Round and round the garden

Back to Wildegoose Gardens, for one of the regular artist meetups which I've been part of, for over two years now. Thankfully, in a week of abnormally high temperatures, last Wednesday was a little cooler, (at 26C/78 max) and there was a decent breeze all day. We started the day in the little cabin café at the top, for coffee and catch-up, before scattering ourselves around the gardens to work.

Now we are coming out of Spring, and the first summer flowers are splashing the beds with bright colour. 

Wildegoose is a modestly sized garden compared to some, but it more than makes up for it in design and planting. Winding paths lead you into secret areas, and there are several seating areas where you can have a quiet moment and take in the scenery. Brown Clee Hill is just visible in the distance, long and brooding. 

It's a challenge to find just one thing to paint in this glorious exuberance; I always wander round for some time, taking it all in and soaking up the atmosphere. 

Today, I needed a shady spot and found a secluded archway cut into a hedge, where I sat for the rest of the morning, doing a scribbly study of light and shade. My work is normally pretty tight and controlled, so this was playtime.

Just as it was starting to get properly hot, it was lunchtime and we began emerging from our chosen spots and headed up to the cabin, like homing birds heading for the same nesting ground. At the top of the gardens is a long, Georgian greenhouse, which still has the original heating pipes installed. However, today was not the day for a greenhouse of any size, no matter how interesting. 

After we'd devoured our packed lunches, chatted and had a rest, it was back to the afternoon heat for round two. I picked the pretty little white bench under some trees, where one of my favourite views lay straight ahead. 

        

 As is the way, the afternoon flew by, and I produced another pleasing scribble. 

After a final wander, it was time to re-group and share our sketchbooks - one of the best parts of the day; seeing what everyone else has created and discussing the various techniques used.  

Apart from the pleasant social side of these days, I find that working loosely and from real life always teaches me something new, which I can then incorporate into my other work. I've begun painting properly again, with a view to getting things in galleries, and although my art is purely imaginative, it has to have element of realism, such as the light and shade, to make it believable.  

At the moment, I'm in the middle of 'Swallow's Return'. It's at the dreaded halfway stage, where it seems that it will never be finished or look as I imagined.  But like a winding garden path, which goes round and round, it will get there - in the end. 

Daffodils and winding lanes

It’s been a very long start to Spring, and I was keen to take advantage of what felt like the first proper day of the season. Poor No.6 has been champing at the bit to get out after his Winter rest, and together we headed off along the winding road, keeping an eye open for tractors and daffodils.

The trees were still looking grey and cold, but as we approached the village,  there were plenty of nodding daffodils to remind us that the season really is finally changing. It was a fairly warm day and as we passed the church, there was a man on the edge of the graveyard (well wrapped up) practising his saxophone, gentle, mournful notes drifting over the wall.

Back in open countryside and the fields are lined with delicate blackthorn blossom, frothing the hedgerow like clustered stars against a night sky.

Despite the many weeks of rain this year - the wettest in the Midlands since records began - the fields are already vibrant and lush with new growth.

Around a corner and suddenly there, in the distance, towards Church Stretton, lie the long, low shapes of Ca’er Caradoc and the Lawley, misty blue against a clear sky.

Spinning along in the sunshine, cooled by an Easterly breeze and passing dear little cottages nestling on edge of narrow, hedge lined  lanes.

And inevitably, another hill, which we took slowly with a fair amount of pedal assist from No.6’s battery.

Past the creepy pond, which is always covered in green slime and surrounded by half dead trees.

And hooray for a big downhill stretch, with little yellow celandines lining the road cheerfully and trees flushed pale green with emerging leaves.

It had been nearly seven miles and we were in sight of home - a tiny, beloved cream speck on the horizon, where in less than ten minutes I would be in the kitchen putting the kettle on and No.6 will be having his battery recharged.

My batteries needed recharging too, and happily there was some old but edible homemade cherry cake to go with my much needed cup of tea.

All kinds of blue

 

It was below freezing when I got up early last Saturday morning at 6.30 for a hot chocolate. When I returned to bed, the sun was just rising after 7, the crows were calling and I snuggled under the duvet and blanket for an indulgent lie in. When I woke later, the back field was covered in a dusting of frost and the sun was out for the first time in what feels like forever. I had almost forgotten that the sky was blue, not a dingy, cold grey, with what has felt like unending rain.

As my long term aim is to be painting properly again, I have been sorting out my watercolour tubes, some of which I’ve had for over 30 years. I’ve been painting up new samples of what I have, so that I have a visual reference to help my poor memory. About 25 years ago, when I was painting regularly, I instinctively knew, through long practise, what to mix up for the exact colour I needed. Now I accept that I need to be able to see exactly what is in each tube. Which oddly is what made needle felting so accessible for me; I had all the wool colours to hand, in clear bags and it made it so much easier to create  exactly what I had in mind. Knowing how my ADHD affects me, this makes perfect sense; if it isn’t in front of my nose, I won’t remember it. 

