A dream location?

For someone with a well documented school phobia, this business plan is becoming a thing of horror. I am limiting myself to 'bite sized' pieces of learning and/or producing as I have found this is the only way to keep myself on the straight and narrow. One of my problems, full stop, is that I want everything to be done *now* and find it really hard to envisage a project carrying on a few weeks, even when I know that has to be the case. Spent a large and very pleasant part of the day researching an entirely new area of the city, which was a bit weird; I'm there to debate the possibility of setting up a business in this location and I didn't know it existed despite living here for fifteen years.. not a great omen? However, the lack of knowledge is largely circumstantial; I live on the opposite side of the city, have never worked there and have spend most of those fifteen years stuck in one of a selection of restaurants 24/7. The fact that it is a very pleasing area full of open spaces, parks and big stone houses means that it may yet be the one we are seeking. I always have my eye out for the poetic, and names mean a lot to me; the street name and the area are both divine and would give us a superb business address. Shallow? Maybe intuitive? I know that I am more likely to follow up an address that appeals...

I am gradually knocking over the skittles that I have in my head marked as the hurdles to overcome on the path to self employment; I'm sure it wasn't this hard for my ex. in London who set up a graphic design business overnight on the back of my full time job and part time waitressing. Oh, and I bought his computer, which he casually forgot when I finally plucked up the courage to tell the lazy son-of-a-gun where to go and reclaim my self confidence, which he had gradually ground into the carpet. Sorry, did I say that out loud?

One of the joys of this experience is that despite my fear of essay writing and horror of unknown legal minefields, I am in it with someone who has the greatest respect for my confidence, who I have worked with in evil situations for over seven years, and who will work his ass off for our benefit. Now, back to those pesky marketing figures...

Salon des Previsibles

Started a new painting today; I have gone up in size for this one as I am filled with confidence and the return to a subject from pre-angel days. Elephants have always been good for me in terms of sales and popularity, and having spent yesterday in a mood of rebellion brought on by the exhibition rejection I am obscurely feeling like putting on my commercial hat to a certain degree. I temper this by adding that I have been spending far too much time in the company of Hieronymous Bosch and letting my mind dwell on puppetry, so there will still be an edge of the stranger things that I see in my head. Trying to get to sleep last night I was letting my mind wander as it felt and ended up with the strangest procession of crazies wandering by; all very Monty Python/Bosch (the aforementioned artist, not the power tool manufacturer). Makes me want to laugh out loud sometimes and also brings to my attention, not for the first time, how close the division must be between the so-called 'normal', sane person and those we bang up in institutions and feed on semolina.

The gallery selection thing is still praying on my mind; not in negative way but as a puzzle that will probably never come any closer to solution. Reading yesterday all the comments from the 'Salon des Refuses', most of it focused on the idea that they were outcast due to their deviation from the acceptable in terms of subject. The thinking that if they had listened to the people in their lives who had suggested they stop painting whatever comes into their head and concentrate on commercial or popular themes then success would be inevitable. This might apply if the selection was for a commercial gallery, but the Societies stand on a platform of innovation and boundary-pushing; to 'show the controversial and the unexpected and to give hanging space to new artists of promise'.

If this is true then rejection is more likely to be on the grounds of being less than unexpected and controversial; of being prosaic and normal; or lacking in promise. Makes the whole reject thing a bit less romantic and points to my mind more in the direction of back-slapping and nepotism. There are an awful lot of entries and the tendency is always going to be there to blinker the 'new artists of promise' bit and bung in a selection of the usual suspects.

I think that is the better reason to turn our collective backs and deny the funding our entries produce; maybe a bit more of the unexpected and the new artists would be welcome if there was suddenly less cash flowing into the coffers to show off the work of the chosen few every year?

What a feeling....

Some really good comments online today as all the artists licked their wounds following the reject day at the Exhibiting Societies exhibition. Quite a funny atmosphere as ever with the start of the show already hanging and the leftovers scattered around the walls in dejection; people picking over the remnants searching for their passed-over works. Always strikes me as marvellously shambolic in the security department as if nothing of worth could be left in the also-rans; its just a case of help yourself and initial the sheet at the required space. Someone could make a killing in there if they knew what to nick.

The commentary on Facebook was so familiar; why do we do this? Why try to push that square peg in the round hole time after time? Gave me an idea for a new psychological condition called the 'Flashdance' syndrome; talented but individual performer feels the need to compete for seemingly unattainable Establishment training despite being utterly mismatched to the institution and having no discernable benefit to gain. I guess it is intended to be read as an escape from the tawdry world of club dancing to the elite heights of the ballet, but is it really necessary? Could Jennifer's character not have found better satisfaction and ultimately stayed truer to herself had she gone and joined some edgy arthouse dance theatre?

