Little Cath

Little Cath

My name is Graham Carrick and I am and have been for many years a painter. You may understandably wonder why and how scissors would feature with any great significance in the story of my own art practice.

The story I want to tell begins not with me, but rather with my mother Catherine Hall Carrick. Born on the 1st of June 1939 she fought and beat tuberculosis in her childhood, against the odds is a term applicable to my mother’s entire life. Numerous times throughout her life Cath beat the odds. For all the battles she fought and the pain she suffered, she greeted every day and everyone with a smile.

After leaving hospital and returning home at twelve years of age she began setting about her lifelong pursuit, helping others. Busying herself around the family home she discovered her natural verve for sewing. This grew into making clothes for herself and family, after just a few years of schooling she found a job at a clothing factory in Newcastle Upon Tyne. In the early years of working at the factory she would walk to work, to buy her own sewing machine.

Catherine made lifelong friends and became a firm favourite among her colleagues, so much so that even after she left to become my mother in 1974, she was still invited to attend staff parties for a further decade. I have happy memories of my visits to the factory, the cacophony of sounds from the machines and the chatter of the staff would still ring in my ears after leaving.

The sewing machine she had worked so hard to buy all those years earlier regularly featured in my youth. When the machine was being used it would be accompanied by three tins. The least inviting tin was full to the brim with pins and needles, this tin garnered little attention from me. The next two tins would open to reveal two trusty pairs of scissors sitting atop a cornucopia of buttons and threads of every colour, size and style. I would love to arrange the colourful threads and the sound of the buttons as I dropped them back into the tin, I can’t say that noise would have been as entertaining for my mother.

As I got older my mother taught me how to sew, knit and to pattern cut, she was also luckily gifted with endless patience. By the time I started on my own life’s journey into fine art, I was well versed in the ways of needle and thread. During my time studying I found what I had learned of great benefit, both in regard to my art and repairing my shabby student attire. I found that using a combination of collaged materials and using the sewing machine to draw gave very rewarding results. The results of these experiments helped me progress from college to university. Sadly, other than an occasional clothing or canvas repair my skills fell by the wayside as painting became my main medium. Then on September the 11th 2020 my mother passed away peacefully at home. The girl who was not expected to live beyond 8 years old, fought her way to be an 82 year old woman. My mother had many close calls prior to her passing so much so that my first response on being informed of her death was “Are you sure”. Unfortunately, this time my mother had fought her final battle.

Clearing mother’s house, I lost count of the number of thank you cards, postcards and letters from all over the world from people she had met and instantly made an impact on. She had the ability to make people happy even in the worst of times. There are thousands of stories myself and many others could tell and all of them end with a smile. Her kindness is legendry in the North East of England where she spent her entire life. The sewing machine purchased in 1957 and the companion three boxes sat neatly stacked by her bed, even the sight of them took me back to so many happy memories. I have started to create more memories having brought them home with me.

Since my mother’s prized possessions have arrived in my home, they have rekindled my interest in the skills passed on by my mother. Opening up the boxes and setting up the sewing machine I mimic the same ceremony I watched my mother perform so many times. The sounds, noises and even smells fill me with joy and feels like a personal moment I share with her. I use her trusted scissors to cut my canvases before stretching and more recently cutting materials to collage on the sewing machine, every time I use them, I hear her voice and laughter. Using these things feels significant to me because they were significant to her. Art has always played a part in my life and helped me deal with hard times and reflect on good times. It brings me happiness to revisit the times spent learning from my mother and to create new work because of her all over again.

To her numerous friends and admirers, she was known as Little Cath, I was lucky enough to call you mother. Thank you for everything Catherine Hall Carrick.