Vast landscape, tiny worlds at the Stiperstones

I've been working in my new part time role with Enable Employment Services for a few months now and it's transformed my life. As an Expert by Experience (my life of dealing with depression, anxiety and 'everything else'), I contribute my pennyworth to meetings and other areas. For the first time since moving here, twelve years ago when it all went so terribly, awfully wrong, I feel I have a place and purpose in Shropshire and lovely work colleagues. I'm less isolated and it's having a positive effect on my art and mental health, neither of which have been right for all the time I've lived here.

A couple of days ago I was able to take part in a volunteering/team building day with Shropshire Wild Teams and we all headed over to the Stiperstones Nature Reserve for a tree clearing session. Enjoy this short video, taken from the cab of the minibus and accept my apologies for the wobbles and bad light; a proper video camera is still sadly a pipe dream, but you get the general sweep of the area.

The narrow roads leading up to the Stones are long and winding, gradually rising until you are many miles above sea level. There are scatterings of houses along the way - most too small to be called a village - and it is a wide, windswept landscape with views across to the Long Mynd and beyond. It was a cool, overcast day and the rain held off, though huge grey clouds marched along the skyline. 

 

I had a bit of bother scrambling up the scrubby gorse covered slope, as my legs are quite arthritic now. But several of my younger colleagues kindly gave me a helping hand and eventually I borrowed a stout stick, which was so handy that I had become quite attached to it by the end and was sad to return it. While everyone else began chopping down the invasive young conifers that are choking up the natural habitat, I wandered slowly up the hill, marvelling at the rich flora underfoot. I had anticipated having to sit the activity out and had brought along some art materials. The surrounding landscape was majestic, however I couldn’t have done it justice. So I focussed on the wonders at my feet; the tiny worlds of lichen and mosses which were sprouting on dead wood and old stumps. 

        

        

So easily overlooked and yet on closer inspection, so exquisite in their form and colour, resembling an underwater coral reef, with scuttering beetles and bugs for 'fish'. 

                 

I spent some time searching for the elusive perfect patch, eventually settling down on my blanket for a happy hour of drawing. 

                                         

I had a big sketch pad with me, and rather than fiddle about with a fussy, intricate study, I swept my pastels across the page, enlarging the diminutive stalks to giant size. Chunky little Unison pastels (a  gift from long ago) created the swoop and sway of the dancing stalks.

                                         

I was completely lost in my work, adding bright accents of colour, darker areas of negative space and later, thinner, more fragile suggestions of outlines with pastel pencils, another kind gift from a friend and a nice reminder of them as I worked. 

    

                                        

I did have a ‘moment’,  thinking about how Andy loved this area, in his brief time here. I had brought his Swiss Army knife with me, which I used to trim a pencil and I huddled into the waxed jacket I was wearing, which used to be his. 

        

        

I was so lost in my work that I completely missed the sandwich break and didn’t eat my packed lunch until I eventually got home and then promptly fell asleep after a marvellous day out.

       

Field painting adventure and overcoming blocks

I have started to reserve Saturdays as a day off, otherwise I'm working every day without a break, which isn't particularly good for my fragile mental health. The weather at the moment is perfectly 'May' - not too hot, with a pleasant breeze and everywhere around is bursting with greenery, blossom and bird song. I have been yearning to do some landscape sketching for ages and decided to stay close to home, because I have a certain amount of anxiety about going out. So I packed a rucksack with a stupid amount of art stuff, made up a little picnic of a cheese sandwich and a bottle of water and after a lot of deep breaths, I set off on my monumental adventure; a minute's walk down the road to the back field which my bedroom overlooks. This is my usual  pleasant view, when I am working in bed (which is most days). It has the best light after midday and is comfortable.

I haven't  set foot in this field in the ten years I've been here. There are two reasons for this; the first is practical. There is a designated footpath which goes across it, but it ends abruptly at the hedgerow boundary, so it's fairly useless. The second is that I've had a mental block about it, as this was the field that Andy walked across on his last, ghastly walk in the dark snowstorm, leaving only his footprints, which remained there for days. I remember kneeling at the bedroom window the next morning, watching a police dog tracking what it could find of his scent and that image will never leave me. So despite it's beauty (and since then, I do appreciate it, every day), I have had little desire to actually go into it, even for a change of scene. So this was the day and it felt momentous. The footpath is just on the edge of Jean-and-Brian-Next-Door's garden and is almost never used (for the practical reason I mentioned before). It was overgrown with lovely Queen Anne's Lace and less lovely nettles.  

I scrambled over and waded through the jungle. Suddenly there I was, and what seemed like a vast expanse in front of me. The footpath leads to that gap ahead in the hedgerow. Beyond that are more fields, but technically inaccessible without extra footpath. I don't think the farmer would mind me pottering about, as we are on good terms, but I don't like going outside 'the rules', so I stuck to the  route. 

