With Wings

Oh hear them laughing! Laugh from the rafters sparrows - I am the queen of naive...

Just realised the crucial fact that people read my blog; for so long I have considered it a conversation with myself, so I'd better wise up to this new and exciting fact. Luckily it was in a fortuitous circumstance and not a petulant character assasination (don't think I've penned many of them, mind) so I shan't lose any sleep (be good to get any - thank you Twig for this morning's wake up call..) over it.

A day of quotes: this one from Band of Horses, a band I found on Stu's free CD -

'The elevator in the hotel lobby has a lazy door,'

I just love that, and crucially it is the first line of the song, and so vies for the top slot alongside 'Jodi wears and hat although it hasn't rained for six days', and 'Pretty women out walking with gorillas down my street'.

Another song on the free CD has kindly given me a title for the lovely sanded mermaid (see pic - in progress); a band called Phosphorescent have a song that gave me a tear called 'Mermaid Parade'. Now, this is coincidental as the sharp eyed will spot as I just not long ago found the Coney Island Mermaid Parade on the web during a browse on the subject and marvelled that this year's king and queen will be Laurie Anderson and Lou Reed. No kidding. If I had the cash I would be there with a selection of bells on, and a tail.

Not wishing to steal the title, which would be underhand and lacking in imagination, I shall call it 'Amanda's dream' as she is the girl he sings to in the song, about mermaids. La di da.

Figured out why I am less keen on 'Joy Garden Siesta' than some of my other paintings. To quote once more, this time from the very lovely film, Amadeus, it has 'too many notes.'

Almost as if I was on an exercise to cram all the patterns and figures I could into one space. Don't get me wrong, I am still a happy bunny with it as it taught me things and I like it as an image, but that is what has been bugging me, I am sure.

News from the garden; hot off the press - Fennel in the Fence has made the top! His feathery little head is peeking out tantalisingly now, so lets see how much clearance he makes by the end of the season... Also Olive has officially recovered from the most severe frostbite - I'm sure he is still looking at me going 'what on earth made you think of leaving me out in that??' I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I promise to make you a little hat this winter, how was I supposed to know it was going to be that cold? Now he is a very peculiar shape, ie: pollarded with a few crazy shoots popping out at the top. Not sure whether to go for broke and have a full pollarded olive or leave the one crazy tall shoot - I think I'll have to now though as chopping it off might just add insult to injury.

Ah, so - the title of the post today alludes to a few things; despite finding out that the ESSA failed to sell my painting in their (very) silent auction, I am flying high today. Met with my man in Leith to talk about our show in the run up to Christmas and realised that my skates had better be firmly attached to my tootsies now as he means business and hopes for up to twelve decent sized angel-related works from me. Mind now buzzing with ideas and picked up some board from my friendly framer to kick off on; better get the lovely mermaid done and dusted, which will be a delight anyway, I love her.

Also popped in to pick up my giclee proof and me man there offered me the chance to publish prints and cards with them, which of course would be dreamy for a charming but impoverished artist on the threshold of great things. He also told me that he'd read my blog, so 'hello and thank you'. Off to let off steam in the studio - I think my subtle playlist 'Kick-ass boogie' may be just the thing to accompany my brushstrokes tonight. All this good news gives me wings!!

Sandpaper and facewipes

Woo hoo. Feeling good today after a days digestion of the trains from yesterday. It was all good stuff running around my head on its little tracks with green foam trees, but it was awful messy; I think my excitement at so many ideas and consolidations was overwhelming. Quite clearly I do not have 'the answer' and am almost certainly not going to become an overnight painting sensation, but I do think another little line has been drawn in the sand. I am just so adament that I am able to succeed now, insofar as I understand success for myself; I sure as hell don't mean Cheryl Cole or Angelina Jolie success, but enough for me. Hey man, its a journey and I'm on my train of thought, heading west! I should really thank my employers in day-cash-job world for allowing me the time to think, doodle, meditate and problem solve my paintings, all while adhering to the job at hand; today I made a few major breakthroughs both in theory, ie: why am I doing this and should I keep doing it in this way, and practise: why do my faces always turn out great in the sketchbook and rubbish in the final painting? (Not always, but inconsisitently so.)

The first answer, as usual, is as obvious as the nose on yer face; my favourite quote, as quoted by my primary school teacher in my final report (he knew me well). "Above all, to thine own self be true". In Ing-world this translates as; 'don't try and paint stuff because someone else does or someone else tells you to. Paint what you know and what you want to paint.' Tres facile.
The practical bit is equally glaringly obvious; Andy Murray said it all tonight on the radio - its easy enough in practise or a minor game to find a natural, relaxed style, but put the pressure of a major on and nothing is further away from easy. My sketch book is a place of fluid lines and effortless compostion; put me in front of a board labelled 'big serious picture' and the effortless is replaced by harsh, tense lines and overworked nervousness.
Can't cure it overnight, but if I know what I'm treating, at least that is a breakthrough. Of course I know this already, but there is a real difference between knowing and knowing. Another thing I really love about Buddhism is the emphasis on superficial wisdom and 'insight wisdom', or knowing in theory and really knowing in your stomach. Sadly but oh so truly, I had no real wisdom about death until it reached out and touched me, and then there is no doubt how real the knowledge is. Same with happy things too; experience is all.

Tonight I took the sandpaper to my mermaid's face in search of a looser, more natural line, and lo and behold - the elusive aged effect that I have been seeking in frescoes and wall paintings like the awesome ones in Italy and Winchester (among other places!). Now I can redraw the important lines and highlights, hopefully with a relaxed hand, and keep it loose and unstructured. Wiped away the sawdust and stuff with a handy face wipe et voila!

So... now my sketchbook notes read thus; 'Spring over Archie's park - grass short comb, dark under, mint green over. Big scary insects, line drawing and scrafito, look @ Miro. Botticelli angel, sanded. Charlie and Lola dress.
Woo hoo, bring it on!
Stu made some fabby chilli oil today; cooked off some of our teeny dried chillies from the Chinese supermarket in some oil to really flavour and colour it, added some sliced garlic at the end so as not to burn it and cooled, bottled in this cool glass decanter and ta-da, now we have the herb oil bright green and deep red toasty flavoured chilli oil, which packs a punch in a subtley growing way!

Trains in my head

A small post tonight as there are so many trains of thought running through my head. Mostly following on from topics that have been concerning me over the last weeks and in many cases like a stuck record! Made a leap and bound tonight into the removal of paranoia and isolation; met another real live artist who held such similar views and experiences to myself it was spooky. It is just so valuable to me to find that I am not alone, at risk of sounding melodramatic. The galleries and societies can be so hard to communicate with and so opaque in their dealings with us artists; I wish there was more human feedback but it is always like a lottery; enter a painting 'blind', receive no feedback and go home. So... always valuable to talk to someone else on the same end of the paintbrush, and let out some steam about the strange lives we lead.
And Hieronymous Bosch - there's another train.

Drums in the deep

'If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.' Thoreau.

