The Last Apple Tree

Well, of course it’s not the actual Last Apple Tree, thank goodness, although there’s a fable lurking in that title somewhere. No, yesterday I went out walking with Father and Eldest daughter, late afternoon, and out of the grey, in the old orchard, there shone out one tree, bare of leaf, but with apples hanging on – they looked like baubles on a frosty bit of twig, as if decorated for Christmas, half unreal, half magical. I hadn’t got my camera with me, but vowed to head off out this morning early, while the frost was still around to photograph this tree…

…and so I did. Which was all a bit of a palaver, because I had to rush out as the kids were eating breakfast, with the frost still thick on the ground (cats waterbowl frozen over). My little car wouldn’t start first time (gasp). And a friendly neighbour offered me some warm water to help de-ice the thing. And now I know why people don’t recommend using warm water to defrost cold cars. Because the ice melts, then forms again, but this time as a thick shiny sheet. Which you have to pick off with your fingernails. It was like driving through a magic landscape, though, and when I got to the woods they looked beautiful. And when I excitedly reached the old orchard – well, as is the way of these things, the treasure had diminished somewhat. The light was different? The day was different? I don’t know, but although I do quite like some of the images I came home with, I was slightly disappointed by the tree ones. There is always photoshop to reckon with, though. If time, space allows, I’ll see if I can catch it again. I tried slightly today, but I’m never sure whether these things work or not. See below and make up your own mind.

 

 

Was it worth my fingers hurting from the cold? I think so. There’s always other treasure, if not the ones you initially expect.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And the feeling of coming home to an enamel coffeepot on the stove, with proper coffee, in a warm kitchen. That was gorgeous.

Sunshine, ice and mummified Barbies.

Well, it’s been half-term, and I’ve been enjoying my children. One trip to London (I could almost see the doors opening in my eldest daughter’s mind), friends round for a party, more friends round for tea, and gingerbread men to be baked (and eaten). This week, technically, was back-to-work, but as all artists-with-children realise, it’s difficult to get down to things when you spend a good hour looking for that masking tape, only to realise it’s been used in a vibrant (and imaginative, yes) game of ‘Tutankhamen’ – in other words, Mummify That Barbie. I’m torn between pride (best thing you can do to Barbie, really) and sticky exasperation. Youngest daughter has decided that her favourite reading matter is Pink magazine. Alas, it has little to do with Gay Rights, less to do with an ironic take on the punk rock movement, and is full of twirly (pink) ballerinas and smiling (pink) bears. I am tempted to start, singlehandedly, an Ironic Mommas Underground movement, and design a Pink magazine full of O’Keefe drawings, analysis of the contents of lipgloss (slimy fat, pigment made from beetles) and How to Mummify Your Barbie tips, but it might not sell.

And I have gotten some work done. The weather was gorgeous for photographs. Ice, sunshine, and the ice half-melted, half frozen. I have enough on my plate with the hedge pictures, and coast pictures, to not want to take on more, but I’ll hang on to these in the back of my head and see if I can do something with them properly another day. I even, at one point, braved the cold and took out my sketchbook, which is where the small watercolour comes from.

Drenched treasure.

Well, it was an inauspicious morning to go out for a walk – drizzle, and the children just strapped onto the school bus. But good things seem to be happening at the moment, and I’m very glad that I plodded up the muddy hill. A storm was blowing in from the East, and all to the left was a golden light, and to the right, clouds racing and movement in the bare trees. I took several pictures, but these seemed to me the best ones, and their colours seemed to pervade the rest of the day – golden, faded, illuminating the world differently to the normal grey January day-after-day, like the quince and the blossom in the hedge outside a huge Edwardian house which I pass nearly every morning.
I’ve started a watercolour. I’ve been trying for some time to get rid of the ink lines – they’re too harsh for me at present, and too defined. Fine for doodling, but I want to play with colour a bit more – do some work reminiscent of the long bluey-greeny silk banners I made one Summer a long time ago – all swirly colour and dip dyed. I’m pleased with it – at the stage where I’m a bit unsure of touching it for a bit, in case I Spoil It Completely. Which has happened before to pictures half-way through.

All swooshy, muted colours – 1930’s faded wallpaper colours – gold the colour of the sky this morning, blue the colour of the clouds. Let’s see if I can pull this one off, then.

Hedgerow, muted. With a choice of Fancy Cakes.

You’ll be pleased to know (I’m thrilled) that my seasonally mimsy self-reflection has ground to a merciful halt, and I’m back to my usual state of calm-amid-chaos. The resolutions have been made, the cake is back in the tin, and at least this year I have managed not to dye my hair bright orange in an urge to appear more interesting , but have left it it’s natural colour, which will just have to be interesting enough All By Itself.

