A little over a fortnight since my last blog post and I'm sitting quietly by the stove trying to work out if it's even possible to coherently share some of the ridiculous things that have happened lately and where to start. This is where being a proper writer would help... or if only I'd taken pictures as proof. Well you'll just have to imagine if you can:- the aftermath of the snowstorms, the heating oil arrived at last, the cupboards restocked with Marmite and bread flour and all is as it should be; except that as the snow melted and spring seemed to be arriving, the water went off. Much of the country had similar problems including Jackie Morris and the designer/shepherdess Alison O'Neil who both endured similar lengths of time with no running water (and electricity in Alison's case). For 8 days, while waiting for the plumber, we wrestled with the ancient pump (the water comes up from a spring near the beck and it had frozen) and the horrible tanks in the attic; lugging buckets up from the beck for toilet flushing and wrecking my plastic free intentions by buying gallons of bottled water. It was horrible, one trip to the beck was enough for me, I ached all over and the romance of rural life was hard to see. It shouldn't have taken so long to fix but the house is old and crumbling and the whole experience was incredibly stressful, dredging up memories of the last days at Snilesworth and making me militant about the absolute priority that should be given to making sure people all over the world have proper access to clean drinking water and sanitation. We take water for granted, especially in the Lake District and hardly ever stop to think how amazingly lucky we are. Water Aid do great work in this area, as I've mentioned before, so maybe I'll ask my landlords to make a big donation!As a side issue we discovered that there was a monster living in the attic. We'd heard him moving his furniture around in the night but whilst battling with water tanks and float switches in the terrifying attic, Rupert found the "droppings" of something evidently much larger than a mouse. Thankfully not rats, my friends assured me, but more weirdly ... weasels or stoats. Really?! I haven't been able to eat from the stoat plate since all our chickens got murdered when we moved here and now it seem the culprits live upstairs!
This house is connected to the old cottage next door, so we had a bit of sorting out to do in there too ( burst pipes, Aga issues etc) once the water was back on and I decided to put some of our washing up in their dishwasher since we don't have one. The cottage is dark and slightly haunted, having been empty for a while, but I'm never too worried, even when I realised that the front door was ajar when I went in to collect my pots in the evening- I probably didn't close it properly. In the back kitchen, loading my tray I heard a very strange noise and realised I wasn't alone. Shuffling , scratching, banging sounds that were obviously a brutal burglar nicking the collection of Beatrix Potter figurines, came from the front room and I prepared to meet my doom armed with some crockery. Creeping round the corner I came face to face with a tawny owl who was jumping up and down on the windowsill trying to get out. As I write I can hear the owls, they call constantly even in daylight and I love them but not upset ones in a confined space. As I edged forward to try and open the door the owl swooped silently into the other room and eyed me from the top of a wooden screen before hurling itself into the mirror over the mantlepiece, scattering trinkets and old photographs.We played this game for half an hour- I considered taking photos and wish I had now but I just wanted to set it free without getting it's talons stuck in me. Eventually the poor thing was so fed up of flying at the window that I managed to catch it (wearing an enormous pair of gauntlets that were lying around- it's that kind of place) and set her down on the gatepost outside, part of me wanting desperately to keep her. Away she flew, without a sound or a backward glance leaving me to recover from the shock. How did she get in, walking through the half open door or falling out of the attic after the plumber left a hatch open? Summoned by too many owl drawings and not enough flowers?
I feels though I've waffled on enough now, you probably had to be there, but anyway, it sets a scene. I live in a very odd place and I think if it weren't for my precious, occasional bookshop days, I would be going a little bit crazy by now. It's important to have a bit of human interaction and lately that has felt more important than ever.
When not fetching water or wrangling owls I've been drawing swans, preparing to send an image or two down for an exhibition in Bristol next month and being inspired by a folk tale based in Grasmere called the Hunchback and the Swan by Taffy Thomas , a local storyteller. I've just found this wonderful animation by Dotty Kultys based on the story today [vimeo 197521074 w=640 h=360]Isn't it great and the music too! Now I need to keep drawing because I have lots of ideas but they're not popping out how I want them too yet. Here is my swan, the Lady of the Lake.
Until next time. xReading: "A Line Made by Walking" Sara Baum Listening to : " TheBedlam Stacks" by Natasha Pulley ( audio book)
Flaming June has arrived in Cumbria, complete with snow covered tents on Blencathra and me wearing three jumpers as I write. I'm looking out at the newly emerged greenery ... yellow Welsh poppies, soft, half spiraled ferns , nettles and bluebells leaning almost flat; as the wind races down the valley the end of the house is the first obstacle on its way down from the mountains. In a small shelter sits a mother hen and two tiny chicks... I've had to put them in isolation because there was some dispute about maternity rights with three dozy bantams sitting on the eggs until they hatched. Now it's fingers crossed that the stoat prefers eggs to chicks....
I'm all alone again after a week of adventures; settling down to make a plan for next year's BCTF and working out if I can use any of the doodles and splodges I've been doing recently. If you follow me on Facebook you'll know that I had some silk printed and have been doing battle with a new rolled hemming foot to try and make silk scarves... much much more practice needed but what I'm hoping for is that eventually, 7 years after leaving college, I will be able to come up with a product that provides me with a methodical pattern to the day... something that is both financially worthwhile, creatively satisfying and stops me spending long parts of the day feeling directionless and self indulgent. Too much to ask?!
I've been enjoying playing with watercolour, ink and a little digital magic and was so excited to receive a special parcel from my dad last week which contained a little tube of "Caput Mortuum Violet" watercolour... following our musings on the colour of the fells a few weeks ago... now I just have to learn how to use it. Every day here in the Lake District I'm bombarded with little moments of wonder... the perfect colour palette of moss, violet and rock next to a waterfall, the grey Herdwicks looking like swiss army blankets with their red dye markings. Who cares if it's a bit damp and chilly ( actually this waterfall picture was taken on a very sunny day last week and I'm still itching from the sunburn).
Yesterday we walked around Rannerdale where we spotted many wild creatures amongst the bluebells ( mostly photographers rolling around in the blue looking for the perfect "capture") The previous day I had re-enacted a scene from Rogue Herries where the old witch is drowned below Grange Bridge... Canoeing from Rosthwaite to Keswick I tipped our boat over while trying to avoid being smacked in the face by a branch just near the bridge. I've never fallen in a river before and I'm not the bravest of swimmers so I'm actually feeling quite surprised today that I'm still here ( I floated so what does that mean.... )
Another adventure involved clambering ( my particular style of mountain activity... a cross between climbing, rambling and scrambling) up High Crag above Buttermere. Eating a sandwich perched high up in the rocks and emerging on to the summit like the first men on the moon. I'm throwing myself in to this new place while the daily battle against homesickness continues. In the end I didn't take part in Art In the Shed for the first time in 5 years because I couldn't face going back. Its easier to pretend this is an island and I'm not too great at water crossings!
Now, I'm going to research mugs and cards and how to roll corners on silk with loads of thanks to Emma from Temporary Measure who is a mine of information and helpfulness as usual. This bear and his friend appeared one day after watching the umbrellas in the street when I was at work in the gallery.
Reading: I just finished " The Gracekeepers" by Kirsty Logan ... read it, its perfect. Currently indulging myself with my new copy of "Oh Comely" and the lovely box subscription which included the bottle of drizzle shown above"Listening to: Elbow " Asleep in the Back" , Real World 25 and John Metcalf "Kites and Echoes" ( which has a William Tillyer etching on the cover)