Seeding

Our little back garden is small and scruffy. This is Andy in the winter, having a first, exploratory dig. Excuse the washing line, the weeds and the tatty pots; we are a humble household, despite living in the grand Cotswolds. The earth looks good, but is not very nutritious, no matter what we add. If it were really and truly our own, we would transform it; as it is, our slack and greedy landlord should be thankful that when we leave, it will not be waist high in nettles and weeds, as it was when we moved in. Enough sourness. We have fun with our little bits of earth and have learned what we can and can't grow. This year (hopefully our last one here), we are simply growing as much as we can of the things which thrive. NOT root vegetables/onions/brassicas/garlic/sweetcorn. They have been poor performers. Stones grow well though. Today brought more lovely sun and we had packets of seeds whispering enticements from their pretty packets. We went down to our local DIY shop and picked up a large bag of compost. Andy slung it over his shoulder like a captured wife and we headed home. Nice Mrs S. was in her garden and I raced across the road to ask her if she had EGGS? Yes, she did have EGGS, lots, the hens had been squeezing them out. So we picked up a dozen. Mrs S's egg supply has been a bit hit and miss, and she is the only person in the village who sells them. But now she has a handy honesty bag on her doorstep (if you know where to find it) so I only have to walk ten minutes down the road for Good Eggs. Eggs are my favourite food. Ever.

Now we had compost, and an afternoon of quiet seed planting (me) and bed digging (Andy) ahead. First to unearth the last miserable attempts at celeriac. We had harvested enough on Christmas day (tennis and golf ball size) to make very tasty mash for dinner. The last few had managed to grow to more respectable sizes, and were now 'baby' rather than 'miniature'. Andy has a natural, peasant action when it comes to digging and trimming veg, you'd think he'd been doing it all his life.

Christmas 2008

March 2009

There is something so reviving about pottering in the garden. The gentle routine of nestling neat rows of seeds into fresh earth, imagining what riches they will bring forth. The smallest of events becomes an adventure; a sleepy bumble bee crashing around, strange grubs unearthed. We even caught a tiger -

I planted early peas directly into the old celeriac bed. Peas are one of the things we do well, despite my anarchic approach. A couple of years ago I thought that planting them in rows was a waste of space which we could ill afford, and after all - in the wild - seeds self sow themselves willynilly. So I sowed an entire pack in a small square, by hurling them out and loosely covering them. Amazingly it worked brilliantly, so this is how we do it now - the 'scatter gun' technique.

We had three garden helpers, but they decided to catch some rays - and the gingers do love the sun. Mousie stayed under her plastic tub, which keeps the warmth in, like a furry little potato being baked in a pot.

At the end of the day, when the wind was getting a bit picky, I had sown; stripy courgettes and round courgettes, purple beans and white beans, outdoor cucumbers, German Orange strawberry tomatoes and Cerise cherry tomatoes, chillies, 3 types of nasturtiums, Jolly Jester marigolds, peas, dwarf broad beans, spinach, mixed leaf salad and I still haven't finished. There are four types of potatoes chitting in egg boxes, by my much neglected Adana press...

...and we now share the bedroom with two trays of seeds - and two 'cheat' tomato plants we bought, just to be sure we get some tomatoes this year as we lost most of ours to blight last year and the year before. Yes, those are two old sewing machines on the right hand side. I wish I could show you rolling country views from our window, but living in the centre of the village we are hemmed in by (albeit picturesque) houses and cottages. But I've lived in worse places, so I enjoy the views every single day. Roofs and all.

Feeling all windswept, sun kissed and sleepy, I drowsed while Andy cooked bacon, sausages and Mrs S's EGGS, which were big, golden and completely delicious. And despite the crashings from the kitchen, as utensils were hurled into the sink, I didn't even have to wash up. Which was completely the perfect end to a delightfully relaxing day. And much needed; the next couple of weeks are going to be occupied with a melange of geese-y things as I tackle the first lap of another jumbo order.

