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Much like buses, you wait an age for a weekend away, and then two come along in quick succession. Now this could have been viewed as terrible timing, what with a prospective house-move and all the sorting this entails, as well as the upcoming Melbourne Festival (this weekend 18/19 September) and all the preparation that this requires. However, I took the opposite approach. Knowing the amount of work and stress that is on the cards, I looked on these trips as time to ‘Unplug, Unwind, Recharge‘. Last week’s blog post was all about our short break in Derbyshire. This weekend we went south east, to the south of Suffolk. No sketching this time, but lots of walking, looking…sitting, relaxing…partaking of delicious seafood, and having the odd coffee stop along the way…

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‘There is a natural rhythm to the active and receptive energies within us. At times our energy is strong and outgoing – it is time to pursue our goals, take risks, get things accomplished. At other times, our energy is quiet and sensitive, and we need to take time to nurture ourselves, relax and just ‘be’ for a while. As we trust and follow this rhythm, we attract everything we need and create everything we truly desire.’ – Shakti Gawain

The area is full of pretty towns and villages such as Lavenham with its painted, half-timbered buildings, dating back hundreds of years; some with thatched roofs, some leaning at the most incredible angles… And of course, no visit to this area is complete without a trip to somewhere made very famous by an artist…can you tell which painting…the scene hasn’t changed that much..

…although the summer vegetation might have grown…

‘The Haywain’ by John Constable

Blessed with another weekend of beautiful weather…we rounded off the trip by having a walk around Wicken Fen in Cambridgeshire.

The sun was baking, the path, a mix of mown grass and boardwalk. The reeds as tall as trees, swaying, whispering in the gentle breeze. And all around dragonflies and butterflies danced. The distant sound of a combine harvester floated on the air. A welcome seat, hewn from a tree trunk. A cooling drink. Surrounding the trunk of a dead tree, a small herd of Konik ponies, an occasional toss of a head, a flick of the tail. On the water’s surface, lily pads…rafts for the moorhen and her brood. I closed my eyes, listening. The wind sang through the reeds’ tassels, accented by birdsong. The breeze, a pleasing whisper on my skin. Opening my eyes, I noticed the ripples and glints on the water, diamonds in the sunlight. Walking on, more jewels appeared, floating above and amongst the grasses, hanging from the bushes in clusters, ruby red.

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'Wandering by the river's edge,
I love to rustle through the sedge
And through the woods of reed to tear
Almost as high as bushes are.

There's not a hill in all the view,
Save that a forked cloud or two
Upon the verge of distance lies
And into mountains cheats the eyes.

Among the tawny tasselled reed
The ducks and ducklings float and feed.
With head oft dabbing in the flood
They fish all day the weedy mud,
And tumbler-like are bobbing there,
Heels topsy-turvy in the air.

Nor trees nor bush about it grows
That from the hatchet can repose,
And the horizon stooping smiles
Oer treeless fens of many miles.
Spring comes and goes and comes again
And all is nakedness and fen.'
The Fens - John Clare

A final walk passed the wind-pump, before heading home, batteries recharged, ready to plug into the world again…

'I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts,
her pockets full of lichen and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river
bed, nothing between me and the white fire
of the stars but my thoughts, and they floated
light as moths among all the branches of the
perfect trees. All night I heard the small
kingdoms breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the
darkness. All night I rose and fell, as if in
water, grappling with a luminous doom.
By morning I had vanished at least a dozen
times into something better.'
Sleeping in the Forest - Mary Oliver

And just in case you needed further inspiration to sit back and relax, even if only for a couple of minutes…

As ever, I hope you have found something to interest and inspire you…

Thanks for stopping by!

Whatever you’re doing this weekend, enjoy,

Take care,

Cx

P.S. If you decide to visit the Melbourne Festival this weekend, do pop into the Studio (I think it’s venue 9 on the trail) in the Assembly Rooms on the High Street to say hello. My nerves are beginning to fray at the prospect of my first in-person event for two years so to see a friendly face would be fabulous!!

If you would like to follow me on my art journey, and see behind the scenes images and works-in-progress please follow me on social media…

Instagram – www.instagram.com/carolynjrobertsartist

Twitter – www.twitter.com/CJRFineArtist

or take a look at my website www.carolynjrobertsartist.co.uk

or, if you can stand even more of my ramblings and musings, arty news, offers and the occasional extra video throw in, please sign up to receive my monthly(ish) newsletter via the link opposite…

Glorious Beginnings…

‘Another glorious day, the air as delicious to the lungs as nectar to the tongue,’ – John Muir

“The sun shines not on us but in us. The rivers flow not past, but through us. Thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fibre and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. The trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of the mountains is our song, our very own, and sings our love.”

