Field painting adventure and overcoming blocks

I have started to reserve Saturdays as a day off, otherwise I'm working every day without a break, which isn't particularly good for my fragile mental health. The weather at the moment is perfectly 'May' - not too hot, with a pleasant breeze and everywhere around is bursting with greenery, blossom and bird song. I have been yearning to do some landscape sketching for ages and decided to stay close to home, because I have a certain amount of anxiety about going out. So I packed a rucksack with a stupid amount of art stuff, made up a little picnic of a cheese sandwich and a bottle of water and after a lot of deep breaths, I set off on my monumental adventure; a minute's walk down the road to the back field which my bedroom overlooks. This is my usual  pleasant view, when I am working in bed (which is most days). It has the best light after midday and is comfortable.

I haven't  set foot in this field in the ten years I've been here. There are two reasons for this; the first is practical. There is a designated footpath which goes across it, but it ends abruptly at the hedgerow boundary, so it's fairly useless. The second is that I've had a mental block about it, as this was the field that Andy walked across on his last, ghastly walk in the dark snowstorm, leaving only his footprints, which remained there for days. I remember kneeling at the bedroom window the next morning, watching a police dog tracking what it could find of his scent and that image will never leave me. So despite it's beauty (and since then, I do appreciate it, every day), I have had little desire to actually go into it, even for a change of scene. So this was the day and it felt momentous. The footpath is just on the edge of Jean-and-Brian-Next-Door's garden and is almost never used (for the practical reason I mentioned before). It was overgrown with lovely Queen Anne's Lace and less lovely nettles.  

I scrambled over and waded through the jungle. Suddenly there I was, and what seemed like a vast expanse in front of me. The footpath leads to that gap ahead in the hedgerow. Beyond that are more fields, but technically inaccessible without extra footpath. I don't think the farmer would mind me pottering about, as we are on good terms, but I don't like going outside 'the rules', so I stuck to the  route. 

Happily, the area that I intended to sketch was perfectly placed for me to settle my gear and myself on the path - there is a small blossoming area of hawthorn that I wanted to capture, just beyond the oak tree on the edge of the woodlands (which belongs to another less friendly farm). 

It's been years since I attempted anything like this. I did a very rough prelim sketch of the composition, which was a messy scrawl that only I could interpret. 

I have no pretensions to being the next Cezanne or Paul Nash - this was really about getting out in the nice weather and doing something different. It was hard work though, even with copious amounts of pastels. I didn't create a masterpiece, nor even anything like how I emotionally 'feel' about the landscape. But I did have a marvellous two hours, sat in the sun, scribbling away in the middle of a field that I had feared entering for a decade. Now I felt safe and comfortable. I ate half a cheese sandwich and dickered about with my pastel mess until it was time to stop before I completely ruined it. 

It's been  long held wish of mine to be able to spend most of my time focussing on landscape art, but I'm not good enough to make it pay and I can't afford the time it would take to get to a standard I am happy with, nor the big canvases and oils I'd like to paint with. But this will do for now and more importantly, it was a break from my other work and I had fun. 

The problem is an old one - back when I was doing my art training over thirty years ago, I decided to go down the path of illustration, which suited my naturally 'tight' and high definition style of working. So it's hard to break out of that habit and needs a lot of practise to get out of. However I made a small start and the colour capture wasn't too bad - I'm just not happy with the way I depicted it, because it in no way expresses the way I 'see' a landscape in my mind's eye. There's no lyrical rhythm or magic. It is what it is.

However, self criticism aside, I also enjoyed seeing our cottages for the first time from the back - Jean and Brian's larger sections on the left and my bit tacked on the right side, with the white window frames. I had the odd sensation that maybe  (in some freakish quantum alternate reality kind of thing) there was simultaneously another Me in the bedroom, needle felting and gazing out of the window, while present Me looked on from the other side of the field. 

That's another block overcome and for the first time in ages, I have two mini- paintings for sale, in my usual style, over in my Etsy shop. I'm hesitant about mentioning them, as my art barely sells, compared to my needle felting, but I'm going to be brave again. 

This is 'Marmalade', one of my imaginary toys, which comes in a 6 x 6 inch mount but is unattached, so that it can be reframed if wished, which is available here. 

