Oh Comely 46 midwinter

stories / culture / curiosities / makers / ideas

Unexpected discoveries Bedroom artists The pleasures of hiding Pom poms and protest

issue 46 ď‚&#x; ÂŁ6

What we’re loving A curated selection of what’s in our diaries, shopping baskets and on our minds this issue words frances ambler, bre graham, phoebe harper and alice snape

Handmade earrings, priced from £35, Sophie Cull-Candy sophiecull-candy.com

a dose of her positive vibes.

They’re made from recycled plastic bottles – just another reason to pat ourselves on our back(packs) about how great these colourful bags are.

Give her a follow on Instagram

Backpacks by Sticky Lemon,

@_ellamasters_

from £48, at ifeelsmug.com

Positive posts Illustrator Ella Masters is

bringing cheer to our feeds on a daily basis with her #ella365project. It never fails to bring a smile to our faces with

We reckon that this peanut butter jar bauble will look really sweet on your tree. ÂŁ14, wagreen.co.uk

Amazing underwear Lydia Morrow is our new idol.

She created her brand What Lydia Made to make good design accessible to all bodies.

The 22-year-old painting and printmaking graduate is pushing the limits of inclusivity in fashion design, starting with underwear.

All her designs are custom made to order and cup sizes go up to M. What could be better? She also has a limited amount of Christmas gift vouchers on sale.

Give her a follow on Instagram @whatlydiamade

Feminine forms This gorgeous book is filled with the powerful female figures created by French illustrator Alice Wietzel. Women alone, women entwined together embracing, women who are unapologetically naked. $10, draw-down.com

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Women in Iceland What’s it like to be female in this Nordic nation? Well known for its hot springs, waterfalls and wonderful landscapes, as well as being Björk’s place of birth, it’s also a beacon for gender equality

portraits and interviews heather shuker and katie palmer introduction phoebe harper

The Nordic nation of Iceland is recognised as one of the best places in the world to be a woman. Arguably ‘the world’s most feminist country’, Iceland leads the way when it comes to addressing the gender balance. Women’s rights have been on the agenda since the 1950s, when the country was the first to grant unconditional equal inheritance rights to men and women. And, in 1915, the first women got the right to vote, three years before the UK. Nowadays, for almost a decade, the country has been recognised by notfor-profit organisation World Economic Forum, which researches global issues, as number one in the Global Gender Gap Index, which gauges the state of gender equality in a country. From legislation that prohibits genderdiscriminatory advertising to ‘equality lessons’ that are introduced into the

curriculum as early as pre-school, Iceland has established a culture that proudly puts parity into practice.

It’s this international renown that led London-based photographers Heather Shuker and Katie Palmer to photograph women living in the cities of Blönduós, Akureyri and Reykjavík, in a series that captures the individuals living behind the forward-thinking laws and impressive statistics. In a country with a predisposition for political empowerment and feminist proclivities, is there still more that can be done?

Armed with their cameras and a question, “Iceland is known as the world’s most feminist country, how does this make you feel?”, Heather and Katie met some of the world’s most enfranchised women and found out what it really means to call this ‘feminist utopia’ home.

Hildur Kristín Stefánsdóttir, musician “We are on a really good road, we are on a journey. In many senses women are in a really good place here. I went to live in Japan and I really noticed the difference in the way women are treated. In my everyday life, I feel really good about being a woman here, but you can still sense that there are some ways things could get better.” 

experience

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ideas

Getting lost

Sometimes all you crave is seclusion and solitude

words choechoe brereton illustration holly stapleton

A solid pine bed and cream plywood wardrobe filled the scant width of my bedroom. What remained visible of the hoary carpet was barely wide enough to sit on cross-legged. My door stayed shut and, unless it rained, so did my pilling blue curtain. The walls (also blue), were bare, save for a strip of decorative fabric I intermittently tacked up. It was a humble box — a plain, adumbral cell, washed just shy of its corners in pale-yellow lamplight. I hid there for hours at a time, folded up on my bed, bobbing steadily from the present like a tugboat lilting seaward out of port. Lost in thought. Subtracted from the world. Happy.

Little has changed. I’m older. I gladly give myself to the rhythms and routines of a livelihood I’ve diligently shaped and now largely enjoy. Yet, as in youth, I’m often compelled to hide. Once a month, sometimes more, I retreat indoors, draw the blinds and settle into the gloom to do as I please: braid my hair. Make pancakes.

Feast on 1930s movies. All in the earnest hope that for a day or two, no one comes looking for me.

Of the few others I know about who heed obscurity’s call, Patti Smith is a new and learned favourite. In her poetic biography, M Train, Patti recalls searching

the departures board in Heathrow for updates on her delayed connection to New York, only to be seized by an urge to book into an unnamed London hotel in the vicinity of Monmouth Street. For an evening and a night, she binge-watches detective movies, occasionally rising to raid the minibar and replenish snacks.

Days earlier she was in Berlin to deliver a speech and was verbally bulldozed off a podium. She reflects, “I felt like a straw sinking in Berlin’s River Spree. What a disaster.” Though she never draws a connection (and perhaps there isn’t one), I can see how the incident may have triggered her sudden need to disappear.

It’s plausible. A saturation of human interaction, sometimes positive, mostly negative, is a common precursor to seclusion. Lauren Hill, Greta Garbo, Dave Chappelle, Harper Lee — recluses wellversed in the invasive acts and attitudes of the implacable public. Lee once said, simply if not a little battle weary: “Well it’s better to be silent than be a fool.”

