I’m delighted to announce that I’ve been asked to contribute to the awesome Canadian roots magazine, Penguin Eggs. Hooray! I’ll let you know when my first piece is about to appear…
PROJECT PROJECT PROJECT!
Yes, it’s that time again… I’ve got stupidly excited over a new project. And it really is new – a new challenge, to be precise. I’ve been asked to ghostwrite, and it’s something I’ve never done before. I probably shouldn’t say who it is for now, just to keep the intrigue, but I’m sure he won’t mind me revealing his identity further down the line. It’s just that he’s been encouraged to write his story for a long time, and he had begun, but due to his very active lifestyle – he trains most days – he was simply not finding the time to sit down and get on with the project.
At first, I was apprehensive – how could I get the voice right for a man who is a few years older than me, lives in a different part of the country to me, and has a completely different lifestyle to mine? It made the Wayward Daughter project seem like an easy task: after all, I could say pretty much what I liked about Eliza and her story, as it was my interpretation. But on speaking to him, and I’ve met him a couple of times now, I think it will be fine – he has such a way of speaking, such charisma, then I need to stick as closely to his own words as I possibly can. And already what I’ve got down on the page isn’t recognisable, so hopefully that’s a good sign.
We don’t yet have a publisher lined up for this project, so I’ll be getting some sample chapters, a synopsis and a content plan together and pitching. Though I’m under no illusion – getting a publisher is damned hard – I’m enthusiastic. After all, everyone like’s a ‘triumphing over the unbelievable’ story, don’t they? And for someone like him, who has achieved so much and… well, I don’t want to give too much away. But fingers crossed, and let’s hope a future post is me announcing our new publishing deal! He deserves it.
My very talented friend, Beki, runs Where’s Me Jumper, a bespoke knitwear company. This week she has released her very first book, The Knit Parade, which contains patterns and tips to make your own statement knitwear. So make sure you get a copy and fingers crossed you don’t notice a single error, as it was proofread by my fair eyes! Eeek!
The brand new SCC website is live: http://songcollectorscollective.co.uk/ and I am delighted to have played a very small part in its creation, writing profiles of the ‘Tradition Bearers’ and transcribing some of Freda Black’s repertoire. I hope you enjoy having a sort through of the material the SCC has already amassed, it’s really quite a resource.
The more I learn about folksong, it seems the less I actually know. It’s such a vast subject, with some many fascinating characters and historical context. I always thought song collectors were middle class, genteel types who flitted about the countryside on bicycles at the turn of the twentieth century, listening to farm labourers with stalks in their mouths. Of course, there was a lot of that, but what I didn’t think about is that song collecting has been going ever since, and continues to happen today. After all, there are still people singing, and still songs and stories to hear.
The Song Collectors Collective is one such group of people who have been calling in to Gypsy and Traveller communities to hear the songs they sing. Naturally I was interested, and kept abreast of their discoveries on their Facebook page.
But then Sam Lee, one of the founding members, got in touch and asked if I’d be up for transcribing some of the Collective’s findings. I couldn’t help myself, of course, and ended up transcribing a whole range of different stories and songs that the Collective recorded when visiting Hampshire Gypsy singer, Freda Black. It was quite tough at times, writing each and every word without seeing the singer in action, but it was absolutely gorgeous hearing these songs, the majority of which I didn’t know, fall from the lips of such a lovely singer.
I was enthralled in no time at all, and I’ve since been listening to more recordings in order to put together short biographies of the singers which will be uploaded to the new SCC website, set to go live next month. I’ve had a sneak peek of the site and it’s going to be fascinating, such a resource – especially for people so new to the subject, like me.
I’ve always enjoyed proofreading. I know that is possibly the geekiest thing in the world to say, but I suppose it’s how mathematicians feel: they like having a problem, and finding a way to solve it. Sometimes it can cause controversy, or sometimes it involves looking up different rules or following a different school of thought, but in the end, it needs to be resolved. And there’s nothing more enjoyable than finding a sentence that doesn’t read quite right, or has peculiar punctuation, and working out how best to get it to flow.