Nope, she had to get her legwarmers on and impress those fuddy-duddies; show them what they were missing and why they should embrace her raw, vital version of the art. Likely?

Funnily enough, in real life us would-be Flashdancers get no joy when we go banging on the doors of the academy demanding our moment in the spotlight... back to the table dancing for us then.

I should have remembered from my long lost art history lessons, but it was also brought to our attention that the Impressionists, those rebellious, risque purveyors of all that was edgy and cutting were rejects themselves who exhibited as the 'Salon des Refuses'. Another era, same old, same old...

Glimmers, glimmers in the dark

The first Hellebore flower sneaked up on me today, as they always do. I stalk the buds as they hug the surface of the earth, checking on them daily through the early part of January when there is little or nothing to see, and then out of my head it goes. Next thing I know there is a full flower nodding its fringed face above the soil and the others not far behind it. What a feeling; the return of the flowers, the coming of the swifts and swallows, mackerel skies over heat haze... maybe not quite yet, but a hint does wonders to lift tired spirits out of the January doldrums. I have always felt totally cheated by my birth date; no one at all wants to celebrate anything a week after the new year and two weeks after the Christmas binge. Sod pretending to be younger than I am, how about relocating my birthday a few months into the year so I can lounge in the meadows drinking lemonade and watching the cherry blossom float by? Surely moving a birthday is as legitimate these days as shifting wrinkles ever skywards or fabricating a taut stomach with spandex and hope...? I think late April will do nicely.

Suffered with the usual stoicism the usual rejection from the yearly Society of Scottish Artists show; I think it is only my inner masochist that lets me enter in the first place when there is no suggestion that my work would be at home there; I just can't resist a competition. Its just an extension of the 'Vision On' gallery, which I entered until I was blue in the face and tantrumming, but never got in.

Recovered my resolve and 'calm centre of the world' stance by taking the cat to the vet (so calming!) and feeding her new pills wrapped in tiny pieces of ham (not mad at all) before washing her bum in warm water (highly recommended as a leisure activity!) and talking nonsense to her for a while before leaving for work. Returned to peace, serenity and no cat poo on the floor, so things are improving by the moment.

After all that there is nothing, literally nothing that I feel like more than reading more information on VAT and 'A guide to understanding balance sheets'. Luckily I am also luxuriating in the new semi-wealth that is creeping up on us (comparative to last year's poverty) and have a new CD to listen to - John Grant's 'Queen of Denmark'; man with a fine turn of phrase and a wry sense of humour, which are very hard to find successfully combined in an album. And some good sweary words, which I always find strangely satisfying.

Surround sound

Stu's amazingly cool frames are coming together in the kitchen; I always know he's off now as I hear the music playing in the kitchen and smell the wax polish. Using stencils and prints over the multiple layers of paint them letting him work his magic with cloths and wire wool. Suits my little angel lady well methinks.
Out researching the turnover of framers today which seem to be remarkably buoyant; not sure why people are still out there framing so many things in a recession but it sure suits me.
Slowly starting to get my head around the figures and facts that I need to collate; its all tolerable when you break it down into those bite sized pieces.

Worry monger

Ah, the cycles of life. Up one day and down the next; or not 'down' so much as feeling as if a cattle prod had been once more inserted into my head. I have an inbuilt and well documented school phobia, and the business plan is beginning to appear in my mind as worryinglike like homework. Homework with a real and crucial purpose in a similar manner to an end of year exam that determines the path of the next stage of your life. No pressure then. My current stress is based on the necessity to find certain information and having no idea where to find this; the solution is clear but (to me) painful. Ask. This is a sign of weakness in the Nilsson mind, which for some reason thinks that all answers will be accessible if I just *think* hard enough. See that worry line engrained on my brow? Years, decades of trying to *think* of solutions to problems that are best solved by... asking.

Solving problems is always best viewed from a distance; the view of the landscape and not the feet underneath one. So I am trying to step back and see the lay of the land; stop focusing on the niggly problem stalling my research and see the progress I have made in other areas; look for areas I do know something about or can access information easily and get them underway while I wait for divine intervention. Or someone to tell me how to do it.