Just in from viewing the ESSA show and the quote sprang to mind - one I have long loved but often worried that my love for it is the basis of yet more self delusion. I thought my picture stood out well among distinguished company, thus the quote, but that always ends up with the hanging question - 'but in a good way, or...?' You know, as I wrote that I was hearing my grandmother with her infinite cynicism and put-downs, so maybe the answer lies within my endless capacity for self-flaggelation. I find it extremely hard to be objective when viewing my paintings among others, besides noting its dissimilarity to most of them. Figurative work really doesn't appear at the moment apart from life studies and figures secondary to the landscape, so mine automatically stand out from a subject matter point of view. All the 'big name artists I recognised in the show were exhibiting still life, which were beautiful, but never seem to rock my boat when it comes to my own work. I did do one of my slippers and birds of paradise flowers; 'Mes Pantoufles' and I really enjoyed doing it, which surprised me, but this is the minority in my work. I love the way my digital camera recognises and focuses on faces in the viewfinder, including the ones on my paintings; the other day I took a pic of a basic outline and it still recognised it for a face. Would have homed in on mine in this show for sure!

What disturbs me is the 'different' thing - a different drummer, a different subject and style; never knowing whether this is good or acceptable or what I 'should' be doing. Hence, I love that quote as it justifies and excuses my little ways, lets me listen to my own drummer.

My brother was a comic book fiend as a boy and I remember a strip called 'Halo Jones' featured a sect who had some kind of electronic implant in their ears so they could only hear drums - they were called 'the distant drummers' and always appeared hunched in corners listening to their constant rhythm at the exclusion of all else.

I suppose, with notable exceptions, the portrait has maybe fallen out of favour through overuse; looking through my 'Giotto to Cezanne' book there are an awful lot of figurative works. It just seems so obscure that something as essential as someone's art should be dictated by fashion, the ficklest of beasts. Alas, so it has always been I am sure, and many a lonely painter would nod their heads to the rhythm of that one.

The other disappointment from my angle was due to my expectation of what a silent auction entailed. Armed with the Wikepedia definiton and my imagination I had constructed a scenario where images would be displayed alongside the bids, which would be updated in real time as the auction progressed. Granted it would take manpower and a little organisation but it would at least give the impression of an auction and the attendant intrigue and suspense. Without it this is merely a show with no prices, or with prices that are not necessarily set in stone. Combined with the number of paintings - too many - and the impression is more of a car boot sale than an 'auction of contemporary art'. I hope I am wrong as the societies need the funds and I am quite sure the artists need the money, but the format they have ended up with just seems unenthusiastic and tired. The building is fab as well - maybe I have spent too much time with my marketing and event manager extrodinaire pal - but an opportunity to do something really special has been missed, in my humble opinion.

So back to the workaday matters of my studio. Do I loosen up, splash out, try to find a new aesthetic? Or do I get on down with my potatoes and my scratchy stick and see what comes out of my head this time? I'll go put on the drums and listen.

A life more joyful

Mermaid painting about to incorporate some of the ceramic tile ideas from Winchester cathedral, which in turn reminded me of the amazing wall sconces in Italy along with the frescoes, earthy colours and decoration of the buildings. Also thinking angels and swallows, angels and snowflakes, angels as geisha, angel peg dolls...may suggest a wee greetings card pack to accompany the exhibition, which I think would be useful as a marketing tool too - send to potential customers and those who have already showed interest.

Back to my musings on non-prediction of future; logged onto the ESSA website to check out the catalogue for the auction I have a painting in, expecting a) to see myself listed and maybe be able to tell if anyone has bid for it, b) to not see myself listed and be consumed with worry, but not c) the actuality - not find the listings at all because the link does not appear to exist... The great unforeseen. It's 'my' full moon today as well so I have been hunting augers all day to the degree that I saved someone else's shopping list that was left in my basket in case it had hidden messages from the cosmic powers. Closer inspection reveals no such contact, but a nice illustration of a bird.

Message of the day for me was however one of the endless parade of slogan t-shirts that passed by my weary eyes this morning. Not only is it a full moon, it seems to be national text on your shirt day also; never seen so many wordy tees with not even a warning in Grazia that it is the Next Big Thing. Of them all the motto that smacked me in the face was: 'All I want is JOY'.

Besides summing up the demanding and expecting society in which we find ourselves, I couldn't help but smile at the audacity of it. Not a hope or a prayer, a 'what would you wish for'? but a demand, a gauntlet thrown down to those cosmic powers; what are you going to do about it??

Given that the first noble truth of Buddhism is generally translated as 'life is suffering', it made me pause for thought; how would life pan out if you existed in a state of the expectation of Joy? Deeply disheartened and possibly irredeemably crushed, I would imagine.

Not necessarily doing anything to attract or deserve in, I don't think this is suggested in the statement; just sitting waiting for joy to happen upon you. Doesn't quite fit with the laws of karma, which I have to say seem to be pretty solid. Funnily enough in my catering days I spotted a few brides on their 'big day' looking suspiciously as if they were waiting for joy to happen and wondering whether it had shot past like an over-full bus and they had only doggone gone and missed it...

I nearly missed a great connection there; near top of my film list is 'American Beauty', and top of the quotes is "When did you get to be so joyless?" - 'There's plenty of joy in my life Mr Smartypants..'

And so to the studio, with a new and very trusty book purchased in the St Columbas Hospice bookshop for a remarkable £2.50 - 'Art from Giotto to Cezanne'. An ambitious undertaking but it looks like a thousand inspirations in a softback to me! What joy!

Smiley karma

There is a line in 'From Dusk till Dawn' that I love - its always great when a really unlikely film throws up a great quote- along the lines of 'It doesn't matter who you are, a priest or a Buddhist monk, there comes a time in your life when you look in the mirror and ask, "am I a fool?" '.

The context is religion and loss of, but I always think of it in terms of my painting. Those days always come and are sometimes so hard to overcome; even when things are going well, confidence is a fickle thing. The upside is that it becomes easier to hear the inner voice, or istinct, that says 'no, but that is a crap painting' or 'leave it alone today and come back at it tomorrow.'

The latter is what I am doing today; painting for the sake of it is the easiest way I know to make you feel bad about yourself and produce something lousy out of a potentially great drawing.

Good news from all around however; card publishers didn't tell me to get a day job but asked me to resubmit in September when selection takes place. Giclee printer emailed very briefly with phone number, presumably preferred means of communication, and news that proof is ready and 'looks really good.' From a man of few words, high praise. From a man of few words who makes a living producing very high quality prints for some of the major shops and galleries of the city and produces his own range of greetings cards and fine art prints, music to my insecure ol' ears.

The wonders of budgeting; today I discovered that we were finishing June about £150 up on budget, so what did I do? Bought a smoothie. Woh, steady girl... I actually considered a haircut, makeup, charity shop jeans (!?) but all were rejected and filed 'unneccessary expenditure.'

I shall savour my decadent spirulina green scary smoothie and smile; the system works!

Tomorrow sees the start of the ESSA auction at Lyon and Turnbull; my (large) painting is up for grabs to the highest bidder, and I hardly dare breathe for fear of cursing it. Will spend next five days helping people over roads, freeing trapped creatures and smiling at strangers like an idiot; shame you can't walk into Tesco and ask for a 'karma top-up'. But nah, that's for cheaters...

The Road to hell

Is paved with good intentions... or in this case a trail of them. Firstly our very kind neighbour popped a token through our door in thanks for the cat-sitting duties we carried out while she was away for a fortnight - a treat in a world of no treats! Next I offered to take Stu along to the store in which the token could be exchanged for consumables, merely because I thought it was rude not too, despite knowing his aversion to all things shop related. This, of course is where the doublespeak takes over; I had no desire to be followed by a miserable man as I tried to locate a bra that did not push my tits up to my chin or hide industrial quantities of foam. Stu did not want to watch me or anyone else carry out such tasks, or indeed go anywhere near a shopping centre; but he came along because he thought I wanted him to. Mars and Venus, I know.

