I've locked myself into my little room again with a mug of coffee and a Mars bar. Its hard to be in the house at the moment because it's so dark and cool, shaded almost all day by the huge Sycamores that cut out anything but elusive patches of dappled sunlight and cover everything in sticky damp gloom; they are magnificent trees but I'm starting to look forward to leaf fall! The birds are singing very loudly and it feels as though Im in the tree with them. It seems as though it has been a wonderfully long summer - so many after work adventures that the days felt twice as long but still it's hard to "waste" a day indoors when I can see the patches of blue sky through the leaves and I know it's a perfect September day.
September brings with it memories of the last days of peace and security in my old life, of planting Autumn vegetables and planning for the next gardening year in my little cottage on the moors. I still wake in the middle of the night and wonder where I am; who I am even, not used to living under huge, noisy trees, just the big skies of the North York Moors. A couple of weeks ago I had another terrible shock when I found out that both the ponies we'd had to give away during the eviction were dead. Sadly the person who I'd trusted to give them a home, keeping them together, hadn't felt the need to tell me that she was having problems so that when Basil apparently "died in his sleep" she had Impy destroyed, claiming he was aggressive and dangerous. I think I will never know what really happened, she wouldn't give me more details and claimed she thought I wouldn't care. I'm sure she had her reasons but to me it was another slap in the face from the past, un-necessary and un-feeling. Impy was a part of our lives since he was a foal... a cheeky little bugger but never mean. I hate injustice, he was wrongly convicted and I find it so hard to accept (I'm fairly nervous about the Archers tonight too, I think I might need therapy if Helen Archer is found guilty!) Anyway, rest in peace little ponies; I'm trying to draw them but a childhood of drawing nothing but ponies is letting me down just now... I can't capture the essence of pony!
I've also been trying to capture the essence of Lake District Cottage but receiving some mixed reactions. This design is now a book, card, mug and a vase, available in my Etsy shop and I'd love to know what you think.
It was good to be able to re-open my shop at last; it had taken Etsy months to fix a glitch that repeatedly changed the spelling of Keswick to Koswick which may seem like a small issue but I have enough problems with spelling and punctuation without looking like I can't spell the name of the place I live! I'm really hoping to make a go of Etsy this time as however much I love my wonderful stockists, especially those that buy upfront and help promote my work, the nature and volume of handmade work means it's often vital for most artists to sell directly to the customer as well (especially if you happen to live half way up a mountain). Having worked in galleries and seen both sides I know that it is so important for artists and galleries to work together and have mutual respect... artists need real bricks and mortar shop fronts as well as virtual ones and galleries need to understand that artists aren't all dizzy, insecure divas which is why I love the #JustACard campaign as it attempts to support all parties and spread the word about the importance of keeping these small, often rural, businesses thriving. I'm really proud of the cards I design and sell... one of the main reasons for this is that I have chosen to have them printed by another small, rural business so every sale I make is also in a small way supporting another creative business in the area. Emma and her family have been so supportive and are as committed as I am to trying to keep things as eco-friendly as possible; if you haven't seen their website yet you are missing out, go right now and look...oh no, read to the end of the page first and then go (and look out for the card with me and my dad painting in the garden!)
Well, there is still time for me to take a quick wander up the valley before getting back to work so I will leave you with this image of Rupert half way up a rock face. He is away this weekend which is why I'm eating chocolate and writing instead of attempting to be brave whilst tied to a tree on an ant infested rock (not as kinky as it sounds). Last week we walked up fells with only deer and sheep for company, swam in inky smooth, sunset tinted lakes and climbed giant rocks where fear could be momentarily calmed by the sight of a perfect, delicate, fairy toadstool clinging to a mossy ledge (and I am still recovering from the midge bites that turned me hot, red and angry even before the Labour Party rejected my application to join... but thats another story) and it feels as though we live in the most special place despite everything. I keep thinking about the title of a book by artist Sabrina Ward Harrison- "Brave on the Rocks- if you don't go, you don't see" and just keeping going because turning around and trying to go back is often much, much harder.
READING: "The Outrun" by Amy Liptrot LISTENING TO: "Meet the Humans" Steve Mason
"Nourish yourself with grand and austere ideas of beauty that feed the soul… Seek solitude,” Delacroix. I've been wondering what exactly is keeping me from writing more frequently....or making new work for that matter and I can only assume it must be that I now have company in my rural idyll. Solitude is important to many creative people and even though I still have loads of time to myself, only work part time in the day job and have my own small space to retreat to, the balance has shifted now that Rupert is also living and working here. I'm spending less time wandering lonely as a cloud and more time going on mini adventures together after work; more importantly for the writing of this blog, I'm not sitting up all night drinking shed loads of coffee alone with the radio (actually its never been the same since Guy Garvey's Finest Hour got moved to daytime; I blame the BBC). I must find a new routine and the discipline to go with it because the reality of living in a draughty barn is that it's much nicer when there's company.
