Break out the Party Poppers

It's that time again; which in our household nowadays means putting on Slaid Cleaves' 'One Good Year', (the version with the trumpet solo), and settling down to the serious business of being extremely grateful for how much we have gained or salvaged out of the past years. This is the second year in which I will not be serving meals to anyone except myself, Stu and the kits; I swore that my plate-carrying days were over last November and no matter how many days of food retail I am subjected to in the name of survival, I am grateful that this is still the case.

Stu will finish relatively early tonight although the Hogmanay 'perimeter' barriers mean that I will have to drive a circuitous route to rescue him from the woolly-hatted drunken hoards; I would sure hate to be sober in town tonight.

So. Where did I come from in 2010 and how do I end the year?... Last January I had been back from our stint on Arran for a month and a half; still a residual tan from the month in Vietnam but a lot of insecurity and worry for how we would survive the year on a greatly reduced budget with both of us still on only temporary contracts. Shortly after we were both made permanent and so that side of the load was lifted, although we have become very familiar and creative with pasta, curries and the now legendary 'leftover night'.

At the start of the year I had precisely zero shows lined up, but a newly cleared and organised studio and a head full of ideas from the far east and the year on Arran. A chance email kicked off the first show of the year, which took place in Adam House in March, a fundraiser for the Princes Trust. I painted 'live' for the opening, turning out to be the only one who turned up to do it despite quite a few promises; a terrifying experience to start with, but one which I was proud to have achieved. Now it seems commonplace... The next lucky break was entirelly due to the re-finding of an old college friend; the grapevine had let me know that she was still in town and recently diagnosed with breast cancer. I had to act, and after a ten year gap, we were delighted to discover that our friendship had survived as if in hibernation; since then she has beaten her illness and I have been cheered to have her back in my life. On one of our early outings, she showed me a new gallery in her home neighbourhood and I pulled together the courage to approach the painter/owner whose work I remembered from his time as gallery artist at another establishment across town. I was invited to collaborate on a spring show over the Leith Festival, and over the year my involvement has grown to the degree that I now paint in the gallery every Sunday and collaborated again on the winter show; 'Angel Haven' - paintings by myself and gallery owner Ritchie Collins.

Through another connection (my framer, who also displays paintings for me) I had some giclee prints produced to sell in both locations; the printer asked if I would like to publish some of my designs with them, and so I saw my paintings reproduced as cards for sale at the Edinburgh Book Festival.

In the autumn the opportunity arose to be part of a fundraising exercise for the Exhibiting Societies of Scottish Artists; an auction at Lyon and Turnbull. It was a great show and doubtless achveived its aims, but for me the highlight was opening the email flyer and discovering that my painting had been chosen for the advertising. For some reason it is extremely hard to believe that anyone else will think highly enough of your work to use it for anything other than fishwrap, so it is a major boost to find it used in a context such as this. A similar and equally inspiring moment occurred recently when I found one of my paintings in a FB friend's gallery of inspiring artwork; alongside Botticelli. Great moment.

The thing about this list is that it is growing as I write; now I realise that I have omitted the fact that the Marchmont Gallery hung two of my pictures in the summer and made me their 'artist of the month' on the website; the photo of me standing by the gallery window has to be one of my favouite images of the year... long should I remember that feeling. This show was the result of good old fashioned cold calling; turned up at the gallery with some prints hoping to get a look in and was sent away to return with originals; this again meant that I am in the winter show with some of my angels. Having spent the whole summer giving free reign to my winged ones for the Leith show, they spilled over into many small box canvases, which are resident in the Marchmont Gallery (or hopefully going home somewhere else) until the end of January.

Last but by no means least, I am also now showing (and on the website of) the Number Four gallery in St Abbs; a really inspiring selection of work in an amazing setting; taking the work down was one of my top days of the year, for sure. Coincidentally, I was playing the Slaid Cleaves track mentioned at the top of the page as I came across the most amazing view down the coastal cliffs in the dying golden sun. Moments like that stay with you.

Looking at the work from last January and the one before that I can say that I am surpassing my own expectations of what I can produce; I am excited at seeing how far I can push myself in the coming months.

Of course, I could do none of this without the friendship, humour and hard work of my sidekick Stu; I count myself very lucky that I have someone who will suffer my moods and quirks with unflinching support. And make me laugh at myself when I make deadpan pronouncements about my art which I then contradict in the same sentence. And not mind that many things in the house are now covered in paint.

Wishing all my friends, new and old, a very successful and satisfying year in 2011.

Last Legs

List writing; how relaxing is it... just read someone else's blog intoning us to write a list of everything we have 'shipped' this year. Now I have to confess to slight ignorance with the use of the word; in cashjob it would mean that something had been posted or sent, in 'The Usual Suspects' I took it to mean 'killed', although now I think on it, it could have meant 'dobbed in', 'grassed', 'gave up'. Not sure about that though, my first instinct may, as in many other instances, be the correct one. In the context of the blog, however, I take it to mean 'accomplishments'; projects completed. Had you asked me this one when I was between the ages of eight (or earlier, memory wobbly before then) and 18 you would have received a long, deep breath and a raised eyebrow; finishing things was not my strong suit. I remember coming across one of my numerous self-inflicted illuminated projects; this one was a natural history of Australia. An exercise book had been carefully laid out page by page with the name of an animal or plant at the top of each; under this on 90% of the pages was a big blank space. The pages that I had completed were well meaningly elaborate with descriptions, illustrations, maps and the like, but the resounding message of the piece was of a project abandoned.

I have a recurring dream in which I am at college starting a new term and trying to hide the fact that I have completed no work for the previous one; attempting to sign on for a new course and start again so that the lack of substance from the previous months will go unnoticed. As I am doing it there is a sinking feeling as I acknowledge that there is little likelihood of managing any better this term... I didn't have a great time with education and I am still trying to figure out why, as I love learning; it was school I despised.

I shall carry out this project though; my shippings this year have been quite astounding considering the position I was in at the start of the year and I feel it is time to reflect and take some credit for this. But not yet... the year is on its last legs but not down and out yet. Who knows what will occur to me in its final hours. List time tomorrow, and then we begin again.

To the Apple!

A blissful day, especially joyful in the knowledge that I am at liberty all next week and so I can sow the seeds and write the lists to get a lot achieved in the first week of the year. Also the run-up to my birthday, which was the optimistic reason for the holiday request; sadly we will not be running off to find snow or sun anywhere further than the Lothian hills and coast for the forseeable future. Many things to be glad of though and so much to look forward to in the new year so I am pretty upbeat.

Sent some images and a 'resume' off to the Amsterdam Whitney gallery in NYC today; they had emailed me requesting that I do so. Normally I am pretty blase about requests like this but I responded to this one as they were not after money as so many are, and because it fits scarily well into my own personal little life story at the present time. We have been toying with visiting Amsterdam because random people keep telling me reasons why I should go (and also because I love Schipol Airport) and I am trying to get to New York to visit a wee pal who I have recently regained contact with thanks to the wonder of Facebook. (pictured, in the Guggenheim, filming something) So... this all falls into the song lyrics, as it were. May well be a cul-de-sac but all will be revealed in the fullness of time. Having discovered how much I can achieve from so little in 2010 I am aiming for the stars in 2011; from dust to the stars...