Mini Boom

Despite waking with a cat on my head squeaking and a two books under my pillow which were hidden from the squeaking cat (who chucks them about to wake me up) the day turned out pretty alright today. Strange when I committed one of my cardinal sins today and left the house without washing my hair, meaning that I now feel as if I have slept in a muddy hedge. I have nothing whatsoever against those who do not wash their hair every day and wish I could sometimes forego the time-intensive process every morning; in fact for the first few hours it looks better.. but then everything goes horribly wrong for me and I start being able to use it as a sculpting material. No kidding; right now I can make some pretty promising haystacks and wave formations.

Second activity of the day was pretty unpromising too; poor Moomoo has the runs and has been 'scooting' around the floor to itch her obviously uncomfortable cat-butt. Worming time.

For a pretty portly, exercise despising cat, she can however pack a pretty mean punch, and will sadly also play dirty and use teeth if it is necessary to escape forced pill insertion. Stu now has the plasters to prove it and no pill came even close to gullet. Until..

Eureka! Purchased some fine wafer thin ham, a normally banned food substance, and made tiny pill and dry biscuit wraps (having already failed with usual food camouflage techniques) which the girl wolfed down without a question. Phew. She is now sleeping peacefully with what I imagine is a smile of relief curling her (bloodthirsty, greedy) lips. Bless.

Day began to pick up with a cheering meeting with our Mortgage advisor, who managed to guide me through legal documents with humour and allay my fears. No mean feat when you have a world class worry problem like wot I 'av.

Back at the ranch, buoyed by successful worming and finance deals, I settled to an afternoon's unadulterated painting, ignoring all other calls for attention from the paperwork section of the house, and essentially finished the picture I have been working on called 'Snowcatcher'. The latest of my angels, this arrived in my head during the December snows; she is a kind of an analogy for the futile tasks we (as people and as individuals) set ourselves. My angels all seem to have the urge to work as guardians for the thankless population of humankind, and this one is trying to aid in our Canute-like attempts to turn back the tide of nature. She is, however, quite serene in her task and I imagine she sees it as a pleasant diversion rather than a chore; she is wistful but content.

Packing up my paints and taking up the mouse for a check of the computer, I found a message showing two of my wee angels in situ at a fellow artist's house; purchased earlier from Ritchie's gallery. After a few bleak and disappointing weeks on the sale front, this is very welcome, and even more so as the purchaser is someone whose work I admire greatly. A double whammy in the confidence stakes; sales are often the only concrete measure of success, and while compliments are welcome and nourishing, it is a real treat to see pictures go to a new home. It later transpired that two more left the gallery last week, so a seeming slump is turning into a mini-boom.

It's all about perception, isn't it?

Snowcatcher

Working on the above at Ritchies; unbelievable how the time flew today. Plenty of interesting visitors today to chat to and my trusty flask of tea at my side meant no trips to the kettle, just the occasional lean over to change music on the 'pod'. Strange to be on such a big canvas after a few teeny ones; they are great for getting ideas out of my head quick and good for developing styles and colour. Liking the colours I'm playing with on the big one just now and did some nice chunky paintwork on the snow at the front; good to have a lot of paint around to play with just now. I am terrible at rationing myself and many a picture has probably suffered because of it.

Spent a very pleasant morning reading Mr Hemingway, who is slowly making inroads into my brain; driving to work my head was full of images of Africa. Couldn't believe the speed with which the relaxing time sped by however; I feel guilt every time I am not working on something just now so it was welcome to let that go for a couple of hours... but so brief.

Thinking of just holing up in the studio tonight while the mood takes me and getting some more mileage done on the Snowcatcher. Just because I feel like it.

Puppets surround me

One of those days in cashdayjob world when I wished the ground would open up and reveal a leafy path stretching away into a utopian landscape... beckoning green fronds, whispering streams... It didn't. Tried somewhat half-heartedly to write notes to myself all day as is my practise; just things I am thinking about or ideas for paintings; the best I managed was a piece of paper from this morning that reads 'masks, costumes, puppets, theatre'. This is a continuation of what has oftern concerned me in the last year or two and ties in with the angels who keep appearing. There are so many influences in films, paintings and just day to day looking at the magazines around, shop windows, books.. I have always had a thing about puppets; sometimes scary and sometimes for some reason emotional. I think it is the control thing and the idea of a creation, 'Frankenstein's monster' style of a little being that can be manipulated and made to dance to the puppetteer's tune. Obviously the film 'Being John Malkovich' has got into my head there, and today I found myself browsing the brochure for a puppet theatre festival taking place in the city; all very dark, which was appealing. Wolves, murderers; some great illustrations as well, but alas I forgot to save them.

