Cinnamon toast and a large mug of tea by the stove are my fuel for this bit of writing. It's the last day of British Summer Time and at 4pm the fading light means I'm allowed to indulge my bear like nature doesn't it? My nest is cozy; everything outside is leaning slightly to the right, to North, shaped by the prevailing wind that funnels down this valley. Leaves race past and collect in drifts or scratch at the window like Catherine Earnshaw's ghost. I made myself go outside though, before building my den and I galloped down the valley in my clumpy boots with unbrushed hair, chased by swirling mist that poured through the gap on Robinson like milk. I should have taken a picture for you , I wish I could have painted it. Yesterday by contrast, was a day of such sparkling champagne light that it hardly seems like the same country !
Rupert is on an adventure in the Himalayas so I'm having to be extra self- motivated when it comes to my own outdoor adventures. Yesterday was easy, I packed a picnic, flask of strong coffee, my wetsuit and a sketchbook and set off to Scales Hill, Crummock Water because I'm greedy and I wanted Autumn trees, smooth swimmable water and mountain views ( all without having to walk uphill with a heavy rucksack). I walked and looked and breathed and braved a tiny dip (longer getting in and out of the wetsuit than in the water). I swam in little circles, using fallen leaves floating on the glassy surface as my markers, edging away from the shallows and trying not to think of the Great Deep; I wanted to float on my back to watch the clouds but October lake water in the ears isn't nice and after the cold water hives thing at Rydal in the "summer" I'm very careful. After my swim I sat on the pebbly beach eating sandwiches, looking across at the boat house with Grasmoor looking enormous behind it and wondered if I would ever dare swim that far; then feeling that I should be less hard on myself because I may not be a long distance swimmer or a Himalayan adventurer but after all I have been up Grasmoor the hard way and been brave enough to get in to a bottomless lake, on my own in October.Walking back to the car through the woods I suddenly thought, look at me, in all my outdoor gear, what's happened?! Who am I? And then I saw my shadow and it was ok because as you can see, I'm actually still a bear...
Things have started to feel good in the work department, dare I say that? The exhibition n Grasmere was disappointingly quiet but I sold a print and made some good contacts, while the Exhibition in Shetland at Bonhoga Gallery ( part of Shetland Arts) has already resulted in sales and lots of lovely comments online. The gallery is really beautiful and I'd never seen my work displayed so well... in that it was given space and light and not lost amongst all the other work, I felt like a real artist ( in times like these most independent shops and galleries need to use all their available wall and display space to maximise potential sales, so space, as in all things, is a luxury). It is interesting that almost all my online sales and commissions recently have come from Scotland and the Islands in particular; perhaps my love of the idea of North, however vague, really does come out in the work somehow?
The gallery staff at Bonhoga took this photograph of a hare lamp which made me very happy because I'd never actually seen one illuminated before and it does have an etherial, wintery feel to it whilst still feeling warm and cozy.
I've also been having some wonderful days in the bookshop in Grasmere; filling in on odd days and trying to avoid buying ALL the books. They are long days, especially with the drive, but so unlike any other work I've done in retail. Being in Grasmere there are some parts of it that are fairly unique, such as the customers wanting to know the best route up Helvellyn on a wet, foggy day, but there is a joy in solving a mystery for the person who says " I don't know the title or the author but..." or seeing all the kids during half term so keen to read real books, even in an age of Tablets and Kindles. Still, my book addiction needs to be controlled; I felt so guilty about spending money on a beautiful new Moomin book when the car needed fixing, that I didn't unwrap it for a week. Anyway, the Library is now doing well out of me too and after agonising for ages I've chosen to listen to Phillip Pullman's "The Book of Dust" on Audible rather than buying the hardback book. It will keep me company in the quiet house.
Now it is 6pm and the sky has changed through shades of bruise, made pastel by the low mist. There must have been a great sunset somewhere higher up but here it reminded me of paint water- I had to leave you for a moment to stand on the doorstep in the eerie warm wind. Anyway, it's taken me two hours to cobble this together, not counting the bits when I got up to put a log on the stove or put some supper in the oven. It's time to draw the curtains against the night.
Reading: Hag Seed- Margaret Atwood Listening to: The Book of Dust - Phillip Pullman (unabridged version) and ( in the car) Blue Aeroplanes "Your Ages" , I've always loved this, it's a painting in words.."in ten years everything will bleach to primer and we'll lie in the light..."
