A promising beginning to the day Garden ready with lots of space to get creative Inside studio with lots of materials Outline of day Everyone got stuck in straight awayTwo very productive tables and a very well behaved assistant! The sun and the inks came out Chinese paper, blowing tools and various techniques were shown Time to playAnd we did
Some people really enjoyed themselves!
After a lively chatty lunch, a wonderful collection of collages had grown. We had explored inks, ghesso, stencils, layering and much more
Our beautiful gallery framing the view
Ten new friendships and nine new masterpieces!
And despite the prepared outdoor space, happily it was all created, out of the breeze in a tiny Art Workshop!
Karen H
Debbie
Rose
Tabitha
Helen
Cindy
Jo
Karen K
Mo
A wonderful gallery of creative energy, fantastic joyous mark making and new skills being gathered, good banter, and a lot of laughter. This should be available on prescription!
When I started this blog ten years ago, it began as a way of saying to the world that although my teaching career had changed direction , I was not giving in to my health issues. I wanted to share the new path my small person and I were forging ahead in a new life, free from domestic coercion, and the teaching profession, and juggling single motherhood, chronic pain and arthritis with an Art business .Â
At the last count, my surgeries have reached around twenty. Various bones have been fused, taken out, mosaicked, replaced, injected, and pysio’d upon. Yes, it has been a rocky road, but we forged ahead each time on new crutches. And for most of the time, she and I managed just fine, even travelling to far flung destinations with two snorkels and a wheelchair. With a little energy and a lot of determination, there was nothing we couldn’t do.
We find a reserve of strength to  keep going when that’s the only choice.
Right now, I find myself the right side of a knee replacement , six weeks on and gathering my thoughts for any future recoveries but also wanting to share what I’ve learnt.
For six weeks I have felt very unwell. All the medical professionals kept telling me it was post op fatigue. But I knew it was more than that. My mind was groggy. My me was gone. When my partner got sick too, I felt very vulnerable. Eventually, I persuaded the g.p. to do another blood test, and it turned out that I had been anemic since my surgery; (so much so that at the time they were going to do a transfusion, as the blood count was so low. Even after a few days of taking iron tablets, my thoughts and sense of well being returned. The fear of losing my energy for good subsided. I can’t tell you what a relief this was.
Self care is not the same as self indulgence
Clear niggling jobs that will worry you in recovery-if you can. I knocked my pan in doing a life laudry pre op, cleared a shed of clutter. But personally, I am glad I did now, because I can’t help with heavy domestic stuff and now my daughter has her own storage space which she can deal with herself !Â
(Not her actual room-I’m not that brave!)
Plan for yourself as if you were having a guest to stay
Carve out a pleasant space to recuperate.Â
Clear away clutter and unresolved projects . They’ll annoy you as you stare at them day after day! Set up a few things you might like to do.
I put up a clothes rail of my floatiest clothes so there was no rummaging in drawers to do. You don’t want anything tight on your swollen, sore body and it will be tricky to bend. I lived in stretchy pyjama bottoms and t-shirts for the first couple of weeks and loose cotton things if anybody took me anywhere! The floor might feel a long way away at first, so know where your shoes are. Place all your essentials and toiletries above waist height!!Â
If your loo is upstairs, you might be spending more time in an upstairs room so:Â
Set up a kettle and tea things like your own bed and breakfast. Gather enough cups and spoons, fill jars with tea and coffee and remember to take up milk at night . (It should last if covered overnight. This is a godsend in the morning, especially if your cohabitants aren’t awake early with post op pain too!Â
You may get cold easily, or hotter than normal ! Make up the bed in layers of sheets and blankets that can be jiggled about.
Have a bedside drawer or box of useful things near you- pens/ medicines / glasses/ phone/ snacks/phone numbers etc.Â
Now is not the time to be virtuous
Plug charger in as close to bed/ chair as possible
Have things to do that keep you distracted- drawing/ writing/ online games or a craft. Initially I found I just couldn’t get comfortable anywhere but my bed with an ice pack on my knee. And like Frida Kahlo I surrounded myself with paint and sketchbooks whilst propped up by pillows, and accompanied by various languid cats.