Daily routine and self motivation when you're self employed is a subject that fascinates me because to the outside world it can look like you're doing nothing and achieving even less... the idea of "working from home" often being a euphemism for laziness or sitting around in your pyjamas. I enjoyed the series of essays in the Guardian called "My Writing Day" which gave an insight into how successful writers actually get stuff done. In contrast my writing "day" means I uploaded the pictures for this post last week, started writing it, got distracted, had to go to work, had house guests and now a week later I have spent most of today looking at the rain, sorting old clothes for the charity shop, half starting an order for a gallery and suddenly deciding to spring clean the bathroom while my computer sits forlorn and resentful next to a pile of neatly cut out prints and calico squares for covering notebooks ( I am dressed though). I assume I'm not alone in behaving like this but it's hard to tell when you're halfway up a mountain and only have social media to compare notes with.
The summer seems to be flying by and some of the exhibitions I've been showing work in are almost over before I've had a chance to tell you about them. Despite all that I lost when I was forced to move I have to admit that this year has opened up so many opportunities for me. Until early September you can find these two pieces (and more) in the Byard Gallery, opposite Kings College in Cambridge! (when I was small I once accompanied my dad on a day trip to Cambridge where he was showing work at the Hobson Gallery; I remember telling him I planned to go to Cambridge, meaning the University of course but this almost makes up for my turning out to be more of a drop out than a high flyer!). There are also prints and jewellery in the Leeds Craft and Design Centre, cards and notebooks in the Leaping Hare Gallery, Easingwold and of course Cherrydidi in Keswick who have a small selection of eveything.
A couple of weeks ago I ran my second cyanotype workshop at the Greystoke Cycle Cafe. I have to admit I was dreading it as the forecast was for horrible weather and the forecast was right, it was dark and wet. In the end though, and looking back, I really enjoyed it- and so did they I hope. We managed to make loads of really lovely prints even in low light and with only a very small exposure unit between eight people; braving the weather to rinse prints under a gazebo with a hosepipe. Sometimes it feels a bit mad to be telling people how you make your work but it's been so satisfying to have students get in touch with images of things they've made since the course and know that they were inspired and excited by what they learnt. One of my students was an artist called Tracey Escolme who makes paper cuts, she is part of next month's C-Art if you are in Cumbria during September. A few people have asked if I'm doing any more courses and I'm hoping Annie will ask me back next summer; I'm also thinking about maybe doing some small half days here (mostly as an excuse to make coffee and cake) so do get in touch if you'd like to be added to a possible list of participants.
Have you noticed how I've been really good and not mentioned swimming? Well I have to just a little because I was pretty brave the other day and swam with Rupert to a little island on Derwent Water called Otterbield Island. Its not far and I won't be qualifying for the Olympics but it was a small breakthrough in distance and conquering fear- the vertigo of swimming in bottomless dark water. I felt a bit tired and slightly panicky at one point and had to rest on my tow float (I got it for this reason because it allows me a moment to pause and have a word with myself as well as making sure the launch doesn't run us down) but the water was mirror smooth and the evening was perfect, sunset and moonrise and "Nightswimming" by REM in my head. I also had a fun swim in the River Avon at Lacock Abbey in Wiltshire, with my daughter recently... very different to Lake swimming and one of the best days I've had for ages.; a miniature holiday that felt very special.
Anyway, the day today is not conducive to swimming today and it's almost time for tea so I'm going to do a spot of baking and build some extra layers of insulating blubber for my next outing! Here is a rare self portrait of me pondering solitude and creativity by the water a few weeks ago.Reading:- "The Gap of Time" Jeanette Winterson Listening To:- Nightswimming REM
I made myself a nest of velvet pillows, a strong coffee and promised I'd write while it rains the now customary July deluge outside. I think it's probably been the longest gap in my blog posts since I began 8 years ago but at least this gap has been a relatively good one and not caused by rotten boyfriends or evil landowners. Since April I have been in a strange place... simultaneously showered with positive comments and opportunities, whilst wracked with a deeper than ever lack of self belief and confidence. No sooner had I returned from British Trade Craft Fair with a book full of contacts and exhibition offers then I panicked and started looking for part time work, any work that was regular REAL work. I think it's called Imposter Syndrome and it's very common apparently, especially amongst us over sensitive "arty types"! Anyway, I ended up with a part time job at the Herdy Shop, some regular stockists for my work, some exhibitions and even occasional workshop teaching, so of course I've been rushed off my feet and become rich beyond my wildest dreams. That's a lie, I've been pinned to my chair by inertia on the days I don't work at the shop and bursting with frustrated creative energy on the days that I do; well I've always been a fickle creature. On balance though I have to say things have been moving slowly in the right direction since BCTF and really ever since moving to the Lakes. Things have been happening and nothing has stayed the same which is probably why I'm not always comfortable... I've been compared to a limpet, hard to shift from the security of my "home scar".
