Autumn clouds and comfort food

At last we have had a good amount of rain, and the landscape is slowly greening up again. There is a distinct autumnal feel to the shortening days, and I'm settling into the cooler weather with a sense of relief and the urge to cook hearty comfort food. This morning, it was bright, with a warm southwest wind herding great flocks of billowing clouds over the Shropshire countryside; it was the ideal weather for a cycle.

I visited the village and popped into the little shop which sells all manner of lovely things, buying a big handmade pasty as a treat, and turned my return into a longer circular ride of seven and a half miles. This is a favourite route of mine, winding lazily past open farmland, with wide views towards the Shropshire Hills of Caer Caradoc and the Lawley.

The lanes were strangely quiet throughout August, as the extreme heat took its toll on the agricultural year. With the rain of the last couple of weeks, farmers are out in their tractors, busy making up for lost time, ploughing and fertilising for winter crops.

Here we are looking across to the pointy pimple summit of Caer Caradoc, just on the horizon, behind the trees on the right.

You can see it more clearly below, on the left, taken as the sun made an escape from the clouds and lit up the hillside. And there, to the right, just on the edge of the fields, looking delightfully out of place, a white gazebo, poised elegantly in the rugged Shropshire landscape.

I haven't been out on No.6 much this summer, due to the heat, and despite the pedal assist, which helps my cranky old knees, I was glad to find myself on the home stretch, stopping to admire a last view of the cloud palaces.

The homely looking dish is my very simple version of corned beef hash; just a medium chopped onion, sauteed in a pan, add a can of baked beans and a tin of corned beef, diced. A good splurt of brown sauce (I think the nearest US equivalent is steak sauce, or you can use Worcestershire), and a pinch of dried mixed herbs. Into a large oven proof bowl.  Then a ton of mashed potato on top, with cheese if you're feeling extravagant, and I had some home grown tomatoes, so they went on top too. It's lovely to be able to enjoy hot food again.

(This also works for vegetarians, by subbing out the corned beef for red lentils and for vegans, the same, using Vegan butter/cheese alternatives with the mash).  

Bleached fields and outdoor sketching

We are back to cooler weather, and with Sunday morning being the best time to find the roads quiet, I hopped onto No.6 and set off to find a view to sketch. Being on the edge of the Shropshire Hills, it's only a matter of a couple of miles of pedalling, before the skies open up and the county is laid out in vast fields, with views disappearing into the distance towards Wales and Cheshire.

It's been an intense summer, and Shropshire, like the rest of the UK, is parched and bleached. The sky was faded denim blue, cloud ragged, and the Wrekin sulked low on the horizon. 

I found a gateway with room to park up. I'd brought a sketchbook and a limited palette of pastel pencils; I had no intention of producing an intricate masterpiece, just a five minute study of sky and land.

No.6 came in handy for a temporary materials stand. 

I'm very pleased with my new A5 Hahnemühle Cappuchinno sketchbook; although the paper is smooth, it holds pastel well, especially once fixed and the tinted pages make colours glow. I got the basics down and took some extra photos for reference.

Cycling home, and it seems as if autumn has arrived early, but without the delicious damp winds and mellow sunshine. We are forecast a little rain soon, and the baked earth needs it. 

Shropshire lanes and Shropshire hills

I’ve not been able to cycle for a few  years now, due to middle-aged knees that don’t work well; the last time I tried was about three years ago and I had to give up after half a mile as it hurt too much. Buying my own e-bike is not an option as they are way beyond my means, however thanks to a new local hire scheme, I have the use of a very swish and sturdy bike for a nominal fee per month which included servicing and most repairs. And it's made such a difference to my life. 

I have called him No.6, after a favourite TV series 'The Prisoner', because there are 100 of these identical bikes, and more to come, all branded and with trackers in so that usage can be charted. Something about it reminds me of The Village and the big white ball, 'Rover' which bounced and chased anyone who tried to escape. 'Be seeing you'.

My mental health, along with my other conditions, has not been good over the years, but being able to get out a couple of times a week (even if it does take me an hour to get ready and overcome my anxiety before setting off) has been amazing and transformative. Spring is slowly creeping in and the weather has been glorious, so this morning I set off for a big circular jaunt through the single track lanes that branch off the larger roads. (I realise that if you're reading this in the USA or another big country, my definition of a larger road is probably somewhat different to yours!)

The pedal assist has been a game changer and makes cycling so much easier on my knees. This is Shropshire Hill territory though and there are many ups and downs. Some of the inclines are just too steep for me, but I don't mind getting off to push, even though I was rather envious of the few 'man machines' who were powering up and past me like bionic super cyclists on non-electric machines - or 'acoustic bikes' as they are now known.

