Some people hang a painting or two and call it a day. Sue Kreitzman filled every wall, table, corridor, and corner of her London home with color and sculpture until the house itself became one enormous, breathing piece of art. At 85, she does not just make art. She lives inside it.
- Kreitzman discovered art at 58 after full careers as a teacher, cookbook author, and TV chef
- Her Mile End home is packed floor to ceiling with pictures, sculptures, and curiosities
- She mentors younger artists and treats her home as a safe, creative gathering place
A Mermaid Changed Everything
For most of her life, Kreitzman was convinced she had no artistic bone in her body. By her own telling, she flunked every art class she ever sat through, from grade school all the way up to high school. So she built her life around other things. She taught. She wrote cookbooks. She cooked on television.
Then, at 58, while reviewing the proofs for one more cookbook, she grabbed a marker and drew a mermaid. She gave the mermaid a fish for a hat, and something clicked. As she describes it, the mermaid took charge. She never wrote another cookbook, and the drawing habit turned into a full-blown obsession that has not let up since.
A House You Can Walk Through Like a Gallery
Step into her Mile End house and there is no blank surface to rest your eyes on. Bright walls, hand-drawn figures, sculptures, and collected oddities cover nearly everything in sight. A housekeeper helps, and keeping it all dust-free happens, as she puts it, a little at a time.
She also has a curator named Jaime Freestone, who often stays over and helps keep certain displays in order, including a striking cluster of ancient Egyptian busts and doll heads. Freestone first reached out by email looking for advice and mentorship, and the two became close friends. For Freestone and others, the home has grown into a second home and a welcoming space, especially for LGBT people and anyone hoping to be mentored.
Neck Shrines, Goddess Phones, and Talking Heads
One thing Kreitzman is rarely seen without is a neck shrine, a chunky sculptural piece worn around the neck. She has made hundreds of them, maybe well over a thousand. In her back garden workshop, drawers and boxes are labeled with words like teeth and eyeballs. The teeth, she notes, are real. The eyeballs are not. She likes to remind visitors that she is an artist, not a serial killer.
Her materials often carry meaning and history. She works with pieces like an ethically sourced beaded collar from a female Kenyan designer, and she insists a wearable shrine has to mean something to the person wearing it. Nothing gets tossed together at random.
Out back sits the Museum Shed, marked with a sign that reads drama queen. Inside, near what she calls her throne, is a collection of bejeweled old-fashioned telephones she refers to as goddess phones. The idea, she says, is that you can pick one up when you really need help and reach something mystical, never quite sure who will answer. She adores that uncertainty. She talks about the Egyptian busts the same way, describing them as heads with souls that speak to her depending on the mood.
A Circle of Color
Kreitzman rarely sells her work. She would rather swap pieces with friends, so her home is a tangle of her own creations mixed with gifts from others. That circle keeps growing. Crochet artist Elizabeth Joseph, known for miniature furniture, met her while both were digging through a junk stall at a Spitalfields market where Kreitzman turns up for a monthly colour walk. Joseph now makes some of the bases for those neck shrines.
French artist Anne-Sophie Cochevelou, one of her mentees, credits Kreitzman with naming her an artist and helping her believe it. When she feels low or stuck, she visits and leaves recharged and ready to create again. That, more than any single sculpture, might be the point of the whole place.
Still Not Grown Out of It
Kreitzman describes herself as obsessive, bonkers, and extremely colourful. She works outside the mainstream, never trained, and figures it out as she goes. She remembers her mother visiting her first apartment, eyeing the bold colors, and predicting she would grow out of it. Decades later, at 85 and surrounded by everything she has made, Kreitzman happily reports she never did. If you have ever been told your way of doing things was wrong, her house is a loud, joyful argument for doing it anyway.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxQeGW9Ri6o
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