I would always apologise for caring so much about the aesthetics, and the different collections of mostly old and quirky objects discarded by others that filled me with joy. The ritual of curating vignettes provided a respite from the corporate grind. Where others might have chosen yoga, I chose this. We moved a lot, on average once every year, and collected more sofas than was normal. Yet throughout, it was an opportunity to create spaces that were truly my own that I never tired of. I wasn’t aware at the time, but it was my creative outlet outside a world of admin. It didn't matter if my home was a rental or not, for that time, it would be mine. Of course, there was much less space then, and moving so frequently deterred me from bringing too much clutter into my life, yet the rituals of lighting candles, displaying the vintage, and dressing the bed always remained.

As time went on, and we welcome children and pets into our lives, the moving between homes became less frequent, so I turned my attention to the rooms within. Any spare time was spent sourcing vintage, choosing colours for the walls, and creating new areas to style. This hobby felt very separate from my work, and I hadn’t considered how much this distraction would at times occupy my thoughts and bring a sense of calm to an otherwise quite hectic life, and certainly I had not considered it a career option. It took moving away from London to a town in a more countryfied setting for me to make the jump. to explore this creative outlet as a new life. Shortly after leaving my job in the city I became a shopkeeper selling things I love, alongside running creative workshops. I have never feared change, having lived so many new roles, homes, and locations. Whether the change is related to decorating a home or your own transformation it should never be feared or avoided, but celebrated. I am aware that since moving from corporate to creative I have become more me (at the grand old age of fifty-two), whatever that means. It all feels more comfortable, even if a lot of the time I am out of my comfort zone.

By being more me, my decorating confidence has grown. I embrace forms, colour, texture, and light in a more confident way, which allows me to bring more personality into the home. To see the whole space as one and to create a flow - preferring to paint with a rich palette of autumnal tones - has bought a more harmonious feel. Each space has a distinctive look, displaying foraged and salvaged finds alongside hand-made and considered wares. A simple shelf bought to life through the process of layering pieces collected over time. It doesn’t have to be contrived; the wonky, the worn, and the chipped all tell a story. We can take inspiration from all around us; foraged finds, trinkets, treasures, and mementos from the places we have visited. To have a home less ordinary you have to embrace the extraordinary. I don’t apologise any more about caring this much about my home. It keeps me sane and brings me joy, and for that I am grateful.

Becoming a shopkeeper has given me permission to feed the addiction for seeking. out the old stuff, visiting flea markets with the intention of selling on when the reality is quite different. I find myself forming unhealthy attachments with the pieces I find, wondering about their story and origin. As most are sleeping on a brisk Sunday morning, I am rummaging around in the car boots of random strangers who have accepted their fate to de-clutter.

The reality of stumbling upon the professional house clearers can be a little heart-breaking at times, knowing that they have already swept through the house removing the commercially viable objects to sell via auctions, only to bring along what they regard as junk. Crates filled with hand-written letters, family photographs, and broken ceramics. Surely this challenges even the most hardy of scavengers to question the purpose of continuing to create collections, only to have them one day regarded as junk by another. Yet it is the recycling and re-purposing of these aged pieces that is the gift that keeps on giving in this cycle. A new custodian to care for these objects and to appreciate their history, until the journey starts again. Was it genetic, I wondered, as my then nine-year-old dragged a piece of driftwood twice the size of him back from the beach to the car, mumbling along to himself that he was sure he could use it for something in his bedroom.

Interestingly, I adore the minimalist’s space, the re-strained decorator who can style a room with a handful of carefully chosen items, like a well curated art gallery. I have tried and failed to live like this, as slowly but surely the clutter finds its way in. Live the way you want to live, and be the person you want to be.

Alongside music, laughter, and food, for me it is also the stillness of these objects - new and old, created by makers far and wide, owned and once cherished by another - created by makers far and wide, owned and once cherished by another - that create life within my home. As I turn my key in the door I hear the sound of the whippet & wire fox crashing down the stairs, tumbling over one another to be the first to greet me as I arrive home. Living normally, surrounded by all the things I love, is what nourishes me

I have include a handful of pictures of some objects that have found new homes through Wattle & Daub, some I still think about….

ps. I think about this bear at least once per week….

Wow, when did we all get so mean? I was quite taken aback this week whilst reading an article about Tattle Life, the gossip forum whose founder/operator has been exposed after losing a defamation case. Many stories of individuals who have been trolled on this site and beyond for doing absolutely nothing wrong other than putting themselves on a social platform or just for existing in the public eye.

I appreciate that judgy and jealous thoughts must go back since the beginning of time. Which got me thinking about Adam and Eve, did they judge each other? It seems so after The Fall (& the whole eating the forbidden fruit debacle) Adam seems to blame Eve: “The woman you put here with me—she gave me some fruit…” and then Eve appears to blame the serpent. So reading between the lines it all got a bit judgy pretty quickly.

So yes we all know we are judged, woman particularly. Judged if we marry, judged if we don’t, judged if we have children judged if we don’t, judged if we work and judged if we don’t - you get my drift. It could be a long post. But it’s one thing to be judged in silence and quite another to be judged and criticised in such a public way with such nastiness and often complete lies. It seems altogether rather tragic and a complete waste of time on this earth if you ask me. Which of course nobody has.

Is it me or does there seem to be no filter on anyone anymore? If you don’t like someone walk away, don’t make friends with them and definitely don’t invite them to a dinner party to eat a prawn cocktail with you. But more than that don’t visit a website and spend precious time coming up with a steady stream of bile and bitterness at people you barely know.

