnt not to ask. But it didn’t stop the questions from forming in my mind. ‘Why did they choose that? What moved them? What told them to?’ At the park I would look under swings and slides at scrawled graffiti, marvelling at initials carved into walls. 

And then one day I picked up a pen and began to write. The muse smiled in her silent room. My poems began as descriptions, lists of colours and textures.  A leaf in the wind. A tree on the way to school. Words inside arguments which cut like knives. 

My mother would stare at me when I shyly showed her the words which tumbled from me, ‘Did you write this? You didn’t copy it?’ Ours wasn’t a overly creative household. I wasn’t submersed in poetry or art. It was a normal house in the normal suburbs.

I stumbled around in my normality, pen in hand, until one day I heard the opening lines of the film ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’. I was moved to tears by the poetry which I hadn’t heard before and rewound the tape again and again, listening with an open mouth. I found myself in the library, looking up ‘Funeral Blues’ by WH Auden and found his moodier counterparts. I found what is now one of my favourite poems by Louis Macneice ‘Prayer Before Birth’ which rang in my adolescent ears in its beauty and hope and desperation. 

It turns out that the world is full of beauty and hope and desperation. I happened to open my eyes and see it. My favourite poems now span generations and range in depth and genre. Some of my most treasured poems are unpublished, written by people I’ve met through writing groups, or at spoken word events. All of them move me. All of them show me another way to think, to feel, to be. All of them add to my experience as a creative person in the world.

What marked your journey to creativity? Was there a pivotal moment of YES! Or was it a more gradual immersion in the things which speak to your soul? I’d love to hear your stories. 

Clever Monty

Clever Friends

Monty, would you...?

A few months ago, a very good friend (Sally King - check her out here) asked me to provide her with quote for the cover of her book. I was honoured, of course, but also nervous (yes, I think everything I do is tinged with nerves). I wanted it to be honest, to sum up what I thought of the book and do it simply. Be succinct, if you like. Not an easy task for me. Also (I thought as I bit my nails), why would anyone care what I thought? I’m just a regular person. But perhaps that’s the point.  

But Who Am I?

In my time as an avid reader I have been lucky enough to have lots books recommended to me. First by librarians, intrigued by a small child who shunned ‘babyish’ books in favour of ‘The Secret Garden’ and ‘The Red Pony’ (ok I was far too young at nine to have understood the nuances of Steinbeck, but I read everything about horses at that point), and then by teachers and friends. I found that it soon became easy for me to recommend books too. When I worked as a bookseller I loved to be asked ‘What are you reading? What would you suggest?’, beaming brightly I would ask about what they had enjoyed lately and go from there. Shyly pointing those who loved Captian Correlli’s Mandolin to One Hundred Years of Solitude or Isabelle Allende’s House of Spirits. What I soon learned, was that there wasn’t a particular ‘type’ of reader, and that the books I read (from Jilly Cooper to JD Salinger) weren’t of a 'type' either. They were just all good stories. I found that my passion is for all books, from Arundhati Roy’s delicious descriptive prose in The God of Small Things to losing myself in the very real charactors of Armistead Maupin. It doesn’t seem to matter what I read, or how well it’s regarded by critics, as long as I find a voice I haven’t heard before hidden within.  

Keep It Simple

So to provide the right recommendation for Sally, I began with how I actually felt about her book. It was wonderful. A warm hug from a good friend. It was so good that I completely forgot that it was written by my friend Sal, and lost myself with Lottie and Grace and the brooding Oliver. I found that I didn’t know Sally as a writer at all. The voice she wrote with is not one I hear her speak with. I think this is the mark of a truly gifted writer. One who gives a true, clear voice to their charactors and allows them to have a life of their own. Sally calls this writing from the heart (she blogged about this here), and I agree.  

In the end, I wrote out my quote without fuss - “A wonderful and engrossing read. I couldn’t put it down!” The simple truth about a good book. Regular people all over the world are now reading it and loving it, and I couldn’t be prouder of her. 

Heirs and Graces is available to download here and order as a paperback here

Happy Birthday to Clever Monty

One Year On......

Just over a year ago I had a bit of an epiphany. I was walking around a flea market in Majorca (no, don’t stop reading, that was unusual for me and I’m the opposite of jet-set I promise), moaning quietly about how my career in Renewable Energy sucked. The lovely and patient friend I was with (yes you Barney H) gently told me I had great taste and maybe I should follow that. In a rather typically British-no-I-can’t-take-a-compliment way, I think I snorted and said something to change the subject. But inside I began to think. Yes actually, he was right. I had good taste, a passion for interiors and some talent for people watching and writing silly short stories but how could I make that into a viable business?

When I got back home to real life, I looked around me and saw a raft of people making a passable living from painted furniture. I curled my lip at the over-use of the term “shabby-chic” (it still pains me slightly when I say it - I prefer vintage or distressed). Then I looked out the window and sighed. A lot. 

I needed more than a passion for interiors and a talent for writing short stories. I needed something which would inspire people. Something which would inspire me. And most importantly when starting a business; something that people would pay for. I began with what made me want to part with my hard-earned cash. I buy quirky things. Items which people remember when they’ve seen them in my home. Things made by people I know and love. Things with soul. Is that a feminine artsy-fartsy and rose-tinted view of inanimate objects? Perhaps, but it makes me happy to think of the love which goes into a cup made by my friend Anna in her sunny studio, which is the opposite of how I feel when I think of the conditions in some factories which produce mass-market cups. 

So with this platform, a seed began to sprout and I realised that my obsession with all things hidden (honestly, from knickers with a silky lining to a car with a hidden cup-holder) would be my golden ticket. I began to consider names. Choosing lofty words and moving them over my tongue like sweets, nothing felt right. And then I found it; ‘Clever Monty’. Perfect. 

Clutching my concept and company name I began to test it on people I met at parties, knocking back another prosecco for courage I would say ‘I run my own business, its called Clever Monty’, and then tingle with pleasure (although that could also be blamed on the prosecco). 

Once I began to talk about my business, the world shifted to accommodate it. A friend bought a derelict mill to develop into artist studios and said I could rent one. I bought myself a toolbox and paintbrushes. People began to give me their unwanted furniture. I made a facebook page, a website, a pintrest profile and a twitter avatar. I made a logo. Friends and family became my cheerleaders, helping me to promote through social media. Chanting my tag line 'Furniture with a story to tell.' It became my mantra. 

I trundled over the months, falling in and out of love with Clever Monty, hitting brick walls and rinsing my inspiration dry as I went. At one point I sobbed to a friend “I’m just not very good” and within the hour this video appeared on my screen. A penny dropped from the ether by Ira Glass. Buoyed by these sage words I pressed on, slowly but surely getting better and better. And now when people ask me ‘where did you get that great lamp/shelf/chair/table?’ I can smile and say ‘Oh, I made it’. 

So I find myself a year old. Sat in my beautiful studio, surrounded by my beautiful, quirky, funny furniture smiling at it all. And next month some of it will appear in Coast Magazine. The icing on my one year birthday cake. I can't wait to see what the next year has in store. 

Happy birthday Clever Monty!