The Great Studio Clear-Out of 2010 continues apace.

I’ve added another 58 magazines to my thrown-out tally and have found at least three missing books I thought I’d lost.

Still haven’t got to the fabrics yet. I’m hoping that by the time I get through the easy stuff and on to the hard stuff, my throwing-out muscle will be positively bulging like a body-builder’s bicep.  You’ll see me casually toss the fabrics that seemed so great ten years ago and effortlessly let go the patterns I bought when I first found out that making quilts no longer meant just cutting out squares from old clothes with a pair of scissors.

That’s the theory anyhow. Wish me luck for putting it into practice.

Meantime, since I can’t actually work in the studio, I’ve not been able to do much actual creating, although the ideas continue to plague me. I’ve had to start a special notebook just to jot down creative ideas that I’m not yet ready to explore in a sketchbook. So I don’t forget them. A notebook to list the sketchbooks yet to be created. It’s true. I’m weird.

Since my work is usually comprehensively planned out, I’ve been feeling lately that I needed to give myself permission to just play around more and see what happens. To not worry about the finished result. To try things a little differently, maybe do a little sampling. (Sampling is Our Friend. But one I don’t hang out with very often, I’m afraid.)

So it was wonderful (as always) to get to my monthly machine embroidery workshop with Angie last week and just have a chance to play around in front of my machine. And this is the result:

"Rastafairyan": organza, 'angel wing' & cotton threads on hand-dyed cotton

I’m calling her “Rastafairyan” because she looks like she has dreadlocks. She’s also a bit punky, I think, and definitely with a bit of ‘tude. I didn’t plan for her to be like that; here’s the quick sketch I did before I started stitching:

Quick initial sketch

So, yeah, she was a bit of a Barbie doll before I started. (Do they make Barbies with dreads? Now that’s something I’d love to see.) But I do love her hair. I’ve used corded whipstitch for hair before, in the mermaids on Pearls of Wisdom, but the difference in scale give a completely different effect:

Corded whipstitch mermaid hair

I’m going to do a little more playing with Rastafairyan, I think, and add a bit of context around her. And maybe make her a few friends to hang out with. I like the idea of teenage rebellious faeries hanging out on corners complaining that there’s nothing to do in the Wild Wood.

Anyone got any ideas for the rest of her crew?

Friday I started a long-overdue clear-out in my studio.

If you know me at all, you know this is big news. If you don’t, let me tell you why.

Like many visually-creative people, I am a lover of Stuff. All sorts of Stuff: stuff that is beautiful to look at (a carved elephant, a magpie’s iridescent feather), Stuff that is interesting or unusual (a 1907 Singer treadle sewing machine), Stuff that represents a place or memory (a filigree birdcage from Tunisia, a UBC Varsity Rowing jacket), but most of all, Stuff That Might Be Useful For Making Things.

I like not only to have Stuff, but also to be able to see my Stuff. This makes me happy. There is always something interesting or beautiful or memorable on which to rest my eyes, and when I come to create something I can see all the options available to me and reach for the one that calls me most.

Of course, this means that our house is… , well, let’s just say that minimalists would have nightmares. Interior designers would shudder at the sheer randomness of it. The House Doctor would sniff and say, “Hmm,” in that horrified voice of hers. But Stuff-lovers – oh, Stuff-lovers like me think it’s great! “Oh,” they say, “You have such interesting things!” and “You can tell you’re creative from your house!” All this is fine and good and I’m not planning on going all Le Corbusier in this lifetime.

The downside of being a Stuff-lover (and of course, there’s always a downside), is that it gets harder and harder to be discerning about your Stuff. The longer you collect Stuff, the harder it becomes to distinguish what’s really beautiful, interesting, memorable or most importantly, useful for making things. Because, let’s face it: almost anything can be used to make something. So you keep collecting Useful Stuff for Making Things on the basis that yes, I could use that in this idea for that project I had the other day!

Before you know it, you have a “studio” that looks like this (squeamish viewers look away now):

Just try working in here!

And the problem with that is that you now have so much stuff that you haven’t actually got room to use any of it. Creative FAIL.

