Studio Notes no. 158

Wintry days, a poem and small stories

Hello Everyone,

photo: recent sketchbook pages - in an A6 book - this book is dedicated to loose, quick sketches to help me with my embroidery and other ideas

I hope you have had a good week. It has been very chilly here - though we have not had the snowy weather some have had further north. It has been cold enough to have ice on the inside of our single glazed windows (for those of you new to reading here, my two adult children and I live in an eighteenth century attic flat). We do keep warm - with layers and yes I have been plodding my way through the week, with plenty of hot drinks and small moments of gazing out of the window at the icy moss on roof tiles.

photo: a new tiny painting - woman in snow

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The perils of innocent art searches online - or - how I met AI art this week

I was sketching and considering ideas. I was thinking again of Bruegel’s landscapes and the buildings within - some of the peasant cottages. They have always fascinated me, with how they can tell stories of lives and meanings. Bruegel’s paintings are so layered with meaning. Although I might have grabbed a book (I have a few on Bruegel) I decided to google: Bruegel houses. One of the top searches led me to a site featuring AI generated images. They looked like Bruegel’s houses - but were not. I am not going to link to the site. I looked and looked, fascinated and oh so slightly appalled. The renderings were lacking in soul but if you were not sure what you were looking at - might you see these as dwellings as portrayed by a sixteenth century artist?

Let’s be honest with ourselves - there is a whole industry out there, sharing faked-up imagery that could confuse a less-trained eye. And it’s probably making money out of historical as well as less historical artists.

This is just to say: be aware, if you are not already - the AI world is one that wants to take art and make an alternative reality. It lacks the artist’s soul and thumbprint, but to some it must have an appeal. I will now be more careful about how I search for images and click on links!

One of Bruegel’s most known paintings (featuring the houses I was trying to research): The Hunters in the Snow which is a painting in the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, Austria. You can read more here.

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Shop News

photo: a new embroidery portrait - folk figure in winter

I will have a new selection of artworks in my shop today - available from 7pm UK time with preview from 3pm (or earlier if possible). Expect to see new tiny paintings, embroidery portraits and more. Thanks always for your interest.

photo: a snowdrop queen - a new tiny painting - will be in my update later

photo: a new tiny painting - woman with samplers

I love stitching alphabets - I have made a start on a new sampler and my aim is to make one small sampler each month (for my home). We shall see - I will share more with you here.

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A Poem From My Archives

A new, occasional feature for studio notes! Here is a poem from my archives.

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WINTER, 1970-SOMETHING

was a different icy beast, sudden and white.

Whiter than any Polaroid could make it seem.

The white blinded us for days.

Children ran senseless into the unknown of it.

These were winters of such bright chill

our exercise books lost their lines and squares.

Teachers would say: no sums today, and:

you must go outside, it won’t kill you!

Children dressed in hand-me-down warmth

and boots so big they would topple over and over.

No one asked when the snow might leave

for in that moment it was here forever.

Old ladies were never seen in the snow

but old men stumbled about with old hats

to donate to snowmen or passerby tramps

(the two were sometimes mistaken for each other).

We lived in the now of snowy bowers,

rabbit hutches just gone!

We searched for reckless, snow-blinded cats -

found the canal frozen up, keeping hold of old bikes

and crisp packets.

Older People said: this is not as bad as it used to be.

Children could only imagine the used-t0-be,

for used-to-be was all grey ice to us.

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photo: archive sketchbook pages from 2018

Small Stories

The stories I share here are inspired by my day-to-day creative life. They are shared here to be read as small fictions.

Purcell

Sound the trumpet, sound the trumpet… One of my favourite composers is Purcell. But whenever I hear his Sound the trumpet played on the radio, I hold that song in my head for at least the rest of the day.

sound the trumpet till around

You make the list'ning shores rebound

I walk down the street and everyone gets heralded - sound the trumpet! By a charity shop, a hat and pair of gloves floating in a puddle - as if they had once belonged to a now-melted snowman - sound the trumpet! A woman appears and scoops the hat and gloves up, cross with herself for dropping them - sound the trumpet! I walk into the supermarket and help myself to a metal basket - sound the trumpet! parsnips, cabbage and onions all on special offer! sound the trumpet!

And so it goes on. Back at my work table, squeezing lamp black and permanent white paints, sound the trumpet! Painting a lively face and a few dabs later it really comes to life - sound the trumpets!

And yes, until sleep, sound the trumpets….

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Link to a particularly fine and energetic performance of this song via YouTube (not my video)

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Everywhere

Another dark morning but I can hear robins calling to each other. Later, once the ice has melted, I venture downstairs and walk through the courtyard where tiny tufts of moss are strewn about - a sign of much bird activity. I see the vague shadow of a tiny wren scamper under a gate. I can hear crows, boisterous crows, in the churchyard over the road. Birds are everywhere in this wintry town, even if I cannot see them. And they live in my heart, in my sketchbooks, my paintings-yet-to-come. They dance tentatively in stitches…. Never mind winter, they sing, nevermind.

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Tour of the Town

Loaded down with bags of groceries, I like to walk swiftly, but some days the narrow town paths are busy with people. Today I am following two older women, one with a wonky-wheeled shopping trolley. I’ve been in there, one woman says to the other, nodding at a gift shop with cocktail glasses in the window, that’s a very expensive shop. Yes, the other woman says, that is a very expensive shop….. We move on. That’s another expensive shop, says the first woman, nodding at a shoe shop. Yes, says the second woman, that is an expensive shop. That’s an empty shop, the first woman says. yes, says the second woman, that is a very empty shop. That’s the key cutters - where I get my keys cut, the first woman says. Yes, that’s the key cutters, says the second woman, but I have never had my keys cut. I have never in my life had keys cut for me! The first woman stops in her tracks. I have to swing my bags to a halt. Everyone behind me mutters. You’ve never had keys cut? The first woman asks. I have never had keys cut, never had the opportunity, the second woman says. There is a shaking of heads. A moment of deep thought. What does it all mean, to have lived through life, never having gone into a key cutter and had keys cut for you?…The two women begin to move on. That’s another expensive shop, the first woman says. Yes, the second woman says, that is another expensive shop….

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photo: recent sketchbook pages - more in my smaller book

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Many thanks for reading, for subscribing and for your kind comments and emails. Last week’s goat story received a great response from more than one person who had coincidentally had a goat dream - others who had sighted goats! I appreciate you taking the time to get in touch. If you would like to support my writing and sharing you may consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a coffee - much appreciated, thank you. (Paid subscribers: a new post will be coming to you soon).

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