Taking a Line for a Walk

Yes, I know we have had a royal wedding, and pretty impressive it was too!
In fact it was hubby who switched on and got into it first,
(but then he is an old romantic);
but it did have a profound simplicity at the heart of the pomp and ceremony
which was captivating.

At the moment,
I am even more than usually resenting anything that impinges
on my creative time though,
and the royal wedding did make a hole in my day!


I've treated myself to Diana Trout's Inner Circle Class
learning to make journal/sketch books on-line,
and it has given my creative energy an instant rejuvenation.This is the first of the papers I painted as a back ground for the journal pages,
and as you can see it was an exercise in just letting go.
So I sloshed, stamped, printed and drew to my heart's content.
After my blitz on the paper was over these two details from the sheets,
above and below, are what intrigued me.
You see, back in the dark ages
when I was taught to form my letters for the first time at four years of age,
it was the practice in schools to make pupils draw certain shapes
over and over again.
We little folk made pages and pages of these marks,
which preceded our first letters and which, I suppose,
were to increase our dexterity with a pen.
Oh yes, we used dip pens, and ink made from powder,
which meant it always formed clumps in the nib, and caused blots and blotches.
I really DO go back a long way!

All these years later I can remember the sheer pleasure it gave me to see the growing patterns,
their interaction with one another,
and what I now know as the negative shapes,
which pleased me as much as the marks.

The echoes of these seminal lines that I see in the painted paper makes me realise how early my love of the line began,
and what a close kinship there is between
fluid penmanship and draughtmanship.

Klee's delightful description of drawing as
"taking a line for a walk,"
resonates deeply.

The lessons looked something like these lines on the left.

Seeing them anew make me wonder if children these days
aren't missing out.

I will try them out with my great grand son,
who at three loves nothing more than to copy and draw
along with me.

Next time I may post some of my pen and ink drawings, and also some of the abstract work where I have still found the line irresistible.

God Bless

P.S Is there anybody out there who remembers the same sort of pre-writing exercises?

Pink Satin Memories

I can't decide whether these beauties remind me most of the classical Dutch still life paintings on display in the Rijk Museum in Amsterdam,
or the rustling folds of the Carnival costumes hanging in the little shops in Venice, where the richness of the fabrics vie with eeriness of the masks.

Whichever it is their loveliness has an antique charm that transports me to another time and place.

God Bless

Still "Wasting Time" -With My Camera

Rescued some more flowers from the garden.

This time after the mower had done it's stuff,
so these are the bits that got the snip as the blades skimmed the borders.
Just stuck them in the nearest thing to hand which was
a small blue bottle.
This a.m. I noticed

how beautiful the light
was coming through the blue glass
and shot off a few macro shots.

The colours were so varied.

These abstract images are
some of the bits of edit;
merely cropping,simply done with my camera software.
I don't have Photoshop alas.

Still I think they are surprising don't you?

The colours are not heightened and it's the strip of violet that is at the base of the bottle
that amazes me most.

What wonders light shining through something can do!

God Bless

P.S. The anomalies in the print sizes are due to the automatic publisher being on the blink!

Learning How to feel Easy "Wasting Time"

It's an astonishing spring morning here!
Warm and sunny so hubby has got the mower out and set about cutting the grass.

Of course I have to rush out and move before
he can get to the precious little violets, daisies, and cowslips,
and they fall victim to the on-coming blades.
( You can see why I say "grass" and not "lawn",
'cos no self respecting gardener would call our beloved strip
of grass, moss, and bits and pieces a lawn).

It's something I've always done,
this gathering up of the little bits of beauty:
whether it be twigs, feathers, stones, shells,... well you get the drift.
Some find their way into assemblages, or paintings.
A lot just sit in my studio, or around the house
and breath their silent beauty to me.

It's something my poor mother did her best to discourage;
along with the avid reading, and constant drawing.
Such a waste of time when there is always so much to be done.

I will soon be seventy, (oh! unbelievable age).
and still I battle to feel at ease wasting time as I do.

It just may be though, that the world needs time wasters
who can, however ineffectually,
hold on to the precious little moments
and tokens of beauty as they come our way.

If you want to be encouraged to hold on to some beauty by
learning to journal what's meaningful to you go to
dianatrout.blogspot.com
and be inspired.
It got me blogging again - as well as so much else.
Go see!

