photo: recent sketchbook pages
Hello again, I hope you are well. It’s a chilly morning and feels like autumn after many mild days. There’s a crow calling out but he’s not getting much conversation - or perhaps my hearing cannot pick up the responses from miles away.
I am sitting here wondering how to write, what to share - my mind is busy with the troubles of the world. I want to acknowledge the terrible events in the news but to say my focus here is to share my studio and creative life.
I want to share the best of my imaginative work. This is an artist’s role, if we are to have one and I believe we do.
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I have many ideas brewing, thinking of my next seasonal shift from autumn to winter. This is such a busy period of the year and I always attempt to get my timing about right. If I start painting/drawing winter too soon it can make the season feel very long! But I love to explore winter landscapes and themes.
photo: a winter painting from 2017 (sold) - a personal favourite
I tend toward working in the season I am experiencing, or perhaps just a little ahead of it. But when to say to myself: right it is time. Winter is coming! I am sure many artists have been painting winter for months, if not all year round. I know a few who do. The wonderful Natasha Newton, for example. Winter is such a fascinating season of change, so full of contrasts. There are many approaches to take: often cosy but also I must admit to a liking for a bleak midwinter landscape.
photo: a winter painting from 2021 - a personal favourite (sold)
There’s no clear divide between autumn and winter. No exact cut off. Walking in winter I often note how the autumn colours linger right through until spring.
I like the mingling of seasons to show how connected they are, how changeable weather in England can be! I’m not sure I have really explored this enough. When I think about my approach to painting the seasons I do tend to say: this is an autumn landscape, this is winter, this is spring - I do play with archetypal elements and the expected stories to some extent.
Perhaps a more mingled approach - four seasons in one day - is a challenge to think about? I might explore this in my sketchbooks. Indeed, if you would like to explore the ideas: four seasons in one day - in your own sketchbook then please do. If you would like to email me a photo of your sketchbook page I will share a selection (if I receive any) in a future post/notes. There’s no closing date - just email me when you have something to share ( contact via shop for email).
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I am still busy painting autumn of course and don’t wish it away. Thank you again to everyone who has purchased a tiny autumn ‘lucky dip’ landscape. Here are a few I have painted recently. I try to photograph them for my own recording.
If you are unfamiliar with my lucky dip paintings and other tiny paintings then briefly - I paint tiny landscapes with a seasonal theme. They are all the same size, 88mm x 56mm about the size of a bridge playing card. When I began painting the tiny paintings I decided upon this size because it felt like a format that was not too tiny but also I had in mind how card-sized things are so collectable! I collect antique photographs and these are often a similar size to a small playing card. So the size itself felt familiar, to hold on your hand, a good size to add into a display.
I make my own supports - that’s the things I paint upon - simply because I like to have that folk art, handmade feel about the piece. Using linen scraps on mount board with gesso gives me a great starting point. I have a tiny, unique rectangle because each combination of scraps gives a slightly different effect. Painting in gouache on gesso requires a layering up of paint. I’ve written about this previously - my unconventional approach. But it works for me and as much as I sometimes think I’d love to try painting my tiny landscapes in oils (one day) I don’t know if I ever shall.
photo: a recent autumn lucky dip painting
With the lucky dip paintings instead of offering each one for sale - photographing and adding to my shop - I offer ‘blindly’. Once a painting is complete I package it carefully and wrap in tissue paper. I usually paint a little batch at a time, perhaps three or four, taking my time to be sure I am happy with each one. Each is individual and its own story. Then they are wrapped and I no longer see which is which. So when someone purchases a lucky dip I really do not know what I am sending to you! It is therefore important to me that every tiny landscape I paint has something special about it.
When will I begin to offer winter tiny landscapes? I have decided this year a little later than last.
Winter ‘lucky dip’ tiny landscapes will be available to order from November 7th (which just happens to be my birthday - not entirely a coincidence, I thought if I chose this date I will remember for future years as yes I do wish to continue on)
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In recent posts I have mentioned how I rarely keep any of my work. A few people have suggested to me that perhaps I should allow myself more than just my sketchbooks as records of my journey. So yes, I have decided now that I will keep more of my work - at least one or two pieces I make each month. For one thing I would like my family to have the work in years to come. I feel I should afford myself the ‘luxury’ of or the simple pleasure of seeing my work together. Here’s one I decided to keep, simply because…
photo: a tiny landscape (personal collection)
a few small stories
My daughter comes home from work and says hello. I am in the ‘kitchen room’ - which is an open plan space not only for the kitchen but also home to my sewing machine. I’m sat staring at the small pile of linen fabric that is perched for now on top of my sewing machine, waiting for me to stitch upon next week. There is a brilliant rainbow resting on the fabric and across the wall. Can you see it, or is it just my imagination? I ask her. She can see the rainbow! I wonder where, how it is appearing and so my daughter looks about to see the ‘magical source’. I joke that the fabric is now ‘properly prepped’…. Determined, my daughter finds where/how the rainbow happened but should I tell you it was just a faceted glass crystal on the end of a light switch?
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The sunny graveyard is my new favourite place. There is a very old house that lives right next to the graves - who ever lives there can reach their arm out from a window and touch a headstone. I wonder how they enjoy living there. So many people walking through the church yard, with various paths connecting our small town, this way and that way. Never a dull moment. If the house dwellers are out, does the postman tuck a parcel behind a headstone and then leave a card stating: parcel ‘behind John Brown 1848’? I doubt this, but I like the idea. The house is now on my ‘wouldn’t mind living there’ list. I must sketch the house in it’s distinctive surrounds and show you.
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Thanks always for reading here for your kind comments (still catching up, sorry!) and likes. If you enjoy my writing and would like to buy me a coffee that is always much appreciated.
Shop update tonight, Sunday at 7pm UK time - new tiny paintings.
Read your latest post with my morning java. Felt like I was sitting right there in your kitchen room seeing that rainbow! Here in Vermont with our shared English place names (we're in Braintree) our dramatic fall foliage is now waning and although we haven't had a killing frost yet, winter is waiting in the wings for sure! Nothing subtle about a New England winter.
It's good to hear that you are keeping some of your work for yourself. I've just started holding onto a piece here and there for the same family reason. One day I realized that if I were to suddenly leave this earth, they would only be left with mostly piles of fails and unfinished.
The small collection of your tiny paintings that lives here is treasured. And you are so right about the "folk art, handmade feel" of creating your own supports. I especially love how in one the edge of the linen scrap defines the line of the trunk (the pink blossomed tree with the cat in the branches).
Last year, I wrote a note to myself at the top of the October page- to start thinking about winter for the shop, but I guess I love autumn too much, because not a single thought has happened yet.
P.S. Your blue bottle painting is just magical.