Also became stupidly excited today upon purchasing and stretching my first canvas; having established that the process of mounting canvas on board to facilitate printing is pretty easy, I was left with a spare stretcher on which to mount some new canvas for painting. Turns out a lot cheaper too, as I had imagined, and now I have enough for two more big paintings and a few wee ones... of course I have run out of primer, but that's just a little thing and I can pick up more tomorrow. Naturally, Twig the kit decided that a sheaf of fresh canvas was a new bed and now it is a little on the hairy side, but at least she didn't do the claw sharpening thing on it. Yet. Must stash the leftover piece somewhere Twig-proof; half the house is now in various drawers, cupboards, the bathroom...ah, the things we do for love.

The lack of primer means that my hands are tied just now for starting a new one, but there are postcards to be pasted into a new book, sketches to be sketched, half a chapter of book to finish before I am onto Hemingway (for the first time!) and numerous computer related opportunities to follow up with regards to art communication and marketing. Never a dull moment.


And... still got a Crunchie left from the Christmas selection box! Bet its half size though.

Winter Slusherland

Started for work in the dark; reached work in the dark. Parked in the dark; on a ticket space... last traffic related expense of the year - I hope. Funnily enough, last year I managed a speeding fine while driving through the deserted early morning villages in the Cotswolds on Boxing day. You know the ones, where the speed limit changes fifteen times on a four mile stretch of road and you could reconstruct the Forth Rail Bridge with all the metal used for the warning signs for heaven only knows what. So this year it was parking instead; another fine way to spend the Christmas cheque from Stu's mum that just cleared into the bank account. Next year I should really go for something a little heftier; a spell of festive vandalism or good old fashioned armed robbery. Lets get a real fine.

Bizarrely I am in such an optimistic and jolly mood despite this dampener. The way I see it, it is all just numbers on paper anyway; just movin' them around a little. Did write a rather dark Haiku on the way to work though; but it was dark and dingy:

The snow has broken

All the Christmas tree branches

And melted to slush.

I guess its not the time to announce that I miss the snow, but they were good times tramping to work and back in wellies in the mysterious snowlight whistling to myself and looking forward to the re-warming back home. Must make it up to Lappland one of these years, but absolutely not on a mini tour taking in the reindeer farm and Santa's elves; needs to be the real deal.

A whole evening stretches out before me courtesy of the piddling hours I am working in dayjobworld this week so I shall make the most of it in valuable research and painting work. Could sure get used to this in an ideal world where money was a dim and distant memory of number shuffling.

The Next Best Thing

Little bit of a dilemma tonight as I realise that the pic on my blog's front page is 'advertising' Angels for Christmas. Do I just go with the shops and start advertising for Easter? Think I will simply add a reminder that the Number Four gallery in St Abbs has extended its Christmas/winter show until the end of January due to the fact that pretty much no-one got to see it as the gallery was embedded in a wall of snow.

Back to the dayjob with a mix of feelings today; partly a heavy heart after a couple of days reminding myself what life could be like in an ideal world when Stu and I actually see each other when awake and get to play with creative stuff... Partly feeling very optimistic that this will soon be the case; I have long given up trying to predict the ways of the world so can only keep bashing away.

Got around to lots of drawing and idea spinning over the two days of Christmas and enjoyed having someone to bounce things off; plenty studio time too with waiter service tea and chocolates. Could definately get used to this, especially if a beach was outside the window and the temperature was in the eighties... getting ahead of myself now, but I can dream. Settle for less if I have to..

The painting I have been working on is now complete after a very exuberant days painting yesterday and a late burst of surrealism; I had a feeling that show (at the Dean Gallery last week) would come out in some way or other. The original sketch is of an angel 'bust' sitting atop a table with another small angel beside it. As it progressed the angel came to life and so her cropped body looked more interesting/odd as it has progressed. Now the hands are on and she is left armless it is slightly stranger still; comic when I started this month convinced that I would have to start painting something more 'commercial' and more likely to sell. Fat chance; it just doesn't work that way.

This is the first time I have done a canvas of any size (as opposed to board) and already I am in love with the 'boingy' nature of the surface and the bobbly texture; both characteristics which I have previously quoted as to why I don't like working on canvas. Contrary is many an artists' middle name... The only thing I had to alter in the end was the fact that I wanted to potato print on it and frame it as I have the paintings on board, so tonight I cut it off the stretcher and PVAd it to a board for the final bits and pieces of pattern and varnishing. This definately falls into the category of things that I will only allow myself to do; Stu won't cut the boards for me once I have finished a painting so if I need to trim up with a saw or a Stanley that is always my job; that way if I go wrong and cut right through something crucial it is no-one's fault but my own. Has a way of focusing the mind, that. Thus the task of Stanley-ing a canvas and sticking it to a piece of wood was automatically my territory; went fine though, despite Twig's attempts to stick herself or some of her hair to the board along with the canvas.

Hoping to get this one framed up and put it in for the SSA open show; my submissions have been consistently unsuccessful for three or four years now so my hopes are somewhat limited; however, I am pleased with this piece so in it goes. As I have commented before, the last painting I have done is always my favourite, and for a few weeks I am always content that I have at last progressed in some major way. Then in week four I look at it suddenly with fresh eyes and I know that it is back to the easel again in search of the next great thing. I've liked this one for a while now, though, so maybe I am onto something at last; catch me next week and see how I feel...

Now. I am sure there are still chocolates in the house and it is my duty to finish them all as quickly as possible so as to remove the temptation from my kitchen. And we all know that chocolate consumed fast within two days of Christmas doesn't count. Or contain calories.

Five years

Celebrating five years since I quit the booze; a meaningful anniversary for me. Spent a large part of the day painting and the rest being happy and relaxing with Stu. Here's what I'm painting; titled 'Les Anges, les etoiles et la neige'.

Oh little town

A very merry Christmas with no shadow of Humbug. Chocolate eating, cat cuddling, beach walking, magazine browsing, chatting and laughing, singing in the kitchen. Now its time for dinner and a movie. Bon Noel.

The sky is quite green

At least in its reflection

In the beach puddles

A dog chases sticks:

The tea flask is warm despite

A foggy sea chill

The ducks fly over

Grazing the mist that wanders

Delicately close

Light dawns the Eve

I will be interested at the close of the year's blogging to see if there is an easily identified pattern for my plunges into despair and subsequent re-emerging into the daylight. Yesterday I was in a dark mood which filled me from crown to toes with a kind of dark lethargy; the feeling that you get when the best thing seems to be to lie down and sink into the earth. I am not a natural when it comes to social interaction with large groups and the politics that exist in the world of the dayjob often conspire to leave me feeling a little like I did at school; outside the norm. But that was yesterday, and that is what fascinates me about how a mood can switch and lighten with the turn of the dawn.. It was with heavy heart that I set out into another snowy morning to work the full day of Christmas Eve, already cynical of the festive season and finding it hard to believe that I could pick up my spirits before the treasured two days of freedom. But lo! A host of angels must have finally found me and alighted on my shoulders, for the day turned gradually rosy as the hours ticked by and I found myself surrounded by smiling faces instead of the feared Grinches. As a final moral to my tale, the part at the end when the lead character realises the error of her selfish thoughts and takes stock of all the luck in her life... a lovely but very drunk lady appeared and asked to be assisted with her shopping. During the course of the store tour it became apparent that the lady had a mother who was terminally ill and this was the last Christmas meal she would prepare for her. So there I am; suddenly the angel on a stranger's shoulder myself, offering what words and help that I could; watching the tears fall and counting myself lucky that I have all that I do. The perfect 'shake-by-the-shoulders to send me home to call my mum, cuddle the cats and start another painting; play some great music loud, cook dinner, sing in the kitchen and hope lots of love wings its way to sad people everywhere.

