Having some fun
Yesterday I found a few old maps in one of the charity shops in Witney. Most of you know I tend to rip apart, destroy, repurpose old maps, books, letters...anything actually. (Don’t worry, I would never destroy vintage or valuable documents.)
I started with this 1980 Ordnance Survey map. I love these because they tend to be B/W and lovely to draw on.
There are 18 really good useable panels between the folds.
My thoughts are this map has the possibility of 18 little Christmas paintings each sent to friends as little prezzies.
So far I’ve got three mistletoe and three holly paintings. Stay tuned for more.
Done with pencils, watercolour pencils and ink.
In Witney...a market town morning
I love shopping in Witney, the little market town nearby. It’s really come as you are. Just finished mucking out the horses? Great, so have 50% of the people here, muddy wellies, jodhpurs, macs. Lunch break? For sure. Children in school uniforms, business people in their smart suits, it’s all good.Let me tell you something though. Shopping while jet lagged is never a good idea. Shopping while jet lagged in a country market town at Christmas is probably the worst idea ever. Thank goodness it wasn’t a market morning or I would never have got out of there.
Actually I usually just pop into Witney, pick up groceries and pop right out, but today the store fronts were so shiny and sparkly and so full of lovely Christmas goodies that I took forever window shopping.
(Got to go back to Lakeland for those cute salt and pepper grinders.)
Took a little break at Costa, (the Oxfordshire equivalent of Sbux), and had a lovely London Fog. The special drink of the season is Black Forest Hot Chocolate. Couldn’t you just die?
Then on to Waitrose for groceries. I’m completely addicted to the Waitrose brand and who wouldn’t be with these wonderful labels.So easy to whip up some lovely French lentils…
with some grilled veggies …
and pick up some of these cute mini marshmallows for hot chocolate for desert. And, of course my favorite Country Living magazine, December issue.All set, now to drive home.
Free advice...no qualifications…great combo!
Occasionally I’m overcome with fear.Some little demon of despair perches on my left shoulder, drags his fingertips across my heart and utters wicked things like, “You’ll never make anything interesting. This art of yours is nothing but a hobby and it shows.”I try to suppress it, but it rises to the surface like bubbles of air in a tar pit.
The only way to overcome this smoky little demon (and the things he whispers in my ear) is to take him in my hands and turn his ugly little face toward the light.Then I make something and try my very best with it. Sometimes I fail and sometimes I get it just right, but either way I have to try my very best. And everything is good practice.
I’m not good at giving advice and even worse at taking it but the best thing I know is to try not to let fear hold me back.So be a brave soldier and carry on. Face it head on, dismantle it and reckon with it however you can.
It only feels malevolent. In reality it can't hurt you because it’s imaginary in every way. :)A cow parley seed head, common spindle branches and pages from an old dictionary fashioned into origami stars. Humble materials, good practice.
And she's back!
Do you ever do this?Do you ever have to face a trying situation and look forward to a day ahead when you know that situation will be over? I’ve been doing that for three months now.Autumn’s been rather demanding and surprisingly malicious.In all I’ve had to deal with so much that my favorite season came and went without me noticing much of its charm and I chose Dec 1st to look forward to as the date when everything would be over.
I left Vancouver for England on Nov 30th in the evening and landed midday Dec 1st.Now it seems that I lost Dec 1st, or at least a great big part of it, because I chased the sun for ten hours, but that’s just fine.And here is my reward. A moment of absolute peace on the footpath.
The fields are flooded and there’s no way I have the energy and I’m not wearing my wellies so a walk out to the river today is too much work.But today finds my pink and rosy heart mended a bit. Warmed by the fleece caught on the briars.
Warmed by the red glow of the black bryony climbed thru the hedgerow.Warm even in on this icy December day.
Nice, soft Friday
Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to stick your whiskers into your mistress’s face first thing in the morning, get fed, chase a squirrel and nap for hours. Then squiggle around and nap for a few more. I think we can learn a thing or two from Morgan.
Something exists. It exists whether we want it to or not. This something sneaks up on you and drowns you in a vat of emotion, turmoil and tiredness that you can’t relieve with caffeine or sugar.R calls this thing the two day rule. You know. That feeling on day one that you push right thru and you know it’s going to suck the marrow out of life. You know the feeling on day two when you say to yourself that it wasn’t so bad after all. And you know the feeling on day three when you feel just shattered.