There is a little house on the side of Cat Bells which looks from a distance as though it is totally isolated and empty; in fact it's quite hard to see, framed by trees and slate grey like the mountainside (not like this little white cottage of my imagination). I wonder who lives there... more than anything else I imagine myself living there as I do with lots of the idyllic places here in the Lake District. A home, a place to dig and plant and light a stove for bread and coffee. It makes me sad to see empty places and the culture of property as investment, I'm a romantic idealist with no understanding of economics which is probably why I will never own my own home and will always wish I did. 
The best investment I've made this year was made on a muggy day in May when I had been feeling really low and anxious about returning to Osmotherley for Art in the Shed. Rupert was driving us through Ambleside when on an impulse I demanded we stop and look in the outdoor swimming shop and maybe find out about wetsuits. Before I knew what was happening we were stripped off and being politely squeezed into black rubbery suits in the tiny warm shop and trying not to panic (I've been trapped in changing rooms before unable to extricate myself from a too tight top so I was wary). Rupert, being shy, left his shirt on which gave the bizarre impression that his wetsuit had a collar and was maybe a little more formal than mine. Anyway, Pete from "Swim the Lakes" was wonderful and patient while we giggled and struggled and we left the shop £300 lighter with two big pizza style boxes containing our shiny new wetsuits and that giddy feeling when you've done something a bit naughty.It was over a week before we finally got to immerse the wetsuits for the first time (Art in the Shed turned out to be a great success and I was reminded -though I never really forget -how important my old friends are to me and that community of supportive women that I miss so much in my new life.) We were cautious, I'm the kind of person who swims at the edge of the pool and still worries that someone may release sharks through the air vents (blame James Bond and several bad swimming instructors in the the 1970s) The moored boats which looked so close suddenly seemed miles away. Swimming in the open air is so different ... everything is moving around you, clouds, trees in the wind, ripples on the surface and it feels as though you're not getting anywhere; only the mountains stand still. The wetsuits give you a strange buoyancy and it took me a while to realise that the best thing to do was relax, slow right down and just enjoy the sensuality of it, I'm doing it for pleasure not sport. Kelly Kettle tea and Digestive biscuits are part of the deal, taking part in triathlons is not.
Since the first tentative dip I am slowly gaining a little confidence. I'm not particularly fit and I'd like to be before I risk swimming too far but it is the test of mental strength that interests me more. In Loughrigg Tarn the shady bank, warm, silty mud and waving tendrils of water plants initially worried me ...what is below me? what if I can't touch the bottom? What if a swan gets angry? Fear of the unknown, of the dark, of trusting in your own abilities. It's a kind of vertigo and the only way I can deal with it is to concentrate on what I see above the water... I am surrounded by water lilies, yellow flag irises and reeds with clumps of slimy eggs like frog spawn (water snail? fish?). I am Ophelia in a Pre-Raphaelite painting, I'm no longer a dumpy middle aged woman in unflattering Neoprene. The water is holding me up and I swim further than before. In Blea Tarn we swam in the rain, mesmerized by the patterns of concentric circles as the raindrops fell. It felt ancient as though something from the ice age could still be lurking and I could feel the stroke of soft weeds on my ankles. Suddenly Rupert stood up, the water wasn't as deep as I had thought, the comedy of it lost as he told me the rock we had been aiming for was actually a drowned calf! Still it was exhilarating and somehow all the better for the rain.
And so, before you run away because you really didn't want to read about swimming, here is the reservoir above the house (I'm not sure if you're allowed to swim really but its our drinking water so...). Icy cold infinity pool and deeper than anything. I have walked past it when the surface was crystallizing to ice before my eyes and it was deep in the shadow of the fells but conquering my fear and swimming across its bottomless depths has been a real achievement for me. The picture below was taken by James from Cumbria House B&B in Keswick. He and Ruth joined us one afternoon for the comedy of "changing into wetsuits in public without revealing your bum". I was again transformed into a small black pudding while Ruth actually does look like a Pre-Raphaelite painting and is the most lovely person. making me feel welcome when I first came here and knew nobody.
Well, I've managed to spend all day pondering over this writing, no wonder I don't do it very often, it's time to cook and make more coffee. I promise I will write again soon with an update on exhibitions and stockists and arty things and I (probably) won't mention water once...Reading: "Dip" by Andrew Fusek Peters Listening To: "The Fog" Kate Bush