Settling down to write seems to be getting harder and harder and I wonder why; is it the endless lure and distraction of social media, a shortening of attention span or maybe a fear that I have nothing worth saying in these serious times. More often than not, when the short days are iron grey and heavy with damp, it's because I have no new images to share and maybe you're as guilty as I am of looking mainly at the pictures and skim reading the text!
Tonight I've completed some Christmassy tasks, the last posting day has been and gone, so I've lit candles, loaded up the wood stove and built a midwinter writing nest.

Reading The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder to Nutmeg

This month I have been escaping the gloom ( literally and metaphorically) by retreating into the world of familiar wintery books from my childhood and also enjoying some magical "children's" books, which I often start reading when I'm working in the bookshop and then, becoming lost in the story, have to bring home to finish. Last night snuggling in bed to read Snowglobe by Amy Wilson I was so aware that this "comfort reading" is vital to my mental health (and well earned after a month of Haruki Murakami's giant brick of a book!). Re-visiting these stories is pure escapism and while I'm reading I can feel connected to the younger me, when I still hoped to become a pony or Sherlock Holmes or to find other worlds in the back of wardrobes (Ok I know, you know I still do hope these things but Im 51 now so shhhh, don't tell). It has become a winter ritual for me, ever since a weird, sad winter when I discovered the Moomins, drank a lot of Whisky and listened to a lot of Vic Chesnutt and was held together somehow (see posts from December 2009 for reference). So, am I the only one? What is your comfort read?

The light! Borrowdale in December

The reason these posts take so long and are rarer than red squirrels is that I keep looking back to check stuff and then go off in a daydream, "off on a tandem" as a colleague of Rupert's once said in all seriousness. So I just looked back at that winter of 2009/10 and all that sparkling snow, a twist inside of homesickness and loss. Something I miss about "home" in Yorkshire is the quality of the light and the big skies... But it's crazy to say that when I see pictures like the one above; Borrowdale a week or two ago, a day for soaking up the winter sun, hugging mossy trees and thinking about all the amazing and wonderful things living here has brought - new people, new places and loads of artistic opportunities which, if I'm honest, just weren't happening back home.
Last weekend I did a small event in Cockermouth with a group of women who run a plastic free market - dried goods, baking, floristry and eco cleaning products. As a final event of the year it was heart warming and encouraging; vitally for me it was about connections, I feel as though I am starting to know more people. Today I got a lovely email from someone I'd only met twice (once by the lake and once at the market) just saying how much she liked the lantern she'd bought and hoping my cold was better, it seems an exaggeration to say so but it brightened my day beyond belief. If you make any resolutions for 2019 let it be to reach out more and keep in touch with people, write more letters and make more coffee dates!

As well as losing myself in "childish" books I've been doing something else I loved to do as a child; making up imaginary scenes and drawing stories. These watercolour doodles are such a nice antidote to cyanotype and probably fit into all that "mindfulness" thing as I can feel myself relaxing as I paint. I'm not a painter though, there's already one of those in our family, but I'm starting to feel the same enjoyment I've felt in the past, just doing it for fun, for me. Anyway, if I can't ever afford a real little golden house with a fairytale garden I can at least pretend one...

Now it seems that I've forgotten to put the kettle back on the stove and I really do need a pot of tea. I've missed loads out, I've waffled and not even mentioned the exhibitions and the stuff I want you to buy from my shop and the stoat that has turned into an ermine and the window of the bookshop and the kitten turning out to be a boy and ... my New Year thing should be to write more but for now, where ever you are Happy Midwinter, enjoy the pause, look after yourself. The light will soon be returning and we need to make some magic spells I think because there's some worrying stuff going on out there.

ermine

Reading: The Clockwork Crow - Catherine Fisher
Prairie Fires- Caroline Fraser
Snowglobe - Amy Wilson

Emily's Rose at Haworth Parsonage.

It's blowing a gale outside, I can hear the rain sloshing against (and probably soon into) the windows, not pattering, sloshing, in great bucket fulls. It's the perfect night to sit with a cat on your knee writing a blog post but goodness it's hard to settle down to - oh I need a mug of tea, the fire needs another log, hang on while I check Instagram one more time... oh and I need to answer that message on Facebook... Despite a long conversation with my brother tonight, about how much time we all spend on social media, I've probably spent more time this evening looking at pictures of other people's dinners than doing anything constructive of my own. In the half silence of fire crackle and storm howl, now pinned to my chair by a sleeping demon, I have no excuses and no distractions and anyway this week was newsworthy.    

Tiled map illustrated by Angela Smyth.

