Tag Archives: Art

Intentional Dreaming – sugared almonds, paper houses & a year of colour.

I’m under my special blanket, by the stove, wrapped in 117 woollen squares knitted by my Great Grandma for my parent’s wedding in 1962 (which turned out to be a famously cold winter so I’m sure it was welcomed). I’ve been watching the snow covered mountain tops, behind the house, turn all shades of rosy, sugared almond pink, against a sky of ice blue, as the sun set; wishing I’d timed my short walk up the valley better and knew more about camera settings. Never mind, I did that thing we should all do more of and just looked and said “ooooh” and was “present in the moment”. Now night has fallen, the cat is snoring and my fingers have just about thawed out enough to type…but I feel a bit stuck if I’m honest. The pressure to maintain an upbeat public persona and maintain a stiff upper lip in times of adversity can be stifling (and dishonest in my opinion). Nobody wants even more gloom in the gloomiest month of the year but, for the record, 2018 so far has been … difficult. I’m fully prepared to be optimistic , it would just be nice to have a little balance for a change, a “good news, bad news” situation instead of a general trend towards worry, jumping when the phone rings and eating way too much rice pudding as comfort food. Anyway, here is a seasonal antidote, something really fun and absorbing that I found yesterday on the Makelight website. Emily Quinton and her husband Stef have developed an app. called #YearOfColour which extracts the colours from your Instagram pictures and creates really interesting palettes of colour, grouped according to popularity, time of year and so on. I found it fascinating and surprising to see the results for Witchmountain (where did all that sandy beige come from?!) and it’s a really useful design tool.

I’ve been tempted to do one of Emily’s online photography courses so that next time I won’t miss catching the mountain glow.In the meantime I tried to take advantage of some beautiful winter sunlight today to take a few pictures of prints which have recently come back from an exhibition in Keswick and need to be listed on my website. I noticed an ancient, painted over nail on the porch of the cottage next door so I made a little outdoor gallery and wrestled with reflections. What a beautiful afternoon though; the kind of air that feels like a cool drink and signs of spring everywhere.

 The exhibition had been in Keswick’s Theatre by the Lake and it was encouraging  to receive a few website sales this month, from people who had seen work there.
The bumpy start to the year and my decision not to do British Craft Trade Fair has left me feeling as though I’m drifting a bit but that’s not always a bad thing… who knows what opportunities and inspirations will be found wherever  that current takes me.

I mentioned the Dream, Plan, Do journal in my last post and last week I made a start on the first sections of the book which aim “to help you focus on your vision, future and values.” So here’s a confession… I couldn’t do it. I felt intimidated by my apparent lack of focus and clear direction after nearly 10 years of being “Witchmountain” but most of all I was unable to contemplate the question ” How old will you be in 2030, how about your parents, children, partner?”. As I say, it’s been difficult lately (the stuff that makes us human – love, loss, ageing …you don’t need to know the details) and I still have’t got used to being 50 let alone been able to imagine being 62! To cut a long story short I closed the book, retreated into another good story (The Night Circus) and decided to peek warily at the Facebook group that runs along side the planner instead. And here is why it’s sometimes ok to admit when things are crappy and your life isn’t looking like a styled Instagram shot; because it turned out I wasn’t alone. Loads of other people were saying the same things or asking similar questions, dealing with all sorts of bad stuff and supporting each other. Encouragement and understanding and practical solutions abound in groups like that, and yes, you can end up spending too much time Dreaming and not enough time Doing if you’re not careful, but I picked the planner up again and didn’t feel quite so alone (so thanks Patricia and the Dream,Plan,Do team). I got a similar feeling to the one I got last summer, packing up after Art in the Pen, which was that I was slightly awestruck by the resilience and determination of so many creative people who are usually juggling all sorts of plates, some with jagged edges, and without those people the world really would be eternally January.

