Artist and maker, bringer of creativity, positivity and a safe and inspiring environment, enabling makers to develop their creativity and confidence. Overcoming the challenge of disability and challenges to encourage others to grow and develop through art and craft in a safe and nurturing space. Love Art, Love Liz at the Beach Hut XXX
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 .
A week has just disappeared in a determined burst of creative energy .
and time slipped away in a rainbow
Where was my p.a for all those important decisions?!!
Oh well, best put the best foot forward then …
A new knee might be imminent. And it occurred to me, bending might be tricky, and so numerous painting jobs just had to be done…
From dawn ’til dusk, brushes dipped and swirled and layered their marks.
Repainting shabby corners and battered edges, bumped by puppies and boots; upcycling new treasures found in the recycling shop.
A few gaps for sleeping and eating and cooking for big painty days, big projects and big appetites
Awesome Allan did a fabulous job building our new bookcase, making use of an awkward, half landing corner, which I finished in Farrow and Ball’s smoking room green.
Soon after, and not to be outdone, the bannisters got a freshen -up
As did the kitchen, which as you will all understand was a soup of greasy- teenagery-dog and life back splashes, even after just a year.
And to a little detail… An archway in the hall, printed with diamond chalk paint in musky pink and almost black, accented with a smidge of gold. A little bit Tudory but modern too.
For any younger visitors, a newly painted throne, Bloomsbury style. Acrylic and chalk paint , a touch of gold
Now we need someone that can fit…
Upstairs in the shower room, the mirror has taken on a new design. The theme – men’s vintage pyjamas !
Back to the other bathroom and back to Bloomsbury. A little mirrored cabinet, hand painted in shades of soft grey blues and natural tones.
On the landing, an archway between two sections of corridor, using wood paint and acrylic
And a repaint of the treads and woodwork on the stairs
Which have thankfully withstood a thousand paws and claws
An old lamp upcycled with chalk paint, gold leaf, decoupage papers and marabou
While ornaments shuffled about for their next act,
everyone else stood to attention
Tasks are completed. For today. Everything is shiny once more. I’d like to say I’ll put my brushes away, but you know me….
'Some of us are normal Some of us exist Some of us have schedules Some of us have lists '
'Some of us have real jobs Some of us have plans Some of us paint paper Not the side of vans'
Ah but not all purpose finds a nine to five feeding minds with wonder keeps us most alive
Taught a thousand faces Held a thousand hands Squeezed the whole damn rainbow All I make I am
A lie - in feels unholy There's just too much to do Write and paint and teach stuff All we share with you
It could have been the end of hope, those initial diagnoses. A forcing of my hand to halt a career , one that I had worked and studied hard for; I had a structured life . An excellent job, a mortgage in my name, a new life re-built after escaping a tough marriage but leaving a beautiful home) . . I now was alone with a child, responsibility, a career . Everything to be proud of. Everything to lose.
Then I got diagnosed with both types of arthritis .
Early retirement from teaching wasn’t in the plan. Rather than run an Art department, I was being coerced into feeling useless by a council wanting cheaper, fitter staff.
Positivity only gets you so far..
So there we were, a single mum with a 4 page prescription, and a tribunal against an educational society that looked set to trip us up at every turn.
Pain and immobility seemed to be obvious to people only when I was enduring yet another surgery. And of those there were many. Succumbing to an illness set to get progressively worse, it’s constant fatigue and crippling ways should have been inevitable. How could we expect and create a comfortable life now?
Sink or swim?
What would you have shown the little girl holding your hand ?
We won the tribunal. And I took early retirement. (From teaching in High school ) The Freedom we crave when we work every day should have been sweeter. But there are rules.. supplementary income rules. Earning enough in the few hours I felt ok wasn’t possible, and certain income affects other income.
But we weren’t banned from sharing Art. I taught community enterprise Art classes everywhere. Children, adults, Art in Mental health groups, Art in hospitals, and kept making and creating in between the school runs and choir practice. Profit always went back into rent and materials.
Fighting and beating the system was just the beginning. The funds , little that they were , made up the shortfall for a new mortgage, a new life by the sea , and a continuation of creating through various community teaching, two regular blogs and personal creative development. Even covid didn’t stop us. Our Seasparkle classes and zoom art groups carried on throughout the two years we barely saw anyone.
Lupus and arthritis are tricky beasts to explain . If you have any kind of autoimmune disease you will understand, how you can look relatively ok but you feel like you are walking around in the wrong body (if you can walk- which I am personally not great at any more!) Some sunny days you can almost believe you feel fine . Until the meds wear off and a massive wave of fatigue kicks in. Other days, the pain can be so bad you can’t move, cancelling plans, rendering you dependent.
