Marshmallows & Merlot

Date sent: 23 May 2001 Subject line: Sharks rule! Age: 18 years and two months Time in London: Five months "As I type this I'm looking out the window and having to pinch myself to make   sure I'm really in England! The sun is shining -YES shining - and....wait for it....it's actually warm, not just decent, but hot...a whole 27 degrees! YAHOO,YIPPEE,ABOUT BLOODY TIME! The cherry on the top: its been like this for an entire 3 days...its amazing how much good weather is appreciated after months of constant cloud drippage. On the academic front I can't believe my A levels are almost over. In about a month I write my first art history exam, only 2 exams in a whole month (after St.Andrews its heaven!). I'm already half way through my art practical painting which'll determine my final exam mark & its actually semi-decent. Looking back, 6 months raced by and I survived, I survived missing everyone, moving 6000 miles away and I survived the London transport s

So this is the story... I really really dislike cycling. Everything from the stationery bikes in the gym to those fancy Tour de France contraptions Jozi's fittest ride around on at stupid o' clock in the morning. Let me be clear, I have nothing against cyclists – in fact one of my favourite people is a super fit 'lawyer by day' cycling legend – I was just not born to cycle. Five minutes on a stationery bike at the gym makes me feel like the unhealthiest, most unfit woman on the planet. I've always said that I didn't get the cycling gene. Give me a treadmill, a cross-trainer or the stairmaster anyday! I'd sooner go on an optional hike than 'think bike'. Anyways, last Friday after a particularly good workout I let my training partner a.k.a Drill Sergeant Groenewald talk me into booking a 4:30pm spinning class the following Monday. I blame the endorphin high for my response: "Why not?" After a weekend of too much good food, a bottle or

Some days I feel like I am getting really old and catch myself sounding just like my mother – not a bad thing, don't get me wrong, my mom is a very wise woman indeed... It's just a bit surreal when I hear the words coming out of my mouth. It would seem that the older I get (and I'm not even 30 yet), the more clear things become. Advice I was given at 13 now seems like common sense, although at the time I resisted it with every ounce of my tie-dye wearing, teenaged being. My brother's (seemingly overprotective at the time) actions felt as if they were purposely engineered to ruin my life (can you get more over-dramatic?)  – now I am thankful for all the times he banned me from dating his friends or tattle-taled to my mom about the shortness of my skirt. You see I now know that no one understands a teenage boy quite like another teenage boy. When my dad threw a fit on finding out that his 15-year old had been invited as a date to a wedding by a 21-year old... I stomp

Date sent: 21 January 2001 Age: 17 years and 10 months Please excuse bad grammar, bad spelling and general teenager-ness. The words below have been left exactly as I found 'em... "Well, the highlight of the past week : I SAW SNOW,REAL CHILLY ICEY SNOWFLAKES, I walked through them from the tube station to school... I was like a 5-year old @ Christmas... but the almost freezing (no exaggeration –1 degree ) tempretures are sure to make the novelty of snow wear off pretty soon. I'm hectically busy with art at the moment, not to mention essay after essay from my art history teacher, but I'm doing what I love to do, so I'm not complaining - just working like a dog! Bedroom update: I've got my curtains up, fully kitted out with pink bandanas as tie-backs and all... I even did laundry and washed the dishes (maybe I might become domesticated after all, and yes...maybe make a decent wife-type person!) Hmmmmm, what else can I tell you? Well, I've been playing

I never thought that I'd ever (ever, ever) be the kinda person who actually worried about the exchange rate or made a point of catching the tail-end of the news just to see what the gold price is doing. Artists are not supposed to be concerned by such business-y type stuff... When someone says 'so and so's stock dropped by two points' I'm meant to just smile and nod, making every effort to disguise the blank look covering my face from forehead to chin. In the past I was far more likely to be concerned if the price of wine by the glass hopped up a rand or two than if a US$ cost me three cents more than it did last week. Alas! The times they are a changing and as a result of my recent foray into the world of diamond solitaires and platinum wedding bands I am being forced to dip my toe in the waters of 'money makes the world go round and a cent or two here and there can make it turn a little slower'... Every morning (in between my cup of green tea and bo

Painting is so poetic, while sculpture is more logical and scientific and makes you worry about gravity. (Mark Rothko)