Happily, the area that I intended to sketch was perfectly placed for me to settle my gear and myself on the path - there is a small blossoming area of hawthorn that I wanted to capture, just beyond the oak tree on the edge of the woodlands (which belongs to another less friendly farm). 

It's been years since I attempted anything like this. I did a very rough prelim sketch of the composition, which was a messy scrawl that only I could interpret. 

I have no pretensions to being the next Cezanne or Paul Nash - this was really about getting out in the nice weather and doing something different. It was hard work though, even with copious amounts of pastels. I didn't create a masterpiece, nor even anything like how I emotionally 'feel' about the landscape. But I did have a marvellous two hours, sat in the sun, scribbling away in the middle of a field that I had feared entering for a decade. Now I felt safe and comfortable. I ate half a cheese sandwich and dickered about with my pastel mess until it was time to stop before I completely ruined it. 

It's been  long held wish of mine to be able to spend most of my time focussing on landscape art, but I'm not good enough to make it pay and I can't afford the time it would take to get to a standard I am happy with, nor the big canvases and oils I'd like to paint with. But this will do for now and more importantly, it was a break from my other work and I had fun. 

The problem is an old one - back when I was doing my art training over thirty years ago, I decided to go down the path of illustration, which suited my naturally 'tight' and high definition style of working. So it's hard to break out of that habit and needs a lot of practise to get out of. However I made a small start and the colour capture wasn't too bad - I'm just not happy with the way I depicted it, because it in no way expresses the way I 'see' a landscape in my mind's eye. There's no lyrical rhythm or magic. It is what it is.

However, self criticism aside, I also enjoyed seeing our cottages for the first time from the back - Jean and Brian's larger sections on the left and my bit tacked on the right side, with the white window frames. I had the odd sensation that maybe  (in some freakish quantum alternate reality kind of thing) there was simultaneously another Me in the bedroom, needle felting and gazing out of the window, while present Me looked on from the other side of the field. 

That's another block overcome and for the first time in ages, I have two mini- paintings for sale, in my usual style, over in my Etsy shop. I'm hesitant about mentioning them, as my art barely sells, compared to my needle felting, but I'm going to be brave again. 

This is 'Marmalade', one of my imaginary toys, which comes in a 6 x 6 inch mount but is unattached, so that it can be reframed if wished, which is available here. 

And one from last year, which I've only just listed, 'Autumn Pincushion' (very unseasonal), which is also in a 6 x 6 inch mount and is available here. 

Now I'm going to take the rest of the day off again, as it's Saturday, and I might sit under the willow tree in the overgrown garden and finish some Christmas ornaments so that they are ready in time for the holiday season, which will swing around all too quickly. 

Painting the hedgerows

Mid-may and the verges are spattered with Queen Anne’s Lace and sundry other wild pretties, overlooked by copious clouds of foaming hawthorn, which we must not pick and never, ever bring into the house, for fear of bad luck.

Even the ancient, warty Wrekin is softened with the flush of new green growth.

I have aways loved the sight of a narrow country road cutting through the landscape and forging onwards to an invisible end, softly edged by tumbling greenery, blurring the hard edges so that the road, for all its visual dominance, never entirely wins. And here is my own tumbledown cottage, hiding behind the greenery. If you look carefully, further down the lane you can see the lilac tree by the gate of Jean-and-Brian-next-door, 

This is a motif that comes out in my own work again and again, as I reinterpret and simply the landscape around me, most recently in these miniature hills, an edition of two. It is also a firm control of the messy chaos of wool, taming the fibres into a solidly outlined  object.

And there is the contrast again, in this large still life I painted last Sunday, with the hard plaster wall being softened and almost overwhelmed by the exuberance of the paint, depicting Fumitory and Honesty spilling out and escaping the confines of the white ceramic jug.

Here is a return to my early painting days of thirty years ago. A letting go of control, a ‘let’s see what happens if I do this’ and being content with using just a few loose, broad brushstrokes to do the visual heavy lifting of the background.

I cannot express how exhilarated and exhausted I was, by the time I put my brush down and thought ‘that’s it’.

In search of blue

 

 

In search of blue on a November day, I went walking hereabouts. Lowering clouds clung to the cap of Caer Caradoc.

 Across new shoots, a thin patch of sky over an isolated farm.

 

 

 Over wintering sheep grazing, fat and content in the emerging sun.

 

 

 Farmhouse chimneys, warm and red .

 

 

Nearing home. Suddenly the sun sweeps widely across the fields, and all is a blaze of cerulean, green and gold.

And there it is, where you least expect it; a large stone glowing coldly in the dirt path; icy aqua, a glacier in miniature and I have found my blue.