In 2016 I began writing this blog, talking to people about the positive effects of creativity, documenting classes, telling stories through poignant images and photographs . The feedback was so very welcome, and writing became a way of life , along with more illustrative work, painting and the felt pieces I was known for making .
I found the bits of day I had energy -first thing, resting when my daughter was at school, working again in the evening . I taught children and adults in community groups all over Scotland, I organised Art exhibitions and craft fairs . I became Dalkeith arts coordinator, starting new groups when we moved house. I painted and wrote every day. Even in my hospital bed, during extended stays which were common.
The huge move to Devon took enormous patience . Living in tiny chalets for a year while the house was settled . Every day I wrote poems in the bath (my happy place) – painted every morning , taught remote classes for the class I had left in Scotland .
It is amazing what you can do in the smallest slices of time, even when your patience is waning
Moving into this, our hopefully forever home – has been an endlessly creative journey. Not only is the Art on paper, but here is art on the walls, art on the stairs, and yes, art on the side of a caravan …
And now we are creating spaces to make and teach even more art. The journey from dreaming of ‘Liz at the Beach Hut’ to being here, in this warmer climate, has taken many many twists and turns.
And always, the best and most inspiring part is meeting and working with you. No artist is an island. Without the mirror of your creative joy, and productivity, we wouldn’t be where we are. Whether you work from home, remotely or sit in an Art class, you inspire me every week to carry on teaching, learning and being lifted by new friends .
With the boundless energy and support of my partner and best friend, the trials of life continue here as we add to each new project.
Our limitations make us value the time and energy we do have. Each morning is a gift. and because it isn’t always available, we must value our achievements fully. When a friend jokingly said ‘some of us have a job’ ( Didn’t I?) the other day, my first instinct was sadness. I felt too shocked to joke back. But I realise we aren’t aware of each other’s lives, schedules, if you don’t tell people you don’t ever stop working – how will they know?
Sometimes what we do isn’t obvious. Not many of us are great at self promotion. Sometimes it’s the same with how much pain we are in. For me, I have pain all the time, to some degree; sometimes it is mumbling, other times it is so sharp and angry it stops me in my tracks, stops my breath, makes me shake, makes me cry. I don’t feel as able as the world rushing around me. Because I know to some degree I’m not. But I am still whole. I’ve learnt to like me the way I am . Sticks and all. And if you are in ‘The Beach Hut’ physically or as an online friend- there are no exclusions.
Being inspired, inspiring others, making, creating, writing, painting, building and shaping a space to share, connections with likeminded people, a safe place to forget pain and stress for a while- that is more than a full time job.
It is everything …..
Unfortunately and sadly, a little like parenthood – the pay is pretty rubbish !
Our journey has been a long one. At times we have had nothing and nobody. But we had the ability to see and celebrate the little things . In turn they became a body of Art . Wherever life plonks you; whatever anyone else believes is best for you- do what you love, and keep doing it.
There was a girl who dreamed of a Beach Hut studio, in a warm place near the sea. Somewhere to teach and write, to plan and create, somewhere to turn ideas into inventions and dreams into magic.
there were lots of beach huts….
But life kept interrupting…
Over the last few months, after many years of creating Art Beach huts in various home locations, this longed for dream has finally come to fruition in our lovely garden here near Newton Abbot, Devon. I am now hoping that perhaps this year, we might finally get to discover parts of Devon outside the recycling centre and d.i.y stores!
Despite life’s curveballs there has always been teaching, and always been Art.
These hands were never clean
As an Artist, I have painted, drawn, sewn, taught and made things all my life After a sell out degree show from Edinburgh college of Art, I set up my first Art and Crafts business, Curious Creatures, and exhibited widely in galleries and trade fairs. Returning to university to gain a post graduate in teaching. I became an Art teacher in Secondary schools for 20 years, and in addition co-ordinated many community groups, organised exhibitions, props for theatre design, taught mental health in Art programmes and supported clients one to one: teaching thousands of individuals from ages 4 to 104. It has been and is, an incredible joy to work with others. It is true to say art was part of every day.
But, just when things begin to grow and evolve, our bodies, our closest ones, or a universal disease, can trip us up on our yellow brick road.
In times of adversity, it has been vital for me to show my daughter that there is always something you can do to stay positive. When the impact of losing my marriage, stepsons and home and being supported by Women’s aid left me with no space, and a three year old, I wrote and made cards, textiles and bags, planning paintings I finished when I created a new home for us. When arthritis impacted on my teaching career, I switched from teaching in schools, to more community based projects, spending more time on my own writing and drawing, finally finishing pieces I’d only got to begin as exemplars for thousands of children! What had begun before I skittered creatively in my marital ivory tower, afraid to make mess; rebloomed into art- into crafts and written work online.
