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‘She lived a good deal by herself, to herself, working, passing on from day to day, and always thinking, trying to lay hold on life, to grasp it in her own understanding. Her active living was suspended, but underneath, in the darkness, something was coming to pass. If only she could break through the last integuments!’[i]


[i] Lawrence, D. H. Women in love 1923. New York. Thomas Seltzer. P. 10.

Historically women told stories by keeping diaries, taking photographs and making scrapbooks. They didn’t ask for permission to keep their scraps, they didn’t claim ownership of the original images, or sell their scrapbooks. Nor do I. But did they see such work as art? Maybe not, but mine are art to me. In my isolation I use the modern version of scissors, paper and glue to make my collages and scrapbooks.

This blog is a work in progress. It exists to facilitate my learning how to use all this utterly bamboozling technology. Along the journey I’ll share with you words and pictures, some mine, some from others. I hope you enjoy some.

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