I’ve been reading about Whistler, and his deliberate choice of muted palettes. I’ve never-ever been one for Muted Palettes. I like bright rich blues, and reds, and gorgeous silky greens. I like Kandinsky and Chagall and Frida Kahlo, with their peacock colours. But I also like Whistler, and his Nocturnes, Harmonies and Symphonies. With their muted, faded palettes, but gorgeous still.

Today was a muted day. There was not heavy frost, nor bright sunshine, but I went out and took the camera anyway (partly to see the overflowing river-water on the fields, partly to grab some special time with my eldest daughter). And I think I came back with some treasure. The photographs aren’t as immediately pretty as the frosty ones, but they’re interesting, and I’m fascinated by the colours in the seed-head one. So there we go. A muted hedgerow, but still interesting.

I spent much of yesterday in Ludlow, in the rain. We went first to DeGrey’s Tearoom, the children and I, and then to the castle. The tearoom is what you would think a DeGrey’s tearoom should be like. It has waitresses with little aprons (it must employ half the teenage girls in Ludlow on a Holiday basis), and real china. The tea is leaf tea, and comes with a little pot of water. And the cakes (you get a choice of ‘Cream Tea’ or ‘Afternoon Tea’) come on a little three-tiered stand, with aplomb. The building is Tudor, and the whole experience like going back to the 1930’s. The sandwiches (I chose salmon and cucumber) come beautifully arranged, as if they had been dressed by an old-fashioned couturier. It is a rather gold-plated experience, but one we cope with it by the children sharing the sandwiches and scones, and my not having a choice of fancy cake (yes, they are called ‘Fancy Cakes’). And it’s worth it, just for the sheer fun of the small ceremonial of it all.

Ludlow castle, if you ever get the chance, is well worth a look around. It’s not too large to be scarily imposing, and there’s plenty of room for children to run around. There are many tall winding staircases to spooky towers, and an ice-house under the moat which doubles as a skeleton-rattling dungeon. The views are suitably viewish, although the experience does lack the terrifying thrill I’ve experienced in some Cadw properties, which seem to specialise in surprising twists like unmarked 200ft drops to the waiting sea. I can only deduce that the Welsh do not believe in Fencing Children In. Or they are conducting some experiment to do with natural selection.

Drawing in the gap

I never know quite what to make of the gap between Christmas and New Year, and this year is no exception. Yesterday I was tired and fretful, and glad to be done with the hurly-burly hustle of a family Christmas. Today I’m bored and faintly restless – on the edge of something, but I’m not sure what. So I’m drawing, while the children play with their toys. I would like to be grand, and to make a thing each day, until the holidays are over. However the drawing today took a bit of a while, and I want to do more on it, or collage it, or embroider it, or something . We shall see. I don’t know yet whether I think that the sketch can come to anything any good or not.

Things you should know about my Christmas:

On Christmas Eve, Rosie decided to attack her hair with the paper scissors, just as my Mother was coming in for Mulled Wine and Polite Conversation. It was so hacked that I sat her (Rosie, not Mother) on the table and gave her an impromptu pudding basin ‘trim’. She looks a little strange, but given the ‘before’, it’s a distinct improvement.

Eleanor then (to be nice), wanted her hair cut short, too. So she has a bob, which suits her. Father, in his wisdom, collared me just as I was sweeping up the copious hairiness, and took the hair away in a bag, because, according to him (and he should know), it’s ideal for simulating Thatched Roofs on his guage of Model Railway. A slightly surreal moment, but it passed, thankfully.

On Christmas Day, I was woken at precisely Half-past Three, and didn’t get back to sleep. There is a picture of me, all dressed up, at my parent’s house (I did the cooking, but their house is bigger), but no-one will ever, ever, see it.

Eleanor’s favourite present is a whoopee cushion with a picture of a football on it.

Rosie’s favourite present is paper and new shiny felt-tip pens.

My favourite present is a Book Token. I am, officially, a dull girl. But a dull girl who loves bookshops, which has to be better than a dull girl who loves, say, Asda Meat Pies, or Bargain Hunting in Matalan. I may take the children into Hereford tomorrow, and we shall spend our tokens with happy abandon. I am considering taking the children to a Youth Hostel somewhere, because that really would be fun, and good for us all to get away for a night or two.

My Parent’s house is set in really beautiful countryside – a remote valley. It’s lovely – so quiet and beautiful. I managed to sneak out for a walk, early on Boxing Day morning. The views were splendid over the valley, and the river full and beautiful. I walked from Kinsham to Wapley Hill Fort, and then had to rush back for drinks and Aunties.