It is frustrating to have so many little ideas bubbling up when I have essentially got my hands tied a bit just now. At least I have reduced the hours of customer service to a more manageable level, but there is still so much to do and so much to think about. Trying to break it down into bite sized pieces, as alone none of the tasks are scary; en masse it seems like a massive undertaking. Reminding self that a) others have done this without turning into nervous wrecks, b) this too shall pass, c) there is really no other choice; I couldn't not do this now.

The Walking mind

Intrigued but slightly disturbed to realise that there is a correlation between walking and thinking in my blog posts; when it was snowing and I had two hours of walking every day I found myself thinking a lot more about a lot more things. Not sure about the quality of my thoughts, but there was definately a pattern of reflection and mental relxibility which is absent when all I do is drive to work, numb my mind for eight hours and drive back again.

Had a 'waitressing' dream for the first time in ages last night; anyone in catering will recognise what I mean: permutations on the theme of serving impossible numbers of customers in impossible situations. Something to do with the amount of worry piling up in my head about the business progression, but also maybe that lack of mental 'stretching' that I was allowing myself on the snowy days... My meditation has gone to pot over the last year and one of my resolutions for this year is to get back on track again, but I shall now also add walking (with or without meditation) to my list as well. And swimming. Nothing for it; I need a bigger day.

Hellooo Lucifer

First meeting with business bank manager; feeling a little smaller but largely unscathed and I think my soul is still in place. Giving myself a few weeks to rewrite portions of business plan into bankspeak and add fictitious data to back it up; if that's what it takes... It does feel suspiciously like selling my soul, just to be able to do what I want to do; because at the end of the day I get to do the hard work and take the results. They get to sit in an office and demand demographics.

And so began my few weeks of hell; trying to research and complete a marketing plan that I will probably never read again. I know that isn't the point but there is just sooooo much information out there now and it is so hard to find the needles in the haystacks. I don't want to be arrogant and say that I know who the customers are, where they are and what they want, but I kind of do... I just need to write it all out in the shape and form desired and put some ribbons and bells on it. Send out questionnaires, ask questions of unsuspecting shoppers, or trawl the internet and find the results of someone else doing the same. I just feel that it is an exercise in reinventing the wheel; people who want to drink coffee and view art in a friendly, hip and bohemian area will find us, come back and tell their friends. It boils down to excellence in service and product with some word of mouth and reviews in the right place - which depend on excellence in service and product, being in the right place to find the right people and getting on with it.

I guess the only thing I would like to know is 'footfall'. How many people are going to come through that door. But anything I do to project that is just... speculation. It can be refined or educated speculation but that is all it is at the end of the day, and I would bet my bottom dollar that for every business that has gone on to succeed with an excellent marketing plan there are any number of businesses that have failed with an equally excellent one. Life is just not logical and cannot be reduced to numbers. Chaos theory, I can accept; a chaos marketing plan? Here goes..

Serendipity calling

Bought an excellent hand carved wooden Buddha yesterday; about a foot high and truly beautiful as a piece of art, craft or whatever you wish to call it. Also meaningful for me as I am a wee bit of a fan of Siddhartha. Bought him in a 'Buddha sale' in Morningside; not a sign you see that often on the high street, so that in itself was fortuitous given my interest and the urge to spend some of our recently hard-won cash on something of more impact on my life than a pair of shoes. The seller was unsurprisingly delighted to make the sale, I was delighted to make the purchase at a fortuitous rate. Because I am a believer in karma; I do feel that in some little way my choice to spend money on a thing of beauty with no obvious function rather than a pack of fags or a large amount of chocolate is somehow enriching to my life. Obviously I could also use my cash to further the cause of others less fortunate and that would also be of spiritual gain rather than consumerist; but this purchase feels particularly timely and, as the guy who sold it commented, serendipitous. I really hope that is a word, by the way.

Also today another small hurdle was leaped in our quest to start our own business; the remortgaging is speeding by and the quote from the surveyor is in. I am still in a state of shock as I was quite worried that we might fall at this fence; but no. The quote is higher than expected and will give us a better rate than I could have dared hope for. Also, the last ten years, starting from literally nothing to rub together and a 100% mortgage, is starting to pay dividends at last.

Tomorrow is scary; tomorrow I go (alone - thanks to Stu's employers) to see the business bank manager for the first time.

Fast runs the sand

Blatant theft of quote from someone else via someone else; each more eloquant than I will ever be but that is why I am borrowing their words.