 John Muir

The weather continues to tease us with its whims. Last week, woolly sweaters and the heating on; now, the sun is shining, the skies are blue and temperatures are soaring once again – the last throws of the summer dice. The late afternoon perfume of jasmine wafts through the open doors, the tomatoes hang, ripening in the warmth, and the sound of splashing emanates from the bird bath, hidden amongst the cool, green fronds of a fern…

For once, we fell lucky. This glorious weather coincided with our recent short break – two days of bliss in Derbyshire. A last minute booking via airbnb found us at the Leaping Hare Barn in Flagg…

…a delightful bolthole in a tranquil spot, where the local traffic won’t be hurried…

…but close enough to Buxton, Bakewell and all that the Derbyshire countryside has to offer. Usually, whenever we go away, rain isn’t far away – but not this time. Walking and sketching could be done without the need to be weighed down with waterproofs etc, and the picnic was savoured rather than chomped quickly between the raindrops. We walked through the trees…

'Forest Delights

Leaves fluttering on a gentle breeze,
Within the forest of whispering trees,
Makes sunlight gracefully dance there,
Upon the ground and everywhere.
Dappling streams with sparkling light,
Catching the colors of birds in flight,
Giving flowers a lovely surreal glow,
Rousing our spirits with nature's show.

Nightfall gives the forest a mysterious allure
As trees become shadows of what they were;
Soon a chorus arises deep in forest thickets,
From the croaking frogs and chirping crickets,
Blending in the whip-poor-wills' lonely calls,
With the owls' echoing pleas in forest halls,
As fireflies scatter light upon a dark palette,
All beneath the mystic forest's starlit coverlet.

Nature's melodic sounds are sure to enthrall,
As life's songs peal within a forest cathedral.
Nature adds the wind's timbre with a breeze,
Or the rain's resonating rhythm through leaves.
Merging with rippling sounds of forest streams,
All serenading restless minds into daydreams
That comforts those who seek refuge there.
If only they'll listen while in the forest's care.

Thoughts become gentle among natural sights,
While our spirits entwine with forest delights,
Enticing us to hear life's natural gifts of mirth,
Inviting us to see the wondrous beauty of Earth,
As nature stirs feelings some cannot determine;
Yet, the subtle answers lie in a forest's sermon,
Urging us to listen to instincts we once knew,
To walk lightly on Earth as other creatures do

Belinda Stotler

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…along the path, before clambering up the ridge for spectacular, if hazy views… The wide open spaces, whilst not a wilderness in the true sense, still imbue a feeling of freedom, as well as having the capacity to make me feel extremely small and insignificant…

Evening walks along lanes lined with thistledown clouds, the occasional drift of ‘parachuted seeds’ floating on the breeze. The sun sinking slowly behind the trees, a beautiful glow emanating, bathing the grazing cattle in a soft light. Distant sound of crows returning to their roost, and high up on the ridgeline, a solitary horse stands, ears pricked, tail swishing…

Visiting somewhere different, walking in other landscapes, is not only good for my soul, it also provides fresh inspiration for my art… A beginning of something new. A starting point for creating…something that is discussed in the following post ‘That Single Point of Beginning’…

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‘What is this life, if full of care

We have no time to stand and stare…’

W. H. Davies

Time to sit, to look…to observe, to notice the elements that really interest me within the landscape. Time to create sketches, without too much thought – just trying to get down on paper the things of interest, the composition, the tonal variations, marks… How these will feed into my work is anybody’s guess…but somehow I know they will, in some way. And that’s half the fun isn’t it? That sudden realisation, when you make a mark or wash, and you remember where it originates from…

As ever, I hope you have found something to interest and inspire you…

Thanks for stopping by!