And one from last year, which I've only just listed, 'Autumn Pincushion' (very unseasonal), which is also in a 6 x 6 inch mount and is available here. 

Now I'm going to take the rest of the day off again, as it's Saturday, and I might sit under the willow tree in the overgrown garden and finish some Christmas ornaments so that they are ready in time for the holiday season, which will swing around all too quickly. 

In the lambing shed

My first little adventure of the year and a day away from the cottage, to the other side of Shropshire where Friend One had arranged for Friend Two, her little girl and myself to visit a local sheep farmer who was in the middle of lambing. It was a chilly, wet day with a  keen wind, but warmer in the shelter of the large hangar barn with the sweet scent of straw and wool scenting the air.

Not to mention the gentle bustle of dozens of sheep tending new born lambs, waiting to have lambs and ewes being jumped over (and sometimes on) by older lambs who had found their bouncing legs.

  

And of course, lambs copiously feeding from their ever patient mothers.

There was also a trio of orphaned lambs, being hand fed by the farmer who was on site all the time to look after his flock at this busy time of the year. Farming is a tough job and often gets a bad press, but this farmer dedicates his life to the welfare of his livestock, and it was very apparent from the way he cares for them. In fact, he almost persuaded me to adopt a friendly stray who followed us around like a little dog. I was a finger's width away from taking him home to keep the grass down, but came to my senses. Although I did decide he was called 'Henry'.

 

When we'd had our fill of woolly adorableness, we returned to Friend One's lovely house, where she provided us with a delightful lunch - lamb was not on the menu.

In search of blue

 

 

In search of blue on a November day, I went walking hereabouts. Lowering clouds clung to the cap of Caer Caradoc.

 Across new shoots, a thin patch of sky over an isolated farm.

 

 

 Over wintering sheep grazing, fat and content in the emerging sun.

 

 

 Farmhouse chimneys, warm and red .

 

 

Nearing home. Suddenly the sun sweeps widely across the fields, and all is a blaze of cerulean, green and gold.

And there it is, where you least expect it; a large stone glowing coldly in the dirt path; icy aqua, a glacier in miniature and I have found my blue.

Upright before the storm

 

Up the lane to post a little order before the storm came in. The intense, humid heat of the previous week, which I find quite debilitating, has been replaced by restless skies, sudden downpours and flash storms. Everywhere there is a creeping sense that summer is winding down, with blackberries ripening and the dawn chorus starting later each morning. I must try to get the chimney swept before autumn. 

A new path winding

This is the field which is situated right under my bedroom window. When I first moved here, eight years ago, it was populated with a small herd of milking cows, who often slept directly under my window so that on summer nights, when I had the window open, I could hear the moist huffle of their warm  breath and low grunting as they shifted their bodies to a more comfortable position. It was a friendly, reassuring accompaniment as I fell asleep.

Times change and the farmer‘s son took over the herd. The cows were  fitted with tracking collars and milked by a ‘robot’ - an amazing machine which is essentially a big computer with moving parts. Gradually the cows came out for less time each year and for the last three summers, there have been none at all. They spend their lives under cover and the field is harvested several times a year for silage, with which to feed them. I miss them, but also understand that times move on. 

My life too has undergone some radical changes since moving here, as many of you know. I am on a new and uncertain journey, with  no idea of where I will end up. The young farmer has cut a new path in the field recently, for field access. It winds gently and has a sinuous grace of its own. I rather like this new addition to my view and if I were of a mind to take it as a sign, I would see it as a good one. 

After much agonising, I have started a Patreon page. I have previously balked at paid-for content, preferring my blog to be ad-free and available to everyone, which I have done for over fifteen years. Now I am pulling all my resources together, as I am at real risk of losing the roof over my head and I have to make every hour count for something. So for a small monthly contribution,  I have set up a ‘plus’ version of this blog, where I will post every week. I realise it won’t be for everyone, however it will enable me to share a more private side of my life here; what the inside of this shabby cottage looks like, how I’m feeling and with the extra freedom, be able to get out more and share the surrounding countryside with you. As I settle down, I will be offering more tiers with extra benefits. 

Patreon support will enable me to continue with this blog, which is free for everyone, with more regular posts. With that in mind, I have left public my first Patreon post and hope that those of you who are inclined to and are able, will join me in my draughty, higgledy-piggledy, much loved home. 