Humbug Shmumbug

Absolutely should not be blogging tonight; if there is one thing I cannot bear it is negativity but the day has left me brimming with it. Faith in human race gradually being eroded by evidence of materialistic, selfish, spoilt-child mentality in relation to a festival that means nothing to most except excuse to waste obscene amounts of money and then moan about it. Feeling extremely glad not to have to take part in any such excessive spending, eating or moaning myself; looking forward to a pleasant couple of days away from everyone with loved one and cats trying to re-establish normal sunny nature. Off to studio to play bouncy music and paint happy things.

Desperately seeking positivity

I cannot help but feel a little despondant with the news today that the Number Four gallery in St Abbs has been effectively out of action for all but one weekend of the month's winter exhibition. With Edinburgh also affected it has meant that my excitement at being in three galleries for Christmas has evaporated a lot quicker than the pesky snow. Having spent so much time preparing for the shows and, being me, worrying about them, it is sad to realised that far fewer people will have seen my work and of course, had the opportunity to buy it.

Sales wise, very disappointing it has to be said. Still no word of the mysterious buyer from Ritchie's gallery in Leith who may or may not be returning for one that she reserved. It is hard to remind myself that there is another reason for the lack of returns on my invested time; my usual paranoia starts to kick in and doubt that I will ever succeed in my aims.

Trying hard to focus on the true and undeniable fact that we are tantalisingly close to finishing payments on the hefty great loan that has left us a little financially challenged this year; the final months of the experience are close at hand and after that we can look forward to breathing a little easier and having less near-overdraft experiences. Maybe a little less pasta for dinner as well, but I have become strangely attached to it..

Line in the sand coming up again though; the year of blogging is about to enter a new phase as we start thinking about what comes next and how we can move on into the opening chapter.

Meanwhile I try to stay focused, remind myself that lack of sales does not equate to lack of success, especially when galleries are snowbound, and start to create new opportunities and build on what I have achieved this year so far. Which is actually pretty impressive really.

Notes and Scribbles

The joy of a slow start in cashdayjob; managed a near full half hour of sitting scribbling ideas for the constantly evolving piece I am maybe-sort-of doing involving nine little box canvases. I am trying to build on the momentum I had when producing loads of little angel paintings for the various galleries' winter shows; however I feel that the pace I was working at was part of the reason that everything came out so effortlessly. Sometimes when I think/agonise most I produce least - or less of quality anyway.. Knocked out a great wee angel last night while talking to Stu and watching him cook tea; always a favourite time and one I have never thought to utilise in painting. Logistically less easy due to sitting on a 'Workmate' in the kitchen with a palette and a canvas balanced on knees but it, again, stops me stressing or over-thinking.

The wee one was a little more 'dark' than the Christmas angels and I seem to be harking back to an idea I had and never followed up a couple of months ago; the slightly dodgy, dirty and dishevelled world of the fairies, which was envisaged after reading the title of a book concerning the 'underworld' of Edinburgh in Robert Louis Stevenson's day: 'Lamplit, Viscious Fairyland'.

Duck-egg and newsprint dresses, frizzy hair of uncertain hue, aged Geisha make-up, cold-pinched cheeks, tissue snowflakes and lots of murky greys and umbers... silver wings and heart-shaped faces.. The dilemma is always whether to blog about these things in order to make them more concrete or record the results of my ideas. So many end up coming to nothing due to time, my ever changing mind or another idea butting in on the original one. Little angels all clamouring 'Me! Me! Meee!' in my head. Hmmm. Definately time to head studio-wards. The year is on its last legs; maybe these are the last angels of this little cycle?

Life in the Freezer

Having read the great book 'The worst journey in the world' by Apsley Cherry Garrard about his epic and terrifying journey to find the Emperor penguins' nesting site, I can never feel that I can join the chorus of 'oh its so cold' and 'this is a nightmare' (if I here that one particular phrase one more time I may snap). But it was with a heavy heart that I opened the curtains this morning to the floaty white stuff again on the very morning that I was scheduled to take Stu's mother to the airport for her month in Essex, which she has been looking forward to and planning for lordy knows how long. As a small trial run I took Stu into work at seven thirty (on a luxurious four and a half hours sleep) which was successful and raised the optimism levels as by that time the snow was slowing even if the grit was noticable by its absence... again..

Settled down for a quick snooze and was rudely awakened - two hours later- by the mother-in-law grinding at the bit to get going; by now the snow was coming down in shovels and reticent is not the word. Managed to 'ground' the car on a buried pile of ice chunks on the first leg of the journey and had to dig myself out, although it was less the digging and more the ability to drive sideways that saved me from falling at the first hurdle. Airport duly reached via a single lane bypass with bugger-all visibility and my guilt at leaving a small elderly person at an airport in the snow on her own (at her insistence, I hasten to add) left me and a brief euphoria washed over. All I had to do was get home and that's me finished for the Festive season; I can walk to work, walk back and get food as and when it is needed. We need no wine, turkey or crackers and I am not feeding the five thousand on crazy produce only even eaten at this time of year, so the store cupboards will suffice.

Scared the living heebie jeebies out of myself on the laborious journey, spent trying to come up with a route through Edinburgh not involving hills (doesn't exist, trust me); overtaking an abandoned bus on the hill of choice I managed a nifty 180 turn, ending up facing the bemused driver behind me. I thank the lucky stars he was a good way back and I thank a few constellations that my beloved car then proceeded to perform a perfect three-point turn as if nothing had happened. Realised a few hundred yards down the road that I was driving with my hand over my mouth in the horror of what could have been. Car is now firmly parked and the wellies are back in action. Good to know what its like out there on those days when the forecasters tell you to stay at home unless in emergency, or in need of removing a mother-in-law to the other end of the country for a month.

Spent the rest of the afternoon in cameraderie with the rest of our little cul-de-sac clearing the street of snow, only to see it start up again just as we were leaning on our shovels thinking proud thoughts... So to the studio and another little angel has popped into life for the piece involving many small box canvases. Two down, seven to go.

I'm now dreaming of a white Christmas with all worries dissolved. Bring it on.

Quiet corridors

Long debate before setting out this morning to meet a friend at the Dean Gallery for the Surrealists show; drive or bus? The snow has let up, the weather is bitter but settled and it is the last weekend before Christmas. Driving into town would be lunacy (more on that word later) wouldn't it...? Decided on the bus and foot; stop-started painfully slowly across town among packed shoppers, trod the frozen pavements down the New Town to Dean Bridge, where before me laid out in silent rows were the biggest number of parking spaces ever observed in the city centre. Mental note; last weekend before Christmas = shops full, galleries empty.