It's the perfect day for sitting under a blanket with coffee and a stash of biscuits, looking at more photogenic versions of Autumn than the one currently outside my window, all windlashed,rain sodden and dripping. As usual I uploaded the pictures days ago and then got distracted by stuff so that I've almost forgotten why I chose them. I also had to re-read my last post to remind myself of where things stood back then (September for goodness sake!).Its a shame I got distracted because I know I chose this title and some of what I wanted to write about when I was walking alone on the fells this Tuesday which happened to be #WorldMentalHealthDay. I'd been reading this story about the yoga teacher Michael Stone and trying to sort out all the tangled assumptions and conclusions I'd come to when I first read it; an initial thought that it is often those with insurmountable problems of their own who end up in professions where they are attempting to help others, physician heal thyself. His is a sad story of a struggle with mental illness that he felt he had to keep secret and my own lazy reaction, despite my own struggles with the black dog, proves that "Culturally, we don't have enough language to talk about this. Rather than feel the shame and tragedy of it, can we find questions? ... What can we do for ourselves and others who have impulses or behaviours we cannot understand?" (statement by relatives)So, as I walked I thought about how we're all just doing our best to navigate the waters and sometimes it's really not that easy- or easy to own up to our crappy navigation skills. We're little islands full of hopes, fears, dreams, histories and insecurities and we all deal with it differently. Rumble strip? Well you know when you go a bit off course on the motorway and there's that bit that makes it feel as though the wheel's about to fall off and jolts you into consciousness? I felt a bit like that last month and the rumbling told me that I needed to stop being quite so hard on myself for not being "The Most Successful Artist Ever" or "Having the perfect job that enables me to pay back the parents and bail out the kids" and take on board a bit of the new age bullshit... trying to be outdoors (a little bit) everyday, doing yoga, eating green things and writing honestly.
Meanwhile in the idyllic edited highlights of the year we went paddling over a mirrored lake, so smooth that it was possible to feel vertigo as it appeared as though we were actually in the sky. The surface tension of the water held downy feathers, bone dry as if still falling through air and it seemed to curve up and away from us like the meniscus on an overfilled spirit measure. I did feel dizzy and being in the middle of the lake in the eerie stillness I had half a thought that Rupert might be planing to throw me in or what if the boat got a hole or what if it got foggy and we were lost, what if...? On the journey back from the pub it was almost dark and bats flittered about hunting, I hadn't thought they would fly so far out over water. It felt like the last night of summer, like a night in a story and so in the dark, on the pebbly shore I jumped out of my clothes for a dip in the black water, giggling like a maniac.
Back on dry land the digital "painting" of the Jack Daw in the September blog post became a stencil for a print which will be at the Cumbria Printmakers/Cumbrian Sculptors "Poetic Vision"exhibition in Grasmere which opens on Sunday. It's going to include some poetry chosen by the Wordsworth Trust and poetry readings. I'm really honoured that Polly Atkin allowed me to use her book title "Basic Nest Architecture" for this piece and will hopefully be reading from her poem Jack Daw.After making my fingers very sore piercing and sewing the paper I have now found a proper tool for piercing holes which takes a bit of the pain away and makes the sewing part much more fun. I've got completely carried away on the more recent prints and it's part of my new plan to make less work but to spend longer on each piece.
I found the perfect poem to go with this hare print, just a little too late to be included in the reading on the night but it will be credited on the print and in its title "The Leap From The Lea" none the less, with kind permission. It is by the writer Dom Conlon, a Twitter connection and can be seen here 
Now you know the nights are drawing in and although it's only 4.30 pm the weather has made it feel later. It's time to make a cup of tea and bully the stove into life. It's going to be a busy weekend and I'm really looking forward to it. Hopefully this little person will visit again at some point...
She is a Goldcrest, called Regulus regulus or King of Birds and I've never seen such a tiny little fairy bird in all my life. She banged her head on the window which is why she sat for long enough for me to grapple with my camera ( not long enough for me to learn how to focus obviously) but happily she was soon recovered and flew away.
Reading : Autumn by Ali Smith and this blog post by Laura from Elsie & Nell which says a lot of what also I feel about the difficulties of being a small creative business.