And then you have a little sigh for the rain, the wind, the chill. But it's all a part of the even keel of the universeand here, in my home, I’m untouchable. Watching the rain I’m part of the greater whole.I’m under a wing.
All of a sudden it’s hard to believe that I had sort of a crummy day yesterday which put me into a bit of an emotional tailspin.It’s all apparent. Sometimes it’s alright to push everything away and expand my immediate space and take a little time of my own and squander it how I will.My hurt feelings and bruises fade to pale and I find myself unscathed.Healed.
It looks like the start of a very new and good time...and here, at home, the evening sun said so.
Macaroons for an exhausting day.
Been in court all day today answering that summons brought on by my irresponsible ex.R. advised me to buy some cookies and have with me for emergencies. By the time I got home...nine hours later...I knew he was right. It was an emergency.Six wonderful, exquisite, handmade, extravagant macaroons in a beautiful silver box just for me.
Loving the Bay
I feel very Canadian some days.Yesterday I walked thru The Bay’s signature department.
There’s something about those four colours that feel comfy and warm.They are called Queen Anne’s colours but I prefer the old First Nation’s folklore: green for nature, red for the hunt, yellow for sunshine and indigo for water.The truth is that those were the dyes that had the greatest colourfastness in the early 1800s.
Now those lovely stripes are painted on everything and anything. Just look at these silly nutcrackers!
The points, (those indigo stripes) woven into the blankets were used to measure size and weight without having to unroll, measure and weigh each individual blanket each time.The first blanket ever ordered was in 1798 and made by Thomas Empson in my very own market town of Witney, Oxfordshire. The order was for “three points to be striped with four colours (red, blue, green, yellow) according to your judgement.”
The vintage Bay blankets are so collectible these days.I only own one vintage Bay blanket, circa 1945, but I’m always looking for more. The trick is finding one at a price I can afford. Mine is scarlet and has three and a half points. Right now it’s on C’s bed for the winter keeping her snuggly and warm.
Playing
Kerstie is coming for a visit at the end of the week with our little girls.I think it’s time to introduce them to the theatre.The marionettes and their theatre have been mine for maybe 30 years. I guess you could call them vintage. They have performed for tons of children and been loved and loved to pieces. They’ve had broken strings, bent wire supports and the occasional foot or head has fallen off, but they’ve been repaired and maintained and stored away carefully for their next performance.I love that my children call them Loutky; Czech for marionettes. I brought them from Prague.There lives a king, his queen, their beautiful princess and her friend, a jester. They live on the castle stage. Usually the princess ends up in a pickle.
There lives and an old mum, her handsome young son (who doubles as the prince), his little sister, (who doubles as little red riding hood or Gretel). They live on a cottage stage.
One day, the handsome young son learns that an evil witch has captured the princess and will give her to the Hasterman (evil water spirit) in exchange for magic powers. The Hasterman will drown her and put her soul into a little jar he keeps under the bridge and she will be trapped for ever. The handsome young son says goodbye to his sister, his old mum and the rest of the villagers and leaves the village for the dark forest.
There he defeats the old witch and the Hasterman, rescues the princess and they live happily ever after.
Then, the Loutky take a bow.
And then they will perform again.And we will play and play and play.“Come, children, let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out.”William Makepeace ThackerayMore play today, linked to TALU and this post: Kind of like little red riding hood…but different
Remembering
Our life is short and tedious, and in the death of a man there is no remedy: neither was there any man known to have returned from the grave.For we are born at all adventure: and we shall be hereafter as though we had never been: for the breath in our nostrils is as smoke, and a little spark in the moving of our heart:Which being extinguished, our body shall be turned into ashes, and our spirit shall vanish as the soft air,And our name shall be forgotten in time, and no man shall have our works in remembrance, and our life shall pass away as the trace of a cloud, and shall be dispersed as a mist, that is driven away with the beams of the sun, and overcome with the heat thereof.For our time is a very shadow that passeth away; and after our end there is no returning: for it is fast sealed, so that no man cometh again.Book of Wisdom (II:2-5)Lest we forget
I painted this poppy in commemoration of my father's service. He was not a war veteran, but he was the head doctor for the veterans of BC. He cared for their health, travelled with them to France to Vimy Ridge, to England to be presented to the queen and he knew all their names. They loved him and he called them his “old boys”. He cared for them in that village doctor way which doesn’t happen anymore. Today I’m thankful I never sold this painting.