But I’ve been enjoyed a particular proofreading task of late. I’ve been introduced to a woman who is currently studying social work in Liverpool. English is not her native language – though she’s not far off, in terms of fluency – and she’s found that her essay marks haven’t been as good as they could be as she’s finding it difficult to be fully understood. I’ve been proofreading her work – essays, literature reviews, dissertation – and it’s been absolutely fascinating, not just because of the subject matter but also because of the ways in which she constructs her sentences. The vast majority of the time, her written language makes perfect sense; it’s just that she spins her sentences the ‘long way round’, so my job is probably more in the editing field, actually. The thing I’ve got to be really careful with, though, is not to change any sentiment or to second guess – after all, this is her work, and she has the work experience and the theoretical knowledge.
What I’m finding difficult is explaining why something isn’t quite right – it’s never wrong; it’s just it could be slightly better, concise, more fluid. Like many of my generation, I wasn’t taught the construction of a sentence (which is probably a good thing, as I can’t imagine anything more boring!) and although I know what a verb, noun and adjective is, that’s about it. Instead, I think I’ve just picked up my knowledge from reading widely and from a young age, and then the proofreading course I took a few years ago just compounded and extended my knowledge (I didn’t know publisher proofing marks, for example). I guess with any language learning, though, you just pick it up as you go along: as you use it, abuse it, and get corrected. Anyway, she’s doing fantastically well – how she can discuss the complex theory she does in another language (and another alphabet!) is absolutely mind-blowingly amazing.
In little under an hour, my first book, Wayward Daughter, is a year old. It’s been such a great year, one that has whizzed by unrecognisably. I’ve had so much support and interest from so many people: friends, family, colleagues, folk fans, other musicians… I’ve had emails from happy readers, and some excellent reviews from magazines, newspapers and blogs. I’m utterly delighted, all in all. So thank you.
Extra gushing thanks to Soundcheck Books who have always been so supportive and generous with their time and patience (I like to email, truth be told!) over the past year. I know we’ll always be firm friends.
And I’ve written a new chapter about what 2012 held in store for Eliza, and this will be available in the e-book version which will be released to coincide with Eliza’s new retrospective, two-disc album, also called Wayward Daughter. Make sure you get your hands on an autographed CD from Proper.
I’m not sure how I first met Liz Evans, artistically known as Lily Greenwood. Like many people I know in Manchester, our initial introductions are long forgotten. But I’ve always been a fan of her gorgeous canvases which hang in her studio in the Craft and Design Centre, and as soon as Chris and I moved in together, we wasted no time in skipping along to purchase one of them. Her red butterfly canvas now adorns the wall of our living room and we know we will take it with us wherever we go.
As another highly inspirational woman, I thought I’d be cheeky and ask her how she began making art and what lies ahead in the future.
So how did your interest in art begin? Was it something your parents do and so seemed a natural path to follow?
My mum is very artistic, a really good photographer amongst other things, but never followed that route work-wise and perhaps wishes she had pursued it more, so my parents were always very encouraging about me following what I wanted to do, as opposed to what I ‘should’ do, whatever that means. My dad isn’t artistic in a traditional sense, but is a ‘maker’ and creative when it comes to the technical side of things. He and my mum have now been self-employed for a number of years making bagpipes.
During school, I always hated that moment when teachers would go around the room asking what children’s parents did for a living – which seems an odd thing for teachers to do, but they did. I was quite shy anyway and just knew the mention of the word ‘bagpipe’ would encourage a barrage of questioning! It would also make me cringe if a friend called to the house only to hear the strangled cat noises in the background of my Dad testing and tuning a set. These days I don’t know why I was so embarrassed (teenagers eh!) and have real admiration for the workmanship involved. I also saw how tough it was to build up a business (alongside other jobs for a number of years), but saw how much they appreciated being their own boss and following their interests, so that obviously rubbed off on me – and more than that, showed me that it was possible.