Frida Kahlo bed-bound and painting 1950’s
There is a lot of advice about batch cooking before surgery. To be honest, the nicest thing about not cooking for a week or two is eating things you wouldn’t normally cook. Splurge on nice ready meals as part of your therapy!Â
Keep on top of pain and pre-order all the usual meds. Time goes wonky afterwards so be your own advocate beforehand.Â
Carve out a small space outside to get some sunshine
Do not worry that you haven’t achieved anything much. You got another day under your belt. Another day closer to mobile. This is definitely a time for binge watching anything your other half dislikes!
I am here to remind you and (myself if I do ever get more surgery) that the sorest days do pass, that those times when it feels like you’re stuck in a mind-numbing groundhog day never to see the outside world again will change, that this too will make you strongerÂ
There will come a day when knees will bend, or shoulders will rotate, or hips stop clicking; but until then you’re still gorgeous. Â
 Your new knees will soon hold you up at a Rock choir gig!
And even the brain fog which seems never ending and makes each day feel very small; will lift, given time. Keep listening to your own sense of your body.
Iron tablets, chocolate and good friends will always keep you going.
We all feel, when we are out of the loop, even for a week or two; that the world moves on without us, that the gap is closed and we have faded out of the picture. I promise this isn’t true. You are loved, even if you aren’t feeling so keen on you.
Thank goodness for that!!
This was me at my daughter’s age! Maybe a younger me, but I would like to think that she is still in there somewhere, leaping in a different way, but like you; never giving up thinking she can fly.
Have a wonderful week and if you are healing, switch off the world and believe in your wings.
The radical new Morris Minor was unveiled at the 1948 British Motor Show, and was like a dose of adrenaline for a tired and jaded post war Britain. The Moggy’s journey was to become a long and respected one, as quintessentially British as a Victoria sponge, a village fete and moaning about the weather. And I loved them.
Softly coloured with their friendly curves, roomy interior and huge steering wheel, the Morris was the nostlgia I was drawn to from the start.
You either get it or you don’t!
Why do we love the classics? The simple, unadorned designs of vintage cars are in stark contrast to the modern, often complex, styling of contemporary vehicles. Vintage cars often feature elegant and classic styling, often with soft-top models. Classic cars create a feeling of nostlagia for a time when things were simpler, when time was slower and life less complicated.
Looking through family travels with Mopsie, my grandmother and inspiration
In 1990 on my 18th birthday, Marmalade the moggy became my first beloved car. After too many lessons to mention, I was gifted the freedom of the open road in a fabulous 1970 blue Morris 1000; which just also happened to be an ex police car with a zip in the roof.
I had previously coveted my neighbour’s Morris Traveller and various vintage cars I saw in the big garages of parent’s homes at 6th form parties. And now my neighbour and I were two moggies side by side in the street where I grew up, our joint adventures all still ahead. My trusty little Morris drove back and forth from Ashford and Canterbury to Edinburgh for years between Art college and my parent’s home, making good use of its souped up cop-car engine! And only sometimes making use of its vintage A.A badge ! Passengers even signed the visitors book while Bob Dylan, the Stones and Free crooned away on the tape player, courtesy of my favourite ever playlist. Thanks G! I loved Marmalade. She was cool before they were cool. She even had a giant flower on the boot and striped cushions inside. And she smelt delicious.
She probably once looked like this!
Breaking down was unfortunately part of the fun of a classic car, and one memorable journey saw me towed back from Scotch corner with a busted crankshaft . The epic recovery ended with my vehicle plonked by a huge flatbed lorry round the corner from my flat, the day before a college trip to Paris.
A week later, on my return, that fateful day in 1991, I received a phone call. The police Wanted me to me to check if my car was still where the recovery lorry had towed it to . Of course it was, I said.
Only it wasn’t there.
It was apparently under surveillance near an armed robbery in Carlisle.
I had so many questions!!!
I would be contacted I was told by the police , with an update soon.