The pictures which are not of the drawing are of my Mince Pies, which I enjoyed making, and we are enjoying eating, and our cake, which the children decorated. I make my own mincemeat – it’s easy as easy and nicer than the boughten variety by far. The cake is a Dundee Cake, rather than a Traditional Christmas Cake, because I find the Dundee kind get eaten, rather than sitting around in the tin until November next year.

It is a bit early to wonder what 2008 will bring, but I am thinking about resolutions, and wondering anyway.

Oh, the piney wilderness of it all.

This will (unless something really noteworthy, like an earthquake, or thunderbolts happens) almost certainly be the Last Blog Entry Before Christmas. I may, if not horizontal on the carpet at my long-suffering Mother’s House, post one between Christmas and New Year. I may, with luck, decide that my New Year’s Resolution is to join a peculiar branch of a peculiar tree-worshipping sect, and eschew the computer for leafy branches and delightful shadow patterns. But it’s unlikely.

I have few nice new pictures to show people, which is rather mizz. It’s because I’ve been busy being Mama, and having a Rather Nasty Cold, which sentence will be causing stressed Mamas all over the world to nod knowingly in time with me, whilst wading through seas of paper and sellotape, and blowing their noses in synchopated rhythms. We should start a band. Really we should.

However, I can show you the more landscape oriented pictures of the frosty morning walk (and I shall – it is unashamed padding). And some pictures of the glassy, classy baubles on my Christmas Tree, some of which are finds foraged from junk shops and are relicts of chandeliers, and under which people have probably danced, and cried, and looked at for many years. Very Jane Austen, the chandeliers, and the landscape, I think, and that feeling of watching people dancing. Although, to be fair, they did not have telephone wires in Jane’s day. Or cameras, apart from the obscura kind.

Fairytale hedges and brrrrrry burrs.

Today was cold. I sleep under two duvets since the log fire doesn’t warm at night. Incidentally, one of these is a vintage duck-down beautiful cherry-red quilt, and is the warmest coverlet you could imagine (as well as making me feel rather like the princess in ‘Princess and the Pea’). But this morning was so cold that I carried it downstairs with me to make the three bears some porridge.

Then, rather than crafting boldly on with teacher’s gifts and pulled candy making, I sneakily went for a really long walk. Which was icy cold and as much a fairytale as you could imagine, with pools of frozen flood water in the valley, and pine trees appearing from the mist.

I took pictures, of course, although I’m not a very good photographer, and at some point I’m going to do some line drawings – very simple I think – just pen and ink – of some of the pictures, and some liney tangled embroideries with wafty white silk strands, and silver thread, of other. Blogging may be useful for reminding myself of these grand schemes, too.

It was very cold in the valley. However, luckily I am the proud possessor of a secondhand sheepskin coat that I bought from a charity shop last year. I am confidently assured by friends that I don’t look like a football manager when wearing it, but I certainly look like a lass that you wouldn’t want to tangle with at night, rather than a fairytale princess. But it is a very beautifully warm coat, and besides, a fairytale princess would never be able to wear woolly hats with any kind of aplomb. Not that I do, particularly, but they are better than tiaras for keeping ones head nice and warm.

I came home just before lunch and drank hot chocolate. Then I got on with my current make, which, alas is not a hat or funky mittens, but Gifts for Teachers, as they do deserve gifts, and I do not want to rush out and line Mr Cadbury’s pocket through buying six boxes of Milk Tray Chocolates. What we are doing instead is threading bayleaves, dried orange slices, vintage beads and buttons, bits of saved ribbon, and rosemary sprigs onto wire, and adding a terracotta star at the end (the star will be scented with variously cinnamonish essential oils). The children can help me do these, and they look pretty when finished. I’ll post pictures and the technique when I’ve made them all.

Now, thankfully, it is nice and warm by the fire. And the Christmas Tree looks pretty.

Cake Bag and Scarf Set

Well, I’ve been fairly busy the last few days, despite sneezy children and sneezy self. Hot Lemon and Honey helped, as it always does.
Some of the pictures show Rosie’s Cake Bag. That’s her own home-made Christmas present, and inside it will be a little baking set, with a rolling pin, board and assorted shaped biscuit cutters. So, it, hopefully, really will be a Cake Bag, or at least a Biscuit Bag (but biscuits aren’t as pretty as cakes, so we’re just going for the path of least resistance here).