This of course meant that we had a fantastically quiet view of the show - could almost have been a genuinely private view; I was occasionally surprised when I stepped back onto someone's toe, but the halls were blissfully silent apart from our own commentary. I have been meaning to see the show for months but luckily it had a long run; I have often dismissed the surrealists and never quite figured out why. Overexposure to 'The Persistence of memory' in reproduction on mouse mats and mugs? Worrying similarities to fantasy art? Just too damn clever for its own good? All considered but none rings entirely true; truth is I am not that familiar with all aspects of the 'genre' and wanted to see more. The internet helped me discover that Max Ernst was someone I wanted to see more of but did nothing for my affection for Salvador Dali; the show has pretty much confirmed that to be honest, but added many new names to the list of those I would like to see more of. Also fascinated by the British Surrealists, who seem a bit derivative, but still plenty to look at and wonder about. Edith Rimington, Emmy Bridgewater and Roland Penrose, who I keep bumping into in different contexts and get mightily confused about. Of the continental group I found the most interest in Max Ernst, Paul Delvaux (who I jokingly said painted a bit like me) and De Chirico; all of them essentially new to my eyes and all the more interesting for it. Some lovely drawings and smaller studies by all three.

Dali did get a look-in for me with his 'Exploding Raphaelesque Head' which is not one I had seen at Athena and so held the crucial trump card of novelty and was also very beautiful.

Reading the art mag in the very convivial teashop I found a reference to Ana Maria Pacheco, who I must look up as I am pretty sure that she was the head of Fine Art at Norwich School of Art when I was on foundation. Looks like some fantastic wooden sculptural figurative work she has been producing which struck me as like a 3d Paula Rego. Very strong.

Leaving to wander over to Stockbridge, peruse small galleries and shops and catch up on the last few months, we were treated to a stunning, frozen view over the Water of Leith and the Dean village lit by Venus and some early stars in crystal clear light. The moon is just a shade off full, which explains Twig's dementia over the last two nights. She is a lunatic - and it was only today on the prompt of my friend that I realised the root of the word...

Early hours

We are having a small war with Twig the kit who has decided that we are no longer allowed to sleep after six am; to be honest I think I have been suffering gradual sleep deprivation for the past year and a half since the little sweetheart tottered into our lives.. I am an eight-hour-a-day girl; no Maggie Thatcher measures for me. Without it I tend to become grumpy and disoriented; focus leaves me and my eyes begin to resemble the star of an early vampire movie.

We were introduced to Twig on Arran last year; having offered to run a friend's seafood restaurant in the wilds for the summer season we were ready for the unexpected, but a small kitten entering our lives and wrecking our sleep patterns had not been factored in. Some of the tunes I used to play at night in an attempt to lull her to sleep and deter her from homicidal attacks on my fingers are forever linked in my mind to these times...Her current restlessness takes a similar pattern of whining and playing with electrical items in an attempt to rouse me, and feeding is useless; it is not food she desires but attention and, preferably, an earlier dawn. I am still trying to explain to her that the latter problem is outwith my control.

Sooo... today I was tired and fractious from the outset, but to be honest I am sometimes amazed at my own resilience and my mood lightened by lunchtime until I was back in the world of happy smiley customer service. Maybe it had something to do with the imminent two day break from the Christmas shoppers; off tomorrow to see the Surrealists show at the Dean Gallery and painting on Sunday. As we near the close of another year I am optimistic that this will soon become normality.

Small flashes in darkness

Funny; couldn't think of anything to write about today so I was casually browsing the Facebook albums of people who paint, sculpt or appreciate art and stumbled upon the album of a lovely lady in the US called Ellen who I always find has a fascinating quote or painting to offer for every moment. Looking through some great pictures, tending towards romantic figurative but also surrealist, modernist etc and suddenly I find myself looking at one of mine! Feeling so humbled and honoured as I realise how painting can creep happily into other people's lives and dwell there. The internet has made so much possible in terms of connection and appreciation. Sometimes I feel cynical and wonder if it will destroy itself in its own creative power; so many artists out there crying for attention and space... but this is really such a postive thing. I would have had no chance twenty years ago to be having a conversation with an artist halfway across the world and having my work seen all over it by countless people; it is a truly remarkable turn of events. I always wonder what the past generations of artists would have made of it... I feel sure they would have embraced the chance to reach out across the globe, it is innate in us to have that urge I think. There are few artists who do not desire to be seen, for their work to be admired. We may fear it, shy away from it or positively avoid it, but the desire is there all the same. I am pretty sure that I am not the only person who feels the need to paste their life to the wall but fear the reaction; wants to show the world what I have created, but feels daunted by the comparison to others. At the end of the day we are all unique and we all have our little space in the universe; not so much fifteen minutes of fame as a series of tiny flashes, like a strobe light in the dark.

Crazy dinner blowout

I rebelled tonight and bought some expensive foodstuffs for dinner; having blogged the other day on dinners that I have been missing due to our budget constraints I decided to throw caution to the wind and have a treat. Made a kick-ass avocado, prawn and cottage cheese salad; the purist version which we first encountered in Thailand has no prawns, but they are a worthy and decadent addition. Needs to be made a few hours ahead and 'wallowed' (marinated) at room temperature for best effect. Take one bowl and in in mix: a couple of very ripe avocadoes, chopped, a tub of cottage cheese, a big handful of chopped chives, couple of garlic cloves and a small onion (chopped fine), some fresh herbs or herb oil as desired, chopped fresh chillies to taste (so in our case a small shedload), juice of a lime, dash of toasted sesame oil, fish sauce- again to taste, but lots. Eat ambient with rice, and add prawns if the decadent budget-busting mood takes you. Looking forward to this later. Lots.

Did my civic duty this evening as well and purchased online the Biffy Clyro version of 'Many of Horror', the excellently titled original of the renamed-for-karaoke X-factor person song. I already own the Biffy album, but like I say, duty... It is deeply depressing knowing that vast sections of the country get excited about and buy into a cynically money-grabbing, vacuous karaoke contest. Can only feel sorry for the people who take part as they must be chewed-up and spat-out brainwashed mush by the end of the year.

Had a paint delivery yesterday and now discover that Ritchie from the gallery has also bought me the contents of a paint list I left with him and immediately forgot about, so it is paint central in the studio now. One excellent reason why I am forging on tonight against the tiredness and hoping to complete at least one of the nine angels which are to make up the piece now known as 'Nine Lives'. Based on the multiple wee angels I painted for various galleries and Christmas presents, it is kind of the culmination of this train of thought; I love the way they all look together and want to create that in a single piece made of many smaller works. Fun too.

Starts and thinks

Nothing, nothing nothing to report. One of those days when I felt that I was marking time and worried about the fact; worried about some other stuff but not in a major league way and thought about some new paintings. Feeling pretty cheery but nothing out of routine.

Leftover night for dinner, so a strange and wonderful concoction of the last weeks meals rolled in a seedy wrap, accompanied by some fragments of films. A fragmented day in general.

Started the new piece I have been pondering, which is really the culmination of the little angel box canvases and consists of nine angels which I want to mount and frame as a single piece like an angel yearbook, identification chart, or museum. Still thinking about but not finishing the big(ger) canvas called 'Les anges, les etoiles et la neige' which popped from head to sketch book on the night of the opening at Ritchie's gallery. A new chapter is definately opening and even that night seems very long ago.

A little help from my friends?

Woh, flipped two hundred posts yesterday without even noticing! Slaps on back for me...

