changing

Going under for a while

zc .

Paintings out there

My show is staying up for an extra week, i  settled in for the familiar pain. (  i've an image from a' lady bird book' of a gingerbread man , and the words : ' run run as fast as you can ,you cant catch me i'm the gingerbread man ' and if he doesn't run the fox will eat him , so  how he runs , and oh how  , in the past , me and my little sons have urged him to RUN .) And now i realize its not there ,that pain,  its run out .It must be a lot to do with the amount of people who have bothered to go and look , they cant all have been obliged , or hoping for a good party , I've had to begin to listen to them - a big broad listening -
     Most weeks i have to go to the butcher to buy Jonny a piece of meat , i look at all the different bits of bright bloody animals , and they wonder if i'd like that slice, or ,some of the other ,they touch the meat tenderly with interest , and i say i dont eat it, you choose  , and they apologize , and i apologize , and on we go go .The whole family , father, mother ,3 daughters , and 1 son work there , and they are all very nice people , so i gave them a card for my show , and saw it propped up with the meat orders .  On  my next visit , i heard 2 of them had been and liked it . I longed to eat one of their home made sausage rolls in celebration , cosy and grateful , but i couldn't .
   And as for  other friends and family, my sons, step children, daughters in law, grandchildren all going to  look at my paintings, let alone buy , it does  ,after all, feel as if ive stepped in ( i think that gingerbread man came to a stream ..........Oh dear was it a bad ending ? Yes , it was, i remember  : my eldest son when he was little , pasted paper over the end .  )  to a big warm pool of gratitude and reciprocalness .
     NO image .    Imagine an image - image an imagine    .

ridiculous to paint

This morning i went out early - head down - off to the sea - when i looked up , there was  a translucent blue turquoise gap in the clouds so beautiful  ,  that , it woke me right  up.  Then i thought painting it would be absurd . The very thing that moves me i dont even want to attempt . I wondered if my painting is only  therapeutic  -   amidst that longing -  something a painter friend i deeply admire is completely dismissive of ,  and i hoped i too had a grander vision . I haven't , as  what can be grander than that moment of sky .

  I was bothered all through my walk , an image of my  big messy watercolour lying on the floor wasnt encouraging , and  i nearly got cut off by the fast quiet sea , slipping up behind me. We , (Neddy and i)   were the other side of that water wanting to reach the distant  green buoy . 

(  The fence  i didn't like , for the seals protection, has gone, as have the seals , not even a single slither print left  in the sand .)

    

Red

Ever since the royal wedding i've had a red squarish blob in my eye , not an actual blob , but an after image. it was the colour of that soldier -red jacket Will wore . I didn't think I'd stared THAT much , but now red is startling me . I was sitting on a  sandy tussock very early yesterday morning looking at the wide  empty bay of Holcombe - the tide way away out , when i noticed 2 bright red butterflies on a blade of grass close to my feet  .I very gently pocked one to make it spread its wings , but it collapsed into an unfurled silky  heap of red and black .

     People ask - am i painting now , and i reply: " yes yes ," ( and sometimes add : " but only in my head , or heart .")  And this powerful  red is a good example , following a thread , could be pain,  beauty, a memory , a new uncoiling . I hope its not the ketchimyaku thread - the blood line of the Buddhas - I'm not strong enough for that intensity .

             This fresh  morning was a greener one .  Neddy and i (such a good NONhunting dog ) watched a hare in the sea of wheat , and i thought how similar to a seal it was , float - bobbing,  halting to look ,and bobbing again  through the green .

 Or at least quickly drawing it gave me the same sensation . The green spread each side has to be imagined until i get more computer skilled. 

earth

walking alongside the wheat field , i was sad to see that most of the flints are hidden,   and the earth when i put my hand through the green stalks , is hard and dusty dry . the underground angel is a wisp . And that large stretch of deep green wheat  above seemed uncannily strong .

 A wisp of a face .

          The other side of the path the dandelions were flourishing, I've never seen so  many pink stalks and fluff .

In the shade they still beam  yellow in flower , and will again . Dandelions were one of  the  1st flowers i noticed as a child . so i paint them .( The violets too are bigger and happier than ever this spring.)

I thought it was the 1st time i'd wanted to paint  the dry earth, and strong wheat , but in my studio i noticed  an old painting with the same sense . So ,I'm painting the same thing over and over and over  - in different ways but its all the same search  . One difference now though, is, since my show has opened its all going on one large bit  of paper , AND I'm blogging bits of it ,why and for how long i don't  completely know .

