A workshop to look forward to

I'm going to a workshop at Studio 11 at the end of this week, another try at paper lamination. I had a go in 2013 but was a bit dubious about the results. You can click on them to see a bigger version

The technique involves placing coloured magazine or toner printed images under fine poly/silk voile, then screening acrylic matte medium onto the top of the voile through a patterned screen. Where the medium comes through the screen it penetrates the voile to the images below. You set the medium by ironing, immerse the whole lot in water so that the back of the paper gets soggy, turn over the voile and peel all of the back of the paper off so you are just left with the coloured image; the texture reflecting whatever pattern was in the screen. Looking back at these now I can see that I left far too much space between the images. I've seen other students working with this technique during my Friday sessions - one of the many pleasures of going there, as you get to see people using all sorts of techniques.

So, this time I am a bit forewarned. I'm hoping to do something with some of the pictures I took in Venice when my dear heart and I visited 11 years ago this month. It is a wonderful place, so full of light, texture, rich colours and a myriad of interesting things to look at. I'll print out some of my photos and, using the image below as a focal point, see if I can create something that echoes both the worn and historic textures I saw there and the marvellous byzantine enamels and mosaics in St Mark's.

I was entranced by the special atmosphere there, the richly decorated churches, the colours of the walls reflected in the canals. In particular, we were struck by the complete absence of traffic noise because, of course, there is no road traffic at all.

Here are some of the images I hope to use, somehow. All very experimental, but at least I have a vague idea of what I'm doing this time.

I might also take a copy of this along

Dad as a young boy of around 12 - and this

Mum and Dad together in happy times during a family picnic.
My darling Dad died when I was seven; he was only 44. It would be good to do something with these images, but I have no idea what. Christine might help though, as she has done a series of works about her father and his loss of memory, so has experience of working with personal imagery like this. This one is particularly lovely I think.

However, before all this happens, my lovely girl and I are going here - on Friday. There may be have to be confessons of a retail nature!