I’m not sure I can say when an interest in art began – as clichéd as it sounds it feels like I always was, and I was always happiest when making, drawing, painting, and so on. Through school it was art classes I looked forward to, and in earlier school years I couldn’t wait to be working alongside people who wanted to be there as much as me (‘doss’ lesson for many!). I viewed any hard work I put into other subjects as ‘back ups’ and supporting roles to the main aim of doing art.
From the work of yours I know best – I have one canvas hanging in my living room! – you seem to favour paint and collage. Has this always been the case? Have you other artistic skills (i.e. ceramics, photograph, drawing) that you haven’t shown off to the world just yet?
I always struggled to pin down which element of art to focus on, and avoided making any decisions until the decisions were practically made for me. Degrees are usually designed for specialising, however I picked a degree course which allowed freedom to move between different arts practises, and used the time to try and work out what suited best. I experimented with film work with a friend but I wasn’t a natural. I ended up focusing on children’s book illustration, which I loved doing. After graduation I would have liked to pursue it further, but was determined to try to pay my rent and bills through creative activities, and book projects can take a long time, and may never come to anything financially. Nobody wants their creative activities to be ruled by money, but to me thinking about the money and business side was an enabler, to make sure I was doing something creative all week (eventually, hopefully). Painting fit the bill better than children’s books in that sense, and I’d always loved doing it (just as much as the children’s books) – so that’s how I ended up focusing on it. At all costs I wanted to avoid going for a non-creative job to pay my bills then being too afraid to leave it.
I’ve been painting professionally for seven years now and feel I have a truer understanding of the term ‘practising artist’ – I’m constantly practising the painting and collage techniques I use, and so they slowly evolve and develop over time. It takes that practise time to become proficient in anything (as with your violin playing for example) so I’d never presume to be proficient in another discipline without those hours put into the practise.
Did you have a formal art education? If so, did it live up to expectations, challenging you to work in other mediums or inspiring you to try different techniques?
On paper I very much had a formal art education, following the route of A-levels, Foundation diploma (in Cumbria), and BA degree course (in Manchester). ‘Formal’ to me seems misleading though! I found every stage of my art education very loosely structured to the point where work and briefs were almost never set, and I was never ‘taught’ materials, techniques or processes in a traditional sense, with the emphasis very much on experimentation and self-driven work. It would have been very easy to drift. At the time it did make me wonder what I was paying all that money for, but in hindsight I think it did benefit me greatly in the long run. By the end of my degree I was so used to getting on with my work and setting my own projects that the transition from degree level to ‘real life’ was relatively easy – I just carried on with what I was already working on. It probably also helped me to use materials however felt right to me rather than being taught what other people do.
As I mentioned earlier I purposefully selected a course which allowed freedom between artistic disciplines, so the subject matter and mediums of my coursemates were very eclectic. That probably did help me expand my ideas about what was or wasn’t possible. I really appreciated that – again it was more like the ‘real’ world.
Who have been your artistic influences? Have you had a teacher that has been particularly inspiring?
I had a lovely teacher at school, Mrs Dodd. She was very encouraging and positive, along with a healthy amount of constructive criticism. Looking back at some of the things I did she must have seen it all before, but she was usually enthusiastic nonetheless. My tutors at foundation and degree level were generally very good too. One thing which stayed with me was a particular tutorial when I was stressing about feeling that I had too much to do and too little time – even though it was work I had imposed on myself. My tutor looked very thoughtful for a while and simply said to me ‘you have all the hours in the day’. On the surface this is not new information, but somehow it made me feel better, and at busy times I sometimes find I’m saying the same sentence to myself in my head.
Much of your work seems to be influenced by the natural world. Why is this, do you think? Have you ever fancied tackling the human form, so to speak?