Visiting Hebden Bridge this week felt very emotional for several reasons. Firstly I was delivering work to a lovely gallery there. I first heard of Heart Gallery in late 2015 when the town flooded in the same storm that devastated much of the Lake District (and eventually led to the loss of my job at a gallery in Keswick due to a drop in the visitor income that paid my wages). Many of the businesses in Hebden Bridge flooded including Heart and since most of these were small independent shops it seemed an even crueler blow. Dropping off my work in the bright and beautiful gallery on a sunny Autumn day, it felt like the culmination of a long journey and one of those weird things that happen these days, where you feel as though you know someone or somewhere because you've emotionally invested in their story online. I made sure to do my very best "Just a Card" thing and bought a copy of Elementum and a card by Ruth Thorpe before calling in to see Ed at Snug Gallery , another virtual acquaintance with a flood recovery story to tell (here I acquired a card by Julia Ogden and a copy of Uppercase). It's always weird introducing yourself to someone you've only met online, somehow implying you are a "person of great importance" among the billion voices but here's the thing - we can make real connections from afar and although parting with cash always stings when you don't have bundles under the bed, it also felt right to be spending it with love if that doesn't sound too cheesy. Ok, it sounds cheesier than melted cheese on a cheese scone but I don't care; the world is full of stuff and junk and pointless landfill (Sainsbury's plastic pumpkin anyone?) and all the places I visited in Hebden were full of ... heart, for want of a better word. 

Sunlight through the windows of Hannah Nunn's studio

So here's the second reason for being emotional... When I was at college we had to write a study of inspiring designer makers and I chose Hannah Nunn, who, I think, had graduated fairly recently and was just about to open her shop Radiance, showcasing her gorgeous glowing paper lamps. Hannah was generous and supportive in her replies to my questionnaire and when we eventually met, years later at BCTF, it turned out that she was actually pretty lovely in real life too. When I started making lampshades and filling in business planners about ideal stockists, Radiance was top of my list but... I didn't dare ask because I liked Hannah and Ffion too much to risk an awkward rejection! 
Anyway, knowing I was visiting Hebden Bridge at last I plucked up the courage to at least ask for some feedback and was given the news that was announced later... (please read it)

https://www.facebook.com/RadianceLighting/photos/a.191479537537613/2228510660501147/?type=3&theater

The shop is beautiful, the people are lovely ( not to mention all the other hard working designers and makers who they support as stockists) and what are we to do if places like this can’t continue to light up our towns? We'll all be poorer for the loss of them.  Hannah was kind enough to show me around her studio in a nearby mill which was wonderful, all sunlight and "tiny treasures" and luckily thriving away from the risks of the high street. I don't know what the answer is. We are all so used to things being relatively "cheap" because they are mass produced and ultimately disposable so of course handmade things seem expensive in comparison, of course they do, even if the person making them probably doesn't even pay themselves a minimum wage. Tonight, driving home from the bookshop, I listened to a radio programme about the Experience Economy which discussed the fact that people are choosing "experiences" over "stuff" but that one of those experiences can be the feeling of connection with a story. I left that northern town with a small bag of treasure, a lighter purse and a feeling I can't quite identify but that I know is positive - visual stimulation, creative inspiration, a sense of history and connection, something fizzy and hopeful despite everything.

Autumn sun

Have I rambled on? Is there space to tell you about the cat getting stuck up a tree and eating Hawthorn spikes ( we needed tweezers to remove them!) or walking around Loweswater in the first frosts of Autumn, hugging trees and sharing chocolate peanuts? I haven't even told you about visiting Haworth and seeing the tiny, tiny notebooks of the Bronte's.

I've been busy making new things to take to Kendal Craft Market at the end of the month and also getting distracted with a rediscovery of heat transfer disperse dyes, painted by hand and printed onto fabric. These work best on manmade fibres unfortunately but I've recently found a supplier of some recycled polyester made from plastic bottles which is much nicer than it sounds, so watch this space. Inky doodles have also resulted in these hyperactive hares. A repeat pattern (made digitally) that might work on fabric or wrapping paper.

Finally here is the Purple Pomegranate version of the little illustration project I was working on in September. The books are designed to be sent as greetings cards and come with envelopes and space to write a message.There will be a bigger version for the teaching of English to children abroad so I'm looking forward to seeing that when it's printed. I loved working on this, I certainly learned a lot and there's nothing quite like seeing something you've worked on in print. 

It's chilly now, the cat left my knee ages ago in favour of the radiator so I'm off to bed where I shall dream of inky hares and perfect pink roses, sunlight through seed heads and kittens up trees - but it's so late that you won't get this until morning. Have a lovely day. 
x

The frantic business of September, with all its overlapping exhibitions, drawing deadlines and Very Important Birthdays, is over and here I am on the first day of October, thinking about what to write while the new kitten fights sleep on my knee. Looking back I realise that I didn't write anything during September and the excuse for this is the fact that, with Cumbria Printmakers and Craftsmen at the Priory, there seemed to be almost continuous exhibitions happening somewhere and although the initial deadline for finishing my Ugly Duckling illustration project was September 13th, I had to extend it a little following the loss of my sketchbook and the week long migraine that followed. Then about 3 weeks ago this happened ...  

