One night last month everyone in the Lake District, maybe even the entire North, looked up at the sky and reached for their phones and cameras; it was a sunset of such wide screen perfection that the drive back from wherever we'd been (no one could remember once the sky started showing off) took twice as long as usual while we stopped and started several times to admire the changing hues, the way the road turned rose jam pink, the Violet Cremes melting into Turkish Delight. It made me wish I could paint, really paint, in a way that had the same effect - wow that makes me sound  a bit like a megolamaniac but I just mean to say, to be able to create an image that really meant something and sent shivers up your spine in the same way a piece of music or an epic sunset can.Have you ever felt moved to tears by a painting or illustration? It feels strangly disloyal to pose the question, as an art lover, but while I famously weep at the end of almost every film regardless, feel physically shaken by certain music and get goosebumps wandering through glorious landscapes I rarely get this from a "picture". I feel as though I should, the way people say sitting in the Rothko Room can affect the emotions.Here's a still from something that made me shed a tear this week; LedbyDonkeys made a powerful and emotional statement, projecting still images and film onto the White Cliffs of Dover and Big Ben on the day Britain sadly left the European Union. It was moving and comforting. If you missed it you canwatch it here - a lesson in dignity and respect.Away from politics and biblical sunsets I managed to stagger to the end of January, complete the scary "financial" pages in my planner with £100 profit (does that mean get a pony yet?) and ride the waves of turbulence caused by the annual round of exhibition rejections. January is peak exhibition application season which is particularly tough as it's meant to be too early in the year to be feeling despair! On Penny Hunt's recommendation, to give myself a kick up the bum, I've started listening to the Art Juice podcast with Alice Sheridan and Louise Fletcher which is like having a couple of friends sitting at the table while I'm working, discussing some of the questions most people who make stuff have asked themselves... Is making art a selfish thing to do? Why do women in particular often feel guilty about making time for themselves to be creative? What if you don't have space for a studio and how do you define success?One thing I've been thinking about this past month is, does it matter if I enjoy working in several quite separate styles? You might have noticed a lack of cyanotype images on my social media posts recently and I think if I'm honest that might be why the likes of Printfest reject me every year. I probably don't come across as a master printmaker or a "fine artist" (there's already a super fine one of those in the family) because my website isn't minimal and arty; it needs to showcase the smaller things that I sell, such as cards and printed ceramics, because otherwise I can't afford to keep doing this. I realised the other day when I was delivering work to the gift shop of a lovely gallery, that what I really wanted was to be one of the people with "proper art" in the exhibition upstairs- that or the writer/illustrator of a totally gorgeous, critically acclaimed picture book that warmed the hearts of children, adults and small bears everywhere (yup, megolamaniac masquerading as a mouse!). It's a nuicence not knowing what you want to be when you grow up, when you're nearly 53, but the whole point of being self employed is meant to be the freedom, so for now I shall refuse to be piqeonholed.I'm loving pen and ink at the moment, obsessing about treehouses as reading rooms and desperately trying to work out if I can weave a story out of the random sketches, mismatched characters and doodles I seem to make at this time of year (oh how I miss those snowed in days on the moor top). I've started using Pinterest again to gather some thoughts but only in short, carefully measured doses as I'm already old enough that I jump at my refection, I don't want to emerge from a labyrinthine browsing session like Rip Van Winkle. Here's my new Treehouse Board, take care, leave a thread to guide you home...Hopefully some of these ink and watercolour drawings might lead to some cyanotype pieces as well,  in time for the events I'm doing later in the Spring, starting with a visit to the Hearth Art Centre in Northumberland in April for their next Art Fair.Well, it's late now; time to head to bed, where lately the noise of the wild wind wrestling with the giant sycamores has made it feel like being out at sea in a small boat. The curtains swaying in the breeze and the mysterious windy patch on the stairs all add to the impression that our house is more Jumblie's Sieve than Pea Green Boat...Until next time xReading: "Spinning Silver" by Naomi Novic and listening to "Things in Jars" by Jess Kidd.