Cuckoos and thing that are lost.

On the airfield walking dogs and searching for peace of mind. Skylarks and whitethroats, wren, blackbird, small bell voice finches, raucous crows and a distant cock-a-doodle-do. And in amongst it all the first cuckoo call across the golden grass.

In April come he will.

In May he sings all day.

In June he changes his tune

And in July he flies away.

Things I have lost:

Weight, at times, to the point where I have sometimes been fit though never thin, but I have always gathered it back to me.

Heart, at times, but usually this is lifted by birdsong and beautiful things.

Mobile phones, and the loss of it was inconvenient but of small conqequence in the grander scheme of things.

Friends, some forever, but some to be found again.

Confidence, an ongoing battle never to be won.

My camera, the small one that Robin bought me for Christmas this year so that I could always have one with me, that was pink and white and also took films and panoramas. And, yes, I did find it again, St Davids being the kind of place where you would have a lost camera returned, but alas the wheels of a car or two may have found it first and whist shock proof and waterproof it was sadly not driven over proof.

Pop goes the weasel.

In search of a weasel we went to Newport and then on to Nevern for a walk in the woods where the bluebells are blushing the riverside walk to a beautiful blue. Home across the hills with weasels and stoats, and we found some lost sheep, but no sign of Little Bo Beep or Little Boy Blue. Back to the drawing board tomorrow. I have weasel, and treacle ( Lyle's Black Treacle in a red and gold tin) and rice.

Now, when I walk up the stairs to my studio I hear a whispered chattering as weasels talk with owls about what sould be done.

 

The world is full of nursery rhymes.

The world is full of nursery rhymes. On the way back from London I drove past Banbury Cross, near Gloucester ( though it was not raining so no fear of large puddles), past a very crooked house where a crooked cat may have lived and there were most certainly mice, and last night, had I been wearing a hat, there were bats enough to fill it.

Last year I drove past here and the window was full of cats.( scroll down the page to find the pictures from Hay, around 25th May) The flower border shows how the house was once much loved.

 

Yesterday was a settling back into work day, a walking in sunshine day, a finding words that had been forgotten and remembering day, a painting day. On the way home from collecting Tom from rowing there were owls. The first slow flapped in a hush winged ghost flight across wind bent hedges. The second sat beside the road, owl eyed, bright white in a crown of black branched trees that had grown through the ruin of an old house. Curious, he watched us until the hunt called to his blood and he spread wings wide and sailed away.

Now the day begins in a misty moisty morning and the damp air is full of the whirl of grasshopper warblers, chiffchaff and blackbirds ( perhaps four and twenty, but not baked in a pie), and today is a painting lion and unicorn day.

 

On the beach today:
More of the tattered feathers of Icarus
A few pale tears from a mermaid's eye
Sea the colour of a herring gull's wings
Shifting drawings in the sand made by the sea's restless hand
Oystercatchers like dancers
Seaweed coloured like flames
A  child's glove
A close mist that stole the edge of the world. 

One, two, three, four, five

Once I caught a fish alive.

Sis, seven, eight, nine, ten

Then I let him go again. 

 

Notes from the city.

Walking in early morning light. By the river a great gray heron and pure white delicate egret.

At the railway station a man on the phone. "I'm just going to have to go with this and put my head in the tiger's mouth," he said.

Wonderful!

In a field beside the train track someone is growing redundant golf buggies.

At Euston black clad commuters like rooks move too fast toward the exit and my heart begins to beat in urban panic. I feel out of place, a shadow in a crowd. Then I see a poster of a leaping clown and heart lifts again.

At the V&A the exhibition of quilts is astonishing. Seeing the Rajah Quilt face to face is like meeting something really famous. So delicate, so beautiful. Fine stitches worked on a dark prison ship by young hands.

Walking back through the sculpture gallery I see a tiger with a man's head in his mouth.

Meeting with Frances Lincoln and we talked about the Nursery Rhymes book and I Am Cat and I met all the wonderful people who work so hard to sell the books both here and abroad. Far more positive than meetings had been in the past. And we talked about a story that I had jotted down notes for a few years ago, about a panda.

On the way back to the tube station a black cat crossed my path.

On the tube on the way back to Euston a woman snoozed. Her shopping bag was the same bright daffodil yellow as her shoes.

From the train a brief glimpse of a rider on a white horse in an emerald green field.

Back at Robin's and I wonder, did the man put his head into the tiger's mouth?

Thinking about work.

Counted the stars into the night sky beside a lazy sea. The crescent moon played with the sleepy waves and stars shone back into the sky reflected by the mirror beach. As I walked I wandered how many miles it was to Babylon and whether you could get there before it was time to light the candles, if your feet were nimble. Even the scent of the air was beautiful, the taste of a star filled night beside the seabecame the definition of exquisite.