However, when the update arrived, it was to tell me that the car had been stolen again . From the police. -You couldn’t make it up!
Add to the mix that my late father had neglected to update the insurance premiums in time; and the result was a never to be seen again little blue morris minor.
Since then, so many cars have come into my life, a free one ( albeit with mushrooms growing inside!) fancy, eight seater family cars, sporty ones, and latterly a lot of automatic cars , far easier to manoeuvre with dodgy joints.
But in my heart, my moggy was always alive. Classic car shows had me asking if I could smell the interior of the beautiful old morris with the tartan picnic blanket. If you know the smell, you’ll understand ! Old engine and leather and something unique . I knew one day I would drive one again . But all I had was the model of my original car that my father had made.
Fast forward thirty four years. To a road in Devon. Next week, my knee surgery will mean no driving or jaunts for a while. So Allan took me for a drive to Bridport . I shall be the first to admit, it was getting boring in the car. The jelly babies and Radio Two weren’t holding my attention. I didn’t know where we were going or why. After an hour and a half driving I was anticipating having to be very polite in a dull museum, before being driven back home again .
Finally, we pulled into a private drive and everything seemed to turn into a slow motion movie.
There in the drive was a friendly man waving. And next to his pretty garden was a soft topped blue Morris Minor.
I had no idea what was going on, just stood there looking dazed while introductions were made and I realised we were there to view the car. Then asking us to hop in, Peter took the wheel and drove us into Bridport, all the while accompanied by the familiar noises and smells of a moggy on the road. It was marvellous. When we stopped at West Bay, despite not having driven a manual in ten years! It was my turn. Tentatively starting out like the 17 year old It felt like I was again , we set off, Peter repeating gear change instructions (a lot!) while I am sure I would have seen (if I wasn’t concentrating so hard )- onlookers smiling at the wonderful little car I was driving!
Peter, graciously giving up the wheel
A heady mix of overwhelm, fear and thrill!
Next time, I’ll prepare my hair a little more! How wonderful to be behind the wheel of a Morris again after so long
After a lovely tour of the owner and his wife’s beautiful garden and wonderful kinetic sculptures; and over a cup of tea, an exciting plan was hatched. As Manuals were sourced and bits of car were twiddled with, it began to sink in that this was actually happening.
This wasn’t any colour of Moggy, it was soft blue, and the Devon seaside version of the car I had lost so long ago. Spotless and so pretty, with a soft top and oozing curb appeal. Allan had found the car I didn’t know how much I had been missing.
Today I found this hanging in the garage. It was on my wall in St Abbs for years. Keeping the dream alive and I’d stop noticing.
And these cards were in my stationary drawer and fell out of a book
Soon, our new addition will be lined up on a seafront packed with a picnic where she belongs. I am naming her Elsie. Mopsie, my grandmother’s given name. I think she suits it perfectly. I hope Millie doesn’t mind being re-named. I’d like to think they are the same spirit.
I have been just too excited to eat today, the garage has been cleared and prepared. And now she is here. This will be just the motivation to get my knee exercises done! And plan our trundles around the Devon countryside.
Ok just one turn..
Yes!!
The only song we could have played
Even the teen was happy
Elsie seems right at home already
I have no words to say how overwhelmingly grateful and happy this has made me! Thank you dearest Allan and thank you to Peter for choosing us as her new parents! Thank you too to Peter for the new replica model. A cycle complete, and a package which made me cry!
Mopsie would have most certainly approved of the entire marvellous adventure xx
If it’s not the actual walls of the house, there’s another special place that’s getting the treatment too
Although we could comfortably move into this Bloomsbury inspired living room, it might be a bit of a squash.
Because this is a dolls house…
A bookcase filled with books and me on the tv at last!
We all have a project or two by the armchair!!
Love this tiny blue and white tea set
Perfect for the French dresser, with a landscape mural on the kitchen wall
Sink and aga and abstract art!
Hand painted Monet table
Distressed painted chair
Just waiting for a guest or two to drop by.
The Bathroom contains the smallest accessories youve ever seen!
His and hers sink
And a rather spectacular toilet !