Afterwards

 when i think of my show, sense those images up there, i sink into an indescribable state.Nothing to do with success or failure , or any show label . yes a friend used the word weird , and yes depressed , but its unclear , except i know now, shows are not the route for me. .

 well ,there is always Mrs brown ,

this morning she was bustling by the gate , and pleased with her porridge and organic  - of course - layers mash . I stood watching as the plump blackbird arrived to join her . Mrs brown goes 1st , the blackbird waits , as she makes her special food enjoyment noise , and then she allows her tiny flock to share .

walking by the seals

There's an increasingly long fence on Wells beach that annoys me ,  and notices telling us to : ' help protect seals hauled out on the beach , and keep dogs on lead or under control .'  I know it shouldn't annoy me, and that i surely care about the seals - i do , but perhaps i care about the holiday makers more,  so much of the good strip of beach is taken from them . I'm surprised at my attitude , maybe its just notice boards put in the way of me and the sea.

       I was out early and they were there , the seals ,  safely fenced off, glowing eyes , and simultaneously  doing an anxious slither when they saw Neddy , but when they realized how harmless he was ( obsessed by his ball), they continued to lie on the sand . I'm constantly drawing them , and today i only had a clumsy pen .

   I quickly drew a horrible speed boat going out to sea  , with their fishing rods placed in the front like spears , well they are spears as far as the fish are concerned , and the hunters standing proud as the boat wallops the water .But for a quick drawing i needed  to know more than i saw then , that combination of aggression and pleasure - their stance on the boat - the shape of it , all went by  too fast .

     Neddy was swimming , returning with his ball while the boat went past .

    I wondered about swimming too, but i haven't quite got the real swimmers attitude , and anyway all this, all this blogging, and drawing, and growling at notices , is to distract me from the pain of  my show  coming soon , and to get into that grey green chilly sea might leave me too raw . Unless someone was there safe with a warm towel and hot tea and biscuits .

     I've  the beginning of a swim i did last summer on a 4ft high canvas , to finish one day after a different sort of golden swim .

smiling slug

 I've happily  allowed a slug to distract me - the worms have gone - It's beautiful bright sunny weather , but I'm stressed and need ,  to laugh at myself .   People , dogs , hens , music , tulips, walking by the sea ,  are all very fine , but I'm drawn to the compost heap . For the 3rd day running the slug has remained on the inner ledge beneath the lid , i decided to paint it , and realized i couldn't be bothered to do the intricate patterns on its body , so i left it feeling a bit silly . Half an hour later i returned , i decided to scoop it up , have a  closer look , but it wouldnt scoop , it curled up , shrank . I stood back and it curled under the rim and smiled , it returned to its large size and smiled like i drew it .

I know , i know slugs dont have eyes like that , or normally look so fishy , but this one did THEN, there was that eye dent  ( i've noticed that before , those wierd holes in their sides )

Hen, birds, and a bee.

 Early this morning mrs Brown was making a peculiar noise, as if she was stuck , i went out  in my dressing gown , and she was just pleased to see me and wagging her tail and telling me i was missing a beautiful beginning of the day .

 I fetched my coffee  and toast , and neddy of course , and sat  in a shady corner of the garden ,
watching. . A Jackdaw was making its nest  - carrying twigs as big as itself to the chimney opposite , sparrows fluttered in the sunlight their wings transparent , an obese pigeon sat on the wall , and there was 1 bee in a purple sort of dead nettle flower , but a wonderful shock  - the patch of sky above was split for a second by the sharp v of a house martin arriving back

   .
            I'm now wondering if it was a swallow just checking up on its way somewhere more watery .

    That would suit me as this IS a swallow in spain .The  only remaining part of a huge painting that i cut    up , so at least  I'm giving the bird a  chance to  live on .

The plate

 Yesterday I bought a plate for 50p , from the shop opposite . Neddy and i were walking back from a windy walk , and i saw it  in a cardboard box on the pavement , with a collection of awkward looking china . It isnt  gaudy welsh -  my favorite pattern , but the pleasure it gives me obsesses and baffles me .

   A roll of paper had got in the way in my studio , from the disruption of getting stuff out to frame for my show , about 4ftx 5ft  remained , and as i stood it up  , i realized i wanted to paint on it , and that the blooming plate would have to go in  . A bit daft doing a plate in watercolour , a bit daft doing an enormous water colour - well from the point of view of selling - but its already very intriguing , and a  miracle plant i found flowering in an icy ploughed field last month , dead now , has already got on the paper ,and much will happen  ,  there's plenty of space , and then everything will be covered in earth , only in  a sense . There is a link with a photo my son Joseph sent me of earth . Best not to write out more until i've DONE more .

Another egg

This morning Mrs Brown laid another egg and decided to make a proper cluck cluck cluck yell  , i shouted encouragement out of the window , and Neddy barked and wagged his tail .

   It's a day for drawing , colours are too slow , no cant be that  - nothing is more immediate , but I'm impatient to respond .

    

Pecking - she would peck at the very paper................

Spring is affecting everything , even this computer . i decided to sit , as in meditation, in the warm greenhouse , and Neddy who's all a tremble, came to sit on my lap .  I began to worry about those worms , and felt a feverishness of  being close to so much   growth . I deserted , and went to check on the new compost bin - where last night  i'd lowered in a few of the super pink worms - and they were right up on the lip of the lid , either escaping , or new ones trying to get in . i tried scooping them up and they slithered speedily  down the edge of the bin , no sluggishness in them.