I understand the temptation to indefinitely withdraw but cannot guiltlessly ignore the world, or my need to interact with it in some gregarious way. (I’ve tried.

Believe me.) I realise, too, that I can  37

fashion

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Come find me Creeping behind curtains, feet poking out, we remember our favourite childhood game...

words and photos liz seabrook stylist alice burnfield model yihui wang from milk model management hair and make-up aston davies using glossier and tigi assistant river jade gibbs location poodle & blonde in margate

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Nail tales Manicures often mark moments in your life, a deep red for a new job or a swish of pink when you’re feeling down. And whether done in a nail salon or by yourself in your bedroom, it’s a time just for you

photos charlotte maymay photos charlotte nailsnails by house of lady muck, houseofladymuck.com by house of lady muck, houseofladymuck.com

beauty

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Bedroom magic These women are creating art from their private sanctuaries, the places they live, love and lay their heads

words rosalie hurr

There’s something quite enchanting about women who make art in their bedrooms.

Bedrooms tend to be a private space, one that very few people ever enter, and those who do are invited into the safe haven that we have made just for us. Art, however takes its place in the public sphere, it takes up space – even if the artist does not wish it to be seen and interpreted by others – it is all the same.

Those women who create art in their bedrooms have allowed us a sneak peek into their lives and their most vulnerable selves. In their rooms, these artists envelop a sort of magic; as they create, an electric intimacy exudes from them which is captivating. In the most intimate of settings, and often the smallest of spaces, these

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same women find power in their bodies and their art. Striving to harness and embrace their creativity in the bedroom.

The space where we have sex, cry, explore our identities and dream. Where we can be ourselves and our emotions can cascade from us in tumultuous bursts of energy, or sliver silently from us into our pillows.

In these bedrooms, there’s a certain softness that is tangible in the air, a vulnerability as the women shape their art allowing their feelings to pour into the pieces in their hands. These bedroom projects, and the women creating them, are laid open for us; through the paintings, clothing and embroidery, we can see the intimate connection between artist, work and private space.

makers

Olivia O’Connor, Witching Hour Embroiderer

My workspace is a lot. Chaotic.

Intense. Overwhelming. My entire room is basically an extension of my desk space. My desk is always the first thing I set up in a new room, the place that is the most organised and the most important. I honestly don’t think I could work anywhere else.

I can imagine, to a lot of people, it’s hell, but to me it’s almost like crawling into the cosiest bed at night, or a warm relaxing bath – it’s my comfort blanket. My desk feels like a sacred space that I am building over time.

I mostly work at night. There’s something about the time it gets dark, and everyone else is asleep, that I really enjoy – sitting at my desk and creating something, stitching away and pulling colours together. Sewing is almost like my form of meditation, it’s where I can zone out and relax and just be at peace with myself for a bit. It is such a personal space and a therapeutic experience, I feel I can really explore what’s on my mind – stresses, anxiety, curiosity, fear and passion. But also because of this, I can be very guarded when it comes to showing my work. I feel in some way that I’ve sewn a piece of myself into the work.  97

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We loved seeing your beautiful pictures of issue 45 on Instagram. From top to bottom, left to right, thanks to @jayerockett, @kayleighbickle, @kate_wheatley_, @house_by_the_stream, @hannahlouise.franklin, @tamarabelovaphotography, @thealicehudson, @hellolovecrumbs and @haveabananahannah Remember to tag us in your photos of issue 46 @ohcomelymag

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what we’re eating

Carbs, glorious carbs Laura Goodman is a woman who knows her pasta and potatoes – she’s written a whole book dedicated to our favourite food group: carbohydrates. We’re sharing two of our favourites from her book, sure to get you through the cold season words laura goodman photos louise hagger For the first 12 years of my life, I only wanted to eat tagliatelle with cheese sauce and torn up ham for dinner.

I was a fussy eater – I didn’t like fish, carrots or lemon chicken from the Chinese takeaway. I tucked my school lunches in yoghurt pots to throw in the bin. I loved my mum’s chocolate cake, salad cream sandwiches, Alphabites, cream cheese bagels, strawberry yoghurt and secretly swigging from open cans of evaporated milk. I considered all of these things to be food. Nice food versus gross food, sure, but ultimately, just food.

I was a teenager when the message reached me in frantic whispers that carbs were to be avoided at all costs; I still wasn’t clear what they were, but apparently they bore some relation to the fit of my BHS school skirt and my right to exist as a woman in the world.

I absorbed a bit of propaganda (it was very easy to come by) and I understood that many everyday items I’d previously thought of as foods were actually best categorised as dark, illicit substances. Potatoes, pasta, bread and rice were to be taken when I was feeling absolutely outrageous. Really, they should be reserved for Friday and Saturday nights, or special occasions. They could, at a push, be ingested in mounds, midweek, but only as long as I never mentioned them again.

Nevertheless, I persisted with eating carbs as part of an ongoing commitment to greediness and what is known, in modern parlance, as FOMO. As time wore on, it gradually became clear I couldn’t deprive myself of another thing the men in my life seemed able to enjoy with abandon. I would order whatever foods I wanted to eat.

I wrote my book Carbs not just because I wanted to celebrate the power of carbohydrates to the point of delirium, but also because I wanted to return them to their rightful position in the world. Carbs don’t have to be ‘whole’, ‘complex’ or ‘good’, but they don’t have to be monster crack pizza burrito burgers either. They can just be food. Really good food. Carbs are what we want. What we really, really want.  121

#onegoodthing Buying yourself flowers

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