I’ve been struggling with this for literally years now, ever since I started branching out from just making quilts into dyeing, surface design, fabric painting and embroidery. Each new technique and potential direction needs new materials, new media, new references and new ways to store ideas. And each one has put additional strain on the small back bedroom I laughingly call my studio.

I don’t know what it was about Friday, but suddenly, there it was, the desire – no, actually, more like a need – to finally do something significant about it. Significant in this case equals Getting Rid of Stuff (crossing arms and waving garlic about in a panic). Aieeee!

For a Stuff-lover, this is akin to brutally crushing the sweet little puppies your beloved dog has just birthed while she watches you with the Eyes of Trusting Devotion. Oh, the pain! Oh, the betrayal of all that Useful Stuff!

You, O Minimalist-Lover-of-Simplicity, you think I’m exaggerating. I’m not.

Because for a Stuff-lover, we’re not just letting go of the stuff itself. We’re also letting go of the Things We Will Never Make With It. No matter that mostly we didn’t even know what they might’ve been. No matter that we can almost certainly get more stuff just like it should we ever need to. No, what matters is the loss of the potential in that stuff. The loss of what they might have been or meant or signified to us. And that loss hurts.

So spare a thought for us lovers of Stuff when we finally, at long last, after all your hinting, suggesting and nagging, decide to clear out some of our Stuff. It’s not easy. We’re grieving.

Here’s what I’m grieving right now:

• 354 quilting and needlework magazines (17 years, saved as ‘reference’ in case I ever took up teaching quilting)
• 1 broken quilting hoop (saved because ‘all it needs is a couple of wood staples’ even though I have another one)
• 24 various plastic bottles (saved for storing dyes when I considered going into production hand dyeing)

That was the easy Stuff. I still have the hard Stuff – fabric, materials, abandoned projects – to get to.

Hi! Over here… yeah, remember me? I know, I know, it’s been a while.

I guess you’ll be wondering where I’ve been all this time. After all, when I left you, I was standing around at a party in my underwear with my saggy bits on public display. I imagine you were expecting something quite spectacular as a follow up to that.

I would love to tell you all about how I have been rafting down the Amazon, painting at the foot of Kilimanjaro and learning how to make Inuit caribou skin boots in Resolute Bay. What a spectacular blog post that would make!

Alas, it’s all bollocks.

Much to my eternal chagrin, I am not at all spectacular in the normal run of things. Weird, odd, mad, kooky, gobby and bossy are words others have used at times to describe me, but spectacular never.

So naturally, I have been doing spectacularly ordinary things for the last while, including:

• nursing my disabled mum through a nasty bout of labyrinthitis
• trying to keep on top of the mess creative chaos that is my home and studio
• beginning a complete overhaul and renovation of my garden
• waffling over whether to enter the Festival of Quilts this year
• experimenting with materials and learning more about machine embroidery with Angie Hughes
• developing ideas for pieces and original gifts that aren’t five foot square and ridiculous to manage and hang
• processing – as they say in therapy circles – what I want, where I’m going and how I’m going to get there
• and building my online shop here on the website.

And here are the results, in order:

• she’s fine now, thanks
• it’s still in ‘creative chaos’
• in progress and looking good
• no
• exciting new ideas to pursue
• coming soon – small art works, covered note/sketch books, treasure boxes, and more
• still not sure but getting clearer
• it’s open! Hurrah!

Yes, just in case you missed that last one – my online shop is now open! It’s not a very big shop just yet, and as of today it is just selling stationery (notecards and postcards) featuring images of my work, but it is my shop and it’s a container for all the other cool things I’m working on now. So big yays for me for finally getting through the technical hitches and emotional stuck around selling my work. Does this mean I’m a Real Artist yet?

… work in progress, Pearls of Wisdom.

After my post yesterday, I had a couple of people ask where the exhibition was, and I realised that, stupidly, I never posted the details. (This is how distracted I was by my ultimately unsuccessful dash for the finish line.)

