Corvid jab two and a bit of old wood.

I am always a bit tired after the trip home so I'm being lazy while pretending to myself that I'm perusing Alistair's organization method. Today it was chuck out the rubbish day.

Time to get rid of stuff that has been hiding in corners of the workroom for years. I managed a handful of scraps when I found some box files full of woodcuts from the 90's.

Some look dreadful and some have weathered well. They have journeyed from Devon to Lincolnshire, to Co Mayo and back to Lincs. Well travelled prints however some blocks have drifted off into the abyss.

#wooblocks #prints #Devon #CoMayo #Lincolnshire #history

A head butt t'will be alright. Stories from my studio.

There are about 120 vans in various degrees of decay, Just like their occupants. None of the vans are new, they have all seen better days.

The vans are sited in a coastal meadow with a Site of Special Scientific Interest, between us and the sea .

There are a few people who are in residence from March to December but most are weekenders, which makes this is a quiet sleepy place, usually, except from the occasional male dropping his pants or unzipping his fly, displaying his wares to the caravans in the valley below. It is akinned to being in a bird hide unseen to the passing flocks.

Our van is called Herbert, not many people know this because they don't bother to look . It's on the front in little black letters. The story of Herbert is for another time.

We had an empty plot to the right side of our for over a year, then all hell broke loose !

A very unusual family arrived, kids, cars, grandparents and the cutest designer dog. Oh, and a little caravan of people and a flat bed tuck to bring the dog kennel. Apparently the dog's a labradoodle, all black and curly with fluffy feet. I thought the dogs name was Scotty but no, its Sooty; pronounced Sht’ty The family speak a strange and antient form of English that is basically formed by combining grunts and constants. If Neanderthal man had a dictionary, these people would be the anthologists. I'm starting to interpret language. I love all the dialects of old English, like Cornish and Geordie and Norfolk, such a shame they're becoming lost in the melee of posh. Our neighbours do have a Sunday English for when there are strangers about who want to communicate.

They are interesting people, they just grunt a lot and carry around heavy implements.

No, seriously They keep a heavy mallet under their van, its used to fix lots of problems, The clothes line, the wind breaks (3 of) kids (3 of) toys, repairing the bike and installing a television antenna. On their first weekend they managed to put a dent in our Herbert, just under the kitchen window. It was not an evil deed, the favourite grandson, Grrr (potato head), fell over one of those ball on a pole toys and head butted into the side of the van, Thwack! Grandad shouted “R’N !” at the befuddled kid as he kinda waddled off and hid behind grandads car. We didn’t call for an ambulance, we just got Tony the odd job man to have a look at both van and child. He said the van would be O.K. but the child and his family were beyond rehabilitation.

#caravan #caravanlife #coast #Teesside #YorkshireandCleveland #people #interestingpeople

Artistic integrity

A blast from the past. I found this clip from a fly fishing magazine. It opened a memory flap.

I used to pay the rent this way, painting fly boxes, maps and fishing memorabilia for fishermen from all around the world.

I got to meet a lot of interesting people, from poachers to celebrities and lords of the land. They say fishing is a great leveller, that could be true, depending on which side of the river you come from. One of my fly boxes ended up at the White House, yes that White House!

At the turn of the century I had had enough of my crazy first husband, he seemed to be controlling my life. He wouldn't let me drive, he wouldn't let me meet his friends, in fact he even dictated how and what I painted. I went to the bank, got loan and I ran away to Ireland. I set up my own studio and gallery, I wanted to prove everyone wrong. I wanted to make a living from my art. I needed to demonstrate I could do it. How else could I stand on my own?

For the first two years things were going well, (the third year was a total different story). It was hard, tiring work and late lonely nights. I painted fly boxes, I painted mugs, plates and slates, I painted anything that would hold paint. I painted mayfly, I painted salmon, I painted trout and all local scenic spots. I also painted for myself, I painted my feelings, my fears, my joys and anxieties.

I couldn't believe it, people were buying, I was paying the rent, I put food on the table, I bought a car to get around and I was paying off my loan.

One day, a bright young thing came into the studio, I could feel her looking down her nose at me.

"Why are you painting these things?" she asked, waving her hand in regal manner towards the fish and mayfly."

My daughter is so talented" her mother chipped in, "she's so clever."

"I wouldn't compromise my artistic integrity," the genius sneered," I couldn't bring myself to paint stuff like that."

"It pays the rent," I said " If I pay the rent I can paint for me when I get time."

"How do you manage to survive?, I asked.

"I rely on Arts Council grants and such!" she said. #artscouncil #starvingartist #foodonthetable #artistsintegrity #piscatoria #flyfishing #Ireland