During Covid, when planned exhibitions were closed, and meeting classes was outlawed, I began a collection of Artwork , usually a themed series of subjects. Each painting began as an idea to share with my Art groups on whatsapp, as an exemplar, which everyone joined in with. This has carried on through to the physical classes since lockdown.
A fantastic dialogue began between the Artists at home, some of whom were housebound or unwell. A mini gallery was uploaded every week of completed pieces. Theses galleries are still ongoing, with two Art groups showing their work both in Coldingham, Scotland and Highweek, Devon. You can see these and all our work on;
Cards and prints of my originals were created over time of all the new Artwork, building up a vast collection of printed products. Initially these were sold at craft fairs and in a few galleries, but after months of very patient building a website from scratch, it is a pleasure to announce we now have an online shop, selling our vast range of cards and prints.
Between all this, a huge house move took place, merging two homes, a bunch of daft animals and an epic journey from our homes in the Scottish Borders, all the way down to the warmth of Devon; in the hope of a creative, slightly less cruelly painful climate for arthritic joints.
Nothing worthwhile is ever easy. There were inevitable and then ridiculous delays, we stayed in tiny cramped chalets with too many pets, while the house we fell in love with kept looking further from our grip. Snail mail kept us sane and a semblance of normality was upheld with a rigid Art routine once more, with ongoing Art themes and galleries. We got to be tourists in our temporary town, but were so desperate to be residents in a place we called home. I missed the friends I’d yet to meet as well as those we’d left behind.
Finally moving into our home was wonderful and overwhelming ! Was this really ours? I think we had grown so used to waiting , it was difficult to just be. But the house and garden needed a lot of t.l.c. and over the next few months, a rainbow of paint and wallpaper, decoupage and planting transformed each corner of the house, and garden; as well as the not so exciting building work and practical jobs. The ground revealed it’s secrets throughout each season. A year has now passed and we now have more of a sense of the house and how she works.
And all these months, my Artwork and business has been a little bit on the back burner, whilst we created our home and recently bought a new puppy into the house! Boxes of prints and cards have littered the spare room and been tripped over endlessly.
On arrival, my studio in the garden, was created in a big old shed, next to the garage. Potentially, this was a wonderful room and great for making a mess. Art materials, books, projects for classes- this was the ideal space to get organised. However, the damp wasn’t so good for Artwork, and several paintings have been lost to mould. The reeves are home to nesting birds and the floors to spiders.
So, last Autumn, superhero Allan began the monumental task of building and putting together my new studio. Like a giant Ikea flatpack with a million pieces, he laboured for weeks hammering and sawing, endlessly having to contact the suppliers with product problems.
With a little help from Pete!
While juggling the house chores, a not very straightforward teenager, a playful and leaking puppy, and still attempting to stay creative: whilst not getting paint on the carpet ! I have to admit to gazing wistfully at the project slowly being built, and probably grinding my teeth more than usual.
But time does pass, things do change, puppies get less leaky, and exciting things happen like the channels being dug for the electricity in the studio. And a floor being put in, and a decking being made. I was finally able to get my garden paints out and colour the outside walls and box things up inside the house.
And slowly, a building started taking shape.
I painted furniture discovered in the local recycling centre
Until it actually became real.
One day, after the building had belonged to builders, the laps of Gods and their tools, it belonged to me. Chairs and storage were delivered, the walls and dusty furniture began to be transformed. Days and days spent working on layers of paint inside and outside the new space creating it’s character and mood.
Before the huge task began to organise all the stock and where it might fit!.
Into a calm and spacious cool studio
There is a wonderful sense of achievement stepping inside this room. Not only have we created a warm, dry space which is calm and welcoming, and somewhere to see what all that has been achieved; but it is also a testimony to patience and faith. Thankyou to Allan for his boundless commitment to the build, and his time and energy in making this happen.
Our first guests popped in to celebrate on our newly painted chairs!
Hope to see you for a visit soon too!
All our prints and cards are available directly from the shop
In the midst of writing a new year post, it seemed harder and harder to think of how to start. a cold, grey January, ill health and fatigue, swamped the early days of the year; darkening the promised brightness of a new beginning. Surely everyone else was leaping into 2024 sparking joy. In the quiet times, melancholy can steal in, awareness of our pain can deepen, the newness unwrapped at Christmas, can feel packed away in the attic with the tree.