God Bless

A Simple Woman's Day Book

I'm writing this as I was browsing blogs
and signed up for something, having miss-understood what I was doing!
So here's my "Day Book" for today!

It's been cold, grey and foggy here in Coventry.

My day started with going to the Wednesday communion service
which my hubby especially loves.
It's quiet, and often deep;
perhaps because it is quiet, and somehow intimate
in a way that the bigger Sunday services aren't.

Afterwards some twenty or so of us sit around a table
sharing chat and hot mugs of tea.
The tea warms us after the chill of the church,
which the heating does little to break.
We are mostly all retired folks, but recently some young mums
have joined us as there is a Mums and Toddlers Group
in the church right after the service.
So the sharing widens.

Tonight hubby is out bowling so I have been able enjoy some more quiet.

Without the television which hubby loves I have savoured
the silence,
which has been broken only by the sounds of the young family next door.
Through the walls I can hear the father
whooping and yelling like a six year old
as he joins in the children's games.

I smile as I think what a contrast there is
between the "outside" face of next door's dad, and his "indoor" one.

Outside he appears to be somewhat taciturn and withdrawn.
Quiet and a bit shy perhaps.
With the family he is uninhibited and loud.
I know because through the wall I can hear the
"monster" he's become for their games.

I wonder if he is aware of all the
happy memories
he is building for the three little girls who are lucky enough
to have him as their Dad.

Praying the Ordinary Things

I find something so timeless and good about standing in my garden,

just pegging out the washing.

Lifting the newly clean,
and fresh-smelling cloth out of the basket,
and more often than not seeing the air stirring things to life.A breezy day is best, as the sheets and shirts belly out
like great galleons setting sail
for goodness knows where.

Today the laundry is not cracking whip-like in the wind,
or dancing loose from the pegs in a bid for free flight.

The air is still
after the early thick frost,
and the bird bath still sits frozen at it's centre
despite being touched by the sharp, bright, sunlight.

Everywhere is wrapped in a deep quiet.

The children of the neighbourhood are all at school so
only the occasional burst of bird song,
and the constant crooning of the wood pigeons seeps into the quiet.

Listening, I am transported back to another
garden of my childhood.
While I remain busy with the chore at hand,
I am somewhere else;
and for that fraction of time
I can almost smell the great yew tree
that shadowed one corner of the garden,
hosting the wood pigeons all those years ago.

I remember the washing I've seen
set out to dry over bushes and shrubs in lands where
the sun could be relied upon,
and the season of the winds is occasional and anicipated.

I remember those lands which are torn apart
by so many disasters of war, and poverty,
and by the very flaws of the planet we all share.

Is it any wonder that the quiet of my garden,
and the ordinariness of things made new again,
lifts my heart in thanksgiving for what I have, and have known,
as well as in a silent cry that others may know this same ordinary joy.
Pen and ink sketch I did some long time ago

I return to my warm kitchen, leaving my prayer flags fluttering
for Libya,
for Japan,
and for all who suffer today.

Home and Painting Again

It's been a while since we went on our bowls break holiday and I promised to report back,
and in all honesty it really was
fine.

After all my doubts it turned out that we were in really pleasant company,
and had a good time.
I even got introduced to a book club by one of the party,
and have already zipped through an enjoyable read, and duly joined in
discussion about it with the "club".

Now I'm left with the question,
was this bowls trip all that different from all the others I've been on, or
was the difference that
I'd made the attempt to adjust my outlook to a more positive,
and grateful one?

Probably a bit of both, but which ever it was I'm truly grateful
as the break was just what we both needed.

I don't know if you can see it,
but the sea is just beyond the trees seen from our bedroom window in the photo above.


On our last afternoon of bright sun and cleaving cold,
the sea churned and creamed against the shingle as we walked beside it.
Then we took refuge from the cold with a good British pot of tea,
in a light-flooded room where we could continue to watch the tide
from the Inn on the Beach.
Bliss!


Since we've been back I've been painting an abstract
it draws on my fascination with the tangles of branches I love,
and colour and light.

Not sure it's fully resolved yet, but probably better to leave it and move on to something new.


Since we got back life has also thrown a few things at us to test my
determination to stay with the
"Gratitude Attitude"
and I've fallen down on it a few times too,
but all in all it I'm maintaining my sights on
the good, and lovely, and giving thanks for them.

