Some nice things about me
curtosy of brian
Five bright red boxes sit atop Rachel Hills’ black bookshelf, each with a different label.
Bright colours are not rare in her tiny Toronto basement apartment that doubles as a studio, with a lime green kitchen separated only by a sheet of fabric from her plum purple computer editing suite.
She removes the boxes labeled “Sewing” and “Fabric” from the shelf, rummaging through both until she finds her sought after supplies. While the iron heats on the stove, she unrolls a long white table runner with patterned edges purchased for this particular project. Wrapping it around her midriff, she opts to measure the material by eye before cutting it into three pieces. From her hands to the kitchen table, she lays the pieces to be ironed.
This is how Hills, 22, begins what many would consider a day off. Hers is full of planned artistic endeavors. “I have a hard time falling asleep if I feel like I haven’t done anything all day,” she says, examining a tiny notebook full of to-be-completed projects.
On most days, Hills waits tables and bartends at a downtown restaurant, a job she says she works at only to pay her bills. “I’ve had to learn to tell myself I’m not a waitress, I’m an artist.” A humanitarian artist is how Hills describes herself, doing freelance work she hopes will both assist others and inspire them to create.
“I want to do things and make stuff,” she says, sewing together two sections of the divided runner. Things, she says, include art installations, videos and work with community groups, while stuff ranges from music to art to clothing.
Today’s stuff is clothing and, sewing the final piece to the rest of the fabric, she completes a women’s halter-top. Her clothing has sold in stores in North Bay, Ont. and she will approach shops on Toronto’s Queen Street West with some of her finished work.
***
A red-framed diploma hangs on the wall beside Hills’ computer where she watches films she has produced in the past. In 2003, she graduated from North Bay’s Canadore College with a diploma in television and broadcasting, accepting an internship position with Toronto-based Ghostmilk Studios. Although she was hired on following the internship, she soon left the job to focus on her own work.
“The only thing I learned going to school was who I am,” says Hills, reviewing her independently made animations and videos. Some of her public service announcements on youth gambling, World Vision’s 30 Hour Famine and an area Walk Against Male Violence have been distributed to schools throughout Perth County.
Hills believes in the importance of keeping an updated portfolio and regularly refers to previous work to see what she can improve in the future and to rediscover hidden gems. “Ha ha ha, I can send this one out as it is,” she says, craftily to herself, e-mailing an animation to a production studio she hopes might take interest in her creation.
***
An old red trolley on wheels Hills found on the side of the road sits beneath the drawing table next to her computer. She wheels it out to reveal a large, rolled up piece of white paper sitting next to drawers filled with drawing and writing supplies. Unrolling the paper onto her table, she reveals a partial sketch of an apartment building that will provide the frame for a proposed art installation.
Hills plans to pitch her idea to a King Street park that offers $10,000 grants for artist’s original ideas. Retrieving a tape recorder from her bedroom, she presses the play button and continues her sketch. Sounds of voices asking, “Hello?” resonate from the tape player. The voices are selections Hills recorded at a prior telemarketing job when, in the last 10 minutes of each shift, she would mute her headset and record the reactions of people picking up the telephone to silence on the other end.
“Everyone’s reaching out for someone,” she says, remarking on the heavily accented voice of a Spanish woman from her tape. “In a city this big it may be hard to believe there is isolation, but there is.”
When she feels isolated, Hills seeks out others, the elderly in particular, whom she can comfort with her company or actions. This is the inspiration behind the installation, she says, a reassurance that you are not alone.
Shadowing one side of the apartment building, Hills contemplates placing LED lights and fabric in the windows of the full sized version of the apartment. Once she decides upon the design, she will place a continuously playing compilation of her collected voices within.
***
Hills cannot find her red marker.
She has changed into paint splattered jeans and a white t-shirt sporting a silk-screened image of Mexican painter, Frida Kahlo. A new painting she will offer to local galleries and cafés is her next project, but first she must find her red marker.
“I can’t find it because I use red so much,” says Hills, checking one of her red boxes labeled “Paint” before stumbling upon it in a pail of multi-coloured markers. She sits on her couch and begins to fill in the colours on a rendering adapted from her sketchbook. “I hate the colour blue,” she says. “It’s very cold. I’m all about the warm colours.”
Hills colours in an abstract heart that covers a nude woman’s lower body and wraps around her neck, her arms outstretched. Despite her love of creating, Hills admits it is sometimes difficult to part with her paintings.
“It’s like giving away part of your soul,” she says, shading the woman’s skin. She calls painting a very emotional experience but says selling her pieces provides inspiration to do more of it.
***
The two red boxes Hills didn’t use today are labeled “Craft,” filled with glue, sparkles and other arts supplies and “Things,” containing elastics, broken glasses, old film canisters and other odds and ends. They remain on the shelf as she carries a medium sized canvas to her drawing table.
Piecing together different sections of her sketch on the canvas, Hills is careful to copy her initial version correctly. She says her first drawings are made when she has all of the inspiration and she wants to ensure this is communicated in the final piece. She squirts paint on her palette and pauses to change a light bulb above her table to give her extra light.
Hills says one of the greatest parts of being her own boss is the amount of control she has over her day that allows her to work as much and on what she wants. “I hate compromising my time. No matter what I’m doing, this is what I want to be doing.”
She pours herself a glass of red wine and continues to paint.