Distressingly, as we should have remembered when we witnessed our bantam-breeding neighbour putting a box of hens in his car, it is the weekend of the Royal Highland Show, when the relevant roundabout on the city bypass becomes a car park; we were headed into the mouth of the monster.

To be honest, the traffic jam was fairly painless; a little light Nick Cave goes a long way and we were both still in a gung ho frame of mind, lulled into false security by the idea of 'free' underwear or similar thrilling items (not enough for a full outfit each). I won't drag out the story; we trudged around looking at shapeless frilly things and trousers made of elastic; Stu looked as if he might do himself damage with a sharp object if he happened upon one. The bra section nearly gave me a full on panic attack and I totally failed in this most basic of female requirements - having even prepared with a fitting in the kitchen with an extendy metal d.i.y tape. Back to the old grey number with bits of lace hanging off it, or the purple foamy monstrosity that I ordered on the internet when we were living on Arran; they do the job and that, I am afraid, will have to do for now. I did discover that, after buying mixed packs of blue pants, that given the choice, Stu would rather match his socks and go black; black pants were purchsed successfully, so the outing was not entirely useless, if a little glamour free.

To be fair, I did finally snatch up a lime green linen shirt which was discovered on return to actually fit and look half decent - hardly original as it is a dead ringer for one I sadly retired last year, but we did spend our voucher and return alive, if cynical.

Spent the rest of the day painting happily in the studio with cats, music and my own company, Stu painting the latest bit of the kitchen and indulging his new found pleasure in weeding the neighbour's driveway.

Its a learning curve I guess, and a valuable lesson is learned. Next time, I go alone.

My mind is now getting ready to become obsessed with the ESSA auction, bidding for which opens on Saturday; I know myself too well to think I will get away without hourly updates on the internet and constant agonising about the sale, or lack of, of my painting.

If you took away my neurosis, what would I worry about all the time!??

I have heard the mermaids singing

Which was a great film from when I was at college which seems to have disappeared without trace; obviously I was in the minority. I can't remember too much about it except the flower duet from Lakme was used in the soundtrack and it starred a 'kooky' girl with red hair. I went to see it on my own at the cinema which at that age still felt kind of cool and off the wall; not so many years later I did it nearly every week. Funny how perspective changes. I keep meaning to launch into a full rant on ageing and how it changes your view of the world, but it is a bit of a case of 'can- open, worms- everywhere!'

Went into town today to drop off new prints at my first and favourite framers, collect money for the ones sold and order frames for the new giclees that will hopefully be appearing soon. So begins my first 'product'. Having embraced the need to swerve into a commercial lane while continuing to produce work of a more eccentric and personal nature, I am detirmined that my product should be worth the paper it is printed on, so to speak. I have worked with designers, postcard producers, publishers; it is a real thrill to be finally creating my own little thing.

Looked at some great little things in the Scotland Gallery; some wee baby Picasso and Chagall prints and more exciting to me, drawings. There is something truly magic about the actual pencil on paper that has been sketched out by someone you greatly admire. The Chagall was a revelation- a loose but very correct drawing of a female nude with arms raised almost in the 'caryatid' pose I love. So unlike most things you end up seeing from him, and so almost like seeing a secret or hidden gem.

The other show of note to me was an Australian called Stephen Bird whose work utterly charmed and challenged me - his work is largely ceramic but with some awesome drawings and watercolours of his studio, gum trees, crazy birds and people.. The ceramics are headed 'Industrial Sabotage' and he worked with the Stoke on Trent potteries factories producing moulds and multiples of everyday things, toys, animals etc which he assembles into little toby jugs, worlds, houses... There is an element of political comment and a great deal of surreal humour, all in toytown colours and shiny gloss; some great pieces based on big chunky ashtrays with cool bugs painted on them, and jugs with handles made of multiple dolls heads.

As ever I am so happy and energised to see someone with such a unique vision and the guts to just go with it and let the contents of their head loose for our edification and inspiration.

Back home painting with a vengeance and looking up things on the web to help me out; for some reason I am fixated on mermaids now to add to my cast of deep sea dwellers and imaginary animals. Internet broke down into three straightforward categories for mermaids; fantasy soft porn art (long haired ladies with their tits out and fishy tail, mmm sexy) Disney, and fake stuffed animals. I would use the correct term for stuffed animals there but my brain actually is officially going and I can't remember it. Taxidermy. There it is. Shall I do the thing about ageing now?

So! I am tomorrow going to find the fourth way; the mermaid that is neither a suggestive magazine illustration, a garish cartoon with bug eyes or an even buggier eyed alien lookalike stuck to half a perch. Can't be too hard, surely?

Les Bateliers

Been watching a magpie lady outside the back of the house for the last few weeks- had a feeling she was feeding babies, and today two lovely 'kids' are out and about with mum causing havoc and driving Twig nuts. I love the way corvus birds only bring out the babies when they are pretty much adult; they must have some discipline! They are so garrulous and clumsy and are following mum around crying to be fed, despite being as big as her.

Having talked about donkeys the other day I developed one on those 'stuck record' moments in my head where I kept whistling 'little donkey' all day; really apt in June. What happens today - told someone else about it and off it goes again; still haven't shaken it off the turntable...

Spent some comedy time late last night looking up words in the translation website for possible use as painting titles; thinking around swans and angels, fishermen and laments. Actually quite productive for once and some lovely words in both French and Italian - I have a disconcerting habit of picking words that are the same in both languages, but luckily not this time. 'Il cigno, Le Batelier, il traghettatore, l'angelo... all great. Started up a pic of my boatman with a swan doing a 'Pai mei' on his oar - this a reference to the guy in Kill Bill balancing on Uma's sword. Twig does it to Mads too; jumps over her and pauses tantalisingly with feet resting on her head as she does so - its straight out of martial arts and she can only do it for the fun of it!

So boatmen all over the place just now; the swan picture is a little one and I'm whipping through it as its such fun; also half way through a 'darker' portrait of a rather traumatised boatman, and planning a big one of an annunciation hallucination confronting a marooned mariner. Looking at Blake in relation to that one as no-one (arguably) does 'tortured bibical' like him; watched the film Red Dragon by chance last night which prominently features titular painting among others, so of course the co-incidence bells went off again...

Read some great advice in a friend/mentor's blog that has been on a slow boil in my head ever since and its only now that I am seeing how significant it may be. His suggestion was not to waste money on overheads in a new business; don't take on the swanky office just to haemorrage money on utilities and rent when a spare room would suffice. Translated to my scenario it means that I shall hold off all plans to rent a studio for the foreseeable future; it would be madness to do so when I have my own in the house which I am finally so happy with and find so condusive to creation. It's easy to set goals without asking 'why?'. Sure, working in a studio complex will give me contacts and exhibition possiblities on tap, but using a bit of legwork and imagination there is no reason why it is the only way to do so. I would also essentially have to gear out two studios as I could hardly lug everything back and forward, and there is no way I would stop working at home. All round genius already, and that's only the half of it; taking this thought to its logical conclusion I realised that I had been worrying at the back of my mind about the need to move house at some point into a more 'suitable', scenic location. Take away that need and realise that I am perfectly happy where I am and another niggling background track is removed and I can focus on what I am doing in the here and now - which is creating some really positive attitude in myself and some great feedback from others. You go girl!

Last note; made some money from prints and what do I want to spend it on? Paint. Sod the wish list full of makeup, clothes and books - they can wait - bring on the new tubes...

