From time to time Miss Ocean Pink may find herself quite pleasingly nibbling on a chunk of her favourite organic fair trade chocolate bar. It was on one such an indulgent occasion that she was caressingly carried away by one of her creative daydreams, visioning a gown with frills and swirls of chocolate ruffles, that shifted and swayed as she manoeuvred her lovely endearing self around and simply bounced to and fro whenever caught by an uplifting seasonal blowing breeze. She immediately wrote her thoughts down along with a quick sketch of what was on her mind so she could add to it later when she got out of the bath.

Unfortunately when the time came for her to start this new gown, Miss Ocean pink found to her dismay that in her vast collections of fabrics (mostly recycled and a few new) that she didn’t posses the type of clothe she needed for this particular project, so off she ran with sketch book in hand to her local fabric store, where upon after much joyful deliberation, purchased six yards of shiny chocolate lining material.

Back home she waisted no time measuring, cutting and pressing long strips to be gathered. The next three sewing sessions involved lots of thread pulling, to gather the ruffles, more and more measuring for row placement of ruffles, chalking, pinning and basting, to get these little swayers all ready for the stitching in place, of which was accomplished in no time at all with the aid of a faithful reliable friend that goes by the name of Miss Frister Rossmann 503


This was only the beginning of her chocolate sweet toothed creative adventure, and needless to say the very starting point of yet another alluring sewing journey, as the top parts of this gown was yet to be visualised in the forever crafty flowing mind of Miss Ocean Pink. That was until!……… She had just finished reading some of Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s rich Gothic poems, when another serge of compelling ideas struck, by capturing her imagination and directed her to seek out some of the fabulous textured, painted garments depicted in the pre Raphaelite works, that hang in the worldly renowned rooms of the Tate Britain art Gallery.

Her driver dropped her off at the back of the building, where with bated breath and anticipation to knowing what artistic wonderments would welcome and embrace her upon arrival, she eagerly trip-troped her shiny little black patent stiletto heels along to the gallery’s side entrance and joyously stepped in. The ambience of Tate Britain never fails to up-lift and overwhelm the very soulful essence of Miss Ocean Pink and on this occasion she found herself almost brought to tears, as she entered a room only to discover that one of her much beloved, favourite paintings had been loaned out to another gallery for a short period, but with a turn of gaze she soon found solace in the viewing comforts of THE LADY OF SHALOTT. (John William Waterhouse 1888) another well known work that she finds captivating when ever her eyes are allured to its innocent depths of sorrow, depicted by magnificent skill-full brushwork, radiating out on a 60×79 inc canvas.

Her search for fabric and design inspiration lead to Miss Ocean Pink spending no less than four pleasurous hours, drifting from painting to painting with thoughts of admiration and a crafty mind that was yearn-fully seeking to be grabbed at impulse any subtlety minute, by they that go by the name of creative inspirations. Feeling full of ideas for numerous other projects that this visit had given her, she did not quite receive what she initially intending to find, that being the top half of her chocolate ruffles. She took her final last minute notes and sketches of paintings, bade farewell to staff members before leaving through the front main entrance doors, tottled down the steps and skipped across the main road to reach and view the river Thames shimmering away opposite the Tate Britain.

It was just as she was swimming in day dreams of glistening light particles, bouncing off of ripples in the water, that something inside of her told her to turn around, and  as she did so, her pulse started racing, her knees became wobbly and her breath escaped her. It had finally happened, she had been touched by what she had been originally seeking those four hours previous. As she stood there, back to the river and facing the building, she knew right there and then that this was the very image she would work with and draw from its overall strengths of grandiose presence. XXX