So, to rectify that, here are the details:

The exhibition is at The Bramble Patch near Northampton and runs from now until Saturday, 10 April 2010. It’s open 10 til 5 daily, except Sundays and Easter Monday. Entry is £2 with proceeds to Macmillan Cancer Care. There are refreshments available, and a place to sit and relax.

You can also get travel details from The Bramble Patch, which is one of the UK’s best quilt shops with a huge range of fabrics, accessories, books, and a full schedule of courses and workshops.

I know they’d love to have you visit.

Of course not. It’s only Saturday and it’s not due until Wednesday. Seriously, no need to get stressed about it just yet.

(Astute readers will have detected a hint of sarcasm. Only a hint, mind, but there nonetheless.)

You’ll be pleased to know, however, that the stitching part has actually commenced. I know, I know, you were wondering when this so-called stitched textile was actually getting down to brass tacks. Or needles. The answer is yesterday. (Polite applause would be appropriate at this point.)

Sorry, I don’t have time to take pictures of the work as it stands right now, but you see, I kind of have to get back to stitching it. This is a minor tea break to keep me going for the next stretch.

(At this juncture I’d also like to add that the Tea Fairy is doing an appalling job of supplying said beverage today. Normally supplies arrive like magic when I’m in last minute mode, but for some reason the Tea Fairy seems to have been kidnapped and replaced with a Computer Fairy without my approval. I must Have A Word.)

What I can do, though, is show some earlier progress pics, since I know you’re wasting away like hungry orphans without any gruel. I know, I know, I’m fabulous like that. So here we go.

First up is one of the rear mermaids, which has been painted directly onto the background fabric. That’s a new technique for me, and was a bit scary because of the lack of do-over potential. But she came out all right, and I do like the interaction of the paint with the fabric surface.

One of the background aliens, er, mermaids

And here’s testing the placement of the major appliqué elements, the two central mermaids and Miss Surprised. (Miss Surprised seems to have morphed into Miss Worried when she got painted. Ah well. I s’pose she could be worried about ending up in our fish supper.)

Testing the layout for the main aliens. No! Mermaids!

That’s it for now. I have much tangled hair and a couple of tails to stitch before bed!

(This is the post you write when you’re poorly and feeling oh-so-sorry for yourself. And yet, you’re aware that you’ve neglected your blog and its readers and you’re feeling very guilty about that. So you drag your sorry arse to the computer (oh, all right, yes it is a laptop) and write it anyway, because the readers – will no one think of the readers?!)

Today I have a cold. An icky, stuffy, snotty, head-full-of-cotton-wool cold. My head and neck are aching, but I can’t tell if that’s from sinuses and swollen glands, or from trying to sleep in an uncomfortable, propped up position in a vain attempt to make breathing non-optional. My nose is red and sore, and even the Two Bad Dogs don’t wish to get too close to me. (Sneezing alarms Pippin. I’m never sure if he thinks your head is going to explode or something, but he looks at you with a very worried expression and then hides in his cave under the blanket box.)

It is a day when a duvet and a non-taxing novel with plenty of tea seems like the best idea.

But you just know that’s not going to happen, right?

Let’s talk about what happens when your time is your own, and it’s up to you to Get Things Done in a way that meets the expectations of both you and others. Expectations that you might – oh I don’t know – get a large piece of artwork involving several mermaids completed in time for an exhibition you’ve committed to. It’s purely hypothetical, of course.

Here’s how it works for you, I’m sure:

1. You make a plan, figuring out all the steps that have to be completed to achieve whatever it is.
2. You create a schedule, working backwards from the due date, fitting all the steps into the amount of time you estimate they’ll take, thus giving you a concrete list of timed steps, with helpful milestones along the way so you know you’re on target.
3. You remember to include plenty of contingency time, Just In Case.
4. You start on time, work consistently on each step, hit your milestones and complete your project with lots of time (the contingency you built in) left over.
5. You sit back and relax, basking in the knowledge that you are master of your own time and servant of no-one’s agenda.

That’s how it works for you, I’m sure. Don’t try to deny it.

Unfortunately for me (and luckily for you) I’m not you. I am, and always have been, Queen of Last Minute Panics.