Whatever you’re doing this weekend, enjoy,

Take care,

Cx

If you would like to follow me on my art journey, and see behind the scenes images and works-in-progress please follow me on social media…

Instagram – www.instagram.com/carolynjrobertsartist

Twitter – www.twitter.com/CJRFineArtist

or take a look at my website www.carolynjrobertsartist.co.uk

or, if you can stand even more of my ramblings and musings, arty news, offers and the occasional extra video throw in, please sign up to receive my monthly(ish) newsletter via the link opposite…

Changing Seasons…New Beginnings…

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Autumn

'I love the fitful gusts that shakes
 The casement all the day
And from the mossy elm tree takes
 The faded leaf away
Twirling it by the window-pane
With thousand others down the lane

 
I love to see the shaking twig
 Dance till the shut of eve
The sparrow on the cottage rig
 Whose chirp would make believe
That spring was just now flirting by
In summers lap with flowers to lie

I love to see the cottage smoke
 Curl upwards through the naked trees
The pigeons nestled round the coat
 On dull November days like these
The cock upon the dung-hill crowing
The mill sails on the heath a-going

The feather from the ravens breast
 Falls on the stubble lea
The acorns near the old crows nest
 Fall pattering down the tree
The grunting pigs that wait for all
Scramble and hurry where they fall.'
John Clare

As I sit here typing, the last day of August is drawing slowly to a close. Everywhere are signs of autumn, and there is more than just a hint of a chill in the air. A woolly sweater is now ‘de rigueur’ when I head out for my early morning walks. The glorious, frothy abundance of the cow parsley is over, their seed-heads and stems brown and flattened by the wind. Bindweed, such an ugly name for a plant that has a beautiful, pure white flower, is climbing and weaving its way through the arching brambles, that are bending under the weight of their fruit. There’s a rustle and crackle of leaves underfoot as I walk. The few remaining swallows continue their aerial displays, skimming the river, barrelling across the meadow – but it won’t be long now before their constant chatter is no more… The resident crows appear increasingly raucous, as if they know that change is coming, whilst the buzzards have drifted away…

'...the air is different today
the wind sings with a new tone
sighing of changes
coming
the harvest gathered
a flower, a nut
some mead, and bread
a candle and a prayer
returning the fruits
in thanksgiving
to the grove
and receiving
it's blessing
again...'
Rhawk, Alban Elfed

I continue to walk. Even on days when my body aches, I walk. In my youth I used to ride; there was nothing like galloping across the fields to clear one’s mind of everything but that moment, to experience that freedom. Now older, with bones that won’t heal as quickly, walking has replaced riding…and even though I wouldn’t quite say there is that same sense of exhilaration, walking does quieten my thoughts. And there are plus points; going at a slower pace allows me the time to notice, to notice not only the bigger picture but the details within. The changing seasons, the changing landscape…the merry-go-round of nature. Walking is an important part of my day…and this post ‘The Importance of Walking‘ by The Examined Life puts forward some reasons why we find it so… I continue to walk.

Although there is a slight melancholic air about the coming of autumn, there is also somewhat of a ‘new beginning’ feel too – probably something to do with the fact that, here in the UK, September is the start of the new school year. I am finalising the last bits and pieces ready for the Melbourne Festival on 18/19 September – an event I am really looking forward to – my first real-life Festival in two years!! Running alongside all the preparation, there is also a sense of anticipation, excitement even, at the prospect of starting a new body of work. I am looking forward to exploring and experimenting… There will, no doubt, be a fair amount of doodling and splashing around…but all the while I have to remember that:

‘There is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable, nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not have to even believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware of the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.’ – Martha Graham

Above is a video from my YouTube channel demonstrating my mark making, as well as giving an indication of how I like to work when developing new ideas…working across several pieces at once, experimenting with composition, finding my own unique expression…

I always get asked about the materials etc that I use so for those of you that are interested, I used Art Graf Tailor Shape Watersoluble pigment, Daler Rowney Sepia acrylic ink, and the small brush for the fine details is a Jacksons’ own brand Dagger Brush…

I have no idea what this new body of work will be about, or how it will develop – but I will keep the channel open and see what materialises….

For now I will leave you with this, which has a very appropriate title for this time of year…

'Smoke hangs like haze over harvested fields,
The gold of stubble, the brown of turned earth
And you walk under the red light of fall
The scent of fallen apples, the dust of threshed grain
The sharp, gentle chill of fall.
Here as we move into the shadows of autumn
The night that brings the morning of spring
Come to us, Lord of Harvest
Teach us to be thankful for the gifts you bring...'
Autumn Equinox Ritual

As ever, I hope you have found something to interest and inspire you…

Thanks for stopping by!

Whatever you’re doing this weekend, enjoy,

Take care,

Cx

If you would like to follow me on my art journey, and see behind the scenes images and works-in-progress please follow me on social media…

Instagram – www.instagram.com/carolynjrobertsartist

Twitter – www.twitter.com/CJRFineArtist

or take a look at my website www.carolynjrobertsartist.co.uk

or, if you can stand even more of my ramblings and musings, arty news, offers and the occasional extra video throw in, please sign up to receive my monthly(ish) newsletter via the link opposite…

This page contains affiliate links which means that if you click on one of the links and then buy, I could receive a small % commission. I only recommend products that I use and love.