''We are now faced with the fact, my friends, that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history, there is such a thing as being too late. Procrastination is still the thief of time. Life often leaves us standing bare, naked and dejected with a lost opportunity. The tide in the affairs of men does not remain at flood..it ebbs. We may cry out desperately for time to pause in her passage, but time is adamant to every plea and rushes on. Over the bleached bones and jumbled residues of numerous civilisations are written the pathetic words, 'Too late'.'' Martin Luther King

This is what I want to say to everyone who is casting doubt on what I am trying to do and misunderstanding my need to put all I can into my art work, my business and my life. To the person yesterday who had me tearing my hair out with their negativity in the face of my optimism; their lack of faith. I may fail, fail again and fail again, but after that, I may succeed.

Without the failing, there will be no success, as there will be no trying.

Took my paintings in to the SSA show submission today; I have never been chosen to exhibit. I nearly didn't submit this year but a little voice reminded me of the above. Facts, not invention.

Out of igloos

Leith seems to have woken from its winter slumber; numerous interesting visitors to the gallery today including some of the local children who once pestered me but have been absent since the snow fell. Maybe they just found their way out of their little igloos by the Water of Leith? Sold some box canvases to a great wee boy who is wanting to learn to paint; I hope he does well with them. I would have found that really intimidating at that age.

Spent some quality time flicking through the Taschen book of European portraits and watched Sophia Coppolla's 'Marie Antoinette' tonight which I love especially visually. More crazy pseudo-historical ladies on the way methinks..

Working on the 'Snowcatcher' painting today and another little one; all going to plan so far and thinking about colour a little more than I used to. Not entirely sure if this is a good or bad thing as sometimes it works better by instinct than design; conversely, the opposite can also be true.

Howling wind around the house tonight makes a change from snow; surveyors seeing the house tomorrow to further the remortgaging process , and the submissions go in for the SSA show. Also a sale of Buddhas in a shop in Morningside that I want to look at; not often you see that advertised...

Bring it on

Spent some of my day in budget moded mind thinking about how much money goes drainward every day in the world and trying not to get depressed about it or start badgering people spending twenty quid on lottery tickets and thirty five on fags in a oner. Given the Buddhist ideal of a 'right occupation' I'm not at all sure why I am selling false dreams and fagash for a living at the moment anyway; I see it as a necessary learning curve, not to mention a necessity full stop. I have made the momentous decision today that this week is absolutely, positively the last one I will work five days full time in a row in the cash-money-job. My soul and brain are melting and I need more time to get on with the rest of my plans for the year; painting, planning and researching are the words of the moment.

Turned down the temptation to purchase another glossy magazine as I still haven't finished reading the ones Stu gave me for Christmas; certainly an investment present, they have kept me amused for hours. Just so many things clamouring for my attention at present though, so my traditional night-time reading slot is being eroded by necessity to sleep and other such annoyances.

Off to the gallery for my four hour stint tomorrow and looking forward to it more than usual as I have barely put brush to canvas all week. Monday is a busy one too as I have the surveyors round to value the house as part of the remortgaging thing, a business plan to work on and the submission of the SSA show (annual rejection opportunity) to sort out. I really have no idea whatsoever why I do it, especially this year as for some reason I have less hope than ever; not because hope in my own work has diminished but because hope in the selection process and realism regarding the type of work accepted is finally kicking in. I suppose I have always held out the hope that I will be randomly accepted as some kind of wild card, or that one of the selectors will mistakenly label my painting wrong... But no, I am not even doing this in my usual 'if I think the worst, maybe the best will happen' way; I am beyond hope. But, it has to be said; extremely happy and optimistic.

Primavera forever

Having a bit of a Boticelli-fest; used some of my very welcome vouchers on the WHSmiths website for a Taschen binge in their sale. Durer and Boticelli are with me now, Raphael and another one I have forgotten (oops) are winging their way to me soon; great bedtime reading

/looking at pictures. Also whisked Stu into Homebase to purchase some useful power tools for his developing framing career; the Morso is still to come but that will not be joining us until we have a workshop to put it in! Feels good to own a jigsaw at last; I am still holding out for my electric screwdriver as this is not seen as such a necessity - it is with my pathetic wrists..

And... had a trip to the very lovely Stationary Express (buy local!) for my page to view diary, day book and petty cash folder. Things are moving forward.

Returning Angels

The strange and cyclical nature of life and hope. Woke with a feeling of unfamiliar and welcome optimism and enthusiasm for the year ahead; on an early shift, which helps. I love the morning and its rhythms in the city; the commuters and children travelling in the dark, the metropolis waking slowly. It was more beautiful in the snow and will soon become beautiful with the return of the spring mornings and attendant re-emergence of life in flora and fauna. Today it all seemed lovely in the damp grey murk, so I knew somehthing good was occurring in my mood.