Also shown is a sample of some of the long stripey crotcheted scarves I make (and last year, sold). I’ve had a couple of commissions on these, and so made up a sample, which I may or may not put up on Etsy (prolly won’t, because Etsy is slow moving for me, and also I’ve a focus on prints there, rather than textiles, although I specialised initially in textiles, silk-painting, and mixed media.

The blue tree thing (aargle to more Blue Trees) is a multi-media picture (collage, silk, machine embroidery) that I started work on aaages ago, and then, in a fit of grumpy pique, stuffed behind a radiator (how grown-up of me) and forgot about it. Well, didn’t actually totally forget about it, but forgot completely where it was. Well. Here it is, re-surfaced, and I’d love to do some more work on it, and might well be able to because I have found a really good secondhand sewing machine that I think might be up to the not inconsiderable job of machine embroidering through several layers of paper, silk and paint. The current machine I have is a nice basic modern Brother, but it’s just not strong enough to happily embroider, although it’s fine for basic sewing. The one I go to collect tomorrow is a 1950’s sleek green mean machine, and doesn’t do any fancy stitchery, but is more suitable for my nefarious sewing purposes. So wish me, and it, luck, please. It’s also rather beautiful, and I shall call it ‘Mavis’ or ‘Deirdree’. Shan’t decide until I get it home.

I am thinking of building myself a proper website again, rather than relying on Etsy, because I haven’t done too well on Etsy, and if I’m going to have an online shop, I might as well pay commission on the payments software as on Etsy. And I can then put up applique commissions (frou-frou, but I loooooved making that bag) and fabric commissions, as well as print commissions and portraits, for sale, like the bag and the scarf above, because, to be fair, I tend to sell more through commission than from straight prints anyway. Ho hum. Not sure what to do, but I think I’d like to move forward in some way. Will prolly end up hopping around sideways, though.

Snow and more Blue

Blue soap this time. Again, Christmas Pressies, and made by the melt and pour method, otherwise known as cheating, otherwise known as Thinking that Lye is a Not a Good Thing to Boil in a house with two smallish children.

What you do is buy the soap base and melt it, and as you melt it you add interesting things, in my case some blue (and pink) dye and some essential oils (peppermint) and, if you’re ‘doing’ creamy rather than transparent soap, you usually add some botanicals (dried flower/herb matter) and/or some extra niceness such as cocoa butter or almond oil. It is a little like making lemon curd, only less eggy and lemony.

But these are for my children and their friends for Christmas, and so I added extra cosmetic glitter, just because.

What else? Well, I’m getting very excited about the idea of making some collographs and monoprints when I have a couple of days spare. I’ve been thinking for a while about how to printmake from home, and these two techniques will both be worth trying.

Oh, and we went to a rather lovely bookshop at the weekend. Which bookshop was situated in an old barn in a farmyard, a stones throw from some very healthy looking hairy cattle. My eldest daughter refused the option of being bought her very own Primary School Thesaurus, saying she preferred to use mine, something I am a little keen to avoid, since her carefully looked up use of ‘pissing it down’ as an interesting ‘rain related’ verb for literacy homework last week.

Blue trees and rhubarb pie.

Well, yesterday I made that blue picture, because I wanted to do some painting without ink lines, and felt a bit like painting trees at dusk. I’m in two minds about it. Sometimes I like it, sometimes I think it looks like a bad Christmas card. Although that’s inevitable, what with it being Tree and Snow. Dhurr.

Today I made an exciting peg bag for my Mother, because she wanted one. Lovely and delightful as it is (it has rabbits on it), I shall probably not be photographing it for here. Instead I will tell you about Vasnetsov Samolet, because I was looking up pictures of flying carpets, and I really like this one.

Why am I looking up pictures of flying carpets? Because I want to photoshop my oldest daughter much as I did my youngest (that’ll be badly, then), for Christmas, and for practise. I thought she might like being on a flying carpet. But things could change. There’s that bed in bedknobs and broomsticks, or I could paint up a big patchwork balloon. Or a pedal-power flying machine, or, and, or, and.

On Carpets:

I love them. They’re beautiful, and interesting, and properly functional.
They have stories in them, which makes them even more glorious.
They have traditions attatched to them all over.
They are metaphoric treasure.
They are real-life treasure.
I read a fantasy book ages ago about a carpet. But I can’t remember who wrote it.

At the moment we’re all Narnia crazy, because Daddy very, very kindly lent our household his BBC Tales of Narnia (the oldish one – very teatime drama). But I spoilt the mood by serving Rhubarb Pie and Custard for tea.

The Mead has Stopped Fermenting and is Clearing in the Cold Room. The Apricot wine is ready, but tastes mainly of Old Sock.