Writing tonight as a curry 'reduces' - randomly poured too much liquid in and at present I have soup... but it will be tasty when it is a little smaller. Spent some time today remembering meals we used to eat before the budget measures were introduced; entertained myself for a while in workland adding up virtual shopping bills for meals that are currently beyond my spending power, and it is quite scary really. Pad Thai; once a staple dinner - would have needed noodles, prawns, nuts, lime, green beans, some coconut milk, chillies... *uh-uh*... my favourite avocado and cottage cheese salad - chillies again, cottage cheese, avocadoes, limes, coriander...*uh-uh*. Don't even get me thinking about anything including steak! Pomelo and smoked chicken salad!! ARgh! One thing I know for sure; I will have some serious cooking blowouts in the new year at some point. The best thing, for there is always a best thing, is that deprivation sure does focus your appreciation of a foodstuff: I sneakily treated myself to a £1 tub of pineapple and just ate a piece. Woh. That. Was. Good. Not, it has to be said, as cheap as the whole pineapple we devoured on a boat in the floating market at Can Tho in Vietnam, nor quite as welcome as the chunks on skewers in Bangkok after a particularly arduous and circuitous walk to Wat Arun; but pretty damn good. Food memories are always the best as well... some things can transport you as sure as being there, which can of course be bitter sweet if you are not, but it is a powerful thing.

Staying with the budget note, which is relevant in the run up to Christmas more than any other time, I scored a mighty bargain today. If I were a believer in such things I might feel that the hand of fate rested lightly on my shoulder at lunchtime; I do try very hard not to believe in it as I am innately practical and realist, but it sure does get spooky sometimes... Stu is in need of boots for work and reticent to spend the money that these things cost, especially as he is hoping above all that he is nearing the end of his kitchen career and the things may soon be redundant. Sadly, his DMs are on their last legs and have holey soles, so the need is great. In his wisdom, he suggests that I try my favorite occupation, the charity shop crawl. Off I goes at lunch time and in my first and favourite shop (Shelter in Morningside) I find a pair of size ten Timberlands. This is after Stu commented that 'boots rather than shoes would be best, and about a tenner.' They cost a tenner. He is a size ten. There were no other mens shoes for sale.

I had to try really, really hard not to look for angels on the way back down the hill; I bet they were up there on top of the tenement, snickering...

Cosy painting paws

Pinching a quote from Alec Downie, a FB friend:

'Nature is not only all that is visible to the eye... it also includes the inner pictures of the soul'

Edvard Munch.

This really does it for me; I spend many circular conversations with my mum trying to explain why I paint things out of my head that make no sense in financial or logical terms or (often) any other way, instead of painting the view from my window. I am always happy to find a confirmation that I am not alone or deluded. Visited the craft and design fair at the Assembly Rooms today and found more interesting makers and artists; one I was already in contact with in cyberspace and another who I have served in cashdayjob and didn't realise was a maker of very good decorative and practical fabric bags. It always gives me a lift to meet and talk to new contacts in the art and design world, it really is a different place to inhabit and we all share the same worries, concerns, enthusiasms.. at the end of the day most 'creatives' have a lot of mutual ground. Beginning to have hope that next year will see the final move away from being tied to another form of income; the problem is in making the leap, but I know that the more time I have, the stronger the likelihood that I will be successful. I could fanny about for another decade trying to fit my painting in around hours spent making money in a very inefficient way, or.... I can jump. At least there are two of us, and Stu is just itching to get on with his framing now; I am beginning to see the benefits of a chef/framer; I may have to hire him out to the artistic community by the hour..

The rest of the day was spent in Ritchie's gallery, where sadly business was not as brisk as I had hoped - most people out and about seemed to be in town or having long brunches in the various eating establishments in Leith. Don't blame the latter section, it had to be said; Princes St and George Street were a horror to behold on my way back.

Besides getting on very well with the big canvas I am working on (not huge, just the biggest to date and a lot larger than the wee angels I have been involved with) I also spent some quality time perusing Ritchie's 'Taschen' book of portraits. Leonardo, Durer, Raphael... yikes, they could draw! I know that's stating the bleedin' obvious but it is always good to have a look at some pictures with 'fresh eyes' and I was in the mood for learning today. A new and welcome addition from the craft fair was my new long fingerless gloves which provide maximum draught exclusion from cuff while allowing fingers free for painting. No more freezy fingers! Took Stu in to work at half seven this morning so I am in need of an early night... may manage some more painting during the week, fingers crossed.

Weeping woman

A theme developing. Posted yesterday on my tendency to express emotion when listening to music (I'm a blubber- movies too) and found to my initial delight a column in one of today's weekend papers which seemed to echo uncannily my admission. Sadly can't remember the writer's name or indeed which paper I was reading, (in dayjob dining room) but her initial confession matched my own; a dread of the 'festive' season for fear of being caught blubbing to carols.. So far so good; me thinking that I am not as sad as I had feared and may share my malady with a national newspaper journalist.. but no. Her tendency, she went on to explain, stemmed from the sentiment of watching the children perform in their tinsel-topped nativities and carol concerts; the proud parent brimming over at their prodgeny. Right, so I don't have any children, so we no longer have this in common and I am looking sadder by the minute. Try as I might I can find no reason for my sadness around beauty, for that is what moves me; ask Stu about the embarrassing incident in the Florence Duomo when I had an emotional reaction to the roof, or the time in the Musee Picasso when Dora Maar's tears became contagious... I no longer seem to cry much in the day to day structure of life, but give me a good piece of music, a painting that moves me or a film that for some unknown reason reaches this part of my psyche and away I go. I hasten to add that quality of plot, acting or direction have no bearing on this; I watched the movie 'Australia' for my birthday a couple of years ago and found it fatally flawed, but still needed a second tissue for the overblown sentimental climax.

Issues of tears reared their ugly head again today, as if to provide a flip side to the study; a random verbal attack by an angry customer left me blinking back tears of... what? Anger, mostly, that so many people will go for the quick fix when they are slighted or annoyed and shift the blame by venting their feelings on an inappropriate target. To show superiority? Importance? People are very spoiled. One of the facets of Buddhism I love but find very hard in reality is to 'let to'.. of negativity, bad experiences, grudges, niggles that keep coming back to my mind. I suppose at least I am aware of the fact; just need more practise. Not that this means I want frustrated, spoilt women to make me feel small on a regular basis....

Time to retreat to the studio and think of the many words of support and appreciation that I have been lucky enough to attract in the last year. And kick some painting ass.

Lessons and Carols

Since pondering some of David Bowie's lyrics the other night, not for the first time, I have been on a Bowie-fest... replaying and reliving some of his finest moments. Gutted that I don't have 'Scary Monsters' and don't fancy ordering anything on Amazon right now when the extreme-ly crap postal service have failed to deliver on all but two days since the extreme-ly snowy and white snow fell upon us all. Making do, however, making do... plenty to chose from after all. I always quote 'Sweet thing/Candidate/Sweet thing' as my favourite song ever ever and that is since secondary school; think its still up there too.