Back again go my thoughts to the great quote I always remember from the Unbearable Lightness of Being; 'the birds of fortuity had begun to settle on her shoulders' and so is seems.

Likened it in my mind today to the return of the angels that I have become obsessed with in the last year; everyone I interacted with today seemed to have a kind word or a positive anecdote, from the customers I served to the lady in the financial meeting we slipped in my lunch hour. This is another reason for positivity to blossom; the first small hurdle had been leapt in the quest to start our business in the coming months. Another wee step, but a meaningful one hopefully and something to build on.

Read a great thing about reindeer this morning too: some scientists have found that the reindeer of the northern tundra snack on magic mushrooms in the dark winter days; by preference.. the quote I liked was that they had a 'desire to experience altered states of consciousness'. Go reindeer! Must be something about the northern races; whats the betting that the ones over the Russian border are on the vodka?

So; the angels are returning to settle on my shoulders today. Long may their fluffy white wings tickle my ears.

Found wanting

Lacking inspiration, motivation, feeling a little gloomy once more. This is not to say that opportunities are not presenting themselves and plans are dormant; to the contrary, I am racing ahead in my thoughts for the year and have reason to hope at the moment that we may be successful in our aims. Maybe I could do with a bit more time on what I want to do and a bit less smiling in a customer-friendly manner under neon lights? Should be careful what I wish for though really, or watch out for biting of hands that have kept me solvent thus far...

All will dawn clear and bright soon I have no doubt.

Started reading Hemingway at last and not sure if I like him that much. Or maybe that's part of the mood.. we shall see.

Difference a day makes

Little exercise in how mood affects painting. Yesterday, for some reason unusually loaded with worries, I spent four hours on a very small painting which I had no interest in or connection with. Resulting image is now in the kitchen awating Stu's re-priming attentions.

Today, having lightened the load of some worries by various means, I painted something of identical dimensions as yesterday with less preparation, at half the speed. This little one, born of positivity, tea and cake, is my current favourite..(Although we all know how fast my favourites become outmoded!) Funnily enough, influences of the works I was looking at in the National the other day, and of the film 'The Other Boleyn Girl' that we watched a wee while ago. And of course, some yellow.

Quiet times

First Sunday back in the gallery after the break for Christmas; felt good to sit and paint for four hours with no distractions (not even many customers, sadly) and no cats climbing the easel. Only had one cup of tea all day as I was drifting happily in my paint world and time sped by.

Mucking about with a little portrait on a wee box canvas turned into a long exercise and spent much of the time on that; correcting and moving face features and messing with colour.

All is at peace tonight at home as well; cats are being relaxed and scenic, arranged on rugs and cushions.

Birthday Outing

Another birthday.. and a snowy one this year; woke to a 'white world' of creaky cushioned flakes.

A simple agenda for the day; bit of light painting, bit of music and then a wander of the galleries in the centre of town. I've been having a bit of a look at the Renaissance, the old Flemish stuff and really enjoying it, learning things I have forgotten or never knew; so we started in the National with a look at the above and a great wee room of Vermeers. I knew that the guy wasn't very prolific and so it was good to see even three; but for some reason I had it in my mind that his works were smaller, so wasn't prepared for the great vision of three big canvases. Awesome colours and compositions; and yes that included some yellow! Lots in fact.

Another pleasant surprise was the show at the Scottish Gallery on Dundas Street - new work from Peter Howson. Having just seen the documentary on him, and felt kind of ashamed for what I saw as a huge underestimation of his work and the man himself, it was a treat to see a good amount of work in the flesh. I loved the direct eye contact in the piece on the programme, the way the figure engaged the viewer so totally with such emotional depth; there were a few here that did the same thing, and all the more powerfully in real life. Having just seen the El Greco in the National I saw parallels with the emotional treatment and the use of white in the highlights; really striking when viewing one after the other... really striking show in general too. Slightly scary standing in front of a £100K canvas - a fine crucifixion; and the pieces are very immediate and human in that you could imagine having one around in the house. Maybe a bit beyond budget just now. Just put up a (yellow) Bellany reproduction in the newly decorated bathroom and joked about getting a real one with Marcus, the owner of the Braewell Gallery, our final destination of the day. Apparently we cound manage to pick up a watercolour for only a couple of hundred quid, which sorely tempts me; although not, as was pointed out, for the bathroom... Introduced Stu to Joe O'Brien's work in the flesh there as well, having only pointed at it on the computer monitor up until now - as with so many things (all?) the real power is reserved for standing in front of the canvas.