      

worms and poems

I opened up the oldest of my compost heaps , and as the first clods fell apart a mass of worms squirled out . A bright pink they were , I would have thought they'd be colourless hidden in the dark rot of earth and vegetables slowly  composting  . i lifted up a spadeful to take to mrs brown , the worms reeling in the sunlight , and realized i couldn't face the sight of her eagerly pecking them up , and making that gobbling chirp of delight , (  i gave her a freshly dug up chard plant instead ) , and i buried them in my empty veg patch . But instead of the worms wriggling down in delight they lay still and helpless under a sprinkling of fresh earth . I find all this under earth life exciting , and all related to the vast underground angel that i paint .

     I met Jehane markham  by mistake next to the vegetable shelf  in our local organic shop , and we had  coffee together , and  talked about how interesting it was getting older , and i ' confessed ' about this blog  -  my neck felt as if it might explode  , is that why some people get a sort of neck blush its never happened before , but  the confession turned out not to be one ,  but that  blogging might be - not quite a journal -  but  a creative link. Back home, inspired , i looked at Jehanes poems  , and immediately found one related to our conversation :
                                               IF YOU NEVER GROW UP
                                              
                               If you never grow up, does it matter?
                               If the years stack up
                               In a tower of shells
                               That might fall
                               Scattering over the sand like lost buttons
                               Under which you crawl
                               Revealing how dark you are
                               How raw inside
                               Moving with such tiny steps across the moving tide

And it goes on beautifully for 2 more verses      -      from her book :    Thirty Poems .
                          

Panic receeding

I did phone Ian about communication , and i misquoted him , ( i  never quote people literally , and anyway i rarely understand properly as i 'm  quickly off on how its affecting me ) in this instance i felt even more child like in my total disagreement with him -  i remember a passionate argument with my mother when i was about five,  that my monkey jacko was real , alive -  what i understood is him saying you cannot communicate with inanimate objects . As thats mostly what i do,  pursue , paint , i'm feeling pushed and  excited about exploring that more , in an unscientific way  - from the inside .......... for me there's no such thing as an inanimate object .
         Mrs brown listening
    

Panic

Fiona sent out a 'flyer' about my show with one of my big marsh mud  paintings , and words by jonny , got from my web site . I didn't realize she was in that sort of role with me , and i was  in deep panic , i did cooking to keep me ordinary and wonder at my turmoil . I phoned F up and asked her who she was , i mean in relation to me , she said just someone who admires my work  , very generous , though i'm still thrown .
     Reading  Animal magic , by Andrew Barrow is saving me from being too serious  , but also my sense of reality is a little weird , i feel a bit of a dog , half  a  knitted doll and back to child memories  - such as believing  - in a way  - hens can talk .
      Yesterday our vicar visited me  - I'm not a church goer  , and i like him , i told him i was starting a blog , he said how boring , i replied i wanted to communicate . He -  I an said thats not communicating , and we had a long argument about communing and communication , and it felt very important , but somehow dotty too which has helped me forget the point so i shall phone him and get a solid understanding .... soon .

Mrs brown

mrs brown , listening.

Our hen mrs brown , attracts a lot of attention , so i thought it would be  helpful to begin under her wing .
 Today she received a letter from our friend Andrew, with a photo of her driving a car , but even odder an invitation to join his mens only club. . I dont know how to reply for her - I've been out to see her and she was making a loud cluckcluckclucking aaaaaah clucluck , because she had laid a particularly large brown egg ,






 I don't think she's a clubby type , and a mens club?  and  anyway she's a women  -  hen   Actually i didn't even ask her , which might disappoint Andrew, so perhaps i better at least inform mrs B, she can get agitated if i don't include her .
 When i first got her from a battery 'farm' she quickly found a little nesting place , in the hen house ,where she sat  - refusing to roost - her legs weren't strong .  She decided that the whole little  house was hers and wouldn't let the others in - i listened to the thumps and squawks as she shoved them out . It was very moving seeing her first walks across the grass ,and blinking in the real air, and light. I left my studio door open , and she came to visit me sometimes , i usually had music playing , but one day i played Faures requiem , and she was entranced and stayed with me listening . I thought she would come into my paintings , but she hasnt yet . Neddy my dog has , he's always on the edge of my vision .Putting dogs in paintings though is a dicey business .

    I returned to my ditch today , to see it in a new season , when i last painted it , there was a poppy flowering . Today chilly and grey yellow , i was reignited by the  extraordinary  stones wedged in its side - next to , it felt  the  angels vast thigh  -  i feel doomed but excited  to go on with all of that . How - oils, water-colours ,there  on the spot , or here with memories i haven't  yet worked out .
      Good though, i've begun .