Paints and palettes.

I haven't really painted since taking up needle felting over two years ago. I was very, very tired of it; one of my earliest memories is of my dad going into a shop, leaving me on the pavement and emerging with a long, thin blue tin box, which he handed to me with a gruff ''there you are girl'. Or words to that effect. It was a box of Reeves artist's watercolours. I was about four years old.

(This is not the first one - I used that one up and he bought me this replacement on a later birthday)

He also gave me crayons, coloured pencils, let me play with his pastels as a treat and generally encouraged me to paint & draw without saying much, just giving me the tools. It was also a good way to keep the house peaceful, which was something he craved (not that I think I was a noisy child). When he died, I made a vow to become an artist for him, and stuck to that promise, even though I was only twelve and trying to keep that vow made life very difficult for me. It took me until fairly recently to realise I didn't really enjoy painting at all; I was just going through the motions.

So I was more than happy to give painting a break - I was bored and even resentful of it, and the only painting I've done since then has been for the odd commercial job. (Drawing however, I do love and never stop). But I was so pleased and surprised to have an enquiry from a needle felt customer as to whether I had any original artwork for sale. Yes, but only the two - 'Luna' and 'Little Clown'. And they bought them at once. Which was lovely, especially for my overdraft. This, combined with the enormous amount of painting I have to do for my two jobs, has brought me back round to the idea of painting again. But - my paints have been dying over the years. Look! The 'condemned' ones with red crosses on are the totally dried up tubes; I've had many of these since the early 1990's.

I went through them and realised I hadn't bought more than one or two tubes of new paint in a decade - the last time was back in 2005, just at the time I started this blog and tried out the (then)new 'Potter's Pink'. Not all of the dried up tubes needed replacing - colours like these pinks are so vibrant I only use them in tiny amounts, not for washes, so I can happily use the dry lumps they have become.

I took the plunge and spent some money. Not only paints, but all the paper I'll need for the final artworks (about 20 A2 sheets), and yet another ceramic palette (I can never have enough).

And another big roll of gummed strip; the sad little remnant there is all that is left of the previous large one, which was used up over five years. That is, I can tell you, a lot of work. I also had to replace my pencils which get used up within weeks at the moment.

This is my other box of paints; my gouaches and some of my new tubes. I bought everything from Jackson's Art online, who are my main suppliers; apart from their prices, I've never had anything but prompt and courteous service from them, and that's all you really want from a company. I indulged myself and bought several new colours from two brands I'd not heard of before.

Shin Han and Maimeri Blu both make affordable water colours, and Shin Han especially had some gorgeous sounding hues, some of which are opaque, a quality I like. There are all kinds of *rules* about water colour painting and I ignore them all. I mix gouache with watercolour, even though it splits. You just keep briskly mixing it together as you work and this often gives me lovely, strange colours. (One of the other *rules* is that you don't mix watercolours - you layer them. However my entire painting style rests on mixing and re-mixing - it works for me). I made a little colour sample to try out the colours I'd not used before. The Shin Han ones came out on top. I've kept this image large, so that if you're interested you can click on it and see what I mean. The 'Shell Pink' and 'Horizon Blue' are two shades that I'm always mixing up, so it's nice to have it ready to hand. I've always thought of the pink as sticking plaster colour. The Shin Han samples are on the left, the Maimeri Blue on the top left, three of them.

I don't think I'll be using the 'Lilac' much, (too purpley) but 'Davy's Grey and 'Horizon Blue' are keepers. The one error was stupidly buying 'Green Earth' from the Maimeri Blu range. Of course, it's what I know as 'Terre Verte'. This brand of paint is also quite gummy, which is typical of a cheaper tange. Not something I mind, but I know some people do. The 'Sandal Red' is basically a geranium shade, but a nice one. Here it is with Sennelier's Rose Dore (very red) and Winsor & Newton's Geranium Lake (pale) gouache. But still very tasty.

An opaque colour I used to use a lot for mixing is Daler Rowney's 'Nickel Titanate Yellow' . When I ran out I replaced it with a Winsor & Newton version, which really was not the same. It didn't have the chalky, lemony bite of the DR, so I'm glad to have it back.

Another colour I am very fussy over is sepia. It's something I don't use in my commercial work, as it dulls the vibrancy. My publisher once had a prospective book of mine rejected by clients because it was 'too brown'. However I always put a sepia wash in my personal work and it seems to be a selling point, giving it a nostalgic feel. Go figure, as my American friends say. I only have one sepia in my box that I like, and that is an ancient tube of Reeves in lead casing. It has the blackness which marks proper sepia...

...here is is on the right, compared to two others I have (Winsor & Newton Gouache and Old Holland) which are really just brown. Actually my favourite sepia is in the Cotman student range, but naturally I forgot to order that one.

I find it invaluable to keep a record of how I mix colours. This is a big sheet I made about 13 years ago, and I still use it today. Again, I've left it at big size., so you can click on it for more detail There are plenty of examples on it of how I've jumbled Nickel Titanate Yellow with other colours, to produce something I find interesting.

So when I hit my final deadline (please God) at the beginning of June, I might just start painting for pleasure again, now that I've had my little strop and a two year break. Sorry Dad and thanks again for the paint box.

Polytunnel & potatoes

A day off to catch up with things which need doing before the year runs away. The first really warm day of Spring and time to sort the garden out. It's a blank canvas to start with. Then we begin planting our chitted potatoes. First we sow two rows of 'Ratte' (right hand side) and two of 'Kestrel' with some blood and bone meal to give them a kick start. It is supposed to rain tomorrow, so we don't need to water them.

My broad beans are doing well, but they can go in next week when the soil has had a good soak.