So, alltogether a most productive day so far; bought some movies, some postcards and a tube of paint. Yellow. 'Turner's yellow'... if it's good enough for him...

The evening's entertainment is very much between my own four walls tonight; movies, music, dinner and a wee tub of Ben and Jerry's with my name on it:)

They Call me Mellow..

Thinking about colour again a lot today; the new one I have just finished (left) is fine, but I am still of the opinion that my colours are a bit 'clunky'. I am looking to do subtle a bit more on the next one. To this end, I have been compiling a wee scrapbook of images that I find compelling colour-wise, just to inspire and nod me in the right direction when all else fails and I reach for the red oxide again... I do love red oxide, but it has become formulaic in my pictures. Having looked at my choices, I realise that I am actually in love with yellow, but never, ever use it. Weirdo.

The pic I have started now is hopefully going to draw in all kinds of muted shades with a lot of greys, ochres, neutrals... and a couple of pieces of really good strong colour. Will this be a yellow? Oh, and I spent a long time today writing the first meaningful chunk of our business plan; the master plan that will set us on the road to employment freedom and a life of creativity and bloody hard work for ourselves, instead of someone else. If I drank, I would drink to that.

Worry be Gone

Positively productive

A perfectly horrible sleety day with icy winds licking the windows; the cats stare at it all disdainfully and curl up in a warm corner. Ideal for what I had in mind; cocooning, hibernating, nesting... spent some quality time cleaning the studio floor and hoovering the sofa before the (nearly, its always nearly) final assault on my first whole painting of the new decade. Aptly it is also my debut on self-stretched canvas, although Stu has already assumed the mantle of canvas 'tech' - priming and stretching the new one like the natural that he is. I'm sure thirty years in kithens has been the perfect preparation for a new life in a workshop; plenty of similarities really, but crucially some omissions. Like heat, pressure and customers in close proximity.

We also set upon the bathroom today; just coming up eight years in the house, which is the longest I have spent anywhere except my childhood home (and not long till I beat that one), and the shower needed a little attention to grout. We have again managed a fine division of labour, with Stu removing and myself re-filling; look forward to finishing the job tomorrow and getting clean again.

Much cheered today by the reaction from my online 'chums' to the new pic; put a jpeg up in its unfinished state and racked up a record number of comments and 'likes'; it is nice to have the illusion of not producing into a void. Now itcing to get on with the next one, which is hanging ready-to-go in the kitchen. Working from a sketch I did called 'the snowcatcher'; she is another angel and worked in a kind of folk-arty way. Watched 'I've loved you so long' last night, an excellent French film bringing a typically great performance from the very lovely Kristen Scott Thomas; love her face so much especially her amazing, deep set eyes. Spent a happy hour drawing from the screen for use as reference in the new painting; 'The Snowcatcher', when she arrives, will be part Scott Thomas, part me and part Leonardo; I like to have a sneaky peak at the latter when I'm portraiting to see what 'he would have done'. No copying, I hasten to add.

But for now, the evening is left to music, food and conversation; it is dark and grimy out and I have no desire to go anywhere anyway.

The ears of the angels

Are moving...


Bit of a strange one today; battled for much of it in the studio with my painting called 'Vessel' which contains not one but two little angel faces, and for whatever reason (fancy? evolution?) they are more 'true to life' than many of my images. This posed the practical problems of getting the drawing right, and has led to more tweaks than a clowns convention. The ears in question moved, not once but twice, as I realised that their position in relation to other features was just plain wrong. If a moral can be leached out of this whole experience it is to make like the big boys and make sure the drawing is right before setting brush to canvas. End of story.

That said, the latest final version is pleasing to me and also confirmed what I had suspected, which is that potato printing on canvas is not only possible but even more rewarding than on board. Easier too, as the potato kind of adheres to the paint on the canvas, only detaching itself with a satisfying *pop*.


Had to wave bye-bye to my dreams of New York for the present; after initial euphoria upon receiving confirmation from the Amsterdam Whitney gallery that they would like to represent me, reality hit with a *clang*. To take up this kind offer, a fee of 2200 dollars would be required for a years representation with a month long group show in which a ten foot square area of wall is allocated. Add to that the shipping costs and the travel out there - cause lets face it, if you get a show in NYC you're going to want to see the opening - and you are looking at a third of my year's salary. So that's a no then.


Cruised over to Leith to pick up paints from Ritchie in his gallery and check out the lay of the land; still have a crucial red dot on one of my pics so some money will be forthcoming in the not too distant future; seeing in the new year with my painting account in credit - result!


Now, back to those ears....

