In the same way that elderly couples grow to look uncannily alike, and that pets resemble their owners, so Jane Muir's sculptures capture some of her own persona. More clues are to be found in her bright and well-ordered studio. The barrel-vaulted railway arch is a generous space, its white walls a welcome sight as you draw back the industrial concertina doors and step from the comparatively dark yard outside. A huge art deco-inspired light illuminates the desk with its assorted lists of people to call, deliveries to be made, books to read and recently-found objects to interrogate. On this visit a Le Creuset frying pan from the sixties sits by a Rough Guide to Iceland. The few pieces of furniture in the studio have migrated here from junk shops in the form of irresistibly shabby design classics, or are swaps with other makers. A bright red former post office bicycle rests near a hat stand with wooden spoons for hooks. This large space is business-like and enchanting at the same time. In the course of researching this feature I wrote to several collectors of Jane's work. What was the appeal for them? Judging by the lengthy replies, her figurative sculptures give a lot of pleasure. Long lists of purchases included where they 'live' around the house: 'Breakfast room: The Ambassador's Cake, Plate of Peas, Lady with Pink Spotty Dress... Sitting room: Medium-sized Ginger-haired Angel, two Sandy Men, two Pea Pods'; 'Large and Medium Pig... on dusty shelves with other ceramic pieces...'; 'The Lady with the rouged cheeks is also in the drawing room... I see she has acquired a gold star around her neck.' One collector even takes pieces away on holiday.
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