So I've had the new Black Eyed Peas track stuck in my head on an ever-repetitive loop all morning. ' I gotta feeling...'  you know the one? 'That tonight's gonna be a good night...' Anyways, usually having such a fun, bounce up and down on a dance floor , song in my head while I'm working would just seem plain mean. But today, well I think of it more as a warm up, a promise of what's to come. While I may not be dancing later tonight I will be eating good (lovingly prepared) food and catching up on all the 'hot off the press' news with two of my favourite girls and their equally fabulous partners. It can only be a 'good, good night' and a fitting end to a pretty good work week. You see, I did not one, but two (yes TWO) diamond deals yesterday and managed to finish the first painting in my new series earlier in the week. And the really awesome thing is that I actually (really) like my new painting and didn't get the urge, not eve

Presenting the first finished painting from my latest series – 'A whiter shade of pale' ...  'Fresh mint and fairy dust',  Oil on canvas, 100 x 150cm

An excerpt from one of my many newsletters sent from London to friends and family in South Africa... Date:  25 February 2001 Subject: Greetings from snowy Surrey! Months in London: 2 Age: 17 years and 11 months "Well, today I 'wrote' my first A-level mock exam. I use the word 'wrote' loosely because it was an art prac. I painted for 8 hours today, I have 6 hours of class time and 8 more hours next Sunday to complete my painting. Its really exciting cos' I'm enjoying it and the time flew, although I suspect I got more paint on myself that on the actual canvas :) ! English weather is really confusing, one minute its warming up, the sun's shining, blue skies and all that jazz and then before you know what has hit ya' its snowing while you amble down to the train station... the novelty of snow is wearing off, it tends to be really unpleasant at 8am in the morning after 4 hours of sleep, and Murphy's law dictates that the day you leave your 

For some people it's freshly brewed coffee or bacon sizzling gently that delights their sense of smell first thing in the morning. For me, it's something very different, definitely not in the category of food or drink, and something that most normal human beings would find mildly offensive – paint fumes... Deliciously fresh, every corner of the apartment permeating, 'work in progress' paint fumes. You see, when my house smells like an episode of 'Extreme makeover: home edition' it means that I've been productive, that I've been inspired, that I've been painting up a storm. It means that the blank canvases that often haunt my studio have (finally) been given some attention and that I am walking around with atleast three small (but won't come off with soap/dishwashing liquid/turpentine) splodges of various shades of enamel paint on my limbs. It means that I'm happy. And, as the saying goes, 'happy wife, happy life' ... My hubby

There's no retirement for an artist, it's your way of living so there's no end to it. (Bono)

I am off to a wedding in a few hours and because there is much beautifying to be done I shall not be posting a lengthy blurb today... Rather, I'd like to suggest that you check out the exquisitely compiled and elegantly authored Daydream Lily   A Google 'Blog of Note' – it is like a candyshop full of delicious vintage treats, only the treats are 100% sugar free and a feast for the eyes.

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE... enough money within her control to move out and rent a place of her own, even if she never wants to or needs to; something perfect to wear if the employer, or date of her dreams wants to see her in an hour; a youth she's content to leave behind; a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to retelling it in her old age; one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who lets her cry; a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family; eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a recipe for a meal, that will make her guests feel honored; a feeling of control over her destiny; how to fall in love without losing herself; how to quit a job, break up with a lover, and confront a friend without ruining the friendship; when to try harder... and when to walk away ; that she can't change the length of her calves, the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents; that her childhood may not have been perfect

I'm not. I'm 100% sure I'm not. Like my hubby likes to say 'we've gotta good goalie'. Anyways, the cravings I'm referring to are courtesy of some marketing genius who invented Whacky Wednesday. A weekly deal that runs at a local fast food franchise every Wednesday – two burgers, yes TWO burgers for under thirty bucks (South African Rands)... One delicious flame grilled 100% pure beef patty, lettuce, tomato, a dash of tangy yet deliciously sweet mayonnaise wedged lovingly between two halves of a lightly toasted sesame seed bun does enough damage to my 'I will eat salad and go to gym four times a week' resolve. But TWO? For a BARGAIN? Well that's just not playing fair. Everyone knows I can't resist a good deal and when that good deal begs to be accompanied by a fluffy ice cold chocolate milkshake – resistance is futile. You may as well lock me in a room with all you can eat nachos and tell me not to touch. That'd be about as effective