Noticing…Stillness…

'Something fashioned
this yellow-white lace-mass
that the sea has brought to the shore and left.

Like popcorn stuck to itself
or a string of lace rolled up tight
or a handful of fingerling shells pasted together
each with a tear where something

escaped into the sea. I brought it home
out of the uncombed morning and consulted
among my books. I do not know
what to call this sharpest desire...'
Extract from 'Something' - Mary Oliver

'Breakage

I go down to the edge of the sea.
How everything shines in the morning light!
The cusp of the whelk,
the broken cupboard of the clam,
the opened, blue mussels,
moon snails, pale pink and barnacle scarred -
and nothing at all whole or shut, but tattered, split,
and dropped by the gulls onto the grey rocks and all the
moisture gone.
It's like a school house
of little words,
thousands of words.
First you figure out what each means by itself,
the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop,
full of moonlight.

Then, you begin, slowly, to read the whole story...'
Mary Oliver
 

I am a big fan of the work of Mary Oliver. I find her words and poetry inspiring, so evocative and to have real depth of meaning. I keep rolling phrases such as ‘out of the uncombed morning’ and ‘the broken cupboard of the clam’ around in my mind; they conjure up such images… The tiny details that she notices and writes about indicate that here is someone who spent a lot of time out in her environment, taking time, walking, noticing…

And even though I have a lot of preparation to do for the Melbourne Festival, as well as making inroads into the sorting/packing in anticipation of the house move, I find it so important to take time out…to be in the environment, walking, or just being still, noticing…

The early morning clouds begin to part, their silver-hued edges becoming more rose-tinted as the sun climbs in the sky. The hay bales have been collected from the meadow across the river; recent showers have encouraged swathes of fresh green shoots that ripple in the breeze. Blackberries are beginning to swell on the tangle of arching branches. The swallows and house martins, although still performing their aerial acrobatic displays, are noticeably fewer in number…a prelude to the end of summer. The paths along the riverbank are bare earth now, all remnants of grass worn away by countless footsteps, human and animal… I keep close to the edge of the water, walking over the close cropped grass, nibbled away by the sheep, who watch me with a disinterested air. Over the stile, and through the solid mud divots, like craters on the moon, until I come to a shallow curved bank where I sit, take out my flask and pour my coffee, watching the steam slowly swirl and curl upwards, dissipating in the morning air. A gentle lapping of the water quietens my thoughts. I bend forwards and trail my fingers in the cool, clear water, watching as the current sweeps my scrambled thoughts away. A snort jolts me out of my reverie; unnoticed, the horses had grazed their way across the field and were now only yards away. Ears flicking backwards and forwards, they eye me warily as I finish the remains of my coffee and slowly stand up. Taking my leave, I continue on my way, only looking back when I reach the gate. Two of the horses were standing on that same stretch of shallow bank, drinking from the river; the rest were waiting their turn, tails swishing lazily.

I head across the field, following the well-worn ‘desire path’:

Desire Path

Singular pathways
engineers create spaces
from one place to the next
determine the most logical route
cement it into place
guide us to established destinations
But when we stray
walk on the grass
between trees
through bush gaps
we create desire paths
ways we wish to walk
rather than are told
We create new spaces
new ways to arrive
to where we want to be.'
Denise Hill

This path takes me away from the water for a brief while; a short cut around a bend in the river. Crows strut across the cropped grass, arguing belligerently, hopping away as I draw near. Signs of the coming autumn festoon the ancient hedgerows. Crossing the weir, I circle back round, over the meandering river once more, the sound of water roaring in my ears. The sun is warm on my face, the path ahead takes me home, pausing only to watch the reeds and lilies sway in the current. I walked, I sat, I noticed. I saw each thing by itself, then the story as a whole…

Just as the river meanders and diverts its course, so my art took a different ‘floral’ path for a while. But now that summer is fading and the autumn colours will soon be upon us, I find my attention turning back to the river landscape. However, having had a break from creating owing to all the admin required for the Festival, I can hear that small, inner critic begin to shout louder, ‘Can you still do this?‘ So, I have been revisiting work and videos…seeing what I can do…

And it all comes flooding back, pardon the pun; the washes, the marks, the nuances…the noticing… The noticing that comes from memories of walking, memories of ‘stillness’…of seeing the details, and the whole story…

As ever, I hope you have found something to interest and inspire you…

Thanks for stopping by!