Joy is a flighty fairy. She lurks somewhere just out of reach sometimes, taunting us with promise. I know many of you like me, are immune suppressed, or arthritis sufferers and winter is hard on cold bones. Symptoms flare up, pain is worse and fatigue is constant . Christmas and busy-ness , winter activities and classes, pre festive feasts and the twinkling world around us keeps us distracted from the cooling days . In the strange space between Christmas and new year, the longed-for balm of pyjama days and nothing to do is long anticipated. And then when it arrives, it feels sort of odd, sort of empty ; devoid of routine and people , structure and momentum. Small ordinary things take longer. We are lethargic, days roll into one amorphous void and the light in the sky is often week and watery. If we are slowed down, the new year can start with a bit of a whimper rather than the fireworks we were promised.
In winter we tell visitors our garden has looked better, forgetting the vital process in place underneath which ensures another colourful spring. In contemplating our next blooms we forget to look back on the joys we were privileged to experience; the hidden work still to be undertaken every day to nurture ourselves and everyone else under our wing.
Almost everyone feels a sense of inadequacy in some shape or form, but at this time of year, the intensity of self judgement can get much harsher.
Do any of these feelings sound familiar?
*You just KNOW that everyone else is better at the activity in your group than you / has more real friendships with each other than you/ and probably talk about you when you leave…?
*Your home/ clothes/body are not as trendy/cool/ Insta ready as everyone else ?
*You must be unlikable, due to one or more bullies in your life telling you so ?
*You have achieved much to be proud of but it is never enough ?
*You only ever see your bad bits in the mirror ?
*You only remember who said they didn’t love you ?
*The future is the only place you can succeed ?
Sound familiar? Did you think it was just you ?
This morning I got up at five when my daughter decided the new puppy had kept her awake long enough, fed six animals, cleaned my house, made my apparently ‘sublime!’ mash, wrote this and another blog post, and I am still bashing myself on the head because I haven’t painted yet .
It’s definitely not just you
Our minds naturally veer towards our failures rather than our successes. In balance, having a sense of self-doubt can help a person assess their achievements and abilities, but too much self-doubt can adversely impact a person’s self-image.
This can lead to symptoms of distress known as imposter syndrome, which can affect the following aspect of a person’s life.
a sense of being a fraud
fear of being discovered
difficulty internalizing our success
Being kinder to ourselves at this time of year is essential. Old feelings can resurface in the hibernation time; listen to them, let them go. The old adage of faking it ’til you make it is so true. January is the perfect time to take stock of all you achieved the previous year, appreciating your true self as you are in this very moment, and not a version of who you might be one day.
Speaking to, or writing to friends, even writing to yourself in a journal can help get annoying or lovely or frustrating ideas and worries into perspective. While they live in your head they have the nasty habit of growing out of proportion.
Connecting with others and sharing is vital for our mental health. Friends reflect us, shape us and make us aware of other’s lives and feelings. We get perspective. In early January I wrote a few letters to friends, sending out as much positivity as I could muster, pecking at the icy ground for news and thoughts. I love snail mail , the plop of an old fashioned hand written envelope in the mail box is lovely .
‘Thankyou for your letter, I think I have imposter syndrome‘ my friend said. ‘I needed to hear your words. Your letter made me realise I am loved , after not quite believing I deserved to be. (This woman is an awesome granny with a camper van) ‘I suddenly realised that I should start listening to more than just my own head..’
( And this person is one of MY HEROES!!)
We all think our friends have it sussed and they saunter about, feeling confident with their life laundry checked every day . But they are often as vulnerable and in need of support as we are. The tiny things we do for others can have a huge impact , reverberating ad-infinitum if given with grace and love.
Forget the future plans and vision board for a moment, sometimes we need to take time to appreciate where we are now and where we have been . There may be poetry to finish, cupboards to clear, Art to be sold, teenagers to organise, pets to feed , and operations to plan for , but for my family right here ; a year ago; none of our world existed!
For us, looking back, it has been a creative and chaotic journey between last year and now . Since we moved in at Easter our house has taken up most of the time, unearthing and unveiling new secrets, new plants, and stone floors and bringing colour to forgotten corners ..
This busy year had followed a very insular time, kept alive purely by faith and patience in making it happen. When your wardrobe is the car and your studio is your lap, things can only get better! A year ago many of the friends we have now were still strangers ! I am so pleased to be part of two amazing choirs – Rock Choir and Choir 86 and of course our wonderful Art groups ❤️
In between the painting, singing, teaching, and co-ordinating this crazy home, there’s a fur family to cuddle. The newest addition is 12 week old, Border Collie, Mabel❤️
The culmination of many many early mornings over the previous year; between drawing and writing, found me twiddling away creating a website. We are delighted to show you our fabulous new shop, where an ever growing range of unique cards and prints are now available to purchase.
