artycelia.com

The whole family had colds over Christmas. Coughing and spluttering our way through Eva's first ever visit to Father Christmas, though was an enchanting experience. Christmas dinner was a success, fun and joyous, everyone getting on. The first Christmas with a grandchild will always be extra special with fond memories that will last forever.  Christmas and New Year wrapped up, a few of us were still a bit sniffy but nothing to worry about. I walked my dog, Billy every day, it was cold, I was cold and was still 'with cold' but I didn't think anything about it. January 7th and my bones seemed extra cold, why would my bones feel cold? I dismissed the feeling. I went to bed and could hear a strong 'boom, boom, boom' noise. I got up and went downstairs to check the boiler. The noise wasn't in the kitchen, but I could hear it in the bathroom, in my bedroom, under my covers. (I later discovered that the 'boom, booming' was my blood pumping furio...

                                                    Coco Chanel. Oil on paper.                                                     Persephone. Oil on paper.                                                     Work in progress. Oil.

Celia in the early 80's (Oh dear, I thought I looked so stylish!) I can remember having this picture taken. It is a photograph, not a snap. I had to pose, I was very tall (well, funnily enough, I still am) and very slim and noticeably young and fancied myself as super model material. I was a bit premature on that front as the real supermodels were still struggling to make names for themselves back then, in fact the term wouldn't be christened for a couple more years. I sent the photo to a modelling agency in Mayfair. I didn't hear anything from the agency so just carried on in my job as a clerical officer at the Greater London Council. Then one day I had a phone call at work, a personal phone call which was very frowned upon. It was a man calling from the agency in Mayfair asking me where I was. I was flustered and replied that I was at work. He went on in a dramatic fashion to say that the studio had been set up and the photographer was waiting for me. I didn't kno...

Douglas Coupland is a Canadian novelist/artist/designer who creates visual masterpieces, one of his pieces is a poster reading, " I Miss My Pre-Internet Brain," He has designed many more since this one which was included as part of the collection: "Welcome to the 21st Century." Coupland is sixty years old, a few years older than me and, like me, lucky enough to have owned a pre-internet brain and can therefore compare past and present. It's quite a concept and makes me feel privileged to have been born in the 1960's, among a generation of children who may well have been the last to grow up in a world of self-discovery, wonder, curiosity, and creativity. (Without the internet) A big joy of childhood was the library, a big quiet building where one could wander for ages and ages and go home with lots of dusty books to investigate, to enjoy, or not to enjoy, everyone was a new discovery. Compared to today when you know exactly what you want to read, yo...

Every summer I think to myself, 'Hmm, can I still get away with my fave little shorts or am I officially TOO OLD?' According to a lot of blogs aimed at 'women my age' I should have ditched most of my wardrobe by now and be wearing more 'age appropriate' clobber. I tried that and looked like a cardboard cut-out of 'middle aged woman' and felt like one. I've lied about my age for ages now, even my daughters don't know how old I am. A pharmacist in Boots called out my real age the other day and I realised that I had completely ignored her, she gave me a withering look, I shrugged and looked away before silently accepting the blood pressure tablets. I don't feel old, don't look particularly old so why should I dress old? I like wearing purple, but not with a red hat...yet.

This is a photograph of me and my eldest daughter, she is thirty-two years old now. The photo was taken by her granddad on holiday in Spain. I had Emily when I was twenty-three. I had no plan for our lives, other than to be happy. The early years of my marriage and motherhood were lovely. We owned our house (well, with a mortgage) my husband had an excellent job in The City, and I was a stay-at-home mum. Me and Emily had a blissful couple of years. Then when I was pregnant with my second child, my husband lost his job and the recession kicked in. Our riches turned to poverty. Our freedoms turned into prisons. The prison of poverty and depression. My husband fell into a despair. But I had two young people to nurture. A lot of people were in the same boat, and we all helped each other out, some managed to stay strong while others fell by the wayside. Then circumstances picked up again and we were OK for a while. My husband chose to spend a lot of time in the pub, but that was ...

Oil on wood by Celia Turner. Have had to spend the day doing BDT's (Boring domestic tasks) today. That's hoovering, (which is quite difficult as my dog absolutely hates the hoover. I must constantly throw his ball for him with one hand and hoover with the other) Ironing, dusting, waxing furniture etc. Boring, boring, boring. The good news is this painting, I found, tucked away in an old portfolio. I'm sure it is one of a set that I painted some time ago. The bad news is that I turned my studio upside down trying to find the others.