Multiple goals

A very productive day; no proverbs but plenty learning. Latest rule of painting business, which merely reiterates the point I made a week ago about non-ability to see the future: watch your back. Not in the same way as you would if you were on a battlefield or in a dark alley, but in terms of not fixating on one goal when others are all around you. This ain't no football field (thank the merciful gods), there are goals all around, and all need watching.

Obscurity aside, what this actually means is that while concentrating on the new gallery taking my work, another one pops up and says 'Hello, sold all your stuff, can we have some more please?' Plans for the day are immediately altered to incorporate checking out frame and giclee print prices, as I am down to my last eight frames and someone just ordered six.

This sudden activity is of course very good and means that I will be paid for something artistic at last; this year has been all mouth and no trousers on the money front. Last year I sold heaps out of restaurants, and this one I have been gathering galleries to show my work but selling little... hopefully this is the turn of the tide. Not that I entirely believe in such matters, but it is a pretty nifty full moon coming up which us goats are supposed to find just that; tide turning.

And so to the auction house. Stapled my painting into a sheet to save on bubble wrap, screwed on the fixings and whacked it in the car - just fits and no more- and off we go. Of course when I got there the darn thing wouldn't come out for love nor money, but I was expecting it this time; I tried the same thing a couple of years ago at the gallery on the Mound and looked like a total loon for fifteen minutes battling with it before it popped out. Calm and cool this time, I just wiggled gently until it freed itself; last time it was actually a different picture, same frame, as I overpainted it as a budget exercise and because the old painting was a dog. Not of a dog, but a badly drawn and conceived piece that was best consigned to an underlayer.

Besides thinking it was huge, the ladies receiving didn't give me too much cause for paranoia and the building / hanging space is fantastic; very swanky and at the end of a lovely New Town street.

Spent the afternoon painting and printing frames and mounting up pictures for what is essentially my first re-order, so a party atmosphere prevailed despite Twig's attempts to cover herself in paint and the paint in hair. I often worry about what framers think when I drop off hairy-edged boards; I do try to remove it all but you know how cat hair is. Persistent and omnipresent. I was at a show recently and was delighted to see that the professional and established artist's painting was sporting animal hair worked in with the paint - it really is unavoidable.

Now, to the studio - using up some valuable potatoes which will start going crispy if I don't print them, which will make me feel wasteful for cutting them and not letting them leave their mark on my paintings! No potato shall die in vain on my watch; apart from the ones I eat for dinner.

Coffee shop wisdom

Everyone is speaking to me in Confucianisms today. Lady buying flowers says: 'If you are down to your last two loaves, sell one and buy a lily.' I like that one, very deep.

When I say 'everyone' I am exaggerating a touch, as that was the only pseudo Chinese proverb offered up to me in the course of the day, but my mum was in one of her 'words of wisdom' moods on the phone tonight so I feel as if I have been staring into the very jaws of old age for the past hour. Also read Forster again at the airport waiting to pick up my mother-in-law and loved this line, which also links to my painting 'A narrow cocoon' which I am taking to an auction house tomorrow:

'Inside its cocoon of work or social obligation, the human spirit slumbers..'

His point being quite similar to Hugh Grant in 'Four Weddings and a Funeral'; that the 'human spirit needs to be occupied by mundane events, work and wedding planning to avoid looking into that gaping maw too often. Airport coffee lounges are a great place to face your demons and stare into space asking unanswerable questions; anonymity and lack of interference are pretty much guaranteed and the chair is yours for as long as needed; life flows by in an ever changing and often downright disturbing frieze and if the urge takes you, the possibility to jump the country is always right there. I saw a baby go by wearing what I am pretty sure was a cake band, not a head band, on its downy little head; just plain wrong and alarming when you are defocused and pondering life.

Failed utterly to do any painting so far today due to airport transport and mother communication, so I shall claim the last fading hours of daylight (yikes, nearly midsummer!) to lay down some ideas and outlines on the boards that are levelling accusing stares at me across the studio. Dinner is to be a simple but effective braised rice with white fish fillets in some kind of seasoning; found some fresh coconut on reduction which made it a quarter the price of the tinned milk, which for some reason it now nearly the same price as petrol. Probably more. My maths is rubbish. Tomorrow; huge painting that only just fits in car needs transporting to swanky auction house for hopeful, please-please, sale to rich tasteful person which will start the slow climb out of poverty!

Angels and puppets

Once on a holiday to Paris, a city where I am convinced angels live around the Sacre Coeur, I was strolling up the steep slopes of Montmartre when I happened upon a young man with a puppet. The puppet was playing a puppet guitar along to some music on a music machine, and for no apparent reason other than being in the presence of angels in one of my favourite places, I was overcome by emotion and burst into tears. Needless to say reminders of this strangely sentimental moment have been thick and fast over the years; much hilarity was had in Vietnam where whole market stalls of puppets were shielded from my eyes in case of emotional turmoil...

So did the myth of the puppets of Montmartre come to be in my head, and long have a sought to illustrate the trickster puppets and their attempts to bring to shame the virtuous angels in their eerie in the Sacre Coeur.

Right now I am distracted from this only by my continued interest in the Boatman; I had a particularly fertile Haiku writing session while being paid to do something else today; the first is for a picture called The Boatman's lament:

Old brine support me!

Eyes and teeth below the foam

Are watching; watching -

the second is the same boatman, becalmed and losing his mind and fight for life when he believes he sees an angel come to save him:

Gentle betrayal-

Oars slide as I confront

My hallucination

The painting would see the boats oar slipping below the surface as the poor boatman reaches beseechingly for his vision.

Besides this, I also had a fabulous conversation about donkeys and the possibility of employing them as beasts of burden to ferry shoppers loads home; little hitching posts out the front of the supermarket... Great way to use up leftover fruit and veg, and even the possibility of methane power from the waste! 'Can I get a donkey to till four please?' It must be feasible.

Sold one of the prints of my paintings, which I have framed in hand potato printed frames; hopefully the first of many so I can reinvest and start the ball rolling properly; with fingers crossed I must away to dream of angels, sailors and swans.

Ant pants

Lordy be what a morning; I am full of fear for this afternoon's painting at the Ritchie Collins gallery... can't settle to anything and have tried on approximately ten zillion outfits for this, adapting as the weather conditions outside the window change. If you are familiar with Julie Walters stunning scene in Educating Rita as she prepares to go to a party at her lecturer's home - that's me this morning.
'Have you read Macbeth?...by William Shakespeare?..'

Sorted mode of transport for board and paints - IKEA bag, where would we be without those blue and yellow beauties. Actually it co-ordinates with my top so that is a worry I guess...Then there is 'post painting' to consider - is it applicable and acceptable to wear painty trousers into a bar in Leith or will it be the ultimate styling no-no? Oh, yeah, and to make it worse, who am I meeting after the demo? A stylist. OK she's a friend first and stylist later, but it is humanly impossible not to worry about what to wear when meeting her, given that she always looks like she has just stepped out of an uber-cool French art movie. I remember when we were young art students, she and another friend swapped clothes for a day as an experiment; the other lass was like myself and naturally dressed like a tomboy - the outcome was hilarious and both were totally self conscious all day. That's why I have a real problem dressing for occasions as I can get it so wrong and there is nothing (to me at least) feeling totally uncomfortable and out of sorts because you are trying to pull things up, hold them in or pretend they don't hurt. Give me a beach or a mountain and I can dress appropriately in the blink of an eye! Maybe that's the way to go... it is a beautiful day - hurray - so flip flops and shorts may be the only sensible choice. P***ed off that the sun is out in some ways as Stu will be busy and so might not make it down to the gallery - happy in others as I hope it will bring out the punters, make them smile and thus feel happy to splash out on art purchases that they would pass up on a cloudy day. My pics are inherantly sunny day pictures in their patterny, colourful way, although that is why I personally like them in the winter as they draw me in to that sunny frame of mind. Think I shall water the plants; communing with nature always has a way of calming the inner turmoil. Found a great book for mum's birthday next week; Colin Tudge's 'The Secret life of Birds'. I read his other one, 'The Secret life of Trees' and just loved it; a tree-hugger's delight full of tree facts and anecdotes, all written in an engagingly 'knowledgeable but chatty' way. Birds and their little ways are a source of constant amusement and amazement; imagine life without them?!!