Bottoms up!

Apologies for the scary picture. What you are witnessing is my time honoured tradition of getting down on my knees to sniff the first primroses of spring. For it is spring, at last; even more welcome after such a long old winter.





There is a faint green fuzz covering the Cotswolds, as dead-looking wood tentatively sends out the first shoots.




Lambs are gambolling as only lambs do - some of them so new, so fragile, that they get a bit wobbly and have to lie down for a little power nap. Or stop for a snack.




So far the woods are promising many things: fat bluebell spears thrusting through the old autumn leaves, like a thousand tiny armies and honeysuckle gauzily draped round the silver birches. But only the primroses have emerged to smile at us. At times, the air is almost, dare I say it, warm. Now there's something to stick your bottom in the air about!

Yawning

Waving to everyone around the world, from the confines my little room, from where I have barely stirred since our Sunday jaunt, two weeks ago. So much lovely work, so welcome, so necessary, and yet, I am so very, very tired. I'd like to be doing of this...


A whole day in bed with a book is something I haven't done for years.



But then, it is spring -



- and there is gardening to be done. Somehow.





And every day brings the inevitable housework...




...of one kind or another. So I plod on, and try to forget that I've only had two very small holidays in the last ten years. Or else I will be the littlest violin, playing a mournful tune at my own, solitary pity-party...






If only I could drive...vroom vroom! Out of here!






Cats, of course, have the right idea.

A weekend off

This one's for me

I seem to have suddenly acquired a quantity of work, through private commissions and a rather large trade order. All of these have 'CONFIDENTIAL' stamped across them, in big red letters, but suffice to say that I have been stabbing away with my hot little felting needle every day for about 8 hours in the studio and then some more in front of the evening television (else Andy wouldn't see me at all...) In fact, I have been in danger of overdoing it, as Friday night found my wrist quite strained and painful, so I had a weekend of enforced rest. Which gave me a chance to make a list of things I haven't had time to do and must do before the world falls apart.

Updating accounts
E-mailing neglected friends and contacts
Tidying studio
Making marmalade
Putting together trade card order
Order more glass eyes
Ditto logo ribbons
Make lemon drizzzle cake for cake starved partner

I got some of these done. Studio is now tidy-ish, accounts and emails dealt with, big, buttery, lemony cake baked and nearly vanished. But by Sunday I needed to get out, so we took the bike across to our favourite part of round-here and I cobbled together a little film of it.

In anticipation;

1) This contains some footage shot from a moving bike, so if you get motion sickness or suchlike, best avoided.
2) I was very careful about taking the films, the motorbike (a Honda Varadero) is built like a tractor, we were going slowly, Andy is a brilliant and safe driver, the lane was deserted, and I've been riding pillion in all conditions for a decade.
3) There is some music with it.
4) If you can watch it in full screen at high quality, the landscape shots are rather pretty. You can't do this with the blogger film here, but you can with the Youtube version.

OTHER NEWS

I have a few animals for sale, ranging from 45 - 60 UK pounds (65 - 88 US dollars) and a little shipping. If you'd like advance details of these before I post them up here on the blog, let me know and I'll e-mail the info - I'm not putting them on Etsy to start with, as I've had so many enquiries from UK people who aren't comfortable with Etsy or its dollar system. This is the last batch I will have to offer for a while as I have so many orders to fulfill.


So here we are again at Monday, and another 6 days of wooliness. I'm not complaining at all, just thanking my little bunch of angels who work overtime for me. (There are seven of them and yes, I really do believe they are there).

Going Polar

Have an inevitable snow picture.