Turning 50 was annoying but I also feel grateful that I was born in an era where carving into the school desk or wall was where most hate was directed.

When you start your own business everybody asks ‘which social platforms will you be on?’, ‘how much of yourself will you put out there’ (I had to initially check the meaning of that one) and everybody tells you ‘customers want to hear and see the founder’ aka the idiot who has given up their safety net of a PAYE job and hopes to pay the mortgage through marketing all the pretty parts of their business via an app called Instagram’. What can possibly go wrong I thought. I still appear surprised when a customer asks if I have had a nice time with the family in Copenhagen or wherever I went and wonder how they know and then quickly realise because I plastered it all over the internet.. Fortunately for me Hugo the Wire Fox gains way more traction than I would ever get putting my middle aged mortified face on the internet so there really is very little point in me showing up in that way. But for Beverly’s re-fashioned shirts I’m prepared to do it.

When asked recently to run a Botanical Tile workshop for some Interior influencers I really didn’t know what to expect. To be honest I’m still traumatised from a workshop I ran for a surprise 50th and I could immediately tell the birthday girl would have preferred a Butler in the Buff than my attempt at teaching her how to make a wreath (and not even at Christmas) (wreaths are not just for Christmas don’t you know) or the time of the Hen Do when we (the bridesmaids, mother of the bride and future mother-in-law) all attempted to make a giant wreath for the wedding day which entailed each person making bunches and then passing them to quality control (me) where I placed and wired them on to the wreath base. By the second bottle of prosecco quality control was having to redo every bunch. I reckon I made 200 bunches that day….and probably for £40…

Anyway I digress from the original topic.

The Botanical Tile session for the group of interior influencers was to be held in a sofa showroom in upmarket Chelsea during Chelsea flower show. I think the thing that was keeping me awake at night before the event was whether they had been told what they would be doing on the day. Queue, the 50th surprise wreath making memory from a brain that keeps hitting replay when you least expect or want it. But this is also where a wealth of HR experience comes in handy when meeting new people for the first time and also having Beverly in tow helping me organise my mind.

Well what a lovely bunch of women (and one man) they were. So inclusive, friendly and enthusiastic about me handing them a lump of clay to bash around with no guarantee of the end result. Lisa Dawson was particularly lovely and I was able to thank her for including a product of mine on her infamous Christmas gift guide. Embarrassingly for me I only had two of the products in stock at the time of the gift guide going live so like many opportunities I have been granted along the way that one also fell very much flat on it’s face.

But back to Tattle Life. The same Influencers I met on that day who were very kind to myself and Beverly are often the individuals that are subject to ridicule via this weird website which has made a lot of money from all the comments and discussions on there. And how ironic that the founder in question is in fact a man (who apparantly never gossip, well according to my husband that is). Just people trying to make a living.

We can all say that we don’t really care what others think of us, but I think deep down we are all looking for feedback as to how we can do things better. But from an HR person who has dealt with many a poor manager, it really is what’s in the message and how has the message lands. And there really is no place for the kind of messages that existed on this site.

For those of us that were not brought up with the internet the notion that everything is classed as content and can be put to music is a hard concept to grapple with, but I’m hear for it if it means I can continue to carve out a creative career and meet lovely like-minded folk. Not twats pretending to be something they are not. A nice person.

Holiday content coming soon I promise….

Gemma

I don't know if it will be a drawback that talking comes more naturally to me than writing but if I can work at documenting all those insights, ideas and observations (the ones that I would never have shared on insta!) throughout my working week then this could be a cathartic way to express the realities of life as a creative in my early 50's and the lessons I continue to learn (or not learn as the case may be).

I know there are so many of us out there that crave to do something different with our lives and many that already have, but it can be lonely. I question myself every day as to what makes me think I can do this and I am 9 years on from leaving my Corporate life. I would love to connect with there like-minded creatives.

Subscribe now

Owning a bricks & mortar is not for the faint-hearted but it is addictive. I am a sucker for punishment and seem to enjoy all those imparted opinions, day in day out. My chaotic brain has meant that l've pivoted more times than a chameleon at the Wisley Winter light show...so expect out of depth, 'fly by the seat of my pants' dialogue as I work at being a shopkeeper, stylist, photographer, mum, bad friend and most importantly a dog owner.

You see, you are a sitting duck in a shop so no conversation seems off limits. It's an interiors shop surely we only discuss furniture, paint colours and floral arrangements. Fast forward to Saturday when I was asked by a tall guy with glasses (kind of irrelevant when you hear the second part) who was off his face and wanted to know if I sold lion skins. I informed him that we do not and have never sold lion skins. I am not sure who was more perplexed. As he left he said 'have a nice life'. I thanked him for visiting Wattle & Daub.

Those 27 years in my old life have lead up to the lion skins moment. Don't mess with me mate, I dealt with bankers in the 90's...

I am going to try my best to turn up consistently (as a minimum a weekly post on a Wednesday) and I really look forward to meeting old friends and making new ones on here. What's the worst that can happen, it becomes a helpful journal to express all the internal dialogue that plays out throughout the day wearing the many creative hats I wear.

Wattle & Daub (The Actual Shop)

I hope you’ll join me for this exploration (and the highs and lows) of me attempting to forge out this creative career in what right now does not feel like the prime of my life.

Gemma

Subscribe now

Leave a comment