Just back in from my painting and catching up with old friend; saw eider ducks in Leith dock which was cool - what was I saying about birds? And swans, but more of this later...
Loved my painting trip; as before I found my horror died away instantly and left me somewhere close to euphoria. It is like making up for lost time in my wilderness years of non-promotion; now I can't wait to wave paintings in peoples' faces and promote myself - is this a painter's mid life crisis? More like I am getting comfy in this old skin at last and loving it. Plotting a show for the autumn with myself and Ritchie, also going to do some more afternoons painting in the gallery, which was refreshing and educational. Found a new blue, Liquitex 'bright blue'; I think I had always feared it would be a bit Disney, but its really strong and maybe green leaning but reallly useful, and for also good for mixing I imagine.
Talking with Angela on the top of a boat on The Shore and musing on ideas with swans and angels; maybe a narrative linking the two and based in a port town. All three themes are coming together in my head and have been converging for a time now; I love angels and have painted them from Paris to Dubrovnik and back so it would be both a return and a departure, adding in developments of technique and the new narrative/nautical element. Ponder, ponder.
I wrote a bit in my sketch book after the SSA show that was about a lovely landscape/abstract that 'seemed to use a roller for the clouds'. What did I see today? Lots of little 'dolls house' foam rollers that apparently come from art shops - obviously I just visit them with my eyes shut... much fun to be had there methinks.

Lordy be, just thinking about angels and puppets. That is a tale to tell tomorrow.

A slippery slope

Slippery indeed.. went out shopping this morning for my much anticipated outing to Aldi's for cheapies and the Gyle shopping centre - in my slippers..! I have a feeling this is where it all starts to go wrong, but I feel embracing it will be far easier and more rewarding than fighting the inevitable. Bring on the crazy hats and saggy socks, I am ready!

Quickly briefed by Stu on his curry-sauce-from-scratch experiments so that I can continue tonight. Cook off a finely chopped onion, garlic and chillies in water and simmer until soft; blitz in the blender, return to pan and cook on until pretty much pureed and brown; blitz again and store in a tubbie. To make a curry or other aromatic sauce (herb/spice dependant) , heat some oil in the pan and fry off some tomato puree, add spices as desired and cook till the fragrance is released (last night Stu just used some powdered and seed cumin and coriander) and stir in some of the onion etc. puree. Cook on and season if needed. To this we added last night some finely diced and fried butternut squash, salted and drained aubergine and good old green peas; reallly tasty and interesting to see how something really good can be knocked up with pretty basic ingredients. That's the best bit of cooking for me; alchemy.

Tonight the same oniony mix will be plucked from the fridge and transformed into a sauce for meatballs, which I have been defrosting from our stash of mince creations. Using the same puree and oil start, adding the base puree and some sun dried tomatoes, fine diced veg. and lots of fresh herbs from the now overflowing herb box; not sure what I will serve it with but I did get some gnocchi in good old Aldi so that could be a go-go.

Spend a blissfully warm day pottering in the patio potting up the crazy fennels - I seem to have a knack with them and they just grow like triffids in this soil. Potted up some random plants that are not rocket but I have no idea what they are too - they have buds, so flowers may be forthcoming for identification and hopefully to give more colour to my tree and herb heavy garden. I do like a bit of green, but a few flowers would probably be good too. I have now coaxed two blooms out of my 'dinner plate' clematis; great white sheets of crinkly parchment sunning themselves today. I killed the last one so this is a replacement, and has taken two years to produce anything other than leaves. Painting wise I have actually been hard at it too, finishing Joy Garden Siesta and starting two more, one of which I will be continuing in the gallery tomorrow. Both are of a nautical theme, so either is good for Leith; I shall see how the mood takes me once the cold sweats have subsided.

Using some more new tricks on these two pics; underlaying the biro and coloured pencil on purpose to show through the acrylic and adding some texture to the under layers of acrylic with scratchy tools and a comb on the water. Kept it nice and loose to avoid too graphic a look but it should give some good depth to the water, over which I can print; spuds are at the ready....

Skipping man

Waiting for the bus this evening under the ceiling of chestnut leaves, a man skipped by, and continued to skip all the way down the hill until lost to view. I remembered a conversation I once had with an older colleague long ago when she noted that 'its really only little girls who skip'. Seemed wrong at the time and I have since observed many a skipping boy, but the skipping man was a first. Was this part of a carefully planned exercise regime or exuberance at a blooming June day? Either way, the surreal and unexpected nature of the spectacle will stay with me. Thank you skipping man for this experience.
Must have been something in the air today, actually. One of the longer conversations of the morning involved a novellist and philosopher outlining his latest work - leaving me wondering if I had just talked to the next undiscovered Rushdie or a Wednesday morning supermarket fantasist. The plot revolved around either Proust or Faust (thinking about it later I think it was Faust but at the time either seemed possible) languishing in a mundane day job in the afterlife/underworld to pay for past sins. He attended weekly therapy with Freud and ended up being reborn by crawling up his mother's vagina. So... either I will see this precis in a couple of years and think 'gee, I met that guy- thought he was a nut', or I will continue to harbour this opinion. Guilty until proved innocent I'm afraid, mister.

Long reflection led my to title my latest pic at last; the home of Suki, Greensleeves, Popsicle and assorted elephants has been christened 'Joy Garden'; this showing the girls at rest means it has become 'Joy Garden Siesta'. Further incidents in their lives as concubines, students and appreciators of beauty and nature now have a developing movie set in my head, on which their lives and stories can play out. Listen to me; I'm accusing the philosopher of borderline sanity and I'm concocting virtual concubine colonies...
Off to look up Leger and Magritte; trying to revisit names and artists in my memory who I haven't studied for a while; there must me a reason for their inclusion in my mental library, but I lose the connection with names and images sometimes. Stu is doing something very clever involving making curry sauce from scratch with minimal ingredients, but I think to do this justice I will have to quiz him on it over dinner and save my findings for tomorrow.

Peeking ahead

One of my favourite truisms is my favourite because it is both so obvious and so profound. We cannot see the future or predict the outcome of any given situation. Sure, I can guess right, but its the details that elude us and in that is the wonder and the joy of surprise when it is good. Today I was grumpy as Twig the wonder kit has learned to wake my by turning on the Mac by playing with the mouse or keyboard; she did it repeatedly until I chased her off, then joined her in the living room for some light web surfing with my tea. My light surfing led me to the ESSA website; Exhibiting Societies of Scottish Artists; the page advertising the forthcoming auction at Lynn and Turnbull, raising funds for the societies. Various artists have their work on the advert; Di Hope and Gill Shreene I recognise as I love their work and have seen it in galleries; next to the pics of their work is one of mine... Just so out of the blue and unpredicted, there is my name crediting my picture on the ESSA webpage. I spent the rest of the day buzzing but unable to share my feelings without a ten page essay on the art societies of Scotland, my career to date and the proximity of myself and other painters. The pic I'm submitting is 'A Narrow Cocoon' one of the biggest of my patterney, Vietnam inspired pieces and it means a lot as it is a bit of a milestone for me coming back from Arran and quitting the catering industry. Here's hopin' it is even more of a wayside marker than I thought.