Watching paint dry

I love the way things affect how you work, behave; how the things you learn become incorporated into your life. Having watched with fascination the documentary on Peter Howson the other week I have been constantly using his 'mirror check' when painting; I have used this before long ago but forgotten about it. Essentially, viewed in a mirror, your painting suddenly revels all of its errors in drawing in all their horrific glory - 'It's a horrible sight, sometimes', as Howson put it. I find that even taking a photo of the work and looking at it in reproduction works in a similar vein; it removes the image a level from the way you have been viewing it and shows what you can't see in 'reality'. With the picture I've been working on for the last couple of days, this meant a steady crawl from over-hasty, inaccurate drawing to something resembling what I wanted/needed to see.

Howson appeared again the other morning in my mind when I was reading my new charity shop copy of the Taschen book on Hieronymous Bosch (pardon spelling, didn't check); his Christ carrying the cross and another painting both share the wonderful 'direct stare' that Howson gave his St John Ogilvie in the commission for St Andrews Cathedral. One of the reasons I think both are so powerful is that stare, that totally engages the viewer and confronts with the figure observed.

Painting on canvas - 'real' canvas instead of pre-stretched, has been a learning curve and a joy. A challenge, maybe. Spent another few hours today watching it 'eat' paint and relayering on more to build up the depth and colour. Not sure how much of this is due to my ineffectual priming and how much is how 'it should be'; probably a combination of the two, but it is a very satisfying experience. Right now I'm wondering why I have stuck adamently to board for so long, but the answer is probably an unattractive combination of habit and lack of adventure... and stubbornness. The image above is a copy I did of the current stage with colour removed; interesting exercise in seeing how the tones are working; the wonders of computers.

Descent into the Inferno

Not sure which circle of hell I have stumbled upon today but I bet my bottom dollar I'm in good company..! This is the circle of repainting, where the artist is destined to paint something with which they are reasonably satisfied; walk out the room, return and *bang* the face is wrong. Hold it up to the mirror (if you dare...) and *whap* the neck is wrong too. So is the other face, so is the left hand... The next (in this case) five hours are then spent juggling between mirror and easel, photos taken and examined in various lights and magnifications. Offending portions tweaked, tweaked again, repainted entirely, overpainted, tweaked again.

Problem is that I have a total phobia of tweaked paintings and so the fear sets in at a certain point; 'oh no, that's it, it's never going to work now.' 'Might as well give up, but I've been at it for five hours now, so...' 'One last shot and then its the bucket for this one.'

Not in the bucket yet (the bin, for those who haven't had the pleasure of dwelling in Scotland these last fifteen years) but having a little rest just now to reassess the possibility of actually finishing the thing. Of course its for a show... its the pair to one I have already successfully completed... it started so well... maybe too well... damn that false confidence!

Haven't actually even showered yet, which bodes really badly for the time that I escape the grind of cashdayjob to work for myself; will it all go to pot? Scruffy, dirty 'cat lady' within weeks, shunned on public transport and seen shuffling around parks at night muttering to herself. Seems horribly possible just now.

Chill Start

Painting on canvas today; canvas that I bought as a piece, not all ready stretched and whitewashed. Lovingly stapled and pulled over a frame, coated and coated again with primer; rough-sketched with a big chunky pencil. Over sketched with a purply-blue because I love when tiny bits of it show through in the end; filled in base colours in blocky areas loving the way the canvas 'gives' and has quirks and bumps to it. Break out the new 'long flat' brush in a whole two sizes bigger than the one I usually use and start to stroke on areas of further tones, not yet on the full colour but kind of dazey hazey gray and blue shades.

Thats where I am right now; hoody and scarf on, snuggled at the easel in the studio; dark already stained the windows black and little street lights all that is showing outside - no movement under them. This is New Years Day and all but the foolhardy jumpers-into-cold-waterers and cold-hill-climby-striderers will be tucked up in gowns on sofas, nursing the slowly melting hangover and wondering if the resolutions start now or whether they can be negociated in the morning.?

Its a good evening for painting; I am playing through the pile of CDs on the top of the player, which are the ones we have bought most recently, prior to putting them away in their correct alphabetical postion. This year we calculate that we may be 40 albums down in our collection due to the budget restraints enforced in the name of survival. Usually we find new band, buy one album; like it - buy the rest. Can get expensive if there is a reasonable sized back catalogue involved.. Hoping that we get to make up some of the backlog in the next year; there's so much out there. Somewhere post lunch and pre-dinner, cats wandering, Stu snoozing, music playing and worries away at least temporarily; new canvas on the easel and a full palette to use up on a freshly started painting; a peaceful place to be.