My son arrived one evening with a tiny wobbly monster who was barely able to get up the stairs .This cute, gift kitten has somehow been replaced by a large, spikey tiger with a ravenous appetite and dubious bathroom habits, in the blink of an eye. It's a full time job. We call her Nutmeg but more often her name is unrepeatable in polite company. As write she is kneading my jumper with needle claws and purring like an engine; it's good have company in the lonely barn again even if my legs look like I've been rolling in brambles and Rupert says I look like Action Man with the scratch on my face! 

Early in September as I was busy drawing ducks and swans and worrying about whether it was all looking ok and was "good enough", the bookshop had organised an event with the writer and illustrator Jackie Morris. I'm sure Grasmere must have been full of lots of extra lovely people that day because I was working in the bookshop and sold more of my cards than usual and had some really nice conversations about mutually admired artists and makers. Anyway, the evening event was very interesting and inspiring because Jackie spoke about how she had been told many times at school and later at art college, that she wasn't "good enough", that art wasn't a real job you could live from and so on, only to go on to be one of the most recognised and loved illustrators working today. She spoke about The Lost Words, working with Robert Macfarlane, and how the book has taken on a life of it's own in schools, hospitals and care homes, inspiring memories in older people and a new discovery of nature in the young. For me the admission that she didn't really know "how" to illustrate a book when she first started out, making it up as she went along, but also didn't really know what else to be, was very cheering as I wrestled with self doubt and worried about ducks. Could my Ugly Duckling become a swan? 

Jackie Morris paints an otter in Grasmere whilst reciting a spell by Robert Macfarlane. 

I feel as though I gained a lot of much needed confidence from my first experience of working as a real illustrator, working to a brief and getting paid! I know I could have finished on time if only I hadn't been robbed in Lanercost and as it turned out I was only a week late so I beat Crossrail, with justifiable delays! The Line and Verse exhibition in Grasmere was also really good for me with several sales and work is currently still on show at Upfront Arts Venue in Unthank, near Penrith. But for a moment I can indulge in a few lazy days, think about what I've learned and plan what comes next. 

The main event of September probably deserves a whole blog post of its own and I'm conscious that as usual I'm trying to play catch up and not doing justice to all the things I want to talk about. Last week I was in London with all my family to celebrate my father, William Tillyer's 80th birthday ...

[facebook url="https://www.facebook.com/WilliamTillyer/videos/2203301593327533/" /]

Film for BBC Look North by Sharuna Sagar.

We had a wonderful time, wandering around the Chelsea Physic Garden, having supper at the Chelsea Arts Club, testing out £1330 chairs at the Conran Shop, fighting our way on to tubes to get to the exhibition opening at Bernard Jacobson Gallery and generally enjoying some rare family time. The birthday party at the gallery also marked the opening of the fabulous exhibition of The Golden Striker and Esk Paintings and felt particularly wonderful in contrast to the Radical Vision opening in January when, unknown to most people, he was in the middle of chemotherapy and really not well. I'm sure he will hate me sharing this but the huge, imposing and beautiful painting at the centre of this new exhibition has been largely completed whilst undergoing chemo and dealing with it's after effects, visiting the studio daily and working alone without assistants (unlike many of his celebrated contemporaries).  I find this hugely inspiring and not a little daunting - how can I possibly live my life so single-mindedly and with such courage and determination?!

Flowers designed by The Mighty Quinn Flower Emporium in Bristol as a response to the Golden Striker painting. A gift from Sara to her Grandad. 

Bernard Jacobson, the gallery owner, has written a new book entitled "William Tillyer, The loneliness of the long distance runner", it's part memoir, part biography, part imagined odyssey.  I can't tell you how weird it is to read, having been part of the story, at least for the last 51 years. Again, it deserves a whole blog post and a careful review, maybe from someone more qualified and less involved,  but here is a bit I really liked...

"Hockney recording nature is like Paul McCartney writing opera. Tillyer recording nature is like John Clare recording nature. . Hockney's nature reflects back the colour supplements , Tillyer's is a Modernist mirror of Nature itself."

Well now, here at the bottom of the mountain it's time to return to my own search for a bit of creative fulfilment and also time to put on another jumper as I've got cold sitting here writing this. I'm making these boxes for some events taking place in November and also thinking about some new work for exhibitions early next year. I need to update the website shop and go outside for some air and exercise too... but first coffee!  

new adventures await...

Reading:  Killing Commendatore - Haruki Murakami