Whatever you’re doing this weekend, enjoy,

Take care,

Cx

If you would like to follow me on my art journey, and see behind the scenes images and works-in-progress please follow me on social media…

Instagram – www.instagram.com/carolynjrobertsartist

Twitter – www.twitter.com/CJRFineArtist

or take a look at my website www.carolynjrobertsartist.co.uk

or, if you can stand even more of my ramblings and musings, arty news, offers and the occasional extra video throw in, please sign up to receive my monthly(ish) newsletter via the link opposite…

Ebbs & Flows…

'The River

A river is a vessel of constant force
carving the world as she flows
along an ever changing course.
She's the keeper of water
with the power to replenish.
A messenger of change
cleansing and renewing as she
gathers and sheds along the way.

The River meanders across lands
searching for words that can settle
the thirsty souls along her shores.
Words that will replenish the seekers
of knowledge and soothe those that cry
their burdens into her waters.
She listens for songs with poetic charm
and for verses of a writers tongue.

She hears a few among the voices
skilled in binding words into flowing
thoughts of diverse forms.
They are ambitious enough to swim
in the vastness of her waters and
come together to share passages of
thought through writings.

Every month their captured voices
swim the currents that flow free
from all four corners of the globe.
Curving towards the pool of thought
their writings merge with poetic songs
as the waters unite their voices in one
fluid piece poured around the world
upon the shores of the River.'
River Urke

‘The poets special place

Wherever he is

he makes it a special place

that’s the nature of the poet

each venue has its aura

its particular atmosphere…’

Margaret Ann Waddicor

The River; a place to escape to, somewhere to sit beside and contemplate, a source of inspiration, an ever-changing presence. Over these past years, this stretch of river has meandered its way into my heart and become a special place. I have witnessed both its benevolence and its destructive power. I have seen it bathed in rose-tinted sunrises and shrouded in wraith-curling mists. I have watched the unfolding stories of the flora and fauna; the struggles of the swans, the aerial acrobatics of the swallows, the swaying reeds, the unfurling lilies – all nurtured by the water.

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In turn, the river has listened, without judgement, to my ramblings and rants. Walking along its banks, my tears have dried; its steady, gentle flow providing a sense of perspective in a seemingly ever-increasingly troubled world. Watching the current, as it winds downstream, is a reminder of the ebb and flow of life; the differing water levels and changing course indicators of the river’s adaptability. I note the lesson.

August is sliding into autumn, Keats’s ‘season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’. A magical time on the river. And I shall look on it with an added air of melancholy as it will, if the house move proceeds as anticipated, be my last along this particular stretch of water. A time to cherish the early light, the rolling mists, the last of the swallows. A time to say goodbye and thank you.

One thing that doesn’t seem to change is that sense of panic before an art fair. With less than five weeks to go before the Melbourne Festival in Derbyshire, my to-do list is nowhere nearing completion. In fact, I seem to be adding more to it. It’s been so long since I have participated in such an event, all the old worries are flooding back. My ‘perfectionist’ tendencies are rearing their ugly head again. Will my stand look okay with my white table cloth? Will I have enough books, cards etc? Will my card reader work, assuming anyone will want to purchase…? Will I have enough work? Will I have too much work? Thoughts circling in my head, a feeling of overwhelm. At such times, there is only one thing to do; make a coffee and go sit by the river…

A sense of calm returns, and with it, the knowledge that I am happy with my work. I can only be me. I walk home. I write down everything I can think of that needs doing, highlighting the most important. Slowly, but with purpose, I tick the items off the list…

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Whatever happens at the Festival, life will go on. I will continue painting – finding new inspiration, re-discovering landscapes, taking on fresh challenges…the ebbs and flows of life…

As ever, I hope you have found something to interest and inspire you…

Thanks for stopping by!

Whatever you’re doing this weekend, enjoy,

Take care,

Cx

If you would like to follow me on my art journey, and see behind the scenes images and works-in-progress please follow me on social media…

Instagram – www.instagram.com/carolynjrobertsartist

Twitter – www.twitter.com/CJRFineArtist

or take a look at my website www.carolynjrobertsartist.co.uk

or, if you can stand even more of my ramblings and musings, arty news, offers and the occasional extra video throw in, please sign up to receive my monthly(ish) newsletter via the link opposite…

Summer’s Hiatus..