I grew up mainly in the countryside and my parents are both very interested in nature so again it has been somewhat passed on from them. My brother was also very interested in nature and I remember his bedroom when younger being full of bits of rock or fossils he’d found and wildlife posters on the walls. It seems quite logical to integrate personal interests as subject matter in artwork so in simple terms you could say that’s all there was to it. Looking back it seems that I really focussed on the natural world as subject matter after moving to the bright lights of Manchester – so perhaps it was my way of bringing the countryside with me. Perhaps if I had remained in Cumbria I’d be doing paintings of the urban landscape and businessmen – who knows?!
Those who know my work often associate me particularly with butterflies, which have been consistent subject matter for me since graduation. Looking at the number of butterfly canvases in my studio at any one time, you might not believe me when I say I was never obsessed with butterflies, and weirdly I still don’t feel like I am. Don’t get me wrong, I do love them (and certainly wouldn’t still be doing them if I didn’t) – but to me they were originally chosen as subject matter as a vehicle for playing with colour. The butterfly world is so rich with colour, it gives me huge scope for playing with different palettes and combinations, and I’m still playing!
As I mentioned, the techniques and processes I use for my paintings have very gradually changed over a number of years as I have done more and more, and I think it helped me that the subject matter stayed pretty much constant in that time, a thread through the work. Now that I feel quite comfortable with the techniques and processes I use, I feel like I’m ready for that to stay more constant as I apply it to new subject matters – though I’ll still be doing the butterfly work alongside any new experiments. Whereas once upon a time it might have been the butterflies which marked out a work as done by me, I feel like the technique/process I use is perhaps now recognisable and individual enough itself to mark out a piece as done by me, whatever subject matter I choose. (That remains to be put to the test!).
I think there is another aspect to leaning towards nature and particularly butterflies in my work, which is slightly more philosophical. I like the aims/purposes for my paintings to be simple, and that ultimately boils down to me wanting to create work which I enjoy making and which hopefully other people can take enjoyment from in viewing. There is something simple and honest in the butterflies which people seem to connect to and find happiness in. I always feel disappointed if people feel that they are somehow not qualified to enjoy or understand artwork, or have been put off by wordy explanations of pieces in galleries which in many cases can sound very intellectual but be fairly meaningless. Occasionally I get people who come to my studio to look at canvases and say ‘they just make you happy’ or ‘they’ve put a smile on my face’ – which really is all I want to achieve. (Cheesy but true!) I’m aware that nature in the raw is not all pretty butterflies and I’d never claim to be portraying the gritty reality of the natural world. I think of it more as picking out elements of beauty in nature and then running with it and seeing where I end up.
I saw a short video clip about Grayson Perry recently and what he said certainly resonated with me. “I think there is a desperation with people with art, they look at art and they find it very hard to just enjoy it, they have to interpret it, and understand it. They don’t just ask themselves ‘do I think it’s beautiful?’ – I think there should be more of that.”
You’re a full time artist. Is this something you’ve always aimed for? Was it a hard slog getting to this point or have you had luck on your side? Were there ever any moments when you were petrified about whether you could take the plunge?
I think I touched on this in an earlier question – I wasn’t always sure I wanted to be an artist in the traditional sense but I knew pretty soon after graduating that I wanted to do something creative full time, preferably self-employed. As I was used to being fairly poor it seemed completely logical to try and make a living from painting, illustrating, or similar at that point – the only way is up! My reasoning was that if I didn’t try then, when else would I. At that point I could have looked for some kind of full time non-creative job with a more comfortable wage than I was used to, but I knew I’d potentially get used to that income and be afraid to leave. In that sense I never ‘took the plunge’ – I was just used to having no money and ever so slightly made more of a living from my work as each year passed. I’m very thankful that the ‘normal’ job is still plan B and that plan A still seems to have legs!
Although I feel lucky to be able to paint for a living the luck has been fuelled by hard work – I’ve always been glad to work hard on something I enjoy so much. I never had handouts although my family would have tried to help if I had asked. I worked part time in the Whitworth Gallery alongside the painting for the first few years, which helped cover my rent while I was making next to nothing from my own work. Leaving that safety net was a little scary but it was a measured risk and fortunately I’m still painting!