The front room was bitterly cold, but I got the wood burner going and began a sheet of blues, to go with the greens I painted up the week before.

The morning music was provided by Midlake - one of my favourite bands, but who have been off limits for years. These two CDs were part of the musical backdrop to our move to Shropshire; Andy discovered them and we both loved them. They reminded me too vividly of that last, happier life. I have my therapist to thank for encouraging me to face things like this, and now I can dance around the room to ‘Roscoe’ with crying. Although I did cry the first time. Another thing reclaimed, and music which brings me such joy and inspiration. 

One of the blues I was sampling was a generous present from a kind friend, and it’s the most expensive paint I own; Sleeping Beauty Turquoise by Daniel Smith. It actually cost more than I spend per week on food. It is made from pure pigment, from a mine in Arizona, hence the price, and is the most perfect turquoise I have ever seen. 

I’d been trying (unsuccessfully) to capture this exact shade for a new hare decoration. As you can see here, in these two first drafts, it wasn’t working at all. 

It’s a little like Daniel Smiths’s Cobalt Turquoise, but is just a smidgen more subdued, with an exquisite, subtle dullness. I have yearned for this colour ever since discovering its existence and I feel very lucky to own my own tube of it now.

Although the fire made the room bearable, it was still cold enough that I was chilled through by the time I’d finished. Happily, I had a pot of bean and vegetable soup ready, with a new batch of bread rolls. Time for a hot water bottle, bed, and an afternoon nap. 

Cooking for the future

I was glad to get this January out of the way - it was the 13th anniversary of losing Andy, and while it doesn’t hurt as it used to, I still felt lighter once the 21st was out of the way. This January was also packed with lots of work in my role as an ‘expert by experience’ trying to make up for a lack of hours in December. I’ve taken part in all day interview panels, role playing with interviewees and several Teams meetings from home, followed by the inevitable need for recovery time afterwards. With the delightful combination of ADHD and autism, I get social exhaustion very easily and my work is often intense, leaving me utterly drained. There are days where I’ve only been able to lie in bed, napping and listening to podcasts, while my ever busy brain rages that I should be doing something productive. Needle felting! Painting! Blogging! Cycling! All of it, all at once! But I can’t. I simply have to rest and recover, and be completely, blissfully alone.

Once I’d recovered from my last work session, I spent three days batch cooking for when I can’t face making a meal, or when I am in the office all day and only just have enough energy left to put something quick in the oven before crawling into bed. 

I’ve never been into fast or ultra processed food; I can remember at the age of 15, spending my babysitting money at the local health food shop. I had to buy my own granary loaf there, as my foster family only ate white sliced bread and were, to say the least, suspicious and resentful that I preferred to buy my own food and be a vegetarian. As well as reading books, a special crime in itself, earning me much ridicule. Which is one of the reasons I left after my 16th birthday and had to learn to survive on my own, on next to nothing. But I am wandering off topic, and it was a  very long time ago. 

I only became aware of the phrase ‘cooking from scratch’ last year, and was confused, as I have always followed (another catchphrase) ‘clean eating’ by choice and to me, cooking is just - well, cooking. I have had to economise throughout my life and I can cheaply batch cook something healthy for under £3, which can be turned into several meals for the freezer. Incidentally, I have only recently discovered baking a whole tray of potatoes at once, which can then be frozen for warming through when needed - how did I not know this before? They were a  godsend when the power was off a few weeks ago, and I was able to put a couple of them on the fire.

I steamed, cooked and baked, producing a large red lentil and sweet potato traybake, thickened with porridge oats and made delicious with extra veg, various seasonings and lots of garlic. Also, a pot of rich, earthy mushroom and brown lentil soup, a batch of plain bread rolls, a big bag of mirepoix, for quick soups and sauces, extra chopped celery, onions, carrots and leeks to freeze. I peeled and steamed a bag of white potatoes and used little kitchen scissors to cut a 1kg pack of cheap smoked bacon offcuts into tiny cubes, as a substitute for pancetta, for soups and risottos. 

I then made a crustless quiche with a base layer of potato slices, cheese, frozen  spinach, 5 eggs and various bits and bobs, and a jar of pickled carrots which are good to go in soups and salads. Finally, I made soup stock from all the vegetable peelings and gnarly bits.

I was all out of executive function by the time I was finally finished, and needed another rest day. But I was pleased to have a fully stocked freezer, for the days when I have zero energy. I live far from any shops, without a car and  I don’t have the option of ‘just popping out for something’. Fun fact; I haven’t had a takeaway meal for ten years. (This last fact has amazed my colleagues at work). 

February and snowdrop season should be lighter in many ways, and I aim to get a lot more of my own work done, as I plan new things for the future.