Needle felt round up

Despite all the various shenanigans which we are putting ourselves through, work still goes on. The first thing I finished in Shropshire was a commission from one of my regular collectors  who wanted a copy of 'Kitty Blue' from my book, 'Mrs Mouse's Cupcakes'. 

She is not 100% the same as the original but as near as I could get her. I know which is which.

I'm doing a lot of repeat designs at the moment and sometimes I need to try a new design.  I have wanted to make a red squirrel for ages.

Betsy sold at once and made her way to America where she is making my friend Janet very happy, I believe.

I've also just finished several doglet orders  - Claudette, who is a copy of one of the first doglets  from my Mollie Makes pattern. (as the originals are all sold now).

Also, a larger clown version of the Mollie Makes doglets, who has gone over the border to nearby Wales.

Henri, one of the original magazine doglets was snapped up by a French lady who runs an online boutique shop.  So he has gone to his spiritual home, accompanied by a specially commissioned girl-friend, Henriette.

She composed this sweet montage of the two 'H's' on her copy of the Mollie Makes issue, many thanks for letting me use this, Savine!

Although I can't really arrange full workshops at the moment, I had a special all day one-to-one session with a lovely needle felter, Jackelien from Holland. No, she didn't come all that way just to see me, but I am flattered that she wanted to spend the day learning techniques from me in the middle of her family holiday. She bought Dutch treats in a pretty tin - I am now addicted to the liquorice chalk sweets. I've had to hide the bag from myself.  The kilner jar is not full of sweets, but little wax shapes  - it's an outdoor candle which I am hoping to light in our new back garden.

 Apart from working on finishing off techniques and fine shaping, we made funny little houses. It was a really lovely day, we talked our heads off  and by the end of it, I felt sure that I had made a new friend. (Her version of the day can be found on her blog here - lots of pictures if you don't speak Dutch, including one of me which makes me realise I have to start running again!)

Talking of little houses, we are now hopeful that we may be properly settled soon - in the precarious world of  house buying nothing is ever certain, but we are quietly hopeful. 

'Sheep May Safely Graze'

'Sheep May Safely Graze' 21" x 11"  (53cm x 28 cm)

We think we have found 'our' cottage. Second viewing is tomorrow. We dare not let ourselves love it too much (though I fear we already do) as it is right at the top of our not-yet-confirmed  mortgage and my artistic low income may be a sticking point with the Powers that Be. 

So I am painting properly again, to try to earn a few pennies towards some bricks and mortar. I have found somewhere which can scan my large artworks. I have found an affordable (genuine)  giclee prints - a Fine Art Trade Guild Accredited Printer, so I will soon be able to offer top quality prints at good prices - for instance, a large A2 sized painting printed on mould made Hahnemuhle paper for around 30 - 35 UK pounds at the stated size plus postage and packing.

The archival UV resistant inks should last for 100 plus years and every large print will come with a certificate of authenticity.  So for everyone who has emailed or commented that they would like a copy of the 'White Hare Hill' artwork - watch this space!

Comfort

 I wonder if all the lovely people who left such kind messages and sent sweet emails about our dear little Mouse will ever know just what a blessing they were, in a very dark time? Thank you hardly seems adequate, but - thank you from the bottom of my heart. Being recently moved to a strange area, there were no 'real life' friends to turn to, so every word was balm and helped me feel a little less lonely.

Although our new, temporary home isn't handy for immediate foot wandering - a busy country road runs along the edge of the barn, and it shakes when lorries and tractors thunder by - we drive out as often as we can, to get a sense of place and familiarise ourselves with the area. 

I have always found woods to be especially soothing - the mere whiff of damp leaf mould does more for me than a scented candle. And there are always treasures to find - coral fungus, baby frogs and strange stumps littering the forest floor.

A close look reveals a tiny bracken frond emerging from the old, rotting roots of the mother place. 

With all the wet weather, fungi and toadstools are already emerging. These woods are mostly conifers, making the woods acidic; perfect for stink horns. There were dozens of them in the first 'egg' form, strangely metallic and translucent.

 

 Stink horns are one of my favourite fungi, despite their smell and if you don't know what they look like after the egg stage, I dedicated an entire blog post to them once. 

 

But if you prefer the larger things in life, then on the edge of the woods there is a vast view of Shropshire from Oliver's Point.

Driving out towards the border and views across to the beautiful  Berwyn Mountains in nearby Wales.