There is a lovely blog which deals in depth with living fully in the dimension of gratitude,
and you can access it by clicking on
http://www.aholyexperience.com/

Looking around the world at present there is so much suffering and desperation.
It would be ungrateful indeed not to see how blessed I am,
and to celebrate the fact.

Surely the best foundation for our prayers is a
grateful heart,
even while we still feel a keen anguish for those in need.

With the world shrinking in on us as the media brings the happening news
into our living rooms, and onto the screens of our mobile phones,
we all suffer from an overload of angst.

I don't know about where you are but here,
whether in the queue at the supermarket, or on the bus,
conversation with perfect strangers soon turns to the state of the country,
the state of the world.
Always with a sense of how wrong things have gone, and all too often with
a sense of impotence.
A sense of "What is to be done!?"

While this is dispiriting,
(and I use the word advisedly because our hearts and spirits are depleted
if we continually look, and see, in near despair),
perhaps it also our greatest pointer that within the human heart
there is always a longing for all that is better, best, and good.
And not just for ourselves either.

It is that impulse that has stirred the astonishing movement in the Middle East,
where ordinary people have laid their lives on the line for the hope of a better future,
without any longer caring whether they themselves will partake in that future.

Hubby is a constant source of inspiration,
(I have to be honest and say and irritation too some times!)
as he will have none of a defeatist or downbeat attitude.
On the other hand he isn't Panglossian either,
but his belief that there is always an alternative to the bad and the ugly,
and his willingness to work towards that is a constant challenge.
You can see why he irritates me can't you?
Still I thank God for him ( on my good days),
and wish I, and perhaps all of us were a bit more like him,
because as you know I have to work on it!

God Bless

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God". Phil 4:6

A Winter Break

Next week we are off for a Monday to Friday break.

In England. In winter.

Still we will be in a warm comfy hotel with lovely indoor pool,
beauty parlour with treatments and massages
to sooth and pamper the frazzled guest,
and views over the water.

There is dancing, and music, and entertainment.
There are picturesque walks to explore when the weather is kind,
and all around the sounds and smells of the sea.
What more could I wish for?

Call me curmudgeonly if you like, but for me there is
one fly in the ointment.

My hubby is a flat green bowler,
and in the winter they retreat indoors, and they arrange
Bowling Breaks.

Yes dear readers, I who have a space in my head that says,
"Boring!"
about anything remotely to do with sport of any kind,
am going on a
Bowls Break,
having been on them before and vowed,
"Never again!"

It isn't that bowlers aren't lovely people.
It isn't as if hubby will be playing.
(He wants and needs a rest as much as I do)
It's just that when on a Bowls Break my experence thus far has been
over meals, on walks, in the pool,
over drinks ,
(yes, even late night in the bar at the end of the day,
and the beginning of the next!)
the talk reverts to
bowling.
In fact I have been tempted to say that the whole trip is a load of
_ _ _ _ _!
Fill in the blanks as you feel appropriate.

Well it's their hobby.
It's their break.
What can I expect?
It's I who am the odd one out.

So why am I going?

Hubby will enjoy it.
(Sounds noble but only part of the reason).
I actually just want to sink into my seat on the coach,
and get taken somewhere I can be waited on, rest,
and know that hubby will have all the entertainment,
and talk he enjoys, and while he does I can retreat quietly if I choose.
When hubby suggested it, the odd one or twenty times,
it seemed like it could be a good idea,
and in a moment of weakness I agreed.

Of course I will go with a good book, swimming costume,
and my sketch pad.
What I must try and leave behind is the glazed expression.

This is where my
Gratitude Attitude
must begin to fire on all cylinders.
You can see I'm already slipping by anticipating
a certain lack of enjoyment
on my part.

Perish the thought!
This will be the Winter Break of a life time.
(Why do visions of the January in Spain when we both went down
with winter vomiting virus rise to the surface of my mind as I say that)?!
You can see the battle I have to stay focused on the positive.

I will report back and be even more ashamed of how
inappropriate my anticipation of this mini holiday is than I am now.
Cos it will be fine. Fine I tell you.
Fine!

God Bless!

Adopting a Gratitude Attitude

Life took a strange and painful twist over the New Year.

Nothing I can, or will, share here,
except to say that at times such as this
it becomes even more necessary to adopt what I have recently heard called a
"gratitude attitude".

St. Paul recommends that:-

Whatever is true, Whatever is honourable,
Whatever is right, Whatever is pure,
Whatever is lovely, Whatever is of good repute,
If there is any excellence and if anything is worthy of praise,
Let your mind dwell on these things.......
And the peace of God shall be with you.