In other news I gave away a lovely original hare print last month as part of my Newsletter Subscribers Draw and this month there will be another (nice) surprise for somebody so do subscribe if you haven’t already (and tell all your friends). I’m also going to be doing lots of other random giveaways throughout the year as part of my celebration of 10 years of writing this blog.
The little paper houses in the picture above are a FREE pdf download on my website in the Cards section of the shop where, should you be in the market for one, you could also find some perfect cards for Valentines Day 😉

Enough sales talk, I’m off to stitch tiny cross stitches into paper whilst watching whodunnits on Netflix.One final thing about that planner…I haven’t reached the page yet but I’ve gathered that people have to choose a keyword for the year. I have come up with two (because I fancy being self indulgent) they are RESILIENCE and CONNECTION, I don’t think you can have the first without the second so this is the year I want to spend more time with the people I care about, keep in touch with old friends and building connections with new ones. If you’re reading this then that includes you. Thank you x

Reading: “The Mitford Murders” Jessica Fellowes. Listening To : “How to Stop Time” Matt Haig ( on Audible) and “Charlotte Anne” Julian Cope

 

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Re-emergence

Here I sit on the 3rd day of the year, a nuthatch is attacking the bird feeder,  and apart from the kettle bubbling on the stove, the house is momentarily empty and quiet. I’m trying to gather some thoughts to cobble together this blog post but after nearly a month with no phone or internet, combined with the blurring together of days over Christmas, I feel as though I’ve emerged like Rip Van Winkle, blinking and out of time. Yesterday the phone was finally fixed (a giant battle with EE for compensation begins) and I am so joyful at being able to speak to my family in a warm room instead of shivering half way down the lane. I  missed Christmas as far as my work goes … no access to the website or ability to promote myself through social media has probably resulted in fewer sales,  but the radio silence has made me even more acutely aware that it is the connections we make with other people that really matter in life. Isolation can be a terrible thing and cannot be compared to chosen solitude. Anyway, all communications are working again now, I didn’t have to start training pigeons and the new year stretches ahead like a clean sheet of paper. I’m sharpening metaphorical pencils and preparing to make the first marks.

We had some sparkling days in December, when the path to the reservoir was studded with emeralds and rocks in the Scope Beck were encased and smoothed by shells of ice. Lakes reflected skies like water colours and kept reminding me of  my dad’s paintings, as I wandered about being over emotional and nostalgic – a side effect os the season.

I had that “end of term” feeling in December as the last of the year’s orders went out. It’s a good feeling, to have cleared my desk, done the tax return and temporarily downed tools but also tends towards panic as the pressure to build on this year’s successes grows. I made the decision not to do British Craft Trade Fair this year which means I’m going to have to work really hard to be visible (the internet outage couldn’t have come at a worse time!) and hopefully keep the galleries I’ve worked with in 2017 interested as well as finding some new opportunities. Art in the Pen was so good for me that this year I’m hoping to do a few more similar events as well as getting my act together with the plan to run small workshops here. I like the idea of hosting small groups, running informal “kitchen table” style workshops and finally being able to use my “Brownie Guide Hostess Badge” skills (endless cups of tea and cake) .

Really I should have spent the month of no internet working on a new collection of designs and pouring over my  “Dream, Plan,Do” journal ( setting “juicy goals ” ugh, no! ) but instead I retreated in to a book and it was the best thing I could have done. I’d wanted to join in a Twitter read along thing dreamed up by Robert Macfarlane and Julia Bird, the idea was to read  “The Dark is Rising“, a children’s classic by Susan Cooper, mirroring in real time the days described in the story, starting on Winter Solstice eve. I managed to find a hideous 1990’s copy in Oxfam which included all five books in the sequence ( The Dark is Rising is the second but they all could stand alone) and set about retreating from real life for a while. It was a shame I couldn’t join in with the #TheDarkIsReading discussions online but I feel as though it was perfectly timed ; descriptions of winter landscapes, dark lanes, ominous crows and battles with “the Dark” came easily to mind as I spent many hours standing alone in the pitch dark and bitter cold trying to make phone calls!  There is something comforting about reading books associated with childhood and I raced through all five volumes, able to briefly forget my worries. It reminds me of the winters of 2009/2010 when the heavy snow meant enforced seclusion and retreat (on that occasion in to  Tove Jansson’s Moominland Midwinter) ; I think we all need this escape/hibernation from time to time and it has left me more able to face the January chill and the uncertainties of another year so thanks for the prompt Robert and Julia.