Sounds all around

It has been too bitterly cold to venture out for some time, but there comes a point when you really have to remind yourself of what legs are for. I have been feeling a bit creaky and my dodgy ankle was aching, but today I was in much need of some fresh air. There is a brisk East wind sweeping the country, which cuts right through you - a ‘lazy wind’ as I believe it is called in the North. So it was a bleak morning and to make my exercise a little more exciting, I challenged myself to find three bits of bright colour or beauty while I was out. Which was quite hard as everywhere seemed drab and chilled. 

Then I heard a quiet swishing and glanced sideways just in time to see an Ash key whirl to the ground. Looking down, I saw how it resembled a tawny owl in full flight. Had I not caught the fragile sound of it’s falling, I may have passed on without noticing.

As I continued my small ramble, I heard the fragile tinkling of running water. No magic spring, but an ordinary drain creating its own music as the icy field water trickled through the muddy echo chamber. 

Returning homewards, I found myself listening intently for my third ‘moment’. I was no longer on a quest for visual colour, but for the sounds of the winter landscape. And there it was, above my head; the dessicated whispering of long dead leaves, punctuated by the call of a crow. 

My cheeks scoured by the East wind, I reached home and a welcome hot lunch. I did not find the bright colours I had been seeking, but I have found a new interest in the sounds around me, which paint their own aural picture. 

It’s been a while since I’ve had the time to post here, but by way of apology, I have  made my latest post on my Patreon page public, with updates on my recent bedroom makeover - if you follow my Instagram account or are a Patreon, you will know that I’m spending a lot of time working in bed, where I can keep warm. There’s teddy bears and little needle felted geese and everything. 

WINTER RETREAT (Link)

Sundown

I was lucky enough to catch this wonderful sunset this evening and as it’s been a while since I wrote, I thought I’d drop in to share it with you. I am fine and despite the constant worry of finances, am remarkably calm. My heart has mended fairly quickly, with just a few hairline cracks left and I am just about managing to juggle everything. I have realised however that I need to take a little more time out for myself, after working for ten days straight and becoming a bit rundown recently. 

So many learning curves...I have restructured my Zoom classes now, so that they can be easily bought from my Etsy shop in one purchase - the kit and the one-to-one session, with date and time of choice, meaning that I can work around time zones, and I am offering free kit postage in the U.K. Each kit contains plenty enough wool for the project, which means that once someone has made their first toadstool with me, they can make more in their own time. So far I have only toadstool workshops available, but next week should see one or two seasonal projects added. 

Workshop kits and bookings

I’ve also been getting a big backlog of my own work finished and listed online and keeping up with my Patreon page, which is now up to fifteen lovely members. Their support is reassuring and  invaluable, providing a real incentive to keep writing - so for the first time in months, I picked up a kind-of-ghost story I started last year and have almost finished it. I will be drip feeding it to them over there in three instalments. The setting is remarkably like a cottage I (and possibly you) know well, in Shropshire, with a person newly moved in and finding her feet, with the help of very kind elderly neighbours.

Although despite the possible resemblance, I hope I never go through what my main protagonist experiences in ‘A Bundle of Crows’...

A scenic U-turn

Yesterday we had the luck of the sun again - October has been largely kind, weather wise. I had a workshop kit to post out; I normally do this using the online postage service and then hand my parcel over to the collecting post person at the top of the lane. But  today, I decided to cycle over to the village post office, where I haven’t been since early this year. It was all going well and I had a jovial exchange with an elderly walker who commented on my going at ‘sixty miles an hour’, to which I replied that yes, I was going so fast! (I wasn’t). And then just as I got to the turn off for the village, I came up against this;

There was a man with a mobile phone wandering about, but no workers, so I enquired if it would be possible for me to push my bike through, as the diversion was quite a large one. He investigated what I could see was a fairly deep cut trench (the electric mains wires were being replaced) and advised against it, as there was barely any road to work on. I had to agree with him. So I turned homewards. Said hello to the elderly walker again. Pushed Marjorie up the hill.

Investigated some gnarly bits of hedgerow.

And took a scenic shot, before returning home feeling thwarted but virtuous. And later that day I got my order sent off the usual way, stopping to chat to our farmer who (cheerfully blocking the traffic with his enormous tractor) offered to give the outside of the cottage hedge a trim as he always does. He’s a good sort. 

I have been busy juggling various things and have been amazed that my new Patreon page has gained twelve lovely subscribers since I launched it last week. It’s been good to have a safe place, where I can post freely and chat more easily with people. With the benefit of subscriptions, I’m able to take the time to craft longer, photo rich posts, and update more regularly here. I’ve also added three extra tiers, which allow people to save towards a small piece of my work over six months. 

This week, my subscribers shared my quiet weekend, in ‘A Letter from Saturday Night’. 

And have been on a long, autumnal ramble with me, with lots of photos, as I took Marjorie out for a very long spin, finding (at long last) some woodland to explore in ‘Seeing the Woods and the Trees’. 

If you’d like to join me in my wanderings, you can find my Patreon page here. I’d love to see you! (And Marjorie would be pleased too).