Here’s how it works for me:

1. I think about making a plan, which seems like a good idea, but you know, I can always do that tomorrow. Or next week.
2. Eventually, after much reminding, I decide that a plan is a good idea and I scribble some notes on a piece of paper.
3. I lose the piece of paper.
4. A couple of weeks later, I do a plan again because This Time I Will Do It Right, dammit.
5. I try to estimate how long each step will take and come up with a total elapsed time of 3 years, 4 months, 12 days.
6. Since that seems somewhat excessive, I reduce each step’s time by a factor of 53 and come up with something more like 12 weeks.
7. I look at the calendar so I can plan backwards from the deadline and realise that I have, in fact, 14 weeks before it’s due.
8. I revel in the fact that I have loads of time and therefore do not need to panic just yet. Easy peasy!
9. I ignore the plan for the next six weeks, feeling quite relaxed about the whole process, because, you see, I Have a Plan.
10. Quite by chance I look at the calendar and realise that I am now four weeks behind shedule. Gah! How did that happen?
11. I immediately begin work and work like a demon for the next two weeks.
12. I look at what has been accomplished and think, “Wow! I’ve done loads! I’m practically back on schedule now!”
13. I relax again, feeling smug that I am doing so well this time. Why look! I’m almost half way done! I can take it a bit slower now.
14. Some time later, I look at the calender, thinking, “Hmm, better get moving on that; it’s due in about three weeks.”
15. At this point, I realise that “three weeks” is actually “ten days”. Mild panic and determination to REALLY GET ON WITH IT at last kicks in.
16. The last ten days pass in a blur of overstretched days and late nights as I flog myself into finishing on time.

So here I am, head full of cold, feeling oh-so-sorry for myself and I am, of course, at step 15. So, today I will really be getting on with it at last.

Right after I have a little nap.

Share this:

]]>

What is the correct collective for a group of mermaids? A school of mermaids? A clan of mermaids? A muddle of mermaids? How about a miracle of mermaids?

With the stress of getting these babies drawn up, it seems miraculous that they’re all actually done now and ready for their next step.  Here’s the full cast of characters for Pearls of Wisdom:

The star of our show, Miss Surprised, who appears at the bottom right of the piece:

Her wise and experienced grandmother, centre left:

Supporting actress, Miss O-Grandma-I-Have-A-Question, who’ll be pretty much in the middle:

The beautiful cousin swimming in from the top right:

The annoying sister at the top left:

(She’s annoying because she was a bitch to draw and I’m still not happy with either her hands or her face. Expect this one to change significantly once she’s on fabric and painted.)

All of them will have their hair added separately with couched threads and/or stitching; that’s why it’s very sketchy and they look pretty bald. Once again, my dears, mermaids do not look like eggs in the usual scheme of things.  Tails will also be significantly improved with stitch and metallics.

Oh, and Miss Surprised needs gills on her neck as well; the others got them but I forgot hers and currently she’d not be able to breathe underwater, which would pretty much suck for a mermaid. (In my Humpty Dumpty “A word means what I want when I use it” rationale, a mermaid uses her gills for breathing underwater and her nose for breathing when she’s sunning herself on a rock, singing her siren songs. So there.)

So what’s next?

Well, next step is to project these images onto stretched fabric so I can enlarge them up from the A3 drawings to the sizes they’ll actually be, which range from about 18 inches for the rear couple to four feet for the mature mermaid. (Oh, what was I thinking when I planned this piece so large?)

Then I’ll trace the images onto the fabric and start painting. Painting! Probably my favourite part! At last.

I’m also chuffed to bits to report that I’ve been doing something towards this piece pretty much every day for the last week or more. Woo-hoo! Look at me go! More pictures when I have more progress to share.

Oh, and what do you call a group of mermaids? Answers on a postcard… or in the comments please!

Yes indeed, you read that right: progress!

Sorry, did I make you choke on your cuppa? I know, I know, but sometimes miracles happen and they take us all by surprise when they do.

There has been some slow, but real, progress on Pearls of Wisdom in the last couple of weeks.