 

Goodness, the fire is a disgrace; despite frantic wood collection and much sawing by Rupert and his brother over the past few days (the woodpile got wet when the basement flooded last night during Storm Eleanor). My fingers have gone numb. It’s time for me to think about supper and finding something dry to burn… or another jumper…

Happy 2018 to you and thank you as always, for reading . This blog will have it’s tenth birthday in April so there will be things to win and tiny celebrations. For now I will leave you with this “Best9” image that seems to sum up 2017 in all its beautiful shades of blue, green and grey.

Reading; “The Night Circus”  by Erin Morgenstern  Listening to: “How to Stop Time ” by Matt Haig ( audio book) and trying to forget the hours of Christmas tunes played in a loop by EE customer services.

“But there is always a November space after the leaves have fallen…”

Dark nights and solitude- apart from a sleeping cat and a humming wood stove- are just the right conditions for writing introspective blogs and getting lost in wandering tunnels of thought. I’ve had quite a few magical , seasonal experiences lately but it’s funny how, sitting here wondering where to begin, things suddenly surface that I hadn’t consciously dug up. It can take me ages to write a few lines because I keep half remembering things and looking back at old posts to see what I was thinking about in other Novembers, other nights by stoves; times when writing about my day seemed so trivial in the face of world events or the guilt/ frustration at being ok, but feeling not ok, made writing a personal blog seem self-indulgent (well so it is) and even embarrassing. This week there have been more shootings in Texas, half the world is discussing climate change in Bonn and the rest are chucking plastic into the oceans, forgetting that there is no such thing as “away”. It’s easy to be overwhelmed , stunned into silence and I’m feeling uncomfortable because what I wanted to write about was the water and the stars and and maybe even try to sell you some cards. I’m going to hold on to the naive idea that sharing some beautiful, joyful things somehow leaves a tiny bit less space for the evil, negative ones, I hope that’s ok? Just for now while we keep looking for answers to the bigger things?

My fuzzy picture and this superb one by James Kirby were taken on the last weekend in October when I dragged myself out of my nest, with a tin of warm-from- the- oven banana bread, to take part in a Halloween swim in Derwent Water organised by Suzanna Cruikshank . I didn’t know anyone taking part, I only knew Suzanna in the virtual world, it was cold and I’m shy but it was more than worth the effort. The jetty at Ashness was all decorated with fairy lights and tow floats with torches inside so it glowed beautifully as the light faded and we shivered in to our wetsuits . When it was really dark and everyone was ready we tiptoed in to the black water with our illuminated floats and glow sticks and swam out into smooth icy water. In the photographs there seems to be a woman with my colour hair and many, many chins, looking like an overstuffed inner tube but I have no idea who she was, I was too busy drifting in the dark being a polar bear or maybe a water spirit.  The Great Bear in the sky above us and the half moon in the trees towards Watendlath were the perfect finishing touches. I thought I’d be scared, too cold to use my hands or unable to keep up but the whole experience was quite gentle and atmospheric- much easier to forget about the DEEP and possible (probable) monsters, when you’re in the dark, quietly chatting to someone in full halloween makeup and a miniature top hat. I had such a good time and though I will never recognise the people I shared that experience with again ( face paint/pitch dark/ brain freeze)  I don’t think any of us will forget it. I suppose in its own way it was a kind of virtual reality chat room and joking aside there is something almost spiritual about being in those elements, in the dark – celebrating the change of seasons, and the beginning of winter.

Yesterday after 4 days of migraine ( not connected to the swim) and wondering if I might die in the night and be eaten by the cat, I stumbled up the lane to stand in the beck hoping the cold would do something to shift the headache- I think it did a bit but it might have been all the pills. Migraines really are peculiar things ( I’ve had cravings for cinnamon lately as well as Brinjal pickle sandwiches- symptom or cause?)  and the moment when you realise it’s leaving is such a relief that there is an almost manic burst of energy. I walked around the valley, being shouted at by a territorial wren who followed me for ages, hopping along the drystone wall beside the path. My camera ran out of batteries so I just stood and looked at all the fields striped and cross hatched with long diagonal shadows, the low sun painting the fells orange and sending all the craggy bits into high contrast, like an over edited Instagram filter. How to capture that in words or paint or pixels? I certainly don’t have the skills. Anyway, it felt amazing to be alive again so I made cards, lined cupboards doors with recipes from the Guardian, sawed some wood, wrote letters and listened to Northern Lights and the Book of Dust until late in to the night.