I just came across a whole stack of emails I sent during my first few years in London. I have decided to climb in my time machine and share a little vintage 'Diary of an art student' with you circa September 2003 (I was 20 and a half years old): "I think the inevitable has happened, summer seems to be over and once again England is a great place to be -  if you are a duck. After 6 weeks of glorious, totally uncharacteristic sunshine, the heavens opened up a few days ago and have pissed on humanity non-stop ever since. *sigh* At least for the two weeks that my mom was over here the weather was good, no actually it was awesome, 30 degree heatwave kinda stuff. I can deal with grey skies,  6 months of puddles and raincoats if its the price pomms pay for 6 weeks of mediterranean scorch, then its not too bad a trade - besides I got a tan, damn I even managed to get burnt once or twice (woo-hoo!) Okay enough about weather... onto far more exciting stuff....brace yourself beca

It's been about 11 months since I gave up coffee. You see, I quit smoking on my wedding day and in order to really try to make the quitting stick I knew that my morning cup of coffee would have to go. Since I was 18 years old I had been starting my day with a cup of caffeine and a stick of nicotine. They go together like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, like Strawberries and fresh cream, like sea sand and sunshine... Okay, you get the point. Anyway, two weeks (and several withdrawal headaches) after I quit the cancer sticks and my morning cup of jet fuel, the strangest thing happened – I started to really (like really, really) enjoy a cup of herbal tea and found that I soon swapped my standard issue two teaspoons of sugar for a drop of honey. I was surprised at how easily I'd kicked coffee to the curb and, dare I say it, I was kinda proud of myself. The thing I didn't realise was that it's pretty easy to forego caffeine when your life as an artist lets you wake u

No matter what hours you work, the buzz in the air on a Friday afternoon is unavoidable. Working in a shopping mall the shift into weekend mode is as glaringly obvious as a boob job in the gym changing room. People leave the office a little earlier, they let their lunches drag on a little longer and excited twenty-somethings chatter away on their Blackberrys making plans and deciding which invite to accept first. Weekend fever is made even more contagious when the sun's shining – like today. It's the first proper summer day that (fingers crossed) will give way to a summer weekend full of opportunities to wear strappy sandals, catch a bit of a tan and sip chilled white wine while looking super-glam behind a much too big pair of sunglasses. Even though I have to work tomorrow I am LOVING the promise that a new Friday afternoon brings. In about an hour I'll close up shop and make a dash for my car which I'm sure will be like a little white Itallian oven. The thought

I remember when I first moved to London in 2000 – the only two people I knew were my dad and my stepmom –and I'd have given anything to have a social life. It took about a year, a job behind the bar at a really dodgy pub and a concerted effort on my part to turn acquaintances into friends. Even then the number of nights I had free far outweighed the number of nights that I actually had some place to get dressed up or someone to look pretty for. To cut a long story short, the perseverance paid off, the dodgy pub job become a pretty well paid gig at a pretentious upmarket restaurant and I had an awesome group of multi-cultural cosmopolitan mates. Three of whom were actually bridesmaids at my wedding – Miss Le Tissier (the ridiculously talented art student I shared a studio space with my second year at Slade), Jessica Rabbi t (the originally from Stratford-upon-Avon, drama queen a.k.a the ultimate blonde bombshell) and Lorenzo (my favourite Australian who was quite content being a

I received this list today of random thoughts from twenty-somethings and have to say that 90% of the things below have crossed my mind... I don't understand the purpose of the line, "I don't need to drink   to have fun." Great, no one does. But why start a fire with flint and   sticks when they've invented the lighter? Have you ever been walking down the street and realised that you're   going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to   be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the  direction from which you came, you have to first do something like   check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to   yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're  crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.   I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.   There is a great need for sarcasm font.   I think everyone has a movie that they

And after a lengthy, lengthy African winter (it started getting chilly in March) I am oh-so-grateful for the sunshine, the blue sky and the ability to step out of the house without stockings and/or boots. What I was screaming from the hilltops this morning: "Viva la strappy sandals! Viva la maxi dress! Viva la shorts!" What I am mumbling under my breath now: "Wow, my toes are in desperate need of a pedi. Really should have waxed my legs this morning. Is my skin really that white a shade of pale? And when did my once form triceps morph into an ode to pudding? Really gotta toss the mash potatoes and develop a love for celery (ick!)" It is with these thoughts bouncing about around my green tea soaked brain that I decided to google the word 'Spring'.... and these were the results (and how I plan to apply them to mission: summer wife):   The season of growth  "the emerging buds were a sure sign of spring"; or in my case "the emerging muffi