Oooh...ahhh...look! What is this assortment of loveliness I see before me? It is an elegantly wrapped packet from Betty and Violet, a vintage sewing and collectibles shop full of irresistible delights, whose exquisite blog I follow.
It is the January edition of Jeanne D'Arc Living magazine and it is the most beautiful magazine I have ever owned - until the other day that spot was saved for the wonderful Selvedge. This just creeps past it on the utterly delectable scale. I was lucky enough to win it in a Betty and Violet giveaway and I am smitten. Actually, to call it a magazine is to do it a disservice; it is more of a softback book, large and thick, simply jam-packed with sumptuous photos and ideas - and stunningly designed.
Danish in origin and with a European country accent, it is over 150 pages of lavish articles of interest - from interiors to cooking, gardening to decorating. Like Selvedge, it has a particular delicious smell which makes one want to bury one's nose in the spine. In this January edition, there is an entire section devoted to flavoured salt. Pure happiness. 
The writing style is fresh and original, a pleasure to read and blissfully unpretentious. I am beginning to tire of certain popular *country lifestyle* magazines, whose articles I think are becoming a little formulaic and stylised.
Another refreshing aspect is that there is no advertising in the main magazine - just a couple of tasteful pages at the back. This means you get proper value for money and uninterrupted articles which are not visually disfigured or distracting.
'Jeanne D'Arc Living' is available worldwide through certain sites and distributors and happily for us in the UK, through the Betty and Violet site, who offer yearly subscriptions or single editions. They also have a limited amount of back issues, though you might have to fight me for them.
Snowdrop likes it too. She says she has read all of my Selvedges and that big pile of books.
I am not sure if I entirely believe her.
For the record, I haven't stopped loving Selvedge; I just think I love Jeanne D'Arc Living a tiny bit more.
A regular question I get asked is - how can you bear to part with your paintings & toys, and the brutal answer is because I have to eat and pay bills, so I can't be precious about hanging on to work. But there are a few exceptions to this, such as quite a lot of my commmercial artwork. And the Bird Ladies.
Not many people have seen this batch of work I did a decade ago and I have been asked to sell them before. The answer is always a polite no - they are not for sale. Last year however, I made an exception and offered to make a copy for someone who was captivated by one of my early Bird Ladies, 'The Bird Car'. The topmost image is the 2001 piece and the middle image is the newest version - brighter than the previous one, and with a little flower in the ladys hair, to mark it out from the first.
I only finished it in the last week of 2010, hence my trip to Oxford for a frame. They are the same but different - it's rather difficult to replicate washes that were done ten years ago and light exposure changes the paper and pigment. Actually, there are three versions of this, the other was a birthday present for a friend, but alas, I have no scan to show. I'm not going to copy it again; three is quite enough and matches the amount of prongs in the bird car, which is nice and neat. The task of getting the painting to the client was an adventure in itself...
Last Wednesday saw me in Oxford to pick up a frame for a painting. After our last visit to the Ashmolean and with my new determination to do more observational sketching, I decided to spend a few hours pottering there. I always like to begin with this staircase, as it takes me back to my art student days and the first time I breathlessly and reverently climbed them to visit the Renaissance rooms. I can still remember the emotional choke in my throat (dramatic child that I was) as I paid my respects to the Masters and began my own long artistic journey.
I like the continuity of returning with another sketchbook, over twenty years on, still tramping that same road, which has twisted in ways I could not have dreamt of then. And now I find the new extension has caught my heart too. It also leaves me breathless, though for a different reason. 
I actually feel a little sick if I get too near the glass partitions and look down - or up. But I love the way you can watch the other galleries and their occupants on all levels, like a giant cultural ant's nest coiling round the central space which seems to me like an invisible pillar rising through the centre of the museum.
Needless to say, I took many photos of this and that, flashless photography (for personal use) being allowed. Just look at this little collection of lovelies - three needlework 'favours' or love tokens from the 1600s, each just few inches tall - 
- and a sweet gold wirework frog purse from the same era, used for carrying herbs or perfumed sachets. I wonder if I could reconstruct a similar design?