Have another one. After Andy's nine day 'at home' holiday, we were cut off by snow. Joy. The gritters didn't come down our winding country lanes, leaving them iced over. So we were cut off, and with a 45 mile commute to work on a motorbike, he was 'at home' again, for most of the week. I'd rather he was safely at home climbing the walls then in a cold ditch with a broken neck, in spite of the general trend to tut-tut at people who didn't or couldn't get to work. Bikes and snow don't go. With the whole village confined, and delivery lorry unable to get through, our one little Co-op soon ran out of supplies. It was stripped. We managed to get one little loaf (loaves being rationed to one per customer) - the last one in the shop. And a carton of goat's milk Longlife milk. Thankfully we already had some normal UHT and the dreaded stuff remains in its box, now we are getting back to normal and have fresh. Lines must be drawn, and Longlife goat's milk is where I draw mine.




Thankfully we had plenty of wood and more than enough food. We and the cats hunkered down to sit it out. Naturally, the cats hogged the sofa. Before he went completely loopy with cabin fever, he did struggle in for the weekend rota, although because of the treacherous ice, his late Saturday night shift and early Sunday start, he had to stay overnight at the nearby, ghastly (and this one is ghastly) Travel Lodge. So I was home alone with the cats. As usual, I had plenty of things to do, not least of which was designing a prototype polar bear. A great excuse to watch my Arctic DVD and try to grasp the essentials of polar-bearness.




I was also dying to use one of the little glass bear noses I bought last year - only 8mm across at the widest point - it's the tiny black thing I've got pinned to my felting sponge up there, with my two lead bears saying hello to the white woolly blob that was the start of Petra. I wanted a really simply shape, and looked at lots of Inuit carvings - I figured they were probably the experts, and most toy bears I found were really just white teddy bears. Every bear type has distinguishing characteristics, and the challenge of the Polar is that it is deceptively easy looking. As it was, there was much adding and chopping before I finally got what I was looking for.




With a thaw setting in, at last we were able to get over to the woods, where we found evidence of Badger tramping solidly along a path. Badgers have five 'fingers' in a straight-ish row, as opposed to a dog's four pads. They walk along putting their back foot as near as possible to their front foot, so old Brock's trail looked like a two legged race.




Driven by hunger, the little Muntjac deer were down in the bluebell woods, the most walked in part of the reserve. They almost didn't care how near we were, but eventually they sloped off into the beech grove ahead.




To my unkind amusement, Andy had a slapstick moment, when he leaned on a rotten gate post which promptly collapsed under him. Unfortunately there was a large, slushy, muddy puddle just where he landed and I would be derelict in my duty if I did not share this moment with the world.




Now conditions are somewhat better and routines are almost restored; though our roads are still like ice rinks and I count the hours until Andy is safely home. Roll on Spring.

Loose threads

A pony without a mane is not really a pony.
One thing I learned last month, was that horsey-things are hard. My multi-talented blog friend Meliors, of Bibliophilia asked me, very nicely, to recreate a little pony she had dancing about in her dreams. I thought it would be a challenge, but I had no idea...in the end, this poor little chap had more surgery than an aging Hollywood actress - bits sliced off, and added and removed and so on and so forth, until I finally got the proportions right. But the mane was to be my Nemesis. I looked at as many methods online and in books as possible, but they all involved sewing. I knew there had to be another way.






So I started off with an extravaganza of pins and needles...






Finding my latest tool, a wooden hand gripper very useful.






It started to get complicated...






...and developed a distinctly tribal feel. Kind of Zulu princess.






I decided that weaving was the answer and after about 6 hours of fiddling about, unfiddling, and fiddling some more, I had woven a little rug down the nape of his neck. I forgot to photo the finished result - suffice to say that I wasn't sure about it, and even less sure when Andy looked askance at my efforts. I went to bed on it.





I woke the next morning knowing that I had gone about it in completely the wrong way and a clear idea of how it should have been done. I dismantled the previous day's muddlings and cut an ugly, but useful gash into the little fellow.




I did try looping the cords round a piece of card, just to keep them regular, but that didn't work, so I returned to my method of pinning and hooking. This time I poked the threads down into the neck and laid big stitching over to hold them down firmly. It worked - to my relief. Bald horses look bizarre. After that it was just a matter of felting it all back together and giving 'Winnie' a good tidy up. Meliors was pleased with the results and he is now on his way to sunnier climes.