I’m pleased with the cards, they come in little boxes of 10 and are wintery rather than christmassy so hopefully much more versatile – I like cards that make you want to keep them, use them as bookmarks or tie them up in with ribbon in a box of secrets, not the sort chosen in haste and sent out of duty, just to be recycled in January. You can find these in the card section of my website.

I’ve been to post orders today ( including this handsome owl)  and changed my third wheel in just over a week. I think my car is testing my self reliance by waiting until Rupert is in Nepal before getting a puncture in 3 out of 4 tyres. It’s made me realise how important it is to know how to do these things and my blue curses and fury today were tempered by a little smug self confidence in my own abilities. Anyway, the novelty of my new skill has worn off now so unless F1 want give me a pit stop job I’ll be very happy never to have to change a wheel again thank you.

It’s been a rambling, mash up of a blog post and I don’t blame you if you left to put the kettle on hours ago. I think I have in mind the fact that 10years is a long time to be sending these musings out in to the world and the way I feel about it has changed, does change… ten Novembers, it’s not surprising really.

Enjoy November, its brittle days and long nights- time to read and listen and dream.

Reading : Hag -Seed – Margaret Atwood   Listening to : The Subtle Knife – Philip Pullman

Water, Trees and Make Believe

Last week began with two day’s wonderfully frantic, bank holiday bookselling at Sam Read’s Grasmere and ended with a magical walk through ambrosial woodland; complete with red squirrel and iridescent purple beetles (and, less romantically, an evil sheep tick which wasn’t discovered until bath time!). In the middle of the week I took a spur of the moment trip to Bristol to visit my daughter. We decided that we needed a bit of ancient perspective on recent events so we drove to Avebury, always a favourite place since the children were small, to wander around the stones barefoot and invent our own ritual for peace, love and good luck, which involved making a charm out of bits of found wool and flowers to hang in the Clootie Tree. The tree was festooned with ribbons, shoelaces, pieces of string, bells, paper notes and one or two “natural” offerings like ours. There’s a long tradition of this kind of “wishing tree” in British folklore and it is also interesting that the practice is found in some form all over the world. I thought the tree looked beautiful and it felt very serene sitting underneath in the baking Wiltshire sun, while some of the charms jingled and flapped gently in the breeze. It’s a fine aesthetic line though…is it harmless decoration and votive offering or unsightly,non biodegradable litter? I guess it’s down to personal opinion but  I found an interesting point of view on this blog and feel happy that our magic charm won’t cause offence as it was entirely made from found natural objects and has probably blown away by now – I just hope it works and brings us a bit of good luck.

Wiltshire has been part of my life since we lived there for a year when I was about 11 (you can see the funny little etching I made when I lived there in this old post) It’s funny to think that it is now Sara’s “home” and my brother has lived there for over 20 years too.

The Wiltshire landscape is such a contrast to the Lake District, with enormous skies and smooth rolling hills dotted with isolated clumps of trees- sacred groves and mounds- and in my mind it is always summer and we areaways slightly too hot!. Sara and I swam in the river at Lacock again (shoals of tiny fish, fresh water mussels and damsel flies but also a lot of litter and still burning barbecues which breaks my heart) and also treated ourselves toa swim at Bristol Lido ( my birthday present ) which made me very happy. Another version of me- the one with the money and rosy stone villa in Clifton- could quite happily live in Bristol, and spend my days down the allotment growing vegetables, before an evening swim and tapas at the Lido. It’s fun to pretend.

