Studio Notes no. 203

Birds in stitches, sketchbooks & stories

Hello Everyone

photo: recent sketchbook pages

I hope you are well.

A blackbird told me it is February - all through the early hours of this first day. Right by my bedroom window, blackbirds - to be fair, not just one, but a shift pattern of blackbirds. I love their company. Blackbirds don’t care for calendars - they just note how the days are getting noticeably longer. I wonder what they are saying about all the rain we have been having here. Meanwhile, I know it is bitterly cold in parts of north America and Europe. I hope where ever you are in the world, you are safe and warm.

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Why do I like to stitch women holding a bird in hand? Something more than just a tentative moment. Birds are messengers but also symbols of freedom. There is a gentle power in that bird in hand myth, or experience. I have been enjoying stitching over the past several days and will be doing more -

Photo: a new brooch - one of a new collection I am working on

photo: a brooch in progress -

Not all portraits contain birds. Some contain just the person themselves, with their own quiet story to tell…

Shop News

I will be updating my shop this coming Wednesday with a selection of embroidery brooches and drawings.

7pm UK time - preview from about 4pm

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Wool Embroidery

Can you see who I am stitching?

Over the weeks ahead I want to spend more time stitching and exploring my textile work - I have made wool embroidery pieces for several years now. Often these slow projects are for my own home, but now and then I make pieces for sale.

This is a large brooch I stitched for myself a while ago.

My wool embroidery is almost entirely stitched using french knot stitches. I now and then use other stitches for detail. Inspired very much by old hooked rugs, with a folk art style in mind. I like gentle colours, simple shapes and birds just work so well in french knots….

photo: and here is a smaller bird brooch I made recently.

I would like to put together a collection of finished pieces for sale. But I am also hoping to write up a small booklet/PDF to offer to anyone who might like to explore french knots in wool, for themselves. This will be offered in my shop as a download.

In my midweek notes for paid subscribers I will be offering more photos and tips of how I stitch these pieces.

Here is a blackbird I was working on just yesterday…. I still have to complete this piece - as it is a bit larger than a brooch, I think I will make it into a needle book. So there is a bit of finishing to do here, but that will be something I look forward to working on.

I hope to have a collection of wool embroidery available toward the end of February or beginning of March. These things take time.

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Four Small Stories

Four stories inspired by my day-to-day creative life - to be read as small fictions. I am so grateful for your encouragement and comments.

Wintery Dishes

I walk by one of the many restaurants in town. So often I wonder about a place with no desire to eat there - I am happy with my own simple cooking on a budget. But I like to see glimpses of interiors and menus, and I note this restaurant has a large chalkboard on the wall with the words: Wintery Dishes written in large handwriting. Now, winter dishes will make me think of rich soups and stews, and baked desserts. However, wintery dishes are something else. I see heavy ceramic vessels filled with twiggy tree seedlings, yes, autumnal leaves clinging to sticks, birds - not baked in a pie - but fluttering above the dish. I imagine being served a whistling, crusty plate of baked acorns with a lavish decoration of sticks and stones and deep-fried snowdrops. And for dessert - a deep bowl of silvery moons waning in dark treacle, like apples, but hardly edible. Yes, wintery dishes might be worth a try.

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photo: tiny book pages

Snowdrops

There are snowdrops appearing in the churchyard, amongst the old stones. If I stand here for long enough I can watch them emerging. Today I stand in the rain and watch the trembling closed flowers looking like a pure alien invasion. Someone speaks: can I tell you something? I turn to see an elderly woman, her curved back, her head at a birdish angle. Can I tell you something? She says, smiling. Last weekend we went to Wisley Gardens and the snowdrops there were just such a welcome treat. If you get a chance, do go and see them. I nod. She continues: We went to Wisley to meet up with our grandchildren but do you know - you might or might not - I think I got almost as much pleasure seeing the snowdrops - such variety! Oh, you know, two different ways to love the world! I say in reply: Yes, And snowdrops are fleeting. The woman is surprised by my speaking. Perhaps she thought she had imagined me. Yes yes, she says, snowdrops are fleeting! But they come back every year. Think of that! How marvellous!

* Beetroot

I must eat beetroot. I plan my meals to have the purple globes at the centre of each serving. More beetroot? Yes. Will it work in a sandwich? Of course. With peanut butter? Obviously. Will it turn my pee pink? Apparently yes. I tried cooking beetroot once but it turned an odd shade of brown, so my beetroot is purchased freshly ready-cooked. I will leave the cooking of beetroot to others. As a child beetroot only came in jars at select times of the year. No one handled the raw goods. One day I will set about understanding the culinary art of a beet, but that one day may never come. Am I healthier for this appetite for beetroot? I cannot say. Will my children, now adults, finally try a little beetroot? Absolutely not.

photo: tiny book pages

Wait

Just as anticipated, my visitor is late. Such tremendous rain has made the centre of town strangely quiet. I wait, observer of rain, tree tops, roofs and crows. Somehow also a crow myself, now pacing slightly to make the waiting into exercise. My morning is all about the wait, without thinking beyond. Even when I think I spot my visitor’s car I do not acknowledge the next steps to my morning. I am locked into waiting mode. My eyes survey the mossy rooftops, the rain, then looking down note a few regular people hiding under umbrellas. Someone wearing shoes not fit for rain. Someone else who is always seen talking on their phone, not talking on their phone. The chiming doorbell shocks me into action but I am stuck by the window. As I make my way quickly down the winding stairs I tell myself: you are walking down the stairs now. Remember not to mind they are late. But I do not mind. The relief of not waiting any more is as tremendous as the rain.

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a neighbour jackdaw - someone I watch as I wait, or as I simply stare out of the window not waiting at all…

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