The snow has slowly melted into brown sludge and disappointing gritty patties beside the roads over the course of the day; I still managed a few nifty wheelspins this morning but it wouldn't be the same without them now. Managed to drive to work at last and purchase my tax disc with the help of breathing exercises and meditation in the post office queue; our local one must be award winning for its incompetence and has never knowingly had more than three windows open - ever, ever, ever. Queues regularly snake outside the door, grumbling and shuffling; toddlers whining and abusing the stretchy barriers. The manager is one of the most terrified and misplaced individuals I have come across and someone really needs to take him aside and suggest a transfer to a nice quiet garden centre or conservatory sales office.

Made it in though, only to become seriously overfed with the staff Christmas lunch, which was delightful and cheery (and free) but made me wish myself anywhere else for the rest of the day as I struggled to a) stay awake, b) not scare people with scary stomach noises, c) not blind passers-by with buttons pinging off my straining clothing. Truly a day of gargantuan proportions. Light relief came late with entertainment in the form of a teenage choral group who serenaded the last two hours of my shift with a selection of numbers from 'Carols for Choirs' or a similar publication. I am the product of a CofE school education and a choir member for the duration of it, so the hymns of the festive season are burned in living holly on my soul. Word perfect and pretty good on many of the harmonies to boot; it was very, very hard not to dispense with caution and all good sense and tag on the end of the line. One very good reason not to do this, and this is a brave confession; I am a total sap and will shed a tear at many a favourite tune; Christmas carols included. Joan Armatrading was a three tissue gig and I really excelled myself by not just sniffling gently to myself but having a full on cheek waterfall moment...('The Weakness in me).

Now I have some drawing to do as besides bringing out my inner sentimental side, the carol singing brought back the angels and I have some great little faces in my head. Planning a big piece involving nine mini-canvases mounted together in a kind of 'angel yearbook'. I loved doing the little ones for the galleries so much that this will be a dream project and I will be able to give each little one a lot more time and attention. Can't wait to get back in my painting rhythm again..

Positivity found

Amongst the tedium of my often depressing working day in cashdayjob I often find moments, and occasionally entire days, which stand out as beacons of positive thought. This was one of those rare days. Read a great blog entry this morning, which I have now lost, that spoke of 'platforms'; using a mundane job or a bad situation as a base from which to climb to another level. I have posted about this before and quote (or maybe paraphrase) again the Alanis Morrisette line "You gave me a platform from which to jump beyond myself". I keep coming back to this and was so inspired to hear someone else write on the exact subject; reminds me of a friend in New York who is an actress waiting tables and myself in Edinburgh, an artist specialising in food retail. The world is full of those who try to take positive elements from the jobs they are forced to do in order to pay the bills. Today was perkier than usual for me because I had the imminent sale of a painting to jolly me along; it was reserved yesterday in Ritchie's gallery, and I was also entertaining myself attempting to come up with a name for a potential business venture. Hours of fun in that one and I have enough potential titles for a lifetime, or a few LPs worth of songs. Still to beat my new favourite, rediscovered while listening to Bowie last night; from the first line of "Eight Line Poem" - 'Tactful Cactus'. Funnily enough, there is a film production company in London called.. Tactful Cactus. Someone else was bound to get there first, its just so good. I would also, of course, like to retain my originality without resorting to hero worship or plagarism; so that kind of makes the going a little tougher as there are a lot of clever wordsmiths out there. Luckily, there are also a lot of words...

This evening I tootled off to the Marchmont Gallery in my finally mobile and MOTd car; the fact that Marchmont resembles the Arctic Circle was a minor drawback, but I managed to secure a space after a very spinney three-point-turn and a very close encounter with a wheelie bin. Its a great little gallery and does that thing really well where there are loads of little interesting bits and pieces as well as paintings and ceramics, so it is all too easy to find yourself leaving lighter of purse. I was adament not to squander the money I had saved on a slightly-less-than-expected car repair bill, but I ended up coming home with a tell-tale bubble wrap package of embossed ceramic tree ornaments. They are now on my wall as they are far too cool to be limited to December and I can't have a tree anyway due to the destructive/playful instincts of Twig the kit. My angels looked great in a few locations around the gallery and I felt positively proud for once, my usual self criticism deserting me briefly... a warm glow on another freezy night.

Routine disruption

Phew, that was close; amazing what a day off can do to your sense of routine... nearly went to sleep before posting. Spent a lot of the day on business ideas and just trawling words for ideas; thesaurus, translations, Bowie lyrics ('tactful cactus' - genius), reading Kirsty Gunn for her wonderful repertoire of words. Also went for a walk in the snow for recreation despite having walked to work all week in it; saw bobble trees and ice crystals, tiny ice floats in the stream and minimal tracks, minimal life of any kind. Is everyone inside watching TV, playing Nintendo or whatever it is they play nowadays? Posted my minimal Christmas presents and hoped that it sets a precedent for years to come; not needing any more crap to pass on to the charity shops.

Looks like a painting has sold from the Angel Haven show; cross all fingers and toes. It is reserved just now, so I am hopeful that this will bring my painting account back to the black.

Car in for service and MOT tomorrow, snow willing, and the Marchmont Gallery opening in the evening, in the snow, on foot. Hoping for mince pies.

Icy stares

I keep meaning to leave the crazy wintry conditions alone but it impinges on my life so much at the moment that I can't help myself. For starters, it has awoken the demon in me that thinks it is acceptable to eat half a Soreen malt loaf in one sitting if one has the excuse of harsh walking conditions. Secondly, I am annoyed with our little Siberian season for distracting so many people from the gainful occupation of gallery shopping, thus probably depriving me of sales and publicity in the crucial pre-Christmas period. Stop looking at the snow! Get over it and go into nice warm galleries!! YOu NEED my paintings for your loved ones this Festive season.

That felt better. Pointless, but better.

I have taken to standing and having a bit of a stare at the burn (small river) out the back of the house; the hills beyond and the sky above that. Tonight Venus was shining away insanely brightly and the whole area was darker due to the clear sky; weird how the cloud is both warming and lighting - without it the air is almost painfully cold tonight and the city much darker. 'The woods are very dark and deep and we have miles to go before we sleep...'

Meant to comment yesterday when I was rambling about the lovely ivy-clad poplars; it is now that I need a proper medium-format or plate camera to set up in the wilds and just open the shutter for a few minutes at night; I just know that the digitals, for all their cleverness, couldn't capture the light like the old boys. The light is so fragile and delicate, the hues so subtle and shifting. I do miss the 'old' ways of photography as I first learned it; developing myself and enlarging in the bathroom cupboard, messing with exposures, photocopying negatives and printing obsessively over and over until I had the image I was hunting... Don't get me wrong, I'm loving digital for a whole raft of reasons too but I loved the craft and the dirty-handedness of black and white.

Day off from any form of money-making activity tomorrow so am intending to turn my sights to considering the next year and the potential creation of our own business; it is daunting but mind numbingly exciting at the same time. I have a huge big fat pile of ideas and notes but I have also got to look at all the practical stuff, which is my job now. Without the boring bit out the way I will never get to play...the time is now - the weather is on my side to hole up and bury my head, so lets get the show on the road. What to call it is my other dilemma; I had a name in my head for months which is now ringing doubts; back to the drawing board or go with the instinct? It came to me in a dream and that is nearly always good enough reason for me to do anything..

Oh, and a tree stole my hat this morning; pacing along minding my own business and watching my icy footfalls and 'whoosh'!! Hat suddenly ten feet back down the pavement... a wily twig had hooked and twanged it away from me in an instant of devilishness!

