Lime and Oxblood

In retrospect I loved that colour combination so much I had to use it as a title. Looking through and old sketch book the other day from Thailand I found a page where I had written a long list of colour 'matches' or combinations that were evocative of the place and it was surprisingly effective at opening the door to my memories of the place. Colour can do that just as smells can.

I had a conversation the other day about Milan and how it is forever inextricably linked in my mind with the colour yellow; I have never seen so much yellow in a city - on the houses, in clothes, books, paint... And really beautiful, subltle yellows, from chromey and ochrey to primrose and barely-there aged lemon. I didn't really like yellow until I went to Milan and realised how beautiful it can be in the right context.

Spent my spare day in town today checking out a few exhibitions that had caught my eye and going to pay a small pilgrimage to the first public sale of greetings cards by myself; at the Edinburgh Book Festival. After a couple of days promoting this monumental happening on Facebook and telling all and sundry that I was finally 'out there' in print with my name in black and white on the back, it was unsurprisingly an anticlimax to round the corner of the bookshop marquee and confront the little whirlygig stand. The proximity of so many amazing books didn't really help my enthusiasm as I had already had to resist purchase of multiple additions to my shelves by truly talented individuals; suddenly my own contribution seemed a little paltry.

I am as proud as I can be now it is later in the day and I am looking at the photo I took; it may be just a section of a whirlygig in a marquee but it is the culmination of much effort and soul searching over the last six months and the one thing that should have struck me was that the quality of my paintings was no longer in doubt in my mind. A few years ago I would, rightfully probably, apologise for my creations before showing them to anyone, and would have curled up and died if someone had displayed them so publicly with my name to acknowledge their parentage. Walked out today, postcards in pocket, ready to befriend any artist that I happened upon and declare my status as a fellow struggler with the thing we call art; this in itself is a major seachange.

The artists I did happen upon today (or at least their work) were Victoria Crowe in the Scotland Gallery and Ethel Walker in the Flying Colours, plus a number of printmakers, painters and makers in the West End Craft Fair behind St John's. Victoria Crowe is someone I have seen work by in passing but never en masse; I have to confess that I prefer them individually and felt that the work somehow suffered in numbers. Each piece is delicately built up in layers of filigree tree branches, pencil tracery and a patchwork of imagery into a very beguiling whole, but something about their delicacy and intimacy doesn't entirely work for me, at least when they are filling a room. One little example of a cyclamen in front of a frosty scene through a window drew me in, and in others I loved her use of ocres, umbers, and the tree filigree broken by sudden accents of bright blue. I would rather see one piece nestling in a corner of a room and let it work its little spell than see all the bigger canvases vying for attention; not sure why but that was what struck me most.

Ethel Walker I was wholly unfamiliar with which was a bit shabby considering the stunning pictures she produces of my adopted homeland and the fact that she is now in her seventies. She has been tied to Flying Colours gallery in an exclusive deal for the last x number of years, however, so I guess I have just missed the shows they have done, and I haven't noticed anything at the exhibiting societies. Her land/sea/sky scapes have an elusive, instinctive quality where she catches exactly the feeling of fleeting light and peeks of mountain that are so Scotland. I particulary liked a couple of images where land and sea were subjugated by huge grey-blue clouds through which glimpses of pink shone through. Fantastic command of colour and the experienced hand of someone who can really use paint.

Picked up various cards and chatted to printers and potters at the art/design fair, which I had not managed to visit since my early days in the city. A couple of lovely woodturners, one of which runs courses, so I shall have to suggest this to Stu just to satisfy some of his desire to work in wood. I am sure he would enjoy the chance to do something that would be a tad pricey to set up from scratch just to see if it was fun! Some lovely printmakers producing their own stuff and working out of Printmakers Workshop makes me doubly determined to try one of their courses (picked up the leaflet) as I have not done any formal printmaking since college; my original degree application was for printmaking at Norwich, but alas I was young and foolish and it was not to be. Must follow that up though, maybe once I have managed to reduce my hours of cash work. I find myself a little down tonight even after such a creatively exciting day, as I am once more frustrated by the limited time I have for everything I need to do; my studio time is now down to when Stu gets home; two/three hours tops, and my self flaggetory nature is already beating me up for not getting to work sooner, despite the trip into town being my only visit of the week to the thing we call the Festival, top artistic event of the calendar...

Time to stop beating myself up about things over which I have no control (ie: the need to pay bills) and get on with that which I do; angels, elephants and some other imaginings.