January - a month I normally love - was really odd and not very settling, clearing out deadwood and old ghosts, getting on with things which needed doing and generally decluttering my head.

A couple of irons I placed in the fire last year are looking very promising. My little animals are taking off in a way I always dreamed my illustration would, when I graduated in 1993, naively thinking that having put in six years of art and design study, I would miraculously start getting work. It happens for some people, but not for me. It has taken fifteen years of tilting at the Children's Publishing windmill to realise that, for whatever reason, it isn't for me. Or rather, I am not for it; I am tired of being told my work is too 'melancholy', too 'sad', 'not right' - or even worse - 'it's beautiful, but not suitable for children...'

The unexpected miracle of seeing my creations enchant people worldwide has encouraged me to show them to people who can take them even further, with exciting results - and all this, in less than a year since I picked up a felting needle. When fate pushes you so strongly, it's best to go with it. And I'm having more pleasure making little things than painting ever gave me. I'm not giving up illustrating - I've just given up breaking my heart over it.



Looking forward to an approaching time when all the loose threads will be swept away.

'No more twist'

Gordon Roque - Sea Horses

It seems an unlikely alliance - a young Filipino born American singer-songwriter from Nashville and a British forty- something, reclusive, sometime-illustrator. And yet when Gordon Roque contacted me out of the blue last year, having read my blog and connected with my artwork, we instantly hit it off. The race which knows Joseph. So, knowing that he instinctively understood the darker side to my toy paintings, (which many people miss) I was more than pleased when he asked me to review his debut CD, 'Sea Horses'.

I was worried I wouldn't like it. But I needn't have; I was in safe hands. As the first song 'the Boy in the Room' trickled from my CD player, I found myself quite overcome. It crept under my defences and wound its way into the tender corners of my soul which I normally keep close and safe. And I had some insight into why Gordon found a connection with my work. Some things transcend age, background and nationality.

'Sea Horses ' is a lovely, lyrical and deeply poignant album, a peephole into a wounded, but joyful heart. Deeply moving and at times, wrenching, the songs have quietly stitched themselves to me, as I have played them again and again. They dip into mellow soulfulness, then soar up rippling and tumbling like a woodland stream, before gently growling into melancholic, bluesy shadows. 'The Devil Prayed' is a particular favourite of mine. with a rousing chorus, which showcases his versatile, elastic voice and I loved the dark, disconcerting, broken music box feel to 'Mr Stranger'. Each song has been carefully crafted by an accomplished musician, combining gorgeous keyboard playing with a sublime voice.

By the time I reached the end of the album, I would have bet my last fiver that Gordon had generously slipped in a little something , and so I let the CD play beyond the listed tracks. I was not disappointed. And that's all I'm going to say - it is a delicious little secret which you have to discover for yourself.

Gordon has self produced this professionally finished album. Like me, he is dedicating his life to his chosen path, no matter how difficult or discouraging things get. That is just another reason I respect him and his music so very much. Doing things the hard way, with complete commitment and one hundred per cent immersion into one's craft seems to be a bit of a rarity nowadays. It offers no instant reward, is often lonely and, as the saying goes, 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. It's tough and there is no guarantee that there will be any payback for your efforts, though I have a gut feeling that in this case, the world will be hearing more from this multi-talented artist. Gordon often plays live, and an up-to-date list of dates can be found here. His blog can be found here - Where Pianos Roam, with it's sister blog, The Oreo Gallery, following the sweetly funny adventures of the miniature piano Oreo and her little friend buttercup on their travels.


If you want a flavour of this extraordinary debut album, then do watch this sampler video, or just listen to selected songs here. And if you are persuaded, then the CD is for sale from his website - it would be $13 well spent.

I wonder what he plays when he is alone in his room, if this is what he gives to the world. I think you would have to be a very quiet cat in the corner to know.