Five bright red boxes sit atop Rachel Hills’ black bookshelf, each with a different label.
Bright colours are not rare in her tiny Toronto basement apartment that doubles as a studio, with a lime green kitchen separated only by a sheet of fabric from her plum purple computer editing suite.
She removes the boxes labeled “Sewing” and “Fabric” from the shelf, rummaging through both until she finds her sought after supplies. While the iron heats on the stove, she unrolls a long white table runner with patterned edges purchased for this particular project. Wrapping it around her midriff, she opts to measure the material by eye before cutting it into three pieces. From her hands to the kitchen table, she lays the pieces to be ironed.
This is how Hills, 22, begins what many would consider a day off. Hers is full of planned artistic endeavors. “I have a hard time falling asleep if I feel like I haven’t done anything all day,” she says, examining a tiny notebook full of to-be-completed projects.
On most days, Hills waits tables and bartends at a downtown restaurant, a job she says she works at only to pay her bills. “I’ve had to learn to tell myself I’m not a waitress, I’m an artist.” A humanitarian artist is how Hills describes herself, doing freelance work she hopes will both assist others and inspire them to create.
“I want to do things and make stuff,” she says, sewing together two sections of the divided runner. Things, she says, include art installations, videos and work with community groups, while stuff ranges from music to art to clothing.
Today’s stuff is clothing and, sewing the final piece to the rest of the fabric, she completes a women’s halter-top. Her clothing has sold in stores in North Bay, Ont. and she will approach shops on Toronto’s Queen Street West with some of her finished work.
***
A red-framed diploma hangs on the wall beside Hills’ computer where she watches films she has produced in the past. In 2003, she graduated from North Bay’s Canadore College with a diploma in television and broadcasting, accepting an internship position with Toronto-based Ghostmilk Studios. Although she was hired on following the internship, she soon left the job to focus on her own work.
“The only thing I learned going to school was who I am,” says Hills, reviewing her independently made animations and videos. Some of her public service announcements on youth gambling, World Vision’s 30 Hour Famine and an area Walk Against Male Violence have been distributed to schools throughout Perth County.
Hills believes in the importance of keeping an updated portfolio and regularly refers to previous work to see what she can improve in the future and to rediscover hidden gems. “Ha ha ha, I can send this one out as it is,” she says, craftily to herself, e-mailing an animation to a production studio she hopes might take interest in her creation.
***
An old red trolley on wheels Hills found on the side of the road sits beneath the drawing table next to her computer. She wheels it out to reveal a large, rolled up piece of white paper sitting next to drawers filled with drawing and writing supplies. Unrolling the paper onto her table, she reveals a partial sketch of an apartment building that will provide the frame for a proposed art installation.
Hills plans to pitch her idea to a King Street park that offers $10,000 grants for artist’s original ideas. Retrieving a tape recorder from her bedroom, she presses the play button and continues her sketch. Sounds of voices asking, “Hello?” resonate from the tape player. The voices are selections Hills recorded at a prior telemarketing job when, in the last 10 minutes of each shift, she would mute her headset and record the reactions of people picking up the telephone to silence on the other end.
“Everyone’s reaching out for someone,” she says, remarking on the heavily accented voice of a Spanish woman from her tape. “In a city this big it may be hard to believe there is isolation, but there is.”
When she feels isolated, Hills seeks out others, the elderly in particular, whom she can comfort with her company or actions. This is the inspiration behind the installation, she says, a reassurance that you are not alone.
Shadowing one side of the apartment building, Hills contemplates placing LED lights and fabric in the windows of the full sized version of the apartment. Once she decides upon the design, she will place a continuously playing compilation of her collected voices within.
***
Hills cannot find her red marker.
She has changed into paint splattered jeans and a white t-shirt sporting a silk-screened image of Mexican painter, Frida Kahlo. A new painting she will offer to local galleries and cafés is her next project, but first she must find her red marker.
“I can’t find it because I use red so much,” says Hills, checking one of her red boxes labeled “Paint” before stumbling upon it in a pail of multi-coloured markers. She sits on her couch and begins to fill in the colours on a rendering adapted from her sketchbook. “I hate the colour blue,” she says. “It’s very cold. I’m all about the warm colours.”
Hills colours in an abstract heart that covers a nude woman’s lower body and wraps around her neck, her arms outstretched. Despite her love of creating, Hills admits it is sometimes difficult to part with her paintings.
“It’s like giving away part of your soul,” she says, shading the woman’s skin. She calls painting a very emotional experience but says selling her pieces provides inspiration to do more of it.
***
The two red boxes Hills didn’t use today are labeled “Craft,” filled with glue, sparkles and other arts supplies and “Things,” containing elastics, broken glasses, old film canisters and other odds and ends. They remain on the shelf as she carries a medium sized canvas to her drawing table.
Piecing together different sections of her sketch on the canvas, Hills is careful to copy her initial version correctly. She says her first drawings are made when she has all of the inspiration and she wants to ensure this is communicated in the final piece. She squirts paint on her palette and pauses to change a light bulb above her table to give her extra light.
Hills says one of the greatest parts of being her own boss is the amount of control she has over her day that allows her to work as much and on what she wants. “I hate compromising my time. No matter what I’m doing, this is what I want to be doing.”
She pours herself a glass of red wine and continues to paint.