Even a dressing area.
Next for the paintbrush is this bedroom set
A dressing table for the coolest lady
Complete with enough perfume for any diva..
Looking forward to seeing how the rest of her room and the other bedrooms evolve.
While we wait, there’s always the basement garden to potter in
As with all gardens, this one is still in bud
A seat on the tiny white iron furniture.
Plants and trees and grassy areas framed by a Rousseau inspired backdrop.
The outside of the house will be finished later. Plus the attic room and bedrooms. There is still plenty of detail to add and that is a lot of daylight hours! A half finished tree will still be there on a rainy day!
.
And until the Autumn, it will be real plants that are tended to. The painted ones can mostly wait while the sun is shining.
One of the most inspirational places I went to when I was at school was Charleston Farmhouse. Charleston Farmhouse is a 16th century property in East Sussex that was transformed by the artists Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant and their friends. Visiting the house and garden felt like stepping into something familiar and also new and exciting too.
Typical Bloomsbury Style painted border
As soon as they moved in, Bell and Grant began to paint every surface in the farmhouse, transforming it into a living, breathing work of art. Over the following decades, Charleston became a gathering point for some of the 20th century’s most radical artists, writers and thinkers known collectively as the Bloomsbury group. It is where they lived out their progressive social and artistic ideals.
What would our quirky home inspire? ..
There are touches of Bloomsbury inspiration all over our home. Not least in the hall archway, painted in recognizably chalky colours and patterns.
Blended with our Venetian Inspired Hallway
Of course, not everyone can be a fan..
‘Toys and books’ Italian style on the painted wooden door
A few clues as to what hides behind the door…
Although only for those of a certain size
With a big imagination
Before the sunshine became just too tempting to stay indoors any longer;
as many things as possible got a Spring makeover.
All under the watchful gaze of my trusty companion Mabel
Who approved the new mural by hers and Horace’s dog beds. And the new book at the side of the stairs.
Lastly for today, the upper corridor has had a makeover. A little alcove, home to various pets and bookcases until now, has been framed with a hand painted border, edging a blast of bright turquoise which makes the ‘escape to the chateau wallpaper pop!’
This is one of those little corners that could be overlooked but has come to life and now looks much bigger than it is.
And obviously, one’s treasures have to be put somewhere!
The pink bedroom revamp began with a complete re-painting of the floor. It was (pointing no fingers,) covered in all kinds of hair dye and gunk. So, old fashioned, plain, sanded boards were out of the question. I shall let you into a secret. I may be slightly guilty of reading instructions on things briefly; and then finding out what actually works for me! In this case, my old favourite Cuprinol garden paint was used for the main floorboard colour. It painted smoothly and I did two coats with a strong yacht varnish on top. At the edge of the room was a patch of nasty hardboard planks, covering a gap in the original floor. It really stood out like a sore thumb, and didn’t look nice at all.
This was first primed with a general undercoat, then sectioned out with blue tape, and painted in chalk furniture paint. Each section was then stencilled with a basic design, and hand painted with tiny details. The final stage was to paint the edging by hand and varnish the whole rug which was shaped around the shape in the wall.
The over-sized lamp was a labour of love, but has the Summery Bloomsbury vibe I was after! Again, the lamp base was primed and painted with detailed sections of chalk paint in soft colours, with smaller contrasting details on top. ( And then varnished) Trim and fabrics were sourced on Ebay, and the old nylon fabric cut off the wire frame. Next, a piece of newspaper was used to make a template of a section of the shade and laid on the fabric. (allowing generous seam allowance) These eight sections were machine stitched together to make a kind of ‘dress.’ Once it ‘fitted’ fairly tightly, the shade was stretched over the wire and hand stitched at the top and bottom, pulling it as taught as possible at each point. The trim and bobbles were added with a glue gun .
The old wooden bedside cabinet was found at the recycling centre. It was sanded down and painted in chalk furniture paint with acrylic and chalk paint detail, then varnished. The detail on the drawer picks out shapes barely noticed previously!
