PVA glue around the edge of a jar lid will print a nice circle on a piece of paper. Add more glue for more visible parts of the moon. Sprinkle glitter before the circle dries. Add a few paint and/or crayon clouds to the sky.
Blue Monday
End of year
I printed a midwinter card but didn’t send many copies out into the world. Here it is with an appliqué tree from a few decades ago. The knitted geese are made of aran yarn, too thick but the thinner yarns weren’t available in the colours I wanted at the time.
Art Out West
I enjoy making stuff but pricing and sales are completely alien. Maybe bartering with pictures could become a trend? There are times I wish I made useful items instead, although customers would have to wait a while for their second glove or sock.
Crow
Birds of happiness
Picnic
The photograph of the drawing looks different, the camera sees the separate crayon lines in the shadows.
I’m using my teenage self’s methods that anyone would have expected to have improved by now. Good to see it from a different perspective before tidying it up.
Cwrs Haf
We’re in Aberystwyth, for a month of intensive Welsh grammar. There are verb patterns to remember. That’s quite straightforward, except there are some patterns that wander off in different directions. I’m reminded of School for Scoundrels, where it’s recommended to interrupt any knowledgeable but dull explanation with “Oh, but only in the south…”.
Placemat
I found a pattern for knitting a flat circle from the centre. Two attempts with jute yarn ended badly. This version was knitted like the top of a beret, decreasing a few stitches every other row.
Water drop coaster
There was a crochet pattern in a recent Water Aid magazine that arrived in the post. The picture looked like a white christmas tree. I wondered if the water drop would work as a knitted illusion. If I’d used the right size needles it might have looked better.
Death and taxes
When you are a little girl with a big brother, you assume that they are some sort of adult. By the time you have become a teenager, they might refuse to be seen outside with you because you wear bright colours. You have access to more music and literature than your peers, though.
When you’re middle aged, after your parents have died, you might find some common ground. We both disliked phone calls, so there were text messages for the last few decades. Mostly these referred to the weather, with a lot of colourful descriptions of hospital appointments over the last couple of years. Allegedly, if you’re unable to get to a hospital two counties away at the crack of dawn, you’re not taking your illness seriously enough. When people are unable to walk very far, it’s unlikely that they could board a train. It’s also unlikely that any public transport system will deliver them to a distant hospital very early in the morning.
There must be thousands of people trying to take their ailments seriously, yet still being criticised by overworked receptionists. Maybe it’s a plot to make symptoms worse and speed up the patients’ deaths?
Observing my brother’s end of life experience brought to mind Roger McGough’s poem Let Me Die a Youngman’s Death. I might plant some more poisonous plants in the garden for future use, rather than waiting around for any indignity at the end.
berry daines 