Working late

When the wash is put on, and the sizing for the gold leaf I find the picture so ugly, before the gold is applied.

Meanwhile I am also working on a small commission, no something I would normally do, but this one appealed to my romantic nature. 

Almost finished.

The painting of the puma has been leaning against the wall in my studio for a while. I was going to scrap it. Then a family came in to wander around and look at things and the father said something about the painting. Out of all of the things that were there. It pulled me up, made me look again, and so now 'I am Cat' is almost finished.

Meanwhile while at Art in Action I got together with Catherine Hyde, Hannah Willow and Tamsin Abbott. There was much laughter, but also a plan. So now we have the beginnings of a small group. We will exhibit together, at least once a year we hope. In the meantime you can wander through our studios and see our work on facebook at The Sisterhood of Ruralists.

The End of the Song.

For the past few weeks I have spent far too little time walking and far too little time painting. But I have finished the owl painting.

In the garden the green reflected in the moongold.

Now the painting is hanging in The House of Golden Dreams.

On some days I feel very much like the owl. On other days I feel like the wren.

A sky full of birds

It has been a day of birds. Flocks of rook and jackdaw have been tumbling the sky with ragged black wings.

All day I have been thinking and packing.

I have packed a kingfisher, and owl, a bear or two, some paint, paper, brushes, pencils, towels ( you never know when aliens might be around), some wolves, a bowl, badges and bags, cameras and cards and nails and string ( always string). There are things in boxes and bags and bundles, and still I am not done.

Steady rain falls.

I have packed a good heart and hope and expectations, courage and a little foresight, and always, always a good book.

And all of this has bundled into a dragon van for its first big public outing.

Tomorrow I head off toward Oxfordshire and on Wednesday I will be setting up and settling in at Art in Action. Looking forward to settling down to paint.

Some years ago I had a dream of six kingfishers. A few weeks back  painted them, and one of the things I will do at Art in Action is gild them.

And I am please to say that today I was accepted on the "Mumsnet" blogger network. I hear them so often on the radio and usually am very impressed with all that they have to say, so proud to be a part of their blogging network. And very impressed with my friend Meg Rosoff, who is one of their 'featured' bloggers. Her new post is LOL.

Enough distraction. TTFP ( Time to Finish Packing).

Walking to work: or beautiful distractions.

Imagine.
Here, where the meadowsweet slopes down to the sea. Almost in the shadow of the wind, warm air heavy with the honey-mead heady scent. The sea, wind wrinkled, calm, breathing to the shore.
A raven call.
In the bluest water an silver seal dreams.
Wren song echoes loud from the dark cliff walls, tangled with the sea's song. A soft base note beneath it all the churring call of grasshopper warblers.

 

Further on Shakespearean pillow banks of wild thyme.
And in The Gessail  the family of kestrels has fledged, at least 3 chicks. They fly just above the beach, wings not yet strong enough to lift them to dance on the wind. Hesitant flight. All they lack is confidence.
When a parent returns with food the air fills with the wings and calling clamour. Four chicks. Then silence, until a grasshopper begins to tick away at time.

 

On the way home a peregrine, small in the sky, a dark death dart, until a kestrel begins to hang behind him, waiting, watching. Then a family of vagabond ravens crashes black against the blue. I thank them once again for the story of the Ice Bear they gave me some years ago, and make my way home.

 

Doodling on my iPad gives a sense of freedom and freshness.

Sleeping with wolves

A dream

Some years ago I had a vivid dream of six kingfishers. It was bright with colour, and when I woke that is what I remembered. The sketch from teh dream lingered as a memory for a couple of years. Now I am trying to make it real.
But all of these owl and kingfisher paintings are just distractions from work. I should be painting cats and working on East of the Sun and West of the Moon.

Ancient stones on St Davids Head, Pembrokeshire

Early moring walking to work. Songbirds and sunshine and no one around appart from a sea gypsy, wandering from cove to cove in a kayak. I took my camera and the singing bowl and dogs and daughter. The air was summer scented again, warm for the time of year and the time of day.

Back home, painting, then potting up tomatoes and leek seedlings while cooking supper. And while I put small seedlings into pots I hear, for the first time this year, a cuckoo.

Kingfisher

Today I have help from my silent fishing friend.  

Closer to the end

This morning, walking early on the beach, moonlight on the water. Between the land and the sea, between the night and the day. And on the beach a log. But then the log began to move and the dogs watched and we stood, amazed. In the moonlight, daylight,  dawning, a seal.

Small pieces of magic are always welcome, especialy when it is wild magic.

Gray goose and gander

Waft your wings together

And carry the good king's daughter

Over the one strand river.

A short winter love story, chapter 2

They danced again on the pond last night beneath a sky clear of all but stars and then she gave her rust red lover the gift of a lapwing. He left the wrapping in the lane, still soft, beaded with frozen tears.

Visitors.

Today, woodpecker, starlings, blackbird, wagtail, chaffinch, bluetits and dunnocks and robins, jackdaw, rook, thrushes and even snipe.

 

And Hannah on a warm perch.

 

Plotting, planning, later, painting.

Up early, walking and thinking then home to hot chocolate. Feeding the birds takes longer every day as more and more come. Almost so tame now that they cover the feeders while I am filling them. Little do they know that I am only luring them in so that I can make a bird pie!

 

A day of birds

No snow. The only white, the pure breasts and underwing of the flapwinged lapwing. But the light has been extrordinary today. In my studio I have painted, a picture for dreaming.

Birds, beasts and beach.

Yesterday, Christmas shopping in St Davids in the tiny bookshop on The Pebbles. I came out of the shop with more books than I would ever leave a huge Waterstones with including the beautiful George Orwell which would make the most excellent Christmas present for Nick Clegg, and The White Ravens by Owen Sheers published by an independent publisher called Seren.  Painted into the dark hours while the wind called around the house carrying the cries of the lapwings.

On the beach this morning:

A small scrap of a seal pup, born too late, now just a feast for crows.

Strange light reflected from heavy clouds that promise snow.

In the garden, chaffinch, sparrow, bluetit and great tit, starling and robin, jackdaw, thrush, blackbird, magpie, rook and dunnock. There have been goldcrests too and wren and goldfinch and bullfinch. But still no greenfinch.