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.
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.
I was pleased with how this sleeve was going. However, it’s using the same pattern as another cardigan I finished a while ago. The sleeves are too baggy.
It’s better to unravel this version and start again. The rose chart is from a Prima magazine, which is presumably vintage now.
This is the fastest protest sign I’ve ever made. It’s not particularly successful. Nobody will have changed their minds after seeing it.
We went to a place where a Reform group was meeting. They’re popular here because voters feel let down by other political parties. The people were mostly friendly on arrival, some were pleased to see protesters. Others were blatantly hostile and are clearly professional narrow minded bigots.
A couple of elections ago there was a chart showing the similarities between seemingly different types of voters. Everyone wants their children to have a better education than they had. Everyone hopes to be in good health, with access to relevant medical care if they become ill. Many people are suspicious of anyone who seems different. Reform fans claim they are not racist but they don’t like incomers. This is often said by people who have retired here from elsewhere.
We might have been in the wrong place. It could really have been an evening about eating more salads and stretching the muscles more often.
Test prints aren’t looking right, maybe they need some tweaking.
The colours are sunnier than shown, but these are dark days. Some things are easier to mend than others.
I don’t remember drawing this but it was probably for someone else. Everything in the sketchbook is from about ten or so years ago.
I enjoyed making the background wallpaper for this window display. It’s inspired by a house move when I was about three years old. The new house’s wallpaper was all atomic design; my bedroom had pink and yellow ovals on a grey background. The kitchen was red, yellow and black. That was the first room to be redecorated with pale blues etc, but I preferred the original patterns.
My studio is whichever space is available at the moment, not particularly welcoming for any visitors. Pondering how to put a window exhibition together made me a bit nostalgic for previous studios. The lingering scent of dead pigeons in the roof; tin baths catching the raindrops falling from above. Sharing printing presses with people who left fingerprints on everything(!) There was a lot of admin to help out with in a studio building, the office area was usually warmer so it would be a haven of bustling activity.
There’s also the notion of being a local artist. That’s quite a difficult term, often used as an insult. I’ve lived here for 25 years but I’m not really local. A Radio 4 programme about blood types informed me that I’m part of the same group as some historic invaders. This area is known as ‘The Little England Beyond Wales’, even though the incomers seemed to be Flemish. I’ve never heard any Belgian people chatting around here (so far).
Anyway, these prints gathered together made me realise how many feature hands. Someone asked me if I could draw hands, so I drew a few. Then they asked “but what are linocuts used for?”, so the wallpaper design was to make that clear. What next? I might attempt to put my novel into the right order. It’s about an artist moving to Wales, even though their friends say that’s the same as being dead…
Trying to rescue a print that had been overcut. The light gradually moved across the paper while I was colouring…
When this lino block was first cut, a long time ago, it was going to be printed in pale subtle colours. Something on the news the other day while choosing inks made me reach for scarlet and emerald green instead.
The block is similar to an unfinished print from even longer ago. As a teenager I liked the idea of nature reclaiming damaged land. Maybe it’s still a nice idea. The white poppy has symbolised pacifism for nearly a century. Weapons are presumably more profitable but mediation and peaceful resolution has a preferable outcome.
berry daines 