Next *we* get to grips with putting up our new polytunnel - big, big thanks to Andy's mum and dad for such a generous Christmas present. Really it's just like putting up a big tent. Not my department, but remarkably easy. Apparently.

As *we* busied ourselves, helicopters began humming overhead heralding the end of the first day of racing at the Cheltenham Festival and it felt as if this very long winter was finally over.

We didn't realise it would be quite so big! It is 6.5 ft high, 6 ft wide and 14ft long. Our polytunnel came from here, but recently I have seen the same models for less, in sales. So I advise shopping around if you decide to invest in one.

Actually, it feels huge inside. It is three times as big as (what is laughingly described as) the cottage's kitchen. It's bigger than our bedroom. And it eats up a lot of the garden, especially once I had finished planting my potatoes, (Duke of York and King Edward) using most of the right hand bed.

Andy is circumspect about the amount of space it uses. I don't care. Inside there is lots of shelter for my darlings......things are coming up at last.

Hopefully this year we might actually get some tomatos, which will be snug under cover and safe from the tomato blight spores which thrive in the damp winds of our wet British summers and have literally blighted us for the last few years. And there will be aubergines, courgettes, sweet peppers, chillis, perhaps even beans trained up the poles and arches. What joy it is to be a gardener - we have big dreams, hope for the best and expect the worst. In the end, it is usually something in the middle.

For anyone wondering if I still make things, if I still needle felt, if I still paint - indeed I do; I do very little else at the moment, and am working very silly hours indeed. Things are getting somewhat stressful. I'm still bound by client confidentiality, so I will leave you to wonder what it is that is turning me into a nervous wreck.

A little Norman church

This is the tale of two churches, the first, pictured here: the little church of Colne St Dennis, on a cold spring afternoon. It is Norman in origin, though probably built on the site of an earlier Saxon church. It is hard to believe that this wonky little building has managed to stay upright for hundreds of years; the original central Norman tower, built 850 years ago, was topped in the 1400's by a castellated belfry - that's the little square bit on top, with the flagpole on.


If you look closely you can see the older, more crumbling stone of the original tower underneath, and the walls bowing beneath the extra weight - yet it was propped up with a buttress or two and despite the sagging stones, it still stands.

This little porch is also a later addition from the 1600's.

We enter.

Inside, the older Norman entrance, with its patterned archway.

Despite its age, this church is still in regular use - oasis's and spare pots waiting for the next flower arranger.

The first recorded rector of this parish is the grandly named 'Henry de la More', 1272, several decades after the Battle of Hastings, ending with the more down-to-earth present day 'George Mitchell'.

The little human touches which remind us that this is still a much loved place - a worshipper's supply of mints awaiting them, in what must be their regular spot.

Looking down the aisle - the atmosphere saturated with the unmistakeable smell of English churches - damp stone mingled old, cold polished wood.


The pulpit, with a little heater to take the edge off the bitter cold winter mornings.


Leaving the church, and passing the usual poignant reminder of the great sacrifice made by countless tiny villages all over our country - often a whole generation of young men wiped out. We never, ever forget to stop and think of them. Listed here is a 'C.H.L Bubb', the same surname as the serving rector at the time (Lewis Bythesea Bubb) and probably his son. The Day family lost three members.


We carry on down the lane, stopping to look back.


Andy discovers an old clay pipe, hidden in the wall. A long time ago, someone stood here to have a smoke and look at this very scene, pretty much the same then as it is now. There are still hard, black charred remains in the barrel. Maybe they were related to one of the men listed in the roll of honour we had just read.

We walk across to nearby Coln St Rogers, to investigate the Saxon church, seen here nestling in the landscape, the tale of which continues here...

Meeting Samuel Palmer

My only (temporary) disappointment with our recent visit to the Ashmolean was the disappearance of the Samuel Palmer drawings. I remembered them being in a glass topped display cabinet, covered with aged green velvet covers, which one had to lift in order to worship these little masterpieces.

I can't remember the first time I discovered Palmer's work, but I am sure it coincided with my arrival in Oxford. I do remember an instant connection with his pastoral scenes and unlike some of my other early mentors, he has remained a firm favourite.

In the end we went to the information desk and were told that the drawings were now in the Print Room; would we like to see them? By now we'd been traipsing about for three hours and our eyes were on stalks, but it was too good an offer to refuse. Within five minutes we were reverently examining six of Palmer's most popular works, which I am sure many people will instantly recognise.

The light was such that flashless photos (allowed) did not come out terribly well ; but the nature of Palmer's technique - thick lines of inks and gums combined with washes - means that even professional reproductions are not true to the originals; the raised surfaces can be just detected even in the postcards sold in the museum shop. Here they glint with a blue-ish hue.

Another thing a postcard does not really capture is the exquisite detailing - everywhere there are points of interest and captivating little scenarios. These works were created when Palmer was still young. He seems to have had a fairly difficult life, losing his mother when he was thirteen, which seems to have coincided with his decision to become an artist; somewhat parallel to my own experience.

For me, these are his best works, created when he was only twenty and in one of what must have been one of the happiest periods of his life, when he lived at Shoreham, surrounded by like-minded young visionaries inspired by William Blake and a romantic, nostalgic yearning for a simpler, rustic life. Familiar as I am with these artworks, I still found new things to delight, such as the tiny focal points, which lead the eye beyond the foreground to miniature landscapes and the hint of lands beyond. Most of all, it reminded me of the tiny patches of the Cotswolds which still retain their pastoral beauty.

At last we remembered more prosaic things - our tired feet and that it was past lunchtime. We said a fond farewell to Samuel Palmer and swiftly headed to the Three Goat's Heads, one of the best pubs in Oxford, and a meeting with another Samuel. A pint of Samuel Smith's Imperial Stout, a welcome, if earthy comedown from our artistic wanderings.