(For those joining the class late, Pearls of Wisdom is my latest large Work In Progress. Except for some time it’s mostly been a Work Sitting Looking Sad And Desperate For Some Love. But y’know, WSLSADFSL just doesn’t have the same ring to it as WIP.)

Pearls of Wisdom stars mermaids – five of them, doing various finny things underwater (duh!) off the coast of Cornwall, sharing their watery home with local marine fauna. A mature mermaid, filled with the wisdom of her hundred years of so of living, dispenses advice to the young ones, one of whom has unexpectedly noticed us voyeurs watching from our bathysphere*.

(Well, I suppose we could be diving instead, but then I wouldn’t get to use such a luscious word as bathysphere, and that would suck. Because it makes me happy just saying it. Bathysphere. Weird? I am not!)

This is a big piece, the biggest I’ve made in this style, five feet square. Which is giving me all sorts of challenges just by itself. And then there’s the fact that unlike previous work, it’s not actually going to be a quilt at all – by any definition. More like an appliquéd and embroidered picture. More new challenges.

So, what have I got so far?

Mermaid gesture sketches

Mermaid hair colour play

A sketchbook full of research, ideas, notes and drawings. Colour notes, research on marine life off the Southwest coast, gesture drawings, and even a construction plan. Hooray!

Sketch-cartoon for Pearls of Wisdom

A full size cartoon on paper laying out composition. It was on my living room wall, but the damn thing keeps falling off, so it’s been banished for now. But I’ll need it out again when I start enlarging.

Pearls of Wisdom background

A dyed and painted background of fine cotton mounted on medium canvas that should stand up to heavy stitching and stretching on bars. To be honest, this has been the biggest pain so far. So damn big. Keeping it smooth while spray basting it to the canvas was tricky, and then when I pressed it, the canvas started peeling off. Argh! So it still needs some more work to smooth out those ripples before I stitch the canvas down around the edges. Fabric! Some days I long for a nice simple piece of paper or board that stays where it’s put.

The mature mermaid drawing

A mature mermaid drawing ready to be projected, enlarged and transferred onto fabric. I’ve redrawn her several times; still not entirely happy but you have to stop sometime, and she will still evolve as she’s painted on fabric and then stitched. Her tail in particular is going to be heavily stitched and embellished with metallic paints. I decided to give her a fishy tale rather than a whale or dolphin flipper. Why? It seemed like a good idea at the time. I’m not so sure now, but what the hell.

Surprised mermaid drawing

A surprised mermaid girl, also ready to be projected, enlarged and transferred to fabric. This is a scary one to create, because she’s the focal point for the whole piece. I was very worried about her and took ages looking for a photo to use for a model, but last week I suddenly knew what to use, and to be honest, I really like her. (She’s bald because her hair will be added separately, not because mermaids look like eggs. Silly.)

I’m always trying to distort the human faces and bodies I take as models because the creatures I depict aren’t meant to look exactly like us. So this mermaid has large eyes (because it’s pretty dark underwater) and a flattened nose (because she doesn’t use it much) and I hope the distortion of a very close up lens gives the impression of a face coming up close to look at us. Have you ever been to one of those underwater viewing galleries at an aquarium where there are belugas or other whales? And they swim up really close to look at the crazy humans staring at them? That’s what I was aiming for.

What else have I got? Actually, um… er… that’s about it.

But it’s more than I had a week ago, so yay me.

Organised people look away now. I would hate to cause you a fainting fit. And I’m all out of smelling salts.

This is where I mention that the deadline for this piece is, um, the end of March… I think?

And, did I also mention that it’s BIG? With FIVE mermaids and sea creatures and lots of appliqué and machine embroidery?

But you know, Queen of Last Minute Panics here, so hey, what’s the problem? Loads of time still.

*Pointless Trivia: When Otis Barton and William Beebe made their world record descent in a bathysphere Off Bermuda in 1935, the naturalist Beebe described a world filled with bioluminescent creatures so bizarre and beautiful that many refused to believe him. Of course, we now know that he’d fallen through a wormhole and landed on Pandora.