Feeling lost without my Nikon

My camera is at the camera doctors being cleaned and I am bereft. Or would be if Robin hadn't bought me a small camera for Christmas, a Pentax Optio WS80 that is waterproof and does hi-def film. New toy. Also does panoramas! Meanwhile Robin suggested the best thing for old camera was a good going over with a Dyson and Ivan in Narberth ( or the Celctic Camera Shaman as I like to call him) made lots of teeth sucking noises but was so delighted with the amount of use the camera has had. I have worn away all of the symbols on the back with constant use.

Todays list.

1. Try and be nicer to people when work isn't going as it should be, especialy to Robin who has taken stuff from garden to dump and washing to washing lady ( who looks nothing at all like Mr Toad) thus freeing me up to do some work.

2. Draw a page of words to practise hand lettering for nursery rhymes.

3. Finish black and white sample.

4. Talk to James Mayhew.

5. Read for at least half an hour.

6. Sit in the garden in the sunshine and look at the clear and unadulterated blue sky.

7. Do at least two more roughs for rhymes.

8. Go back to previous list and cross a few things off.

9. Do facebook invite for Art in Action. ( Haven't I seen that one before?)

10. Write list.

A sample drawing of black and white work to take to publisher next week.

Sing, sing, what shall I sing?
The cat's run away with the pudding string. 
Do, do, what shall I do?
The cat has bitten it quite in two!

I love little pussy.
Her coat is so warm.
And if I don't hurt her
She'll do me no harm.

Playing with the camera, looking north out from my studio.

 And south, towards St Davids.

Commuting to work and scribbles in moleskine.

Back to the drawing board today. Woken early by nightmare about plane crash, then up to the studio to play with roughs. Today I felt like commuting to work, so parked the car at Whitesands and walked home. The sky is the clearest blue, so beautiful, with no trails from planes anywhere, and though I understand that it must be so frustrating for people who want to fly, so aweful for people who have saved to go away, the sky does look very beautiful. And people at Heathrow who live under the flightpaths must have had their first good nights sleep for years. Today the sky looks like it would have looked when my great grandparents and grandparents looked up.

 Halfway home, clear blue.

 Playing with hand drawn type.

A swarm of bees in May

Is worth a load of hay

Skylark prelude and sunshine on horses

Quiet moments. Reading, early, in the bath. On the airfield outside St Davids a few skylarks herald the arrival of spring. The Icelandic ponies, so gentle, have captured the warmth from the sun in their beautiful coats.

Twice on the radio today I heard the phrase 'Higgeldy Piggeldy'. Working on sketches for Cock a doodle do and Higgeldy Piggeldy my black hen.

rough for Cock a doodle and Higgeldy Piggeldy

 

small dog, fiddling stick

 

The dance of the light and the dark.

All night the lighthouse had swept the sky, searching for the morning. At last he was there, and he woke the weary lighthouse with a gentle kiss before gathering up the blanket of night and carefully putting it away. But the night did not wish to leave the world so she gathered, in legions of shadows, behind things, secret, where the sun could not see. There she waited for the world to turn and her time to come again.
And through this endless game of light and dark we walked again, me searching for something, the dogs reading the world with their noses.
We saw chough, a merlin, ravens, the sea, heavy and lazy and barely lifting a wave. We saw rabbits, and a black rabbit dark as midnight, as moonshadows, as a raven wing, again. We saw hut circles, distant islands, geese in flight and guillimots and gannets.
And I found and empty mind and then something, I hope.

Painting again through another sunny day.

The cats have been getting famous in Germany in a German cat magazine. I think they mentioned me in passing. In the paper version of the magazine there are loads of photos of them and they look just beautiful.

Ice, chocolates and the curlew's cry at dawn.

Early morning searching for something. On the beach, even at the water's edge, ice. Ravens. Curlew call and birds in flight. Seaweed stiffened and frosted with ice, crisp. The rising sun gathering up the dropped shadows of the night. The quarter moon fading to translucent with the coming of day. Water thickened by cold, rock pools with fragile ice lids.  Trying to find an idea, direction, for the Musicians Benevolent Card design, and mugs also. Found instead what might be the begining of a new book and the possibiliy of piracey.

Yesterday I was given the most exquisite box of choclates. In less than 24 hours I have managed to secure an invitation to the 'chocolate factory' in Leeds. (I wonder if in another 24 I could arrange to get Jonny Depp to meet me there?) The choclates are a work of art in themselves, both to look at and on the tongue. Just beautiful. Thanks Ann.

All day painting. Quiet, peaceful. Outside is still cold and now dark so have put coal on the fire.

 

 

 

Almost, not quite but nearly

Black and bay and dappled and gray and pink and blue too

All the pretty little horses

Sunday morning is jackdaw flocks and bruise dark skies, snowdrop and daffodil springing, lambs and ravens, north wind bear dancing drizzle falling peace.

 

Sunday evening is wrensong, goldfinch, blue sky, sunsetting, silver light on the beach and sea, twilight falling, west wind carrying fox call and tired.

Sunday night is full moon bright and constellation patterned, with birds bewildered to unquiet dreams by clearest frost breath shining.