Looking again at Paula Rego this morning; the Casa Historica of the bag is a Rego museum in her home town of Cascais, 30k outside Lisbon; now that would be the basis of a fine mini-break - maybe add that to my list (ever-growing) of 2011 fantasy holidays. Already has car touring fortnight in south of France and weekend looking at Bruegels in Vienna, so why not add another gallery related sunspot, a girl can dream. Probably won't get it right, but she can dream.

Thinking of a great story from Tuscany; the guy we stayed with in Castelveccia had some neighbours who had lived there for seventy odd years, married and in the same (stunning) villa. They routinely had major shouting matches around the house and garden, where he called his wife 'Bestia!' - Beast! I just love the idea of a septuagenarian Italian lady called Bestia, and have long harboured the idea of using it as a painting title/inspiration.

Great speedy dinner tonight once I had off-loaded my excitement onto poor Stu; roast chicken breasts in olive oil, soy and sweet chilli with roasted butternut squash, peppers, onions and garlic with manuka honey. So easy its silly and served with a little salad constructed from a cheeky selection of reduced salad items I picked up on the way home.

Must remember to jot down a great shirt pattern I saw today; mens clothes are getting so much funkier and brighter these days; it was a khaki background with white and really vibrant red/orange wonky circles which looked so like one of my potato prints it was silly!

Casa Siesta

After refreshing my knowledge of Paula Rego and pondering her pictures again this morning, what happens? A lady comes up to me in my cash-day-job holding a canvas bag with 'Paula Rego - Casa Historica' on it; I can't but feel there is a message in there somewhere, very spooky.
Thinking about one picture in particular that summed up much about her work that I like; it is a single female figure crouching with wonderfully drawn, scuptural limbs and a disturbed/disturbing face. There is that fabulous ambiguity; is she cleaning the kitchen floor, in an asylum, a refugee camp? What is she doing, what will she do, what does that face mean? It is one of those images that stays with you and questions you long after it is no longer before you; I love that.
Found a great quote today from Yann Martell, the author of 'The life of Pi' which sold some zillion copies and I read one far east trip and enjoyed a lot. He has finally had his next work published to some dire reviews and comments along the lines of 'why didn't you do another one like the last one?' He replies, which I feel is true for painters too, in spades; 'Most writers...write a book because they have a story to tell. And they will tell it no matter not.'
I think it is ignoring the story within and opting for the story without is the mistake to avoid, at least if hoping to stay true to your unique 'voice'....
For lunch I had a new and wonderous leftover dish; couscous wrap. Take one herb wrap and spread generously all over with houmous; tip leftover couscous with herbs, olives, lime zest, peppers and peas over the top and press down, with crumbles of feta cheese over it. Roll like a roulade and cling film firmly before cutting in half for ease of eating; scrummy. Endless permutations possible too, with other cheeses, spreads and contents of couscous.
My challenge for the day at work was to find a title for the painting I'm doing, with the unwieldy working title of 'Suki, Greensleeves and Popsicle', and come up with ideas for the next board. Didn't fare too well on the title although I think I am on the right lines; something to do with studying and siesta, as the women are relaxing in the picture but in the process of passing on their trade and knowledge to young Popsicle. The cheesiest I happened upon was 'siesta semester', which made me chuckle but doesn't make the cut I fear; about to look up some French and Spanish in case their words say it better than those I am more familiar with. For my next pic. I am thinking of staying with the boatman/fisherman who I am drawing a lot at the moment and using him in a Nantucket whaler disaster/castaway kind of scenario. That way I can use my angel as well, and I do like to draw an angel. I read quite a few books on lost whalers and castaways a few years ago as the stories fascinate me and I am still chasing the Rime of the Ancient Mariner in charity shops as I'm sure this is going to give me more ammunition...
Enough talk for tonight; looking forward to printing with the wee spuds I cut yesterday - they are like many food things and work better on the day after preparing.

Potatoes of the night

First day back at cash-day-money-soul-destroyer job. Actually it was fine and I felt weirdly good to be back; don' t tell anyone I said that - its just to do with makin' money I think and feeling as if I am fighting for the cause. I have found depths of motivation that I didn't expect this year; I guess if this was my only job I might be feeling frustrated but as back up for my painting it is ideal as I have basically zero stress and plenty of time to cook up pictures in my head and doodle things as they arrive. Looking at Paula Rego before I went in as her paintings from a particular era were in my head and I hadn't looked her up for a long time; the pictures I remember would have been from the nineties and I loved her monumental figures and sinister undertones. There is always a figure, animal, or group plotting something devilish or you imagine something is going down 'off camera' that is less than savoury. She also draws so well and the solidity of the bodies and their composition is spot on for me. Since I last looked the mood is the same but the drawing has increased in intensity and movement and the figures have taken centre stage; often just one sculptural female with a choppy, vigorous brush and line work. There were also shots of the artist in front of bigger, mural sized works in muted colours with mutliple figures - all look awesome, so I must try and keep an eye out for shows or see where some of them live permanently.

Quote of the day, probably paraphrased knowing me - 'These things they seem to cost money,

But money costs some dreams.' From the Hold Steady album; loving it, and what true words.

The pursuit of money and what I have considered an acceptable income has taken me full circle to the point last year when I

realised that this was all I was doing; chasing my tail and the crock of gold at the end of the rainbow. Halved my salary and I have without doubt never been happier or more comfortable in my own skin.

Painting tonight, starting up the 'Boatman' pic that is taking at least its first form now; I am aiming to use this one for my painting 'demo' on Friday. I am laying down the construction and some under layers so that I have something interesting to do for the gallery visitors; hopefully! The fun bit is always the latter stages for me when the prints go on and the colours lighten towards the front - the whole thing starts to pull together and only tweaking remains; this can go on for days or even weeks mind. Had a hairy moment with the very red/pink print which I was laying over lime green; not something you want to smudge or end up all over the place, so exactly the moment that Twig the kitten comes for a look-see. I ended up looking like a butcher or a mass murderer, but the cat and the studio remained fairly unscathed and thankfully the paint stayed in the right place on the painting.

And so to dinner; we have the basics of ten meals stowed in the freezer now- packs of chicken parts, burgers, meatballs and six tubs of chicken stock, great back-up for any weeks where the numbers don't quite add... Tonight we had a tasty burger night with salad and a saute potato thing with onions and beetroot - yummy. Beef burger for once tonight as mince was on special, with a concoction of chilli, smoked paprika, cajun spice, curry powder, sweet chilli sauce, onions and garlic; I think we can safely assume that Stu had a few jars to empty in the seasoning drawer. Came out damn fine, too. The potato thing reminded me of something my ma used to feed us when I was small(er), a similar idea which came in ambient packaging and was called something like swiss breakfast potato; strange the things that come back to you. I bought the potatoes for printing really, so that has to be an uber budget meal - eating your painting materials could be considered the height of desperation but in this case, not. When I start drawing on muesli boxes all things will be equal.