All in all this room feels very feminine and light now. Unlike some of the rest of the house which lends itself to more muted colours, this room has a little French charm of its own. Looking out over the garden is a pleasure now, famed by the new duck egg blind and revamped window pelmet, in old french ticking and vintage lace. It has been the perfect winter studio when too cold to be outside.
Paintings over winter have included the three below
Rain
One
Bloom
And in this house, nowhere is safe from the dance of the paintbrushes..
I seem to have met my doppelganger on the bathroom cupboard!
I have a friend who is the same age as me, and she is training for a marathon. Last weekend she won her age group category in a long distance race, regaling its arduous last miles, as myself and my choir buddies listened in awe.
As I recalled my own school sprinting triumphs and then looked down at my trusty walking sticks; I joked that many of us were living vicariously through our fit friend. There were lots of genuine nods of agreement.
I can’t walk without support, and even then I am in pain most of the time. Another round of Surgery is scheduled this year but it is a fact that arthritis will always be my companion.
For me it is essential to rest every day, and I probably rattle with the medication I take to keep my pain manageable and my immune system functioning .
However, I’m also weirdly ok with my lot most of the time. This might not have been the life I planned; but it is my own unique life. And how we perceive what we find on our plate is a choice, as is what to try to change, if we can.
Sometimes life simply stops us in our tracks and our control is gone. The limitations we thought we had were minor compared to a looming new life obstacle.
I have another friend who has been extremely poorly and in hospital for over a year. At times it has felt to him a hopeless situation which would never improve. The strength to sustain good mental health when you and your body are failing to function is terrible and terrifying. It is my belief that his unwillingness to let the bstrds win, and his fight for Scottish independence and his passion has kept his spirit alive and hopefully will prove to the powers that be that he is worth caring for in his own home. Â
A positive attitude isn’t always easy. Especially when you don’t hold all the cards. But what I do know is that comparing ourselves to someone else is a dangerous habit . In my own work , as soon as I feel the pressure of having to keep up with the Art world or paint in a certain way or be marketable, I lose my focus. It isn’t enjoyable. I make bad art. The flow simply goes.
When I am still, when I am listening to my inner voice and my own thoughts and heart I make my Art. I am in my own world and it doesn’t matter who sees it. When I try and be someone else, I take wrong turnings.
This voice is essential listening. Our intuition gets us through the darkest times and tells us to be kind to our authentic selves. This might not always be easy. The world invades our consciousness every time we pick up a mobile. There are so many options and reasons to feel like a failure. Why bother? Sometimes the more we learn, the less we feel we know.
I’ve done enough running to last a lifetime
Trust in my instincts has got me through the worst of times in my life, having a stubborn kernel of inner strength which kind of knew which way to go, even if it didn’t make sense. Thirteen years ago I walked away from a 13 room house with my tiny child and a carrier bag. It wasn’t safe for us.
Without family I had no choice but to keep the faith in my own ability as a mum to get on with it. I couldn’t waste energy envying those big houses and big lives because despite having had all that myself; those material things and the good health of the young is never assured. I put my superwoman pants on. I fed my Art after she was in bed. Â
Nobody knows what anyone else’s life is really like behind their door. We imagine that being a faster, healthier, richer, better- at painting water colours, -thinner, more recognised -online version of ourselves will make us fuller and more complete.
Only. We’ve only truly got right now. And the cards we hold in our hand.
The freedom to choose each tiny step is worth more than a thousand possessions. Our vitality isn’t limited to our mobility level and no matter how long it takes, we can get to our own finish line. One step at a time.
From that carrier bag grew a future, which evolved and changed, gathering friendships, possessions, home decor, oodles of creativity, various animals and a partner. (as well as r.a !)
Focusing on the positive and having a bit of crazy mix of patience and spontaneity has gets us all through life. Below is a little write up of our local Art group in the paper.
Recognition is important and wonderful. Celebrating success and sharing Artwork with the world. However, personal success isn’t simply who knows about you when you’re gone, or whether you’ve gone viral: success is how we see who we are right now, recognition of our own hard climbed mountain,s and the steps we have taken towards truly and bravely being free.