So, for the last twelve months I’ve been hanging out at the Kitchen Table. Not my kitchen table, but Havi Brooks’s Kitchen Table. It’s an awesome place full of incredibly clever, talented, funny and fabulous people who help each other out with their blocks and successes under the beady eye of Selma the Benevolent Despot. And learn wacky techniques for destuckification and biggification, like visualising our stuck parts and talking to them. Yes, really.

Since I’m kind of odd myself (no, no need to be polite, dear reader, I know it’s true), you can see how this would appeal to me. You’ll see how it works if you read Havi’s post about talking to her wall. A wall, for the love of gawd.

But who am I to talk? Lately, I’ve been talking to my stuck about creating art, being an artist, and earning a living at it. You probably won’t be too surprised to learn that my stuck is a goblin. Called Mike.

Okay, actually, he’s not called Mike at all. (He wants you to know that.) But ‘Mike’ is what I call him.

Let me start at the beginning.

*Imagine time-warp music here. No not The Time Warp, just spooky woo-woowy music. Yeah, like that.*

We first did this exercise on a teleclass a year ago. It involves closing your eyes, relaxing and paying attention to the things that you see, hear and feel in your mind and body. That first time I struggled with it; I couldn’t seem to feel/see/hear a block at all. Cue feelings of failure.

Eventually, after several tries, for a very brief moment I saw a sort of hidden face blending into the darkness. Gnarled and part of the background, like a green man, or a goblin, or Old Man Willow. Like when you’re looking at the twisted trunk of an ancient tree and all of a sudden there’s a face there. Look! There’s the mouth and the lumpy nose and two closed eyes…

But then one eye opens. Like that. Yeah. I know.

The eye shut again, and although I pleaded for the face to come back, it just faded back into the blankness in my mind’s eye. Sigh. More feelings of failure and inability to Get It.

*More spooky woo-woowy music as we fast forward to November. Go on, you know you want to.*

I decided to listen to some of the recordings of earlier classes again while I was driving. I like listening while driving. Driving is often a flow state for me because my vision is being occupied by the task at hand, but because that’s mostly automatic, my mind is free to focus inward. I seem to need a lot of visual stimulation, and I struggle to concentrate on audio alone.

Of course, I couldn’t actually close my eyes this time. Because closed eyes while driving is generally considered a Bad Thing. So I had to rely on my inner mind’s eye more than the darkness behind closed lids. I don’t know how that works exactly but you can be looking at something with your eyes, and at the same time, imagining a picture of something quite different. Weird, huh?

Anyway, this time, as I drove along and Havi’s voice talked through the exercise, I got a really clear sense of a block. First I had a very strong feeling that the block was in my solar plexus, with a hollow, slightly queasy feeling.

Then, in my head, I had a strong image of a cube of some matte black stuff kind of just floating in a vacuum. Heavy, black and non-shiny. Afterwards I realised it was very similar to the monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey, but cube like, and much smaller. Maybe a foot square. Floating, turning gently in mid-air. (Yes, you’re thinking WTF? I know. If it’s any comfort, so was I.)

It felt… malevolent. Distinctly dangerous and unpleasant and unhealthy. Sort of evil but without a moral judgement. Malevolent is the best word.

And then I realised that the cube was just a cover story, like a glamour thrown up to disguise what’s really behind it. And beside it, radiating this malevolence was a boy. He was about 9, maybe, with pale skin and dark hair and a flat, closed expression, but staring straight at me with intensely hostile eyes. He was dressed in Sunday best; a dark suit, white shirt, black tie as if going to a funeral. Very Omen-esque. (Which, btw, I’ve never seen but that was the feeling that I got. Damien.)

Anyway, this kid didn’t like me at all. I’m not sure he liked anyone, because that flat, closed face was really unpleasant. And nasty eyes boring into you.

And I said something like, “So, are you the real stuck? Are you the thing about money and art not going together?”

And you know what he said?

“You will fail.”

That’s all. Nothing else. He didn’t move, just stood there, arms by his sides, staring at me in that hostile and vaguely evil way and then he said it again:

“You will fail.”