Lillie Drink

To Leith, where we popped in to Ritchie Collins Gallery to see my paintings up and find out how the Leith Festival preparations had gone; the parade was just gearing up as we left and there were already plenty of visitors wandering into the gallery, so hope I get some good exposure. The gallery looks really good; its the kind of space I like a lot - not large but full of character with lots of nooks and crannies containing loads of different artworks. It feels as if you are discovering things rather than having them laid out for your selection. The other gallery we visited was the Leith Gallery, where the show was two artists; Sophie McKay Knight and Jack Frame. The owner was available and chatty so it was an interesting visit; quite liked Sophie's quirky portraits, although I personally wish she had gone even further with the 'quirk' - its a well established and pretty conservative gallery with pretty solid sales I'd imagine, so maybe sticking to what they know and know will sell is the best way. Still, it is very spare and workmanlike about its display and choices; I must admit I had expected something more funky or directional.

Jack Frame is solidly painterly and does some very commendable tree studies - I always like a tree picture and some of these really drew me but others I wasn't keen on the colours and thought they veered a little close to photographic copies, never my favourite genre. I totally appreciate the skill that photorealism takes, but it often leaves me cold; some of the BP portrait award pics are truly remarkable, but again its the ones with more painterliness and soul that I lean towards. Similar to my feelings for the guy we saw yesterday with his stunning watercolour studies; for me it is the spontenaity and handling of paint that really shows his craft.

Settled in with renewed vigour on the pic of the three 'ladies' - its basically a version of the classic harem/odalisque theme. I have two concubines, Suki and Greensleeves, and Popsicle, the odalisque/apprentice; and an elephant. Working on the faces today, which always gives me a better feel for the overall piece in terms of lights, darks, colours etc. I am pleased with how far I got today and the way the ladies relate to each other; I need to get going with my potatoes tomorrow so I can get some pattern going. Using biro and coloured pencil under the acrylic which I have discovered will bleed through to various effect; sometimes it has done it by accident and I have cursed it , but am now trying to harness this to create subtle underlays and patterns. Success so far and a useful way to add yet another layer to patterns; some have scrafito under the potato print already and now this can come into play as well. I found it useful on the faces as well; the biro will peek through overpainted acrylic to give really quite subtle outlines on the eyes, nostrils, lips etc. Messed with the new red successfully also, although I think I will need a tube of the opaque version also for more balls where needed.

Some of the paintings in the Collins Gallery suffered from a 'lost in translation' moment; I had left a bottom carbon copy as the only reference to make labels from, in my imperfect handwriting. 'Lillie Duck' has become 'Lillie Drink', which is genius and far more apt than the original, given that this was basically an 'in-joke' with myself. Weirdly, my friend down south had nick-named this one 'The lady in the drink' so it must have been predestined; I will have to change it on my website! The other change is ' Green Janey' to 'Green Journey', which again I find preferable; maybe I should make a habit of this...

Did our weekly shop for basics; all for £20 and well stocked for much of the week in terms of meat and veg; also two for one on wraps for me lunches, and good old 'savers' Neapolitan ice cream - ridiculously cheap but so satisfying at the end of what is often a chilli enhanced dinner.
Stocked up on 'print potatoes' too - some nice waxy ones with a good selection of sizes; the only loose ones were Jersey Royals which are too pricey and poncey for printing; they'll go and demand a bleedin' Equity card.

Some fab lamb steaks tonight marinaded in oil and oddly wet steak seasoning; Stu did an awesome couscous with peppers, onions, herbs from le jardin, garlic, peas etc etc; also some great spicy spinach. I have finally admitted that the rocket I planted is not, actually rocket, but another unknown herbaceous plant. I ate some yesterday trying to prove its rocket-ness (unsuccessfully) so I hope it is an innocuous herbaceous plant - definately not a foxglove so at least that is a comfort. Fennels are going for the sky and so will plant them out tomorrow in a nice hefty pot I have for such occasions; some of our home-compost will keep them going great guns until harvest time!

Mixing reds

A quiet day of pausing between moments. Tried to sleep in but confounded by the cats in their enthusiasm for the return of another feeder and tickler; truth be told I find it hard to sleep late nowadays, I feel there is so much to be done.

After Portsmouth there was a feeling of homecoming especially heading into town for paint and shopping treats; Edinburgh is most lovely in the sun and today smiled on us with those awesome big clouds too. Found ourselves a forgotten gift token for HMV and one for WH Smith, as you do, so oot we scooted to find some new music, movies and books - all for free! Surely the definition of happiness in our budget times... Filmwise I am happy to have found 'I've Loved you so long', as a big Kirsten Scott Thomas fan and Francophile it has long been on my list; also Angel Heart, one I missed out on first time around, and Gomorrah, whose posters I kept seeing in the far east; I'd love to read the book of that one too and have high hopes for the film. Watched Angel Heart tonight and ogled the beautifully set up cinematography and sense of composition; most of the shots in the film could have been used as stand-alone photographs in a pretty hot coffee table book. Picking up patterns in my brain too for use in print; a great source for design - I love picking up little pieces of pattern to use in paintings.

Music wise our new additions are Hold Steady - team point for use of the words 'sequestered' and 'subpoenaed' in a song (and teaching me, temporarily how to spell them); The Avett Brothers, which I know is set to be a big fave and painting soundtrack, and Rufus Wainwright, who I have been meaning to get into for ages. Saw Martha in concert last year so it is only right and proper that I give her brother a listen; from first hearing I think we did a good bit of choosing today. Last we spent our Smiths voucher on inspiration and dreams; a guide to the French Riviera, where we are planning a trip next year sometime - probably our first treat once our year of poverty has eased. I am sure we will still be on a tight budget though as this has changed both of our ways of thinking about money already, its value and a desire not to be wasteful or indulgent.

Bought just one tube of paint today, cadmium red light hue; hope I get on with it okay as it's more for mixing into pinky reds and oranges. I thought the 'hue' would be better than the straight pigment, so I hope I'm right.

Caught a good exhibition on its penultimate day in the new Henderson Gallery, owned by the legendary Hendersons vegetarian restaurant; it is a lovely space on the first floor at the back of Thistle Street and the guy exhibiting is a wildlife watercolourist of some major talent - Darren Woodhead. I have always followed and loved wildlife art and my favourite kind is that practised by Darren; 'real' painting out in the field with no studio touch-ups or composition. All of his pictures are so natural and skillful without being posed or strained- the brushstrokes and colours are amazing and spontaneous and the finished

pieces have that quality of movement and life that gets lost in translation from sketch book to canvas so easily. He's local to here too, only over in Haddington, and the pictures were of the River Esk whose banks I am quite familiar with; once worked for a lady with an amazing house on the banks which had an awesome garden.

Off to be a painting anorak and study my newly aquired Liquitex colour chart. Good to be home and move onto another little chapter.

Rolling Cheeses

Sittin' in Southampton airport waiting for news of my delayed flight back to Edinburgh. Amsterdam is also late so Stu suggests rolling cheeses may be the culprit; or maybe the wrong kind of cheese? Philadelphia on the runway would not a perfect take-off make... Portsmouth station was crawling with the long arm of the Pompey law - and his dogs - sniffling at the ankles of the darned hairy hippies heading for the I.O.W. Festival, and me! A cold pink labrador nose poked at my feet, but left me for greener pastures; I can't have looked as young and hip n happenin as I hoped.