You need to watch those trees....

Silently moves the fog

Aha; a new element has arrived to join the snow. Fog. If it was still and contemplative walking home along the burn before, it was stiller and more contemplative tonight... there is nothing like forgetting you are in a city when you are in a... city.

There are two marvellous trees at the end of the park; poplars with ivy coats, which have looked amazing every day in the snow and tonight they were at their eerie finest looming out of the murky dark. I say 'dark' but that has been one of the wonderful things about the snow; when combined with the streetlights the park adopts an other-worldly orange glow and it is light enough to see your way despite being unlit directly. The creak of my feet was tonight joined by the slow and gentle drip as the thaw set in; long may it last. Despite the beauty and the amazing light effects I am getting to see every morning and night, it would be good to know that my car can function once more and I can move further than a couple of miles away from my house...

There is undoubtedly something calming and settling about adopting a rhythm based on walking however, which reminds me of last spring when I got in the habit of walking every day, and on Arran last year when needs meant much more communing with nature. Mental note; walking is a definate aid to the removal of anxiety and encourages contemplation in place of stress. Also means less guilt about eating things made with sugar.

About to attempt the wrapping and organisation of Christmas gifts; only one to go really which is for a random relative's child who I have never met. Not at all sure why I bother, but know that it would cause raised eyebrows and tutting from the older generation if I stopped, so I continue. I do wonder how long this will be expected, however; not sure if my imagination (or tolerance) can stretch to buying gifts for unknown teenagers...

So, cards and paintings all round, and I hope not too many disappointed faces on Christmas day upon discovering the lack of dodgy perfumed products or M&S fleece gloves.

Outside the fog continues to move silently past the street lights.

All those Sunday songs

Having copped out of working/painting in the gallery today due to my lack of tax/MOT/insurance, which itself is due to the 'extreme weather conditions', I decided to have a proper Sunday. For this I prepared myself with tea, warm clothing, cat and newspaper and settled upon the sofa to recline, relax and read. Cats are obviously genetically programmed for Sundays and Twig had probably spent months wondering why I wasn't conforming to her expectations of human behaviour. She took up residence on my stomach, preventing any movement, including tea drinking and newspaper reading; when I decanted to the table, she arrived and laid herself out on the paper in a manner appropriate for covering the most possible print area. Team point Twig; latest cat behaviour exam passed with flying colours.

She managed to wake me with her mad yowling this morning, of course, so all attempts at a lie-in were thwarted. The yowling seems to mean either 'Mum! Dad is trapped in that room and I can hear running water!! Help me save him!' or 'Dad!! Don't go in there! Don't leave me here with her and that fat black-and-white creature! Help!!'

Haven't figured out which; for some reason she only performs this ritual when Stu is showering, obvioulsy unphased by my removal to the land of the running water...

I did get some work done as well, I am proud to report; just when I thought I was all 'angelled-out' I realised that the need for Christmas presents was upon me and so I took once more to the small box canvases and created a small hoard of winged ones for friends and relatives. I had started yesterday but it still came out at about 75mins per angel, so a good chunk of the day was taken up with gainful employment.

Annoyingly, as I write, Stu is an hour later than he had hoped to escape from the kitchen hell today. This is one of his 'half' days; only working from 8 to 4 instead of the whole grind through to the dead of night; sadly it is the first day many people will have escaped their icy lairs to indulge in the evil occupation known as shopping, so I fear that he may have been mobbed.

Guess I will complete my own little Christmas present extravaganza and wrap the little angels up for their journeys around the country; and not a credit card abused.

Wonky faces

Okay, this is just a thing that has been playing on my mind, which revolves around three things that I heard recently which tie in together but do not yet form a complete theory.

(Can't write about 'theories' at any time without hearing Sickboy from Trainspotting, but that's a diversion>)

Thing number one is the mention in the Howson documentary of the use of a mirror to check the 'rightness' of a portrait. This is something I do myself; I think we were pointed in the direction in art college. Just never really thought about it before in the context of:

Thing number two, which I read about in the paper the other day; how we see ourselves 'wonky' in the mirror and correctly in photographs. Look over someone's shoulder in a mirror and they look weirdly 'wrong' because we are used to seeing them the other way around; this is weird because they see themselves most often this way and may account for why we often dislike photos of ourselves or find them strangely alien. How does this apply in the case of the portrait painting though - are we checking for 'rightness' or just symmetry? Have I been forever correcting faces to make them better when in fact I am just correcting symmetry, which is not necessarily essential. Because of the third thing:

Which is the fact that we are all asymmetrical to a degree and often (allegedly) chose partners with a similar degree of symmetry. The article that outlined this theory also suggested that we essentially find more symmetrical people more attractive.

As I suggested obliquely in the Sickboy reference, this is not a very good or watertight theory about anything in particular, but the point of interest that I took from it was the question of whether we are striving to paint symmetrical faces unneccessarily due to our urge to look at them in mirrors for correction.

I think that's all I have to say on this for the moment.

Spent a few meaningful and fulfilling hours shovelling snow off the cul-de-sac today and revelling in the cameraderie of it all. Having put up with miserable snow-doom-mongers for the last four days it was refreshing to have a bit of good old fashioned manual labour, meet some previously unacknowledged neighbours and poke fun at others who were resolutely indoors in a good-natured way. One guy had a great 'spade' made of planks, which actually did a fine job and made a further mockery of those whose non-participation rested on the lack of proper implements.

One big chunk of tarmac, now clear of ice and neatly gritted, is now forever mine. Park on it at your peril non-diggers.

Feedback on the wonky face issue will be greatly welcomed as it is bugging me now.

Eating the giant cake

When I was younger I had a recurring dream in which I was in a room that resembled the barn in Rumplestiltskin (Ladybird edition) in which the straw is spun to gold; in my dream it was myself and a mountain of sugar which I was being made to eat with a big dessert spoon. Mountains of sugar and a huge spoon. Last night I had a similar dream about a giant Christmas cake which I was eating as if my life depended on it, fighting off competition to stuff handfulls in my mouth. What the two dreams had is common is the feeling of wanting to eat and not wanting to eat; liking the sugar but being horrified by so much of it being forced upon me.

Sometimes when things puzzle us and their meaning is veiled, writing it down will help decipher the hidden message. Other times, and I am thinking that this is one of these occasions, this is not the case.

I am definately feeling restless and out of sorts though. I am used to finishing a period of painting and then wanting to move on, but I was so pleased with the work I had put up in the show last week that I thought maybe I would feel differently this time. Nope. My mind is already picking holes in the pictures and creating new ones in their place. The itchy feet of painting is possibly one of its curses; I wish that I could sit and relish a moment for once in a while, but I seem incapable. Maybe all this means is that I am not yet where I wish to be; this is certainly true, but it would be good to know that the incessant searching will end at some point. That I will be able to stand and be content with my place in the world and my little creations in it.

Does this have any connection to dreams of eating giant confectionary products? Have I been spending too long in the murky world of food retail?

Oh, and 'Luci', the painting at the top there, is my favourite of the moment and my inspiration for the new canvases under construction; just so I remember what point I was at come the start of December because, no doubt, by January I will have moved on...