Back in the mountains the rain has returned, which in a way is good because it means I have no distractions from work. I really have got to start thinking about how much work I will need for Art in the Pen next month and how I’m going to display it. Everything needs to fit in to my ancient VWGolf and be easy for me to construct on my own with a dodgy shoulder and those wobbly heirloom ladders I’ve mentioned before. I got myself a credit card reader specially and keep meaning to test it by charging Rupert for his supper but instead I get regular e-mails from iZettle along the lines of ” we notice you haven’t accepted any payments yet…can we help?”- well yes actually, I want to reply, you could buy some artwork thank you very much, just a card would do 😉 If all else fails I’m going to batch bake pizza and cakes to sell to passing walkers; I even have a sticker that says which major credit cards I accept, it’s like playing shops!

Some new prints have emerged including the Fell Pony, which is actually my friend’s pony Rocky, and more owls with various bits of added stitching. My adventures cyanotype continue with no two days or two prints the same. I sometimes get disheartened when I struggle to achieve the same results in each print, as you might if it were Lino printing or etching for example, but I’m slowly forcing myself to accept that the beauty is in the variability and that is what has kept my interest in the process. As part of Cumbria Printmakers I’ll be taking part in an exhibition at The Witham, Barnard Castle, opening on the 22nd June. The exhibition will include lots of information about the techniques used by the group members and the unique way each person works. Cyanotype seems to be very much in vogue at the moment, with some wonderful examples and experimental techniques popping up as I browse Instagram; I really do have to keep reminding myself sternly that it is just a tool that each person will use differently and smack down that doubting voice that keeps telling me others do it “better”.

Now it’s time I went to retrieve the print I left soaking in the bath and try to light the fire because unlike this picture of Castle Crag with velvet fields and blue skies, today is so wet I couldn’t even get out of the door and Rupert has been canoeing with a group on the lake so might need to dry his socks…

Reading: Ernest Journal Issue 6    Listening To: a leaking gutter overflowing into a galvanised watering can ( any music suggestions welcome…)

Only Numbers

I got a notification yesterday from WordPress congratulating me on NINE years of blogging! Today my writing desk is the bench behind the house where I’m baring my pasty limbs for the first time this year and dazzling the birds with their alabaster hue. Its not peaceful out here, it’s a riot of activity and sensations – blazing sunshine, blustery wind battering the trees and blowing sycamore flowers on to my keyboard, birds seeing who can sing the loudest and the scent of bluebells, sappy green ferns and azaleas.There is a squeaky branch somewhere that sounds like the horn on a clown car and a helicopter circling the fell; I know I’d be more comfortable inside but it’s dark in there and we people of Northern Britain tend to panic that the sun will never shine quite like this again and so across the land pale people are turning rapidly pink ( “like Strawberry Mivi’s”  Rupert likes to say).

Since I last wrote I have become 50. It was all pretty traumatic because I haven’t really accepted adulthood yet and milestone birthdays are an introspective time for everyone aren’t they… am I where I expected/hoped/planned to be in my life, what does the future hold, unhealthy comparisons with others and of course a dose of guilt for good measure because I’m here and others are not. Not for the first time I realised that what miss more than anything is friendship and most vitally the friendship other women who have known me as a young woman as I enter a new phase in my life- our lives. Anyway, some pretty lovely things happened too and once I’d stopped sulking like a baby it all seemed like a fuss over nothing.

My parents had arranged for us to meet them in Morecambe so that we could stay in the Midland Hotel, an amazing Art Deco building that I last saw when it was a derelict ruin in the 90’s (when I went to a WOMAD festival in the town). I thought they were mad. Morcambe is not the Riviera of the North but maybe it should be… the views across the bay to the Mountains were breathtaking and the hotel had been beautifully restored so that it felt like being in an ocean liner. Lying in bed I could only see the sea and sky (and Poirot which we had to watch because an episode was filmed there). A favourite detail was the Eric Gill map mural which is really very special and made me feel very sentimental about the Lake District. We watched a film of the town in it’s heyday and in particular it’s huge open air pool which has since been filled in: it seemed like such an innocent time, before I suppose air travel made holidays abroad more appealing and the idea of sunbathing on the North West coast less so. The legacy of our night at the Midland has been that this song, from the vintage film, has been stuck in our heads to the point of madness… listen at your peril!

