Settled

Settled. What a lovely word. We are settled again. The Hovel is almost spacious, thanks to our Big Clearout...even the hideous stereo system was taken in the end, thanks to Freecycle. What a difference to the chaos of ten days ago.

Main sofa is occupied by two of the more important members of the household, one ginger, one black. Window bay occupied by two nice but fragile Victorian chairs. Now we can get into corners we haven't seen since we moved in, four years ago.

Settled. Weekend guests came, were lovely and went. The Hidden Haven auction pictures arrived safely in America, and have a lovely new home with Connie and Rob. The auction raised $1,000 dollars, which is wonderful. It has been passed on to the good people at the Crazy Cow Farm, who need it for extra medication; times like this I really appreciate our NHS, despite it's flaws.

Settled. My good friend Rima (at last!) has a lovely new website, The Hermitage, where she is displaying her gorgeous mediaeval styled artworks and artefacts. See if you can find the site entrance, cunningly hidden. I wish I had the money to do a Charles Saatchi and buy up her entire collection - but if I could purchase just one thing it would be this - a scrolling story encased in a house on wheels which turns as the wheels revolve. Utterly, gorgeously bewitching.

Settled. The Autumn Equinox has come and gone, and I'm sure it is no coincidence that all of a sudden my concentration skills have returned, and rather like Rima's storyhouse, the wheels of the Hovel are running smoothly again. I had put my flibberty-gibberty-ness down to the upset of re-arranging the Hovel, and not having any paying work. But then I read Daisy Lupin's post about the Dark Moon, and knew that I just had to sit it out. It would pass. Now it is Monday and I am painting again. More strange toys to join Buttercup. Watch out for Koko, coming soon.

Settled. My 'real' jobs have started to come home. Those vital bits of printed artwork, which are the key to getting more work. Soon I should have a whole folio of published work, and can start another round of self promotion. I didn't have a single piece of 'proper' work a year ago, so there's been some progress. I was thrilled to receive copies of the 'City Mouse and Country Mouse' re-tell cards - I wonder if I will ever get over the joy of seeing my work printed? The quality is excellent and the colours are almost an exact match, which is something when you consider that they were scanned in on my home scanner and e-mailed for reproduction.

There is just one tiny thing which is not settled...I am in need of one more volunteer for the first Society of Secret Fairies parcel exchange...just one...now, who will fly through my window first..?

EDIT - I think I have solved my fairy logistics, thank you! Joy, I need you to contact me via my profile, with details please.

Cottage in chaos

Like many Cancerians I loathe any change in routine...but I had a seasonal urge to 'Autumn clean' and there was a desperate need to make space in our tiny Hovel (originally a little 'one up one down' for a farm labourer and presumably his wife and numerous children). We negotiate little pathways round furniture, books, magazines...all much needed of course! As I said, I am a fairly typical Cancerian. But a big clear out has been on the cards for years, and we had acquired some old bookcases (an unheard of luxury). It all started well; taking things apart is the easy bit...

But what to do with the stuff we didn't want? Enter Freecycle. Give stuff away, or take other people's unwanted treasures. Win-win situation. Within hours of putting a couple of offers up, I had a taker for my battered old accordion and several boxes of jumble. A whole car load to be sold in aid of the RNLI. It was actually incredibly liberating to let go of so much stuff I simply have lost interest in. Times and tastes change, even for Cancerians. We still haven't found a home for the partially knackered midi system, in tasteful black ash laminate, which we've been carting about since student days. If you live in the Oxfordshire area and want one, with big speakers, e-mail me...at least half of it works, including the record player.

The best give-away was the accordion. I remember buying this from a charity shop when I was 17 or so. I never did learn it, or get round to mending it. Bit of a specialist job, I suspect. After 21 years, it's time for it to move on. A lovely woman from the local amateur dramatic society popped round, thrilled to have another prop for their upcoming production of 'Frankenstein'. During our chat, I found myself tentatively volunteering my services as a scenery painter at a later date and promising to buy a ticket for the play. Whoever said the Internet would kill real social interaction, severely underestimated human nature.
Time also to pack away beloved frocks which will never quite fit in the same way again. Or at all. Some things I happily put in the recycling or jumble pile. I am not a sweatshirt kind of girl any more. Several old or valuable friends have been carefully wrapped in newspaper (a classic remedy for repelling moths) and cedar scented cards tucked inbetween. The pretty rose scattered Liberty frocks, my threadbare purple tie-dyed hippy top, the 1960's yellow daisy mini-dress, the gorgeous vintage emerald lace number I picked up for pennies and never wore - the same tale of good intentions to mend it and never getting round to it.

Gradually we are getting straight again.

Return to Autumn

We almost succeeded with our tomatoes this year, but they are reluctant to ripen, so the Hovel is scattered with piles of reddening fruits in every corner. Yesterday autumn came moaning down the chimney, cloaked in grey. My heart lifted and things in my head clunked back into place. For the first time in weeks I felt the urge to stomp across the fields and indulge in artistic scribblings. Squeezing out a limited tertiary-ish palette and grabbing a few implements, I almost scampered up the street, as the rain clouds squatted overhead and the air smelled moistly earthen.

There seem to be a lot of cows about this year - more than last. I don't mind cows - milkers are fine. It's bullocks of a Certain Age I loathe. Like fourteen year old yobs, they try to hustle you, belligerently glaring and kicking the dirt. "Oy, you - looking at ME?" . To my dismay, the same herd which had been occupying my favourite walk all summer were still there. But bigger. And with even more attitude. There was a gate between us though, so I decided to turn my misfortune round and whiled away 15 minutes drawing the brutes.

There was a horrid moment when they came right up to see what I was doing. Mutual mistrust on both sides. But I do like the shape of cows; such satisfying bellies to draw. And typically, just as I was starting to enjoy myself, they lost interest and wandered off...leaving the way clear for me to continue.

It's quite odd to go from colourful, tight fantasy illustration to drawing or painting something right in front of you. And something I am much in need of. I had an itch to paint, but wasn't sure what. I was within a mile of the village when I decided just to plonk myself down, stop looking for the perfect subject and 'do' whatever there was in sight. It started to drizzle. I set myself the achievable goal of two five minute watercolour sketches, the only aim being to enjoy myself with the techniques and not get wound up with trying to create a masterpiece.

And they weren't; these initial 'notes' are the bits you don't often see; they aren't particularly pretty, and they certainly aren't minutely and factually observed. But I wanted to capture the atmosphere and movement of the seedheads and grasses, and also to let rip with a bit of freestyle scrawling. These are for me. It was fun. I don't really care about the end bits, it was the getting there that mattered; scratched the itch. Then it got damper and thoughts of a pot of tea began to distract me. An hour later I was sat cosy at my desk, working at my present paying job - a brightly cheerful and eye-bustingly intricate poster of baby mermaids for the 5-7 magazine. I yearned to be back on the edge of the fields in the wind and rain, scratching away in the gloom.