How did you arrive at the name Lily Greenwood?
My real name is Liz Evans, however after graduation it became apparent that there was an author with the same name, who seemed prominent in google searches. My partner’s mum suggested I choose a name based on my family history as a pseudonym – a bit of fun, and also intended to help people find my artwork online. Greenwood was my great-grandmother’s family name, and Lily was my grandma, which is how I arrived at Lily Greenwood. It can be a little confusing at times as I’m not good at just being ‘Lily’ and explain it to people quite a lot – but I’m sure it has helped people find my work and I do like having that constant reminder of my grandma. Though I’m really Liz I don’t mind being called Lily – both mine and my grandma’s names are a derivative of Elizabeth.
It’s had a secondary use which didn’t occur to me at the outset – that of self-promotion. Most artists I know aren’t particularly comfortable marketing themselves and bigging themselves up, and I’m no different. To make my living from painting I do have to think about promotion to some extent though, and somehow it’s much easier to promote Lily Greenwood than it would be to promote Liz Evans – that slight removal from myself oddly does help a little!
How did you go about setting up your studio at Manchester’s Craft and Design Centre?
After graduating I continued working a couple of days a week at the Whitworth Art Gallery, alongside developing my artwork at home and looking around at what options were available to me. I’d never heard of Manchester Craft & Design Centre during my time at university, but I discovered a studio was available a year after graduation (in 2006) and was excited at the prospect of setting up shop. Sisters Ruqqia and Alia Ullah also worked at the Whitworth at that time and were keen to share the space to work on textiles and embroideries.
I can’t say we really knew what we were doing but we went for it and got started. Since then I’ve shared the space in different ways, and currently run the space myself but also stock the work of Kathryn Edwards and Rachel Saunders in exchange for their time manning the studio a day each a week.
It’s been quite a learning curve but a great place to get going as a maker. I’m surrounded by lots of talented creative people who can empathise with trials, tribulations and triumphs. The fact that the studio is open to the public to come in and out while I work means that I get invaluable and instant feedback on my work every day – whether I want it or not! I’m very lucky the opportunity to move in came up at that time, to have the chance to give it a go. Something about having premises made painting full time a much more realistic prospect.
Alongside your studio, you also exhibit. I can’t imagine how this even works! How did exhibitions become a possibility for you?
It’s great to get work out there when I can in exhibitions, and it has been a case of making it up as I go along really, and trying to build on it year on year. It’s a mixture of me approaching places, and sometimes them approaching me. Last year I had a great experience exhibiting overseas for the first time, with two exhibitions in Barcelona and Amsterdam. Exhibitions can be very hit and miss from a financial viewpoint, but are great for meeting interesting people and reaching new audiences, and usually fun, too. This year I’m holding back on exhibiting to invest the time in revamping my website, to have better provision for customers buying my work online. It’s a work in progress, but getting there. Next year I hope to look for new exhibition and gallery opportunities – who knows where!
When I saw you last, you mentioned you were spending more time on extending your repertoire and thinking about your next phase of work – your next collection. Can you give us a bit of a clue as to what this might be?
As I think I mentioned earlier the thread of using butterflies through my work has been a constant while gradually developing techniques, and I feel as though it would be nice now to experiment with subject matter a little more. I’ve made a start on some work featuring Koi Carp fish which is only in early stages. I’d also like to work more on larger scale canvases. Also I’d love to try applying my painting techniques to a children’s book! Basically the ‘want to do’ list is long and I have to try and accept that I can’t do everything at once!
