The online lifestyle magazine Catching Life has published a couple of my pieces. Click on the link below to read Gift It Forward and learn more about my journey into creativity... https://www.catchinglife.co.uk/blog/2017/9/19/gift-it-forward
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They all showed up proudly carrying a bag (or in some cases buckets and boxes) of used bits and bobs from their jewellery collections and after a nice chat we headed for the dining room where I had set up bead boards, bowls, upcycled beads and plenty of beadmaking 'findings' (which is the collective name for crimp beads, wire, pliers, clasps and everything else you need to make your own jewellery). My brave first-timers all chose to go for multi-strand necklaces though each one required different techniques and continued to work right through their tea-break! between offering a helping hand, advise and recommendations I was still able (thanks to a gentle reminder from Maggie) to take photos of the before-and-afters as well as much of the hands-on action.
Thanks to the girls' critical feedback and dedicated participation I was able to learn a few things about how I can improve upon my workshops. For sure no more than 4 people at a time; though these ladies were true professionals and even took time out to help each other, creativity requires lots of one-on-one assistance. Gwyneth came up with a brilliant add-on idea - a small takeaway bag of crimp beads, wire and clasps for extra at home follow up practice. They also generously provided me with some post-workshop commentaries that I have proudly displayed to my Workshops page. The best bit about this experience - it has inspired me to try out all sorts of new ideas. Check this space to see what I come up with next! Sitting in a 'first class' cabin on the train ride from Casablanca to Fez I felt like I was participating in a United Nations session without the translating headphones on. The NGO worker sitting next to me spoke fluent French, great English and some Arabic. The gentleman across from us was from Morocco but was doing his PhD Thesis on Spanish history . As we conversed about world affairs, going back and forth from French to English to Spanish and even some Arabic, I felt excited about my Moroccan adventure. Fez medina is a crazy network of narrow streets lined with merchants. "You must have a guide" I was told. However when I told my guide that I wanted to leave the hotel before 8 a.m. in order to see the medina as it comes to life, he was not happy. Though I insisted that I had absolutely NO intention of buying a single thing in Morocco, especially NOT leather and NOT carpets, he was holding on to the hope that I would cave. If we left before the stalls even opened there was absolutely no way he would get any commissions. Nevertheless we left at 8 and as I followed him silently, we winded our way through what must be the most ancient market I have ever been to. I had my first genuine hammam in Fez. It was exhilarating. I don't know how having the top layer of your skin scrubbed off while lying on a marble slab can be so rejuvenating. There is something so primeval about being bathed by another person as you lie helpless. Marrakech left me equal parts unimpressed and over the moon. But the Jardin Majorelle, which belonged to Yves St. Laurent is probably now my favorite garden ever. I went back again after checking out the medina and its bona fide snake charmers. There was an exhibit of Berber jewelry and clothing which I had turned down the first time around. It was extraordinary and almost made me back down on my commitment to not buy any more 'stuff'. Casablanca was my last stop. By now I had been speaking bad French for five days and figured I was practically an expert when it came to Morocco, so when I was urged to NOT venture into the souk in Casa I ignored everyone. A harrowing hour later, sweaty and lost in a very unappealing part of town I began to be concerned that I might never get out of there. Fortunately I had on a piece of paper, written in Arabic, the name of the place everyone said I should go to instead so all I needed to do was find someone who read Arabic but also spoke bad French and who could also hopefully point me in the direction of where I could catch a cab. It took 4 tries but eventually I surfaced onto a main street and hailed an English speaking cabbie who took me to the Haboub Quartier. After chatting a while about my life, my impressions of Morocco and my experiences as a woman traveling alone, he said with much admiration: Madame, you are very brave - like Margaret Thatcher 'The Iron Lady!' There were 'the carpets' and 'the leather goods' at the Haboub, but there were also the Berber necklaces, And yet, I could not decide on one. "I don't know enough about them" I thought and having seen what was probably one of the finest exhibitions of Berber life at the Majorelle, it seemed worthless to pick among the necklaces the merchants had to sell. Like many an angler who returns home empty handed, I left Morocco without the Berber necklace that got away, Morocco was everything I imagined it would be: colorful, vibrant, magical, seedy, scary and incredibly authentic. |
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