This morning's outing was the Submarine Museum, where my host spends her working days, which proved to be far more of a treat than expected. Ther early machines were fascinating and unbelievable in a Heath Robinson way - paddles anyone?, foot pedals?, little round turrets with windows?, and luxuriated under such apt names as 'The Turtle'. Awesome.
The big fella sub was also far more complex and raised more questions that I had never previously considered; the machine itself is impressive, but when you add in the human element and stories, narrate it all first hand by a long serving submariner the effect is really engaging and moving. The design of both the newer buildings and the vessels themselves brought to mind a cross between the ships around us in the harbour and the whales below the waves - it must have been in the designers' visual reference bank when they first sketched these dark, round nosed creatures of the deep. Even the torpedoes are quite lovely in design terms with their whirygig tails; not sure about the war business though - not something that ever leaves me comfortable.

Black headed gulls and egrets today scything by in the rain; the black head boys remind me of the jackdaws I talk to along the burn with masked ball faces and such serious looking conversations going on. Whales, wooden submarines like gazebos and theatre-mask-faced gulls - put that in ya pencil and see what scribbles out... also reminded of 'Neptune and his water-breathers' - a lovely line from the new Gorillaz album.

One of the other artistic features of note at the subs museum was the diagram / plan drawings of the vessels - beautifully done by someone appreciative of both design and humanity; lovely details of the submarines and their lives as well as the amazingly complex machinery and fittings.

Another tasty pasty for lunch; chick pea and spicy vegetables this time - necessary after a soaking walking around the harbour - nay sandy feet today!
Couldn't help smiling at the Festival bound travellers disappearing into the mist and spray on their Wight-bound way. Wish em luck and good tunes - time I took to the skies homeward bound; mind tipped up, emptied of stress and a bunch of good stuff poured in...
Couple of lovely sights from the plane; the border hills looked for all the world like folded pancakes drizzled with sauce, and the Forth Rail Bridge is being mended; apparently with drinking straws and duck tape.

Tour de Wight

Opted for a day of exploration and discovery today; less culture and more sea and sand. Hardly uncharted waters or sands, but a new experience for me and one that felt surprisingly foreign - a day trip to the Isle of Wight. My first and only memory of the island involves the somewhat unsavoury tale of pooing on the beach at Ventnor, unknown to my poor parents, due to my inability to vocalise my need for the loo. Luckily some more memories were unearthed during the course of the day which were more quaint and less lavatorial; worrying what sticks in your mind...
Very excited to take my first hovercraft 'flight' and comic discovering a piece of technology so past its prime and possibly soon destined for the museum. The island itself seems unsuprisingly stuck in a time warp but full of memories and relics from its days as a premier holiday destination - loved travelling in an old London tube train; all the same noises, seats, buttons for the ticket man... transported to the green pastures of an island in La Manche.
Shanklin's hight point was some amazing 'ghost' clouds that kept skittering up the beach and over the sand flats, teasing around the kids playing in perfect retro with their buckets and spades. The only other time I have seen such lovely little mist spirits was in Tuscany, where they used to freak me out driving up the hills late at night; great to see clouds with little minds of their own. We found ourselves among the wispies ourselves as we walked along the sands and it was surreal watching them scoot past in little clouds around our ankles. Up at the top of the crumbling cliffs the real estate perches, debating its doom; one gazebo seemed particularly close to becoming matchwood on the beach, and some rather futile netting wasn't holding back the forces of erosion.
From beach to cliff one can ride (for a fee) in a lift - helpfully labelled 'LIFT' in huge type on concrete; this was one of the items that jogged a memory as I imagine its idiocy and ugliness were blatantly apparent even aged four. I remember Ventnor as having a proper funicular railway, but the 'cliff lift' deserves a mention as a celebration of how a good idea can not quite work in practise, but still last over thirty years.
What sticks in the mind, is that 'other country' feel that it shares with so many island communities and as such makes them both fascinating to visit and infuriating to live on. Kept being reminded of early Pink Floyd, Carry On films, Monty Python and the great days of English discovery and invention; all faintly absurd but in deadly seriousness - a strange and wonderous new world of crazy clouds, giant plastic hot dogs and very loud hanging baskets. And there is, I would imagine, so much more to see!
Off for a well deserved Indian tonight; I have been treated to the stories of the early Bangladeshi community here brought to work the docks in the war, the legacy of which, among many things, is the plethora of very fine Indian restaurants. We also sampled ice cream from the Minghella family who built their business on the Isle of Wight; a fine place to tour.

Medieval musings

Blogged in longhand last night; this is my morning catch-up.

Clocking off from a days adventure surrounded by plastic dinosaurs, Incredible Hulk giant fists and educational posters; Spider Man is eyeballing me from the foot of my bed. Air travel is for me a liberating experience when undertaken alone, removing the need to adjust for or worry about another. Small decisions seem like treats - Q: which food outlet to over-spend in?, what airplane seat to choose?, book or magazine?, stand in queue or sit in chair? All of these seemingly simple decisions become irritants with even just one companion, let alone more. Gazing out at rainy airplanes through the mist with Wacky Races Anthill Mob mechanics and 'throwers' preparing planes I felt a real inner calm; there is an untouchable quality to sitting alone in an airport that lets me commune with my inner recluse. A: Crossant and San Pellegrino from Boots and Costa; 9A; book; sit on chair. Sorted.

That time travel experience kicks in when, having woken at 6.00 in Edinburgh, I am walking down Winchester High Street, pasty in hand for lunch. We ate under a tree due to persistent rain, but all the more memorable for it, and excellent budget points accrued.
Winchester Cathedral offered a plethora of artistic inspiration. I love the really old cathedrals and with Italy still fresh in mind I was surprised to be so impressed with this 'little' UK number. Green man miserichords, lovely vaulting and ceiling bosses and awesome 1300s tiles all over the show in a dizzy array of patterns and terracotta tones. Also a lovely old fresco that was painted in the thirteenth century and kept hidden, so the colours are really fresh but a lovely chalky tone; figures beautifully simplified, as were some reliefs on the font which were also very odd and majestic.
A surprising addition in the crypt was Anthony Gormley's 'Sound II', showing a superb use of space and public sculpture display; really moving and timeless; the cellar often floods, so at different times the lone figure is on dry land or reflected above water. As we debated, walking back from the West Gate, where my tall friend tried to brain herself on a low doorway, public art and particularly sculpture can be such a thorny bed and so often end up as something else to fall over, lost in the higgledy piggle of street furniture.

Discovered the phrase 'door furniture' today and my little mind went whirring off into a perfect set of Sylvanian Families dressers and suite at 90 degrees to the pillar box red gloss paint, in between the knocker and the letterbox.
Spent the evening sketching for 'The Ferryman' - a picture that has shape shifted through many incarnations so far, but this may be its final state - a combination of carved figures in wood that I saw today, African/Picasso masks, Russian icons and a Breton shirt. For some reason I seem to have fireworks in the background but that works for me too; Charon has become a touch Gallic and wandered into a new years eve party on Portsmouth Harbour, but I can see it working...
Walked around the harbours edge tonight at that magic twilight hour when all stretches of water, estuary. ocean and pond are at their most meditative; the stone of Porchester Castle behind served as a reminder of all the souls who had stood before me and whose steps I traced. Always a humbling perspective but also reassuring in its repetition of rhythm and cyclical life.
Besides the very tasty pie for lunch we dined on a fine budget favourite of sausages, mash and onion gravy, much appreciated after sea air, history and contemplation. Later I partook of soda water in a pub called The Cormorant, having watched one of the stately birds fish the waters of the harbour on our evening stroll.