I must confess that there have been many moments
in the last weeks when my mind was dwelling entirely somewhere other
than on the positives,
and that as a consequence peace has often eluded me.

It so easily happens when I'm exhausted.
Caring for the ones I love slips down a gear from merely caring,
to plain gnawing anxiety.

How much more necessary then to put the habit
of holding the sweet "normal" blessings of life constantly before me.
Then when the pressures mount, I'll have the scaffolding of my
"gratitude attitude"
so firmly in place that I won't fall apart.

A bit like a whale bone corset for the mind and spirit,
but hopefully with greater flexibility.

If all this sounds quaint and other-worldly,
a sort of
"what I don't acknowledge cannot hurt me,"
head in the sand stuff,
I'd like to point out that the newer
positive psychology and cognitive therapy movements
which help people cope with depression, stress and anxiety disorders
incorporate learning to
continually note the positives,
("counting your blessings", in old parlance)
as a corner stone of their methodology.

I love it when modern psychology apes the bible and the wisdom of the ages!

So there you have it. My New Year habit is
a gratitude diary
in which I list everything from the smallest to the greatest blessing of each day.

For example the sound of rain against the window
can be listed as a blessing.
O.k. it is from the comfort of my chair by the fire and I am Welsh,
which makes me positively amphibian,
but I do find it soothing.

Mostly, it has to be said that in the midst of all sorts of detritus which,
yes, is often caused by people,
it is people who are also the greatest blessing.

When I least expect it,
(shame on me!)
God blesses me through people.

One person who was a special blessing to me
for over thirty years was my dear friend Annie.
I went to the service of thanksgiving for her life
which followed her funeral yesterday.

There were no floral tributes.
Instead we were offered the opportunity to donate to Cancer Research.

Annie loved flowers though, so out of practice as I am,
when I got home I threw myself into making a small painting of flowers for Annie.
I don't know why, but I needed to do something.

So, rough as it is,
in gratitude for a Godly woman who radiated joy and gratitude to the end,
this is for you dearest Annie.

Christmas Eve

Today I broke with tradition,
(my tradition anyway),
and gave in to
hubby's desperate urge
to hit the shops
for some late
Christmas Eve action.

I must admit my mind
was full of queues for the car parks, and checkouts,
and all the things I hate about shopping.

Still the sun was glistening
on the snow,
so I hung my fit of the
"Bah! Humbugs!"
on the back of the door
on the way out,
and decided to make the most of it.

We did queue our way into Leamington,
but rather than make for the car parks
we slid down the back streets between the Georgian houses,
and parked amid the mounds of snow
across the partially frozen river from the main town.

This enabled us to make our way between the
snow filigreed trees,
and over the foot bridge past the bandstand,
enjoying to the full the winter wonderland
that is so foreign to us.

Right off we were stopped in our tracks
by the sound of the trumpet and handbell
announcing Leamington Spa's town crier in full voice.
He was wishing us the compliments of the season,
along with announcing what bargains could be found in the town.

This festive note carried us straight to the shop where
we found the special present our daughter
had failed to find anywhere else.

Mission accomplished,
the rest of the time we were free to wander to our own
favourite spots for the bits and pieces
that put the finishing touches to our Christmas preparations.
Needless to say we stopped long enough for a tooth-full
of sustenance as well.

As we re-traced our wintry steps back to the car,
we heard the church bells peeling out a
back drop of reality to the day.
Singing out across the icy water,
they called folks to the children's
Christmas Eve service.

Driving back home through the snow-laden lanes,
the setting sun melted the fretted black shapes
of the treetops to flickering rose and gold.

The white Christmas we have waited so long for, is truly at it's best today.

I have to admit to hubby that today
may well have broken my embargo on Christmas Eve
shopping for good.


Back home we rustle up a meal,
and do the few things left to do before setting out
for the moment that Christmas truly begins.

The whole day is preparation for this.




At midnight we will be with our church family,
celebrating the holy moment
when God laid aside his glory
to come into our broken world.

Hidden in his vulnerable new born frailty
the full power of Godly love
touches each moment of our need,
offering us,
where we will receive it,
his healing peace.

May your Christmas
be filled with the
Worship of the Angels,
the Joy of the Shepherds
and the Peace of the of the Christ Child.

Photo BBC "The Nativity"