I sat at my laptop this morning to write this week’s article and came up with…blank. There was no one artist I had in mind to write about. So I took a break, got in my car, and headed to the thrift store to drop off some well-loved clothes I no longer wear, and found inspiration in a handmade piece of pottery.
For all the “unknown” makers, artists, and crafters whose work ends up in second-hand shops…
I’m a sucker for buying handcrafted objects in charity shops and thrift stores. This lovely vessel was peaking out from behind a slew of ‘Made in China’ bowls and when I saw it was signed by the maker - Grace Jennings, 1971 - I fell in love. I imagine Grace’s hands forming the vegetables and carefully fixing them to the vessel. Did she make more tableware in this style? I hope she did.
This embroidered sampler was another thrift store find. Stitched in 1932 by Bessie Day Dryer, it depicts the Tree of Life, a symbol of knowledge, resurrection and immortality (so says the back of the sampler). What’s fascinating about this object is that on the reverse of the frame, someone has written about Bessie, so there is some information about the work’s provenance.
It’s hard to make out but the testimonial looks like it was written in 1976 and includes writing around the symbolic meaning of the Tree of Life. Bottom right there is a small envelope containing a letter written from a student of Bessie’s that indicates Bessie Day Dryer was a teacher at a school in Valley Stream, New York, and that she retired June 1941. How amazing is that! It makes me want to put little envelopes on the back of all my work containing a brief history of me and my work.
This oil painting is dear to my heart - it was painted by my maternal Grandmother, Edith (we knew her as Eve) Hind. I don’t know what year she painted this as Eve rarely dated her work, or signed it for that matter. My Grandmother was a painter and every wall of her house was covered in her own works, plus they were stacked up against furniture and skirting boards. I don’t recall seeing any artwork by other artists in her home, which is odd because I know she had many painting friends and they would go off on painting holidays together, but clearly, Nan, as I called her, wasn’t an art collector like me. This painting brings back memories of the smell of oil paint in the “back room” (dining room turned studio), Nan’s garden that was always full of flowers, and Nan’s laughter as she sat in her favourite chair telling me all about her latest escapades at art school. It fills me with joy.
No one is really an “unknown” artist. My Grandmother’s work is new to you yet so familiar to me. In many ways, her work has informed my art practice far more than any famous artist, alive or dead: I see her influence in my colour palette, in my choice of subject matter, in the way I approach art with humour and delight. The art world has us so focused on growing an audience, marketing and selling work, building collector lists, posting on social media, that sometimes we forget how impactful our work is to those closest to us; how much it brings them joy to see us in full creative flow; how many wonderful memories they will carry forward of us making art when we are no longer on this earth. I never knew Grace Jennings or Bessie Day Dryer but they were known by their family, friends, and the communities around them. The fact that their work found me in the thrift store and not a gallery or museum does not diminish their creative spirit, in fact, it’s a tiny miracle. Their creative story has become woven into mine in the most unassuming way: in me just perusing the shelves of a local second-hand store. How marvellous is that?
May your art be known and loved by all those who surround you.
Until next time
JC
I love the way this ties in with what we were talking about last night. I draw lots of disparate and sometimes frankly silly pictures in my sketchbooks. Artworld nightmare. But I don’t care - I love it. Everything feeds everything and your nan’s work and the work from the thrift store will plant seeds which will grow from the ploughed field of all that history. You are turning the soil. You will reap a harvest. X