Now of course the schedule revolves around nap times!
Last year enabled so many building blocks to be laid, embedding routines where there was change, a sense of permanence after re-rooting . New plants and friendships are budding as Imbolc looms; and words and marks are growing into a cohesive body of work in our new life in Devon. And yes, Even though those things are true, still there are days where it doesn’t feel real.
We all have a little imposter syndrome. I am still waiting to feel like a grown up, berating my body for what it can’t do; instead of applauding what it can. I, like you, will almost certainly feel like I didn’t do much today. Although in fairness I could win a prize for mopping up puppy wee.
What I am continually learning, is that nobody sees your life as you do, any more than you truly know how your face looks. All the greatness I am inspired by in friends, they waive off as normal or nothing, as I see the flash of their superhero capes under their jumpers.
Remember, the stranger in the street you feel judged by, is almost certainly plagued by their own self doubts. If today is grey, remember when it was sunny. It will be again.
Look back kindly, face forward gently.
Especially wonderful, amazing you.
Thank-you for your support and readership this year . May it be a kind and creative one, filled with friendship.
Christmas smelled of burning coal when I was very small,
Curled beneath the eiderdown, shadows licked the wall.
A torch sat by the bedside, insurance just in case.
On Christmas eve, in fervent hope, to catch sight of his face.
Christmas smelt of spices rich, upon a Christmas Eve.
When darkness fell, and flames were lit, their festive scents I’d breathe
For this was where the magic was, when he'd be here quite soon.
A bell, a thump, a cloud of smoke; inside the living room.
I'd picture him amongst the stars, a map within his hands.
He’d plan his route with chimney pots as satnavs in each land
Wrapped in furs and jingling bells to sound his swooping flight
Pockets full of tasty treats grabbed for this long long night.
His cheeky rounded cheeks and his bristly fluffy beard,
His soft and round red tummy, never shrinking year on year.
In my childhood, Santa had no socks from Tk Maxx,
He didn't carry iphones and hair straighteners in his sacks.
He took delight in filling socks with oranges and sweeties.
And no-one mentioned tooth decay or early diabetes!
He ate enough mince pies to keep weightwatchers very rich,
But I could never see his tummy, pop a single stitch.
And if he drank the auburn whiskey nestled on each plate
Would Santa not be very drunk? Or least of all quite late?
Would he not muddle every present on each waiting hearth?
Creating chaos in his fluster. That would make me laugh.!
Perhaps this year he’ll go all hygge and mooch in his pyjamas
Leave the reindeer nuzzling hay and fly to the Bahamas
Hunker down with ready meals and strange but tasty gin
Watch the same old movies loudly, not let neighbours in.
For times can change for everyone, and sometimes we get tired
He has so much to do each year, despite the fakes he hires.
So maybe he can franchise, find a warehouse in each town,
And make TV appearances when funds are running down.
As crumbs are found, I hear the sound, of children young and old
Believing every detail, from the festive tales we’re told
Just close your eyes, remember all the feels of Christmas eve,
And how this world can still produce, some magic from its sleeve.
He'll maybe just decide to see the ones who see him too.
For magic only happens if you first believe in you.
However, he still does it, whether Amazon or sleigh
Keep back your inner grinch, keep things jolly for one day
Nothing truly wonderful can ever be explained.
Santa lives in all of us and needn’t ever change
Hang your hat on someone good, you might just be surprised,
And maybe you'll wake up to find a bite from your mince pie.
Liz
A very Merry Christmas from us at Liz at The Beach Hut xxx !
Softly she falls, a girl, tumbling, slow.
Kissed by each glistening web as she goes.
Paper her wings, diamonds her eyes,
Gazing through leafy, blue glimpses of sky.
Snatches of songs sound,
time softly fades.
Windows flung open as years are replayed.
Sharper and brighter than ever they were,
She is the mirror reflected in her.
Clearer her senses, kinder her eyes:
Shaking off each heavy, dusty disguise.
Knowing herself as she knew all along,
Venturing forward, with courage so strong.
All that she searched such an age to unearth,
She’s finding in places, not tied to her birth.
Little by little each piece is restitched,
A tapestry woven from every last wish.
Skin may be loose now,
hair not so bright;
But here still,
the child;
trading dreams in the night.
Little by little, she paints every stroke.
Watching her fears, softly vanish, like smoke.
Every sense woken, she’s watching her hands.
Sculpting her future on firm golden sand.
No longer falling but flying through space.
Walking each step with her back to the race .
LW