I managed nine miles today and even though my knees are very painful, it was worth it, for the freedom, fresh air and exercise. As well as the sense of achievement and improvement to my mental health.

Marjorie is having a well deserved retirement in the porch, because even if I may never ride her again, she will always be my special bike - the one that Andy bought me when my old Hercules bike was stolen and because he knew I'd never had my own new bike before. I just wish he was here to cycle with me and overtake me on the steep hills. 

Vast landscape, tiny worlds at the Stiperstones

I've been working in my new part time role with Enable Employment Services for a few months now and it's transformed my life. As an Expert by Experience (my life of dealing with depression, anxiety and 'everything else'), I contribute my pennyworth to meetings and other areas. For the first time since moving here, twelve years ago when it all went so terribly, awfully wrong, I feel I have a place and purpose in Shropshire and lovely work colleagues. I'm less isolated and it's having a positive effect on my art and mental health, neither of which have been right for all the time I've lived here.

A couple of days ago I was able to take part in a volunteering/team building day with Shropshire Wild Teams and we all headed over to the Stiperstones Nature Reserve for a tree clearing session. Enjoy this short video, taken from the cab of the minibus and accept my apologies for the wobbles and bad light; a proper video camera is still sadly a pipe dream, but you get the general sweep of the area.

The narrow roads leading up to the Stones are long and winding, gradually rising until you are many miles above sea level. There are scatterings of houses along the way - most too small to be called a village - and it is a wide, windswept landscape with views across to the Long Mynd and beyond. It was a cool, overcast day and the rain held off, though huge grey clouds marched along the skyline. 

 

I had a bit of bother scrambling up the scrubby gorse covered slope, as my legs are quite arthritic now. But several of my younger colleagues kindly gave me a helping hand and eventually I borrowed a stout stick, which was so handy that I had become quite attached to it by the end and was sad to return it. While everyone else began chopping down the invasive young conifers that are choking up the natural habitat, I wandered slowly up the hill, marvelling at the rich flora underfoot. I had anticipated having to sit the activity out and had brought along some art materials. The surrounding landscape was majestic, however I couldn’t have done it justice. So I focussed on the wonders at my feet; the tiny worlds of lichen and mosses which were sprouting on dead wood and old stumps. 

        

        

So easily overlooked and yet on closer inspection, so exquisite in their form and colour, resembling an underwater coral reef, with scuttering beetles and bugs for 'fish'. 

                 

I spent some time searching for the elusive perfect patch, eventually settling down on my blanket for a happy hour of drawing. 

                                         

I had a big sketch pad with me, and rather than fiddle about with a fussy, intricate study, I swept my pastels across the page, enlarging the diminutive stalks to giant size. Chunky little Unison pastels (a  gift from long ago) created the swoop and sway of the dancing stalks.

                                         

I was completely lost in my work, adding bright accents of colour, darker areas of negative space and later, thinner, more fragile suggestions of outlines with pastel pencils, another kind gift from a friend and a nice reminder of them as I worked. 

    

                                        

I did have a ‘moment’,  thinking about how Andy loved this area, in his brief time here. I had brought his Swiss Army knife with me, which I used to trim a pencil and I huddled into the waxed jacket I was wearing, which used to be his. 

        

        

I was so lost in my work that I completely missed the sandwich break and didn’t eat my packed lunch until I eventually got home and then promptly fell asleep after a marvellous day out.

       

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. 

Painting the hedgerows

Mid-may and the verges are spattered with Queen Anne’s Lace and sundry other wild pretties, overlooked by copious clouds of foaming hawthorn, which we must not pick and never, ever bring into the house, for fear of bad luck.

Even the ancient, warty Wrekin is softened with the flush of new green growth.

I have aways loved the sight of a narrow country road cutting through the landscape and forging onwards to an invisible end, softly edged by tumbling greenery, blurring the hard edges so that the road, for all its visual dominance, never entirely wins. And here is my own tumbledown cottage, hiding behind the greenery. If you look carefully, further down the lane you can see the lilac tree by the gate of Jean-and-Brian-next-door, 

This is a motif that comes out in my own work again and again, as I reinterpret and simply the landscape around me, most recently in these miniature hills, an edition of two. It is also a firm control of the messy chaos of wool, taming the fibres into a solidly outlined  object.

And there is the contrast again, in this large still life I painted last Sunday, with the hard plaster wall being softened and almost overwhelmed by the exuberance of the paint, depicting Fumitory and Honesty spilling out and escaping the confines of the white ceramic jug.

Here is a return to my early painting days of thirty years ago. A letting go of control, a ‘let’s see what happens if I do this’ and being content with using just a few loose, broad brushstrokes to do the visual heavy lifting of the background.

I cannot express how exhilarated and exhausted I was, by the time I put my brush down and thought ‘that’s it’.