Feeling inspired

It's snowed here in Cambridge, so I slip along nervously with my big boots on, while cats watch me contemptuously from the tops of dustbins (look, big grey hairy cat! You have four feet! I have but two! I shall not be intimidated!).

A new dawn of inspiration. I have to get up early now, you know. And I'm not a lark. I'm an owl

While it's all cold and frozen outside, though, inside (thematic link! link coming!) I feel more fired up than I have in a while, and I've got a few new projects on the go (pics will have to wait till I am near them in daytime). I've been drafting a skirt pattern to make from recycled tshirts, and today I went charity shopping and actually got some tshirts that will work for it, and, thrillingly, a 100% lambswool jumper.

I'm collecting wool jumpers to make one of these coats (buy the pattern - it's a good pattern), and she suggests that you do your first coat with woollen jumpers that you've washed on a hot wash and felted a bit. Well. I don't know where your local charity shops stock the 100% wool jumpers, but in mine they're normally on the rail next to the hens' teeth. Yes. You will recognise me in the charity shops of Cambridge because I'm the one rifling through the endless sea of George at Asda acrylic, muttering, bloody bloody hell. But no matter. It is a long term project and now I have three jumpers to use (one from today and two of mine that have seen better days. No they don't match. It will be fine).

This skirt is actually rather cool in real life. Reconstructed black jersey, wrap, contrast stitching. However every photograph I have taken of it is JUST HORRENDOUS. It is like those postcards of motorway bridges. Why can't I have an aspirational house that does not have a green carpet or piles of Partner's boxes? Why can't I live with a man who doesn't have boxes? Are there such men? Why have they passed me by?

And I'm going to an art class tomorrow. We are going to be doing an oil painting in the style of David Hockney, this has nearly finished Partner off as it is possibly the most amusing thing he has ever heard in his life. If you remember, I was going to go to a life drawing class but then I thought further about things, and I thought: what am I most inspired by? Nakedness or Colour? (I know what that says about me. Self knowledge is a terrible thing). So, David Hockney oils it is initially, and then I may do life drawing later, as I am exploring Different Expressive Media. My mother has put her order in for a drawing if I do ('can I have something to put above the fire, Susie, although, if it's a naked man could you do his back rather than full frontal as I don't want to be having to explain when Beryl and Roger come round'). I've been thinking a lot about art, craft, the difference (if there is one), and about experimenting with different art forms to Express Myself. Partner is hoping any new modes of self expression will not take up a lot of room or cause him ever to have to leave the house or talk to people, however, I am afraid we are just going to have to see where the Muse takes me. I have to say, it is not likely to take me to a Royal Academy exhibition, but I am also trying to deconstruct the idea that you have to be good at things to try them. I shall be bad at things, and I shall be liberated.

(So when I show you oil paintings of wonky houses or slightly cross-eyed labradors, you may want to work up to being kind about them while I work up to being bad and liberated. We'll get there. It will be fun).