And I’m just writing up a feature on Derby’s very own Lucy Ward for EDS magazine. She’s been taking part in a very interesting project… but you’ll have to read the piece to find out more Ah-ha! Cunning! (Don’t you cheat and read her blog…)
This Saturday, I’m also heading over to the house of fantastic fiddler, Sam Sweeney, who you probably know best from Bellowhead, to interview him for a forthcoming piece in FiddleOn. I think this trip, being a Saturday afternoon and all, calls for me to get my bake on…
Finally, I’ve been doing some regular proofreading which I’m really enjoying. One of my closest friends, who you may see in a forthcoming installment of Inspirational Woman Wednesday (not that she knows this yet), is currently studying social work and one of her course colleagues – also a highly inspirational woman – is studying in English despite Arabic being her native tongue. Her English is absolutely fantastic, but I check through it just in case… and it’s been absolutely fascinating for me. Not just to understand the difficulties and anomalies of the English language from someone who doesn’t have it as their first language, but also to get a real insight into the practice of social work. I’ve had my eyes opened!
I read stacks and stacks of books as a child and teenager. I only began to read adult fiction because I had reluctantly read the entire 8-12 and young adult section in my small town library. Much of what I read was horse-orientated, like The Saddle Club series which kept me going for years (I’m freaked out they look so young in this TV series – they used to seem so grown up to me!), and practically all of it was American. As it was ordinary people in ordinary places I wanted to read about, it was bildungsroman and so-called ‘issues books’ that I was drawn to.
My favourite was Judy Blume – I still have my hardback copy of Just As Long As We’re Together which I bought from the library as it was too old and battered to be lent out any more – but I also lapped up The Babysitters Club and even a bit of Point Romance (though it all became a bit sappy for my liking). Then I discovered Melvin Burgess and suddenly it clicked: I could read about real teenagers doing real things – falling out with their friends, breaking up with boyfriends, taking drugs – and they could be British, too. And the best thing about Melvin Burgess? He took it further, he was edgy. Kids in his books seemed wildly different to The Babysitters Club’s Claudia Kishi and her ‘almond shaped eyes’: they had guts and unpleasant situations to deal with, situations that could easily befall anyone. There was no talk of homeroom and cheerleading, and I was entranced. (Later, at university, our creative writing society invited Melvin, then a Manchester resident, in for a question and answer session which, as you can imagine, was wildly fascinating)
It was around the time of my Melvin Burgess discovery that I also became interested in subcultures. I had begun listening to music that few of my friends cared for, and I became politically aware. I wore my vegetarianism as a badge. I began to understand that you could live in a van, if you wanted to; that you didn’t have to get an office job if you chose; that the clothes on the high street weren’t the only option; that Radio 1 wasn’t necessarily the place to find all your music choices. I was fascinated, but I couldn’t find any novels to indulge my interest further – well, not stocked in the local library or bookshop, anyway. That was when Annie Asher first appeared in my mind, and I wrote the first draft of Kindred Spirit. Well, first draft is a misnomer: I strung 30,000 words together in longhand.
I imagine that many young emos, goths, punks, metallers, hippies, etc, are also speculative fiction fans. This is a massive presumption, I realise, and I’m only going on the slim evidence of the kinds of kids I used to serve back in my days of bookselling at Ottakars and Waterstone’s: sci-fi, fantasy; dark covers with exotic-named authors and shelves heaving with their sheer number; boys with jet black hair, lip piercings and hoodies; girls with purple lipstick, eyes engulfed in thick eyeliner, knee-high boots.
But there are also going to be a large proportion of these kids who aren’t fantasy nuts, but for whom novels set in the mainstream – female characters burdened by their shopping habits, footballing boys in shades and fancy trainers – aren’t going to cut it. They wouldn’t dream of turning on X Factor, and their reading material should match.
I hope it is these readers who will be captivated by Annie Asher and her chance encounter with Chantrea. Annie’s quite a driven character, motivated by her principles, her outlook, so I’m really enjoying writing my current novel where the central character is despondent, disillusioned and confused. I’ve also got two other subculture novels coming together in my head, one of which is particularly topical given the announcement that Greater Manchester police will now record attacks and assaults on people from subcultures in the same way that they do for race, religion, gender, etc. I’m hoping that this will give me the excuse to go and chat to the kids who hang out at Cathedral Gardens on a Saturday afternoon – though I know that as soon as I open my mouth, I’m just going to sound so old.