Unfortunately, that’s also about the time I arrived at work, so I had to leave it there. With Damien-boy staring at me inside my head. Not nice.

But you, my darling readers, do not have to have Damien-boy radiating malevolence at you. Because I could not do it to you. It would be too cruel. So we have one more flash forward to do… all together now:

*woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo*

A very clever friend at the Kitchen Table pointed out that Damien-boy was from a movie. A movie I hadn’t even seen. A movie that wasn’t my movie. And that it was perfectly justifiable for me to say, “Hey, you’re not part of my movie!”

So I sat down to have a conversation with Damien-boy. But as soon as I conjured him up, he morphed. Yeah, just like that. And instead of the nasty little boy, there was a grinning, capering, big-headed, knobbly-kneed, twisted little goblin.

“Oh ho!” says I. (Actually I didn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever said “Oh ho!” in my life. But it makes a better story, so I’m leaving it in.)

“Oh ho!” says I, again. “Are you the real stuck then? The one who hides in the background and pretends to be an evil little boy disguised as floating box?” (Believe me, I am entirely aware of how bizarre this sounds.)

“Oh ho!” says he. (Of course.) “I might be, and then again I might not. Who are you to ask?”

“Well, since you’re my stuck, I think I should know about it. And anyway, I already know the answer.”

“Stupid question, then, isn’t it?”

His face is twisty and he has a squint.

“But why all the hiding? The morphing and games?”

“Us goblins are tricksy, see? It’s in my nature.”

There are yellow, pointy teeth visible when he grins.

“Oh all right then. So, I guess we do this thing, right? Have a conversation?”

“Conversation shmonversation! You can ask but I don’t have to answer!”

Now he’s capering again, and waggling his rather hairy ears.

“Okay,” I say. (I really did say that) “How about we start with your name?”

“No, no, no! Not so foolish!”

He jumps around shaking his head vigorously.

“Okay. No name. Well, I’m Fi.”

“I know who you are! But foolish, foolish to tell me so quickly!”

He’s shaking his head and looking slightly perturbed.

“Um, hello? You live in my head. I’m doubting there’s much you don’t know about me.”

“True, true! I know it all, all your thoughts and fears and dreams! I know it all.”

A sly look creeps over his face, like he’s sizing me up.

“So, then what’s your name?” (Gotta give me credit for trying.)

“Not going to trick me. I’m the tricksy one!” Another toothy grin.

“So I’m guessing it’s not Rumpelstiltskin then?”

“Too easy, too easy!”

The capering is getting on my nerves a bit now. I do wish he’d sit down like a normal person.

“But if we’re so close, why not tell me?” I reason.

“Names have power. You know that ‘Fi‘!”

“Fine,” I say. “But I have to call you something. If you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to give you a name. Like… Mike. Yeah, that’s it. Mike.”

That’s stopped him capering. He’s looking at me incredulously.

“Seriously?” he squeaks. “I’m a f***ing GOBLIN and you want to call me ‘Mike’? What kind of name is that?!”

“It’s a perfectly good name. I think it suits you.” I’m chuffed that I’ve got the upper hand at last.

“Oh please. Can’t you pick something more impressive? Like, I dunno, Gobblygroot or Punkeratigan or something?”

There’s actually a pained look on his face, as if all his goblin mates are never going to let him live this down.

“No dice, dude. You can tell me your name, or you get what I pick.”

He’s sitting with his huge hands on his knobbly knees, looking depressed and sucking his teeth. Loudly.

“Couldn’t you maybe, add ‘the Magnificent’ on the end? Like ‘Mike the Magnificent’? I could live with that.”

“Nope, sorry. Names have power, Mike. You should know that.”

“Sucks to be me,” says Mike.

“Tell me about it,” says I.

NB. I am not insane, nor am I schizophrenic. I DO know that this is all going on inside my head and that it’s just a way of tapping into subconscious or unacknowledged thoughts and feelings. No need to point that out. But hey, if it works, I’m all for it. And besides, it’s quite fun to have a goblin called Mike to talk to. I haven’t had such interesting conversations with myself for years.