While mourning my favourite cat,  I have conquered my 'painting block' which has lasted for about two years. This is another comfort.  The familiarity of painting has always soothed me. And tomorrow, Tuesday,  we go to look at a very promising cottage - unless there is something really wrong with it, or someone else snaffles it, we are daring to hope. 

Goodbye Mouse

Goodbye darling Mousie, most precious of cats. You were born into my hands thirteen years ago, one of Clover's kittens. She sat on you a lot and I was constantly rescuing you from suffocation . You were 'my' kitten and I loved you deeply  from the second I held you.

 You were the runt, a wee grey blob, only a few inches long. I called you 'Mouse' and whispered it into your ear so that you would know your name, still damp from the womb. 

Once, after a car accident, you went missing  but you somehow found your way home, clawing away for dear life at the conservatory door a week later.  I'd been broken hearted and resigned to you never returning.  I had lain on the sofa for days in a dark pit of despair, weeping with joy when you came back to us in the middle of the night.  We called you 'the Mouse that Returned'.

Thankfully that was your last big adventure. You had ten quiet and happy years at our tiny cottage in West Oxfordshire. You went skedaddle in the April winds and basked in the sun. In winter you retired to the sofa and slept, a plump mouse waiting for spring. 

You never demanded attention, nor caused a nuisance. You were quiet, unassuming and humble -  a mouse who knew her position in the scratching order and was happy there. You loved your head being scroffled and scraps of Marmite toast.

You hated our recent move but as usual, you were quiet in your corner. Maybe too quiet. When you started being sick, we thought you had furballs. You were sick so much that we took you to the vet and in the end you were put on a drip. You behaved as always, sweetly and gently. The mouse who purred until the very  end.

It wasn't furballs. It was a 'mega-esophagus', more common in dogs then cats. You couldn't get your food down your throat, hence the last few weeks of sickness. We would gladly have paid for an operation, but there is nothing to do with this, except try to manage it - and you had pneumonia setting in too. So thin, so weak and already elderly. As I broke down over the phone, the vet said that you had been 'a sweetheart'. You were comfortable and asleep and I gave consent for the last injection, so that you wouldn't know about it.  I haven't hurt so much for a long, long time.

You were a small, rather plain cat, precious to no-one except us. I don't have enough tears to shed for you, though God knows I've been crying all afternoon.  You have left a huge hole in our lives for such a quiet creature and a piece of me has gone with you.

White Hare Hill

 

I think, because I have so much physical living space around me for the first time in a decade, I am starting to dream of big landscapes. Wouldn't it be great to invent a landscape which had huge chalk hill hare figures, instead of the normal white horses?

So one afternoon, when I was in the interminable hell of having no internet, I began creating one - just a preparatory pastel sketch for a large oil painting. Time to get back to work. 

Old studio, new studio

The final moving day was just too traumatic for words - I'd been cleaning for days and still hadn't finished packing when a very hot and bothered Andy rolled up with a van which was too big to get up the lane. So we had to hump the last annoying odds and sods down to the main street, with an audience of various neighbours. It was humid, frenetic and exhausting. There were a few swear words uttered. We ended up leaving one or two things behind out of sheer frustration with it all. I said a last goodbye to the garden - the new tenants will find some healthy potato plants and Swiss chard.

Goodbye to my my old studio space - goodbye to the mouldy corner too!

Final packing - the cats.

Last one out, lock the door!

 

 

Goodbye to you at last, tiny little cottage - we had ten cramped but happy years in you, though Lord alone knows how we all managed. 

The hot weather finally broke as we left the village and the first rain for weeks started to fall - thank goodness the cab had excellent air conditioning. The cats howled all the way to Shropshire.

But they settled down later that evening, in their new quarters  - the kitchen, which is actually bigger than our old cottage drawing room

After all that, I only needed one thing, and could only find one thing to drink it out of.

 

Andy had already been here for some days on his own, and had unpacked what he thought were my most important studio things. My work desk, of course.

 

And some of my best treasures.

 

But there was still all this to deal with -

 

- which is now sorted. Most of my stuff is staying in boxes, as we hope to move into our own place before Christmas. (Famous last words?)

 That's better. Hello new, temporary studio.

And hello to having no proper garden - although I do have tomato plants, thanks to Andy's kind mum - whether they will come to anything in the wet, grey summer we are having, remains to be seen.

And - hello Shropshire! From here we can see Wales - there's nice.