But with all this visual wealth around me, I had to narrow my choice of subject down if I were not to become overwhelmed. So I naturally picked animals. Like this adorable little hare tureen, which could sit in one's hand.
And this exquisite porcelain cat, which I think is some kind of pill box -
- scaring the nearby tapestry parrot.
I found myself more drawn to the Oriental galleries, perhaps because my own style is similarly curvaceous.
A wonderful piece of Satsuma ware, a mouse sitting on a turnip. Size is roughly that of large cooking apple.
Ivory monkey with dragonfly, just a few inches long. The tiny dragonfly is about the size of my little fingernail.
I fell in love with this deceptively simple hare-shaped lacquered incense box the last time we were here. It measures about two and a half inches across and to me is absolute design perfection. I think if I could have just one thing from the thousands of things in the Ashmolean, it would be this.
As with the landscape notes I made last weekend, the object of my sketching was not to produce a page of pretties nor even to make notes for future work. Neither was the challenge to exactly copy the object itself.
What I wanted to do was explore the design style of each piece and the way each individual artist had interpreted and tweaked the animal form, especially if it was also a functional item. Trying to get inside their creative minds as I worked; and at the end of the exercise, the final scribbles were really just a crude record. The real result was what had been imprinted in my visual memory and loosening up my hand skills. I'm already looking forward to my next visit.
Saturday was cold but gorgeous and I played truant from what I should have been doing to take my sketchbook for an airing. It's a big A2 Moleskine which I am ashamed to say has sat on a shelf, pristine and virginal since it arrived last Christmas, over a year ago. I really need to get back into the habit of drawing from life again, even it it is just scribbles.
This is the kind of thing you don't often show people - it's simply an exercise in every sense of the word - in the same way that singers practise scales, dancers do barre movements, an artist needs to do the real eye/brain/hand thingy which hopefully one day will end up in some kind of finished form. It's not supposed to look pretty (though it's a bonus if it does). Although there was a thin, mean wind, I forgot myself as I scribbled and scratched away. Once I started looking, I could have been out all day drawing - the line of oak trees in a hedgerow which would make a lovely little lino cut.
Everyone I met was (unusually) friendly - I think having a sketchbook is rather like having a dog - it gives you a legitimate reason to be out walking. For once I wasn't just the strange woman out alone with her camera. The horse chestnut avenue was beautifully stark, but I decided to save it for next time.
Spotted a potential picture with the farmhouse, which is unusual for me as I tend to prefer trees in the landscape. I've done this walk hundreds of times and am still finding fresh aspects of it.
This line of trees is definitely one to do another time - the clear winter sun brings out the acidic yellow lichen and the new red bark growth infuses the treetops with a warm blush.
I had one corner of my page to fill and of course, it was trees on the horizon. 
Although my walk was only a couple of miles, I'd been out for two hours sketching. It doesn't look like much does it? Felt good though, flexing those out-of-practise drawing muscles.
At last I can sleep properly again! The last few nights have been spent fitfully listening to the radio in the dark, while England thrash Australia in the final Test Match. Our television reception is so bad (and we don't have Sky) that we only get to see a few minutes of highlights on the BBC news, so the radio is our only way to follow the games. Last night England not only retained the Ashes for a third time, but did it away from home, against an often hostile Australian Press and home crowd and, more importantly, accomplished it with sweet skill and unity of team spirit. 
Last summer, near Oxford The film clip comes from inside the loyal England supporter's camp, the Barmy Army, with Billy Cooper, the trumpeter playing - appropriately - the Last Post - as the last wicket falls to general mayhem and riotous chanting. It's the first time in 24 years that we have won the Ashes on Australian home turf, so perhaps a little jubilation is not uncalled for. 
Away match at Swinbrook For my American friends, who have misty images of English teas, church bells ringing in the distance and gentle clapping to the soft thunk of leather on willow - that is village cricket; this is war! Well done England!
(Hello and welcome to my lovely new followers - normal craft and country blogging resumes next week).