Picture by Julie
We are now properly home, seeing the rewards of our labours and filling it with good people. If you had told me how many steps Id have had to take to get here; would I have even begun?!!!
My health hasn’t been so great this year. Something I try to ignore, but am forced to admit defeat to occasionally. My strategy appears to be run as fast as I can, doing all I can in case tomorrow won’t let me. And on those days, when the world carries on running, and I’m on the blocks still; I can still see that none of this existed a year ago.
Walking alone was never going to work for me. I like to create environments that spark joy. To inspire others we must let go of who we think we should be and set our own pace. Letting go of what isn’t working for us and our bodies any more. I am inspired by every single one of my friends and the creativity that blooms in the Art and craft groups. One of the reasons they are so magical, is that each participant holds each other up to the light without blocking it. Everyone gets to shine.
Be proud of how you move along. Slow and steady wins the race. But the view is what we came for xxx
A friend told me she was feeling guilty. She wasn’t her usual upbeat self. Her mojo was gone. She picked up her phone, and put it back down again. Where were her words?
Not just me then!
Do you ever feel like you’re battling on with the traffic on life’s motorway, overtaking disasters, avoiding cliffs, racing to each destination, without allowing yourself to take a break on a b road? Or even admit how some of the drivers around you make your journey even harder; whizzing past the obvious signs to get off the highway because everybody is just going too fast, missing all the interesting places on the way?
Winter has always taken me by surprise . There I am pottering about in a new term , enjoying a ‘warm- fuzzy- apple- in- the- satchel- glow’ of a September morning, another birthday and enjoying the fruits of several trips to the garden centre… when, wham! – its nearly Christmas and I can’t get my hips to co-operate.
Six months has gone past in the blink of an eye . Life has gone on around us, but there were also big changes to contend with this year, and unexpected loss. Life events and consequences threw us off track but we had to keep driving.
Months have passed since my last post. on here. During that time, I lost my brother very suddenly , and supported my family with mental health and changes. Time has moved so fast but also seemed to come to a halt at times. Sometimes real life felt it would be just around the corner…
Memory Garden for David
When those you love struggle. And keep struggling, it’s your struggle too.Â
When our bodies let us down, and winter starts to bite, creative and emotional fuel can become scarce. It can feel as if we hold the world together with our minds, feeding those under our rooves with not just hot food but patience and constant prayers.
It can be so easy to become isolated. For me, a real life social network beats aimlessly scrolling anytime ! Looking back over the last months; from time spent with family, lots and lots of singing, including the Edinburgh festival with Rock choir, concerts with choir 86, a new cosy craft club at the house and our ever expanding Art group in Highweek (also still exhibiting online every week with our Coldingham Art friends on the Seasparkle gallery, ) we have been fortunate to spend time with fantastic people. Thankyou! You are the best therapy !
My new years resolution is to stop apologising . Which translates as giving myself the credit I would naturally give others. Like you I am my harshest critic . If I struggle with a task I can usually do with ease, and haven’t accomplished for a while, I send myself spiralling into self destruction. And guilt.
In January’s enforced wintering, when my choices to be outside in the cold are limited, I vow to find permission to deviate. To carve out a warm and calm space to paint and heal, to find my words and let my thoughts trundle on once more.
Reflecting on how much has changed in our studio and Art classes, how our home and garden has continued to evolve with painted furniture, craft groups and interior and outside projects, it feels exciting to sit back and plan for future projects.
Instead of asking why that stack of paintings aren’t finished, why not appreciate all that already is ? And how the ripples of inspiration are growing from each original seed.
Every season’s colour, pattern and essence has a corresponding rhythm. A rhythm in us too. Even at half capacity. Even when we think or bodies have let us down, they are simply gathering themselves. Tenacity and drive get us through the shadows. We just need a little reminder sometimes.