Back home it feels as though the year is on fast forward and while I’ve completed all the wholesale orders from BCTF I’ve now got to start working on some new pieces for the exhibitions I’ll be sending work to later in the year as well as Art in the Pen which is in July and August. I bought myself an A3 printer so I can now make some small affordable prints as well as making digital transparencies for my cyanotypes. Lots of fun and experimenting and hopefully some sales to keep the wolf from the door.

This birdhouse design started out as a big A1 size sketch I did of the nest box outside the window. I taped the paper to the glass and forced myself to draw even though I kept having to walk away and drink coffee and have words with myself about motivation and self confidence, I think it shows that despite feeling at the time as though the drawing was rubbish and that I was useless and stuck in a rut, the end result was really satisfying. I know I need to learn from this and the lesson is “draw more and don’t be so mean to yourself”.

Here is the original sketch and my attempts to make a garden …

Well now the sun has moved around the house and the goose pimples are making me look like an anaemic hedgehog so it’s time to go inside and make some coffee… or maybe I just need to go and admire the way the light is filtering through those ferns up the lane…

May is such a beautiful month.

Reading: ” The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper” by Phaedra Patrick ( a lovely surprise random act of kindness from my friend Leti) and a book about th Midland Hotel.

Setbacks and Sideways Stars …

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Today I have spent quite a lot of time standing next to the wood stove with my hands on the tin kettle, trying to warm them up enough to type or attempt another cyanotype print. Cold paws are really upsetting when you want to do things with them other than cradle mugs of hot coffee or rest them on the smooth kettle which radiates heat like a warm, bald head. I know I should go outside and brave the icy wind and occasional snow flurry so that I feel warm in contrast on my return… but my outdoor motivator is in Scotland doing winter mountain things and, since I have the house to myself, the plan was to get a lot of work done. Cheerfully, this blog post is about work, vulnerability and failure… because I recently heard someone on the radio say something along the lines of ” Success teaches you nothing, failure is valuable because that is how you learn”.

love owls design by Kim Tillyer

Perhaps it’s something about January and February … all the muses are stubbornly hibernating and those over optimistic resolutions made in the warm flush of New Year seem forgotten, especially in the disturbing dawn of the Trump era. For a long time – as long as I’ve been keeping this blog/journal/thing – I’ve been conflicted about the need to present a jolly, polite, professional public face, so that I might sell work/get a job and pay bills, and the real desire to share the gritty, uncomfortable bits because they are real life, they are the “cracks that let the light in” according to Leonard Cohen. I’ve talked about it before… the fear of over sharing, of being to open, of being the one who doesn’t realise their skirt is tucked in their knickers until they get home from the party. Anyway this week I had the rare treat of spending a lot of time with other artists, in various real life, coffee -and -cake situations. Lots of talking and sharing, encouraging and admitting to hopes and fears as well as comparing the realities of working days and financial concerns lurking behind the forced grin of social media profiles. I also read this wonderful blog by The Pale Rook which I only hesitate to share because it’s so good you’ll probably forget to come back and read my jumbled offerings.

Tree House

Here are some of the things we asked ourselves (in the context of our creative practises) … if you had a million pounds to invest and guaranteed success, what would you choose to do? If you didn’t have to think about selling your work to make a living what kind of work would you make? Is it harder for women to be artists in a single minded way or are we hobbled by some weird domestic guilt that persists even though we can apparently “have it all”? and even the dreaded question “are you an artist?”