Crunchy boots

Another day, another crunchy walk through the stubborn, hunkering snow. Gradually honing my clothing skills to the point that I found myself to be quite disappointed this evening upon returning home... warm. Ate some toasted Soreen loaf anyway, just as a nod to convention.

Tonight the Braidburn valley was really light again; yesterday I doubted my sanity walking there after nightfall, but the cloud was over again and reflecting the city lights onto the snow so that all was orange; slippy orange to be true, as the sledges are polishing the path a bit now...

Listening to Amazing Radio (the name, not my opinion) which is quite refreshing for its mix of new music, and definately an improvement on Stu's staple diet of Planet Rock. I think his midlife crisis started to kick in the moment we changed from Virgin breakfast show to Alice Cooper; the jury is still out as to which is preferable but I do get an awful lot of mileage out of laughing at rock lyrics of a morning. In Hanoi last year I found a hotel called the Hanoi Amazing Hotel and booked in, purely on the name. It was very good in a mad, Vietnamese way and we had a roof terrace looking over lots of other roof terraces over the old town, so I guess it earned its name.

Next week sees the opening of another show with my work represented; the Marchmont Gallery's winter show. Very pleased to see that the flyer and email feature a piece of my work, so I shall be forwarding that about the place. Hoping to get a few sales before Christmas and feeling totally gutted that the snow has hit at the exact time that the show opened at Ritchie's gallery, essentially wiping out all the promotion that I had been firing out, as I really can't see anyone going out of their way to do anything until the snow clears, which could be a long time..

But I guess the main thing is that from next Thursday I will be represented artistically in three shows; maybe something will sell and aid my Christmas funds, but in case all is hopeless I had better start painting little canvases to send out as presents. Plan B.

The question is, can I save the last piece of Soreen until Stu comes home and offer it to him in a devoted show of partnership, or will I cave in, eat it and make up some story about the cats eating it or throwing it inadvertantly in their litter tray....

Along winters night

One of the pleasures of winter; walking home in the dark with the snow underfoot so creaky it is the only thing you can hear. Remembering the thing they always quote about the far north; that you can hear your breath freeze and fall to the ground. Nothing makes a city into a wilderness like snow; in the face of it we are all a little humbled and handicapped. I can almost hear the snow chuckling; 'so you think you are so powerful...'

Came home to a cup of tea and a couple of slices of toasted Soreen malt loaf; it doesn't get much better than that. Legs still burning from the cold and cheeks already turning beetroot from the warmth of the house; who says winter is the worst season. I'm thinking of yurts in the wilderness, mystical songs in the endless nights and innumerable stars spinning overhead.

Just read a report on the life forms that have been found at the bottom of a lake in Yosemite living in arsenic rich conditions 'hostile to life'. Oops, so see all those planets up there that we have described in that manner all these years, not to mention all those episodes of Star Trek...

Cool.

Watched 'City of God' again tonight; such an amazing film visually; how you can make something so beautiful from such a bleak subject matter. Leaving early to finish watching tomorrow however; no matter how long the nights I still seem to need more sleep.

Snowprints, quietly

Feeling like such a bad person; totally forgot to post yesterday! I have been feeling down, which I guess was in sympathy to Stu's blues, so I really wasn't concentrating on anything in particular yesterday. Lucky I have already established that a missed post does not constitute failure unless it stops me in my tracks, which it hasn't. I will just have to keep on blogging after the one year mark to make up for my misdemeanours during the course of the twelve months. To be honest, I am hoping that the year's end sees me move over to a new subject, which will be the progress of our new business... started putting finger to keyboard yesterday with our business plan, so the process is begun. Ha, there now I've said it! I first toyed with starting up on my own fifteen years ago and elements of that time are still in my mind, but now with a lot more experience behind it, so my fingers are crossed. But I run away with myself; we are still in the Bateau-Lavoir year...

Snow forced me to tr

avel to and from cashdayjob by foot today, which afforded a great opportunity for gazing at snowy trees and hills; one of my favourite occupations in the world. I even allowed myself enough time to creep into the little thickets in the Braidburn valley, especially the willows by the burn and just hover there for a while in the early morning light listening to the water and the snow falling. I tend to chuckle to myself with delight at such times so if you were passing a group of trees this morning in the blue dawn and thought you

heard an angel laughing.. nah, it was just me.

Came back the same way and was rewarded with yet more light spectaculars as the evening brought orange

clouds lit by the city and reflected snow, scudding by at lightning speed over the valley; very dramatic and purposeful.

I also met a few snow people out and about today; a relaxed guy sitting on a bench by the Braidburn this morning holding a flower, and a monkey in a trolley outside Waitrose holding a banana. Sometimes I think I am going slightly mad, but I think it is just that there are more mad and creative souls out there than I sometimes give the world credit for. Long may they weave their little magic spells.

Watched the excellent documentary on Peter Howson last night (and the night before, joy of iplayer) and am now in awe of both the man and his experience. I had no idea how good an artist he was or the struggle he goes through on a day to day basis just to make sense of it all and deal with the creativity that just exudes from him. Totally misjudged his work, I have to say, having imagined him as some hard, cocky, trendy art guy; how much differently you read the images when you know a little more of the man behind them. One thing puzzles me, but this is a religion thing and so bound to be confusing... Howson came to religion through a series of revelations as he battled addiction and now sees himself as a Protestant. How does that work? Surely God doesn't take sides when he pops up in visions and tell you which side of the sectarian divide he is appearing from? To me that's the problem with Christianity in a nutshell; it always has to have a label, an affiliation... surely that defeats the purpose?

Maybe leave that one alone.

The next Summit

Ah, the ups and downs, the peaks and troughs... life has its little ways of kicking us when we are down, but also of pulling the rug out from under our feet when we are up.

And its always when you least expect it.... sound familiar? Guess we're all human after all.

Stu is really depressed today; I think he is reaching the end of his own personal endurance and to be honest I am not surprised. The hours he has worked over his career in catering would probably come to double a 'normal' persons when tallied up; there is always one day in his six-day week when he starts at 8am and finishes at around 11pm. That is a long day, and they add up into long weeks, long months, long years. So I am now worrying my little head off again as we are so close to reaching the end of the year, so close to being able to leave the day jobs and head off on our own. This in itself is scary but not nearly as scary as the thought of having to try and make Stu do another year in kitchens or, worse, find some half-assed shitty job that he will hate just to pay the bills. Yikes.

What this will do, of course, is push me harder to make it work for us; to get onto the nitty gritty of how we are going to make our own business work; the whens, wheres and whatevers of it all, for this is the real deal here and we are going to have a lot of hard work ahead of us...

But... and its a big, fat, hairy but, we have no options but to make this work. The line at the start of my blog said it all - I thought one day 'what would I do if my life depended on it?'; then I realised that it did.

Dug the car out literally and myself out metaphorically and crossed town to the gallery where I primed a canvas, looked out the window and thought long and hard. Tomorrow I will start on the business plan and get the wheels of wonder in motion. Had a bit of a Haiku day today, as always happens when I am in reflective mode. I will let them outline my mood today...

Despite the snowfall

The path at my feet was clear;

Even with closed eyes

You are losing hope.

I hope I am strong enough

To hold you aloft

Hold your mind still and

Search the patterns there;

Then open your eyes

The path goes past here

I saw footprints in the snow

And they go beyond

You don't talk much,

I cannot articulate;

So I wrote this down