My friends
With all my heart I hope you are well . I hope whoever you are wintering with is kind. If you are alone, then even more importantly, be a fabulous companion. I hope you have a few good plans in place for this next year, and that right now you are not in pain, and you are warm. Every year I forget how unwell I feel in the first two months. How the very thought of leaving our home feels scary and at times, insurmountable. How the smallest task some days can be exhausting. How spring feels so so far away, and I am at the mercy of a good weather forecast and a good night’s sleep.
Even warriors get tired. Fairies flail. Seasons affect our disorders. We feel 100% human despite our superhuman efforts. We need recovery, hibernation, tea, pyjamas. Pain killers. Without the support of my friends at events or in classes, or at home, life would be a very different challenge. Be honest with people. You might find that you bring just as much to their table.
Easier said than done .
We hold up the world ! We fire fight and wrestle dragons, we ignore disease and illness. We are last on our own lists.Â
We are women. ( Or men ) Or parents, sons or daughters or teachers or carers. There isn’t time for illness and we must keep producing things to prove we exist. And keep smiling at the same time.Â
I resent being the sick version of me. But I am coming to know her. She balances her days differently, but as long as she doesn’t give up, there is merit in her smaller actions, purpose in her consistent creations and patience in her unforgiving bones. She’s pacing herself because soon there will be a sunny day. Somehow the laundry gets done, people eat, presents are found, hugs are given. Not least to those who are slightly more furry in their ways. Constant companions and quite handy for napping with.
Perhaps your engine has been running on empty, but quietly you still move forward; fuelled by the desire to motivate someone struggling, as well as to keep building the big picture that drives you. I know what it feels like to crave calm. And time in the bath without interruption, a day without pain, a night without worry.
Even if you feel unseen, believe that your accomplishments lie in the consistency of your quiet love and kindness, to yourself as much as to those you love.
Every brush stroke is part of the picture.
While we imagine what our lives looks like, in reality, it’s busy doing it’s own thing, swayed by mostly things we can’t control. We aren’t who we imagine people see. We are the habits and patterns we adopt. The things we say, the way we love, the conversations we do or don’t have. Nothing is a given, so we must keep hope alive. embracing not only the new year but who we might become within it. including making scared time for nurturing, pyjama days. We have new shoots to grow, and must be prepared to cut right back on all the outside clatter occasionally , enabling us to flourish even further.Â
Because it is only when we pause, that we truly see our best accomplishments.
Charmed by a gilded, paint layered wall , coveting midnight adventures inside beautiful prose, lost between the interlaced streets of Old Venice I had never seen but knew in my heart.
And one day I saw it for real. And it was awe inspiring and it made me cry when I left the boat because it was just as it was in the fairy tales and in the otherworld.
Why a place is familiar I don’t have the answer for.
But for now a little Venice lives in our hall…
Using a base of chalk paint, over painted with acrylics, touches of gold, decoupaged with small details, over-painted in areas and even stencilled and printed; the whole piece came together like a giant canvas. From the original thought, the mural took shape and began to grow in size and reality…
and grow
Until it was a whole wall
and crept onto another wall
and grew vines and strange flowers
and after a while it was like it had always been there
The shelves will continue to be tweaked and toyed with
And that’s half the fun!
Harlequins are acrobats are always welcome
Masks or not
And while the music plays,
Something else is going on under the stairs…
A magical feast for the imagination and eyes, for the child in us all, a place for fairytales, vintage toys and favourite old games, best loved children’s books from times past, and dolls houses waiting to be brought to life; inspired by Venetian markets and Victorian Toyshops, a hidden nook under the story stairs awaiting the curious.
Shelves decoupaged in copies of old book covers
A tale of two cities
What’s behind the door?
Circus fabrics and vintage newspaper cuttings line the walls, looked over by Mr Fox
A lifelong project to be added to by the imaginations of any younger guests
A timeless little place
Yesterdays haul at the recycling centre found a tatty metal unidentified thing , possibly part of a discarded garden ornament, a wine rack maybe? Swiftly it was taken to the studio.
Where it was tended to with a little paint, a scrap of wood, and some gorilla glue…
It now has a shelf, decoupaged in earthy textures and patterned papers, finished with a touch of acrylic and varnished
A marvellous and ideally sized new console table .