‘Birds in the roof and toadstools inside’

A jaunt to a hilltop

Spring is being unpredictable as usual, with bright sunshine one minute and showers the next. Recently we jaunted off with Jean and Brian-next-door, to attend a little outdoor archaeological lecture I had discovered was being held at Pulverbatch, a fairly nearby location. By the time we arrived, the sun was just breaking out. We were the first to arrive and feared we would be the only attendees, apart from the man with the clipboard, but soon the car park filled up and a little crowd of suitably weather proofed people were handing over their modest £3.00 attendance fee. 

We are in an area close to the Welsh border and our location was the site of the remains of a very small motte and bailey castle - I say castle, but it would have been a far cry from the big, well known tourist sites familiar to many, such as Chester and Warwick. What remained was literally a large, grassy mound, with an old hawthorn tree clinging to the side. 

I have to come clean and confess that my main interest was in escaping the cottage walls, as days out (necessitating a car) are few and far between. So I kept half an ear on the historical lecture while enjoying pastures new and fresh views. But I seem to remember that this was one of about thirty lookouts built in very close proximity and near to the border, by the Normans, shortly after the Conquest  in 1066. At the time, Wales really was another country and there were constant incursions and raids from the other side. Of course, the new Norman overlords didn't want anybody except themselves invading England, so numerous outposts like these were built, to repel and intimidate the Welsh tribes. 

Previously, the site had fallen into disrepair and nobody seems to know who actually owns it (speculation being that if someone does, they are keeping quiet to avoid the responsibility of the upkeep). But thanks to local volunteers, it has been cleared of overgrowth, a new car park area laid and recently Shropshire Archaeological Society concluded an non-invasive survey, using a drone which took 250 overhead photos and new scientific 3D methods which enabled them to build a better understanding of what lay beneath. Which is why we were here.

It was all very interesting; Joe especially enjoyed it, as did Jean and Brian-next-door, while I rested my cranky knees and sat on a strategically placed bench to take photos and drink in the spacious scenery outstretched before me. 

Later, many people, including Joe, climbed the mound to get even better views.

I remained below (the cranky knee thing) and pottered about the side paths, looking at tiny wildflowers and watching birds swoop overhead.

Afterwards, we drove back through the Stiperstones area, which I've not been able to visit since I came here with Andy, over seven years ago.

I did feel odd and sad, but as Joe said, we were making new memories. We didn't stay long - just enough to see some more views and stretch our legs. 

The Stiperstones themselves are across a scrubby moorland and can just be seen on the horizon here.

It did me the world of good to go out properly, but we were all a bit tired after a long afternoon outdoors and so we drove home, to our two adjoined cottages and a well earned cup tea.

Needle felted chicken workshop

 

Earlier this month I was once more at Loudwater Studios, near Ludlow, to hold a chicken making workshop. I enjoy coming here, as it's fairly nearby and feels like a safe, happy place. Despite only having three students, we had a very nice, chatty day (it's amazing what a variety of topics are covered).

 

As usual, I took enough wool to make several hundred chickens, in all kinds of colours (you never know if someone is going to feel inspired to make a purple hen) but my ladies decided to follow the designs of the ones I had brought along for inspiration.

I brought along pre-cut and threaded beaks, made from cocktail sticks, although this example has a woolly beak and the tiniest one on the wee chick.

It's nearly always the case that the creations made at a workshop will be larger than anything of mine that I bring along - this makes it easier for relative beginners to work with the wool, as small things can be tiresomely fiddly. Here is my little chicken in the background - and a very good larger version from the workshop in the foreground.

 

Most of the wool was merino, but I'd also brought rougher samples and nests were made. Welsh Black and Herdwick were used for quick and realistic results. Everyone said they enjoyed their day, which is for me the most important thing - as well as the reward of seeing the fabulous results.

In other news, I unearthed this trio of harlequin hares from my 'archives'. I made them in 2013, after finishing the work for my book 'Little Needle-Felt Animals' and they languished in my Etsy shop for a few years before I retired them. Happily, after showing them again on social media, they all sold as a set to the same home. Which goes to show, I think, that everything has it's time, sooner or later.