Nothing specific happens but it suddenly doesn't feel like summer anymore; an awareness of the tiny changes in the smell of the air or the particular shades of green seems to awaken some ancient instinct to begin baking cakes with cinnamon, checking the store cupboards and worrying about logs (* I started writing this post about 2 weeks ago now so the logs have been delivered and stacked; one thing less to worry about). You imagine August to be all sunny corn fields, blue skies and ice creams on the beach but it seems more often to be jungly shades of Hookers Green as the shoulder high bracken completes its takeover of the fells and the trees balance darkly on the edge of Autumn. It feels like the moment when you just can't wait to get the decorations down and clear up after Christmas- anticipating the new season and the fresh inspiration it might bring. Now, a couple of weeks since I initially started this post, you can definitely see the first russet tones creeping over the green brackeny slopes ... like the roots starting to show through on dyed hair ( I pinched that line from Rupert who has been fretting about the weather after a summer spent getting wet and drying out soggy tents with bunches of NCS kids). The cusp of a changing season is such a special time and as I write I'm hoping for a bright crisp Autumn full of rich colour and clear skies, an excuse to bake comfort food and the smell of woodsmoke and fallen leaves.
I have no idea why it's taken me so long to complete this post; I can only put it down to a massive bout of inertia ( and some truly evil migraines) that arrived as soon as I got back from Skipton Art in the Pen... suddenly there was a gap in deadlines and I had a bit of a dip in confidence and motivation- despite both shows combined being a big success. I had some really interesting conversations with people visiting my pen, including several people who immediately "got" the references and shared the same passion for bears, and the stories associated with them, The Owl Service by Alan Garner and even one person who noted a Japanese influence (which I initially denied before remembering my obsession with Haruki Murakami novels). It was also really wonderful to spend time with other artists and makers, particularly Penny Hunt (whose beautiful Yorkshire Dales house I stayed at), Debbie Yare and Hester Cox - working in isolation, it is always such a relief to realise that we all share many of the same doubts, fears and joys that come with this job ( and life in general). I had a LOT of people asking me HOW I made my work (or explaining to each other without asking) and it's taken me these past few weeks to organise how I feel about that ... being naturally super friendly, approachable ( I hope you'll agree) and (a little too) open, it seemed rude not to share- and I did, in detail- but the more I was asked the more I wanted to say... but it's just a technique, don't you like what I did with it? Did you notice the drawing and careful composition? You wouldn't ask a painter how they made a painting or walk in to a cafe and ask for the recipe to their most popular dish without even ordering a coffee Sometimes I spent ages explaining after which the visitor declared they would order the chemicals online and try it themselves before walking off without even buying a card (of this more later). I LOVE sharing what I do, including how and why, but from now on I will be trying to be a little more businesslike and promoting workshops... if you want to learn about cyanotype, get in touch ( there will be cake).
I was really excited, on my return, to find an e-mail inviting me to be interviewed for the Just A Card blog. You might have noticed me going on about the campaign at various events, and on here, ever since I first heard about it, in 2014. It aims to raise awareness of the difference that we can all make by choosing to support independent shops, artists and makers by making even small purchases, such as greetings cards, which help keep people in business. Certainly most of my income over the weekend at Skipton was earned by selling cards...sometimes just one , but each one carefully chosen by the customer and each sale so very important to me. The combined card sales meant I could come home knowing I had made enough profit and would be able to continue doing what I love.
You can read my interview on the Just a Card blog on September 1st. Let me know what you think.
Hmmm, I'm sitting here trying to choose pictures to illustrate this post and getting cross because my silly iPhone photo-stream won't synch with my laptop. This means I can't share the picture of a fairytale swim I had this week. It also shows how annoying technology can be...except that I'm currently in love with my new Wacom pen and tablet which has reawakened my love of sketching and doodling and just playing with colours and lines and the stories in my head. As someone who loves simple, real things, bakes their own bread and likes to make jam, it feels a little wrong to be spending so much time with a "pretend" sketchbook when I could be using real paints and any of the gorgeous materials I have stockpiled since childhood. Is it cheating? Or is it playing and enjoying mark making ( which is the first thing they make you do at art school) ? Either way I'm having fun and it makes things much easier than my ham fisted drawing with a normal mouse or trackpad.
Now I'm being told my battery is low, it's 3 o'clock and I promised myself I'd walk down the lane to see if there were any blackberries. As usual I want to write more and I've left it too long between posts so I think I'm going to leave this one here and try to be more disciplined about writing in future. I need to tell you about that swim and the cold water hives episode and the absolute joy of it all.
If you subscribe to my website newsletter you will have got a message about this month's shop discount code and the fact that I'm donating a percentage of all web sales this month to Shelterbox who provide practical help in disaster zones and areas of conflict. Home and "shelter" are subjects close to my heart so please take a look at what they do.Until next time x
Reading : "The Remains of the Day" Kazuo Ishiguro Listening to: My treat this moth has been to subscribe to Audible so I'm currently 7 hours in to the 19 of Kafka on the Shore byHaruki Murakami.I listen to it in the bath while practicing my underwater swimming technique!