Well I didn’t say there were any answers but in having the conversations I reflected on how I feel about where I am at the moment. In a world where there is too much of everything (except peace and kindness) and a bombardment of visual images from all directions, is there room for me and is it important to have a message – are the “decorative arts” just as valid?

from the winter garden

And so to failure… in an upbeat way. Have you ever had a cup of Yogi tea? The teabags all have little words of wisdom on them and the one taped into my planner says “Share your strengths not your weaknesses” (which may contradict everything I just said but never mind this isn’t a dissertation) I’m writing this down so that I don’t forget this lesson … it is strength that takes you back to your work over and over again, despite setbacks and minor disasters; what makes artists weird and superhuman is that they don’t stop, and can’t even if they wanted too. What is visible to the outside world, whether it’s a masterpiece of modern art, a book of poems, a hand thrown pot or a greetings card with a sketchy fox on it, is only the tip of a huge iceberg. Under the surface are a thousand failures, experiments with technique, frustrated walks when the landscape seems to taunt you with your lack of ability to capture what you want to say. Days when the coffee tipped on the drawing board or, for me this week, when a whole batch of prints on fabric washed completely away for no apparent reason leaving me with cracked dry hands and a pile of soggy calico. A whole day’s work crumpled in the sink, a new idea potentially on the scrap heap. I beat myself up and feel like a useless creature, tell myself nobody else is as hopeless, look at other people’s beautiful flawless work and weep…  but the next day I’ll do it all again, solve the problem (a batch of calico with a coating of some sort that reacted with the cyanotype chemicals) and try to take heart from what I know to be true; it takes a kind stubborn courage to keep putting yourself through this. That is why creative people, in all disceplines, are a valuable asset to society, even when they keep odd hours or struggle with tax returns or appear to be constantly barking up the wrong tree …they are the ones who look at life sideways and glimpse the stars you can’t see if you look at them directly.

Jump for Joy Etsy Greetings C

And so, today instead of feeling guilty because I haven’t made a print or finished editing the catalogue for BCTF, or sold the week’s quota of cards on Etsy, I’m going to accept that sitting by the fire on a freezing Sunday in February is perfectly acceptable thing to do.

Reading:-“Swing Time” Zadie Smith ListeningTo: A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett on Radio4.  Inspiring Websites: Two of the artists who I spent time with last week were Penny Hunt and Jane Carlisle Bellerby

 

A Week of Rainbows

“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” this quotation from “Anne of Green Gables seemed like the perfect opening line as I sit here musing about Autumn and October for the 9th year of writing this blog. The week began with the most perfect Autumn days, the kind that leave you with that chilly, fresh, energised feeling that I’ve only experienced before after emerging from a perfect swim in cold water… or a certain kind of bubbling, chemical induced excitement which I’ll pretend I’ve only read about. The air feels and smells different and it’s quieter here now that the summer is over; it’s a golden time before the winter begins. I’ve been taking stock, looking back at previous Octobers and thinking about the future.

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The week was especially special because I had a pretty magical day out with my son. Normally whenever Jake visits me here in the Lakes it’s raining but this time it was warm and fizzy with light and colour. We drove over to Ullswater and Aira Force which I’d never seen before; it was beautiful – beams of sunlight through amber ale coloured pools, diamond droplets caught on moss and shifting rainbows hovering above the falls. There were also lots of acorns which I find it hard to resist childishly stuffing my pockets with when I’m out walking, but Jake told me I had to leave them for the squirrels (who were sensibly hiding from the tourists).

drawing

Ae well as wandering about constantly marvelling at the wonder of this place I’ve found myself living in I’ve been busy preparing work for a couple of really lovely galleries and their winter exhibitions. A set of cyanotypes with embroidered details- including this owl- went of to Emporium Gallery in Lichfield last week and tomorrow I’m off to the big city of Lancaster to deliver work to Arteria for their Hygge exhibition. As my  three month stint as guest artist at Cherrydidi in Keswick comes to an end I’m hoping to fill the gaps by really concentrating on my online shops which now include Artfinder for framed and mounted originals.

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Now, the cat is beaming messages at me about something ( probably biscuits) and Rupert has suggested I meet him from his cycle ride at Crummock Water with the wetsuits so I’ll reluctantly leave you for now (and next time I’ll let you know whether swimming in a northern lake after sunset in October was a good idea… it doesn’t feel tempting from my cozy velvet cushioned nest just now). x

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Listening to : Actually I couldn’t listen in case I got cross but I sent an e-mail which was read out on this radio programme about evictions. I also listened ( and danced about) live to the Carl Cox session from the closing event at Space which felt odd , alone in my house but connected by the magic of internet!