“If eternity had a season, it would be midsummer. Autumn, winter, spring are all change and passage, but at the height of summer the year stands poised. It’s only a passing moment, but even as it passes, the heart knows it cannot change.’ – Ursula K. Le Guin

Here we are, standing on the cusp, that hiatus of high summer. There’s a languidness to the river…

…which is in sharp contrast to the increasingly frenetic activity of the swallows and house-martins – the sky and meadow are constantly streaked and strafed as the birds rush towards summer’s end and their long flight to Africa.

'We saw the swallows gathering in the sky,
And in the osier-isle we heard them noise...
The pilgrims of the year waxed very loud
in multitudinous chatterings...'
George Meredith

The riverbanks are lush, the foliage in it’s glorious ‘fullness’, blowsy even, before one last scattering of seeds and the inevitable fading into autumn shrouds. One last hurrah. Early morning, the livestock stands by the water’s edge, half-asleep, occasionally swishing their tails with an indolent air. Aware of my presence, one horse lazily raises it’s head, decides I am of no matter, and returns to it’s former lethargic stance. I continue on my way; the path worn into the grass by countless feet, the earth, baked and cracked, recent downpours quickly permeating into the parched ground. Hedgerows, even in the early sun, hum and buzz. There’s a bustle in the air – time is pressing. I hear a sudden ‘plop’; a cormorant surfaces near the bend in the river, its sinuous neck turning this way and that, before diving again, disappearing from view. Crows argue noisily in the tree tops, hopping from branch to branch – I am reminded of that scene from Disney’s ‘Dumbo’…

Eventually my walk, across the fields, past the cows and back long the riverbank, brings me full circle, to my favoured spot. I sit, coffee steaming, watching the aerial displays, contemplating the walk, and the day to come…Time to linger in the ‘slow lane’ a little while longer…

The summer hiatus extends to the business of moving house and, of preparing for the Melbourne Festival. The house move crawls along at a snail’s pace, working to estate agents, surveyors and solicitors’ timetables… Preparations for the Festival appear to be a case of one step forward, two steps backwards; seemingly simple tasks taking much longer or are more complicated than first thought.

The impending house move and Festival have though, spurred me on to ‘sort out’ my work and studio. Materials bought long ago with the vague intention of experimenting, having a go etc and that have remained on the shelves ever since, have been passed onto the grandchildren. Artwork has been placed into ‘yes/no/maybe’ piles – and the ‘no’ pile, well take a look for yourself as to where some of the work has found a home…

There’s something about making intuitive decisions about what I like or not about the work that really informs the way forward for me…and all the slicing and dicing is so cathartic. I have created these sketchbooks for a number of years, as can be seen from this blog post from way back when; ‘Sketchbooks…Part One’.

There is however, no hiatus in producing work – although whether these in the video below make the grade, or are destined to be ‘sliced and diced’ remains to be seen. It has just been a joy to create these floral paintings, a much needed change of palette and subject, before autumn, with it’s palette of browns and muted tones returns once more…

'Whilst August yet wears her golden crown,
Ripening fields lush-bright with promise;
Summer waxes long, then wanes, quietly passing
Her fading green glory on to riotous Autumn.'
August's Crown - Michelle L. Thieme

I shall endeavour to enjoy the summer’s hiatus for as long as it continues, reminded as I am;

‘And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.’

William Shakespeare

As ever, I hope you have found something to interest and inspire you…

Thanks for stopping by!

Whatever you’re doing this weekend, enjoy,

Take care,

Cx

If you would like to follow me on my art journey, and see behind the scenes images and works-in-progress please follow me on social media…

Instagram – www.instagram.com/carolynjrobertsartist

Twitter – www.twitter.com/CJRFineArtist

or take a look at my website www.carolynjrobertsartist.co.uk

or, if you can stand even more of my ramblings and musings, arty news, offers and the occasional extra video throw in, please sign up to receive my monthly(ish) newsletter via the link opposite…

Changes…Blowing in the Wind

'Blowing in the Wind

Whisper in my ear
share with me
the magic blowing in the wind.

Standing with
arms outstretched
towards heaven

leaves catch the sun
casting reflections

silver images dance

on their surface

branches hover together
creating an umbrella
of protection

listening to secrets
borrowed from the wind.'
Heather Burns

“Katsa watched the long grass moving around them. The wind pushed it, attacked it, struck it in one place and then another. It rose and fell and rose again. It flowed, like water.”

Graceling – Kristin Cashore

The sun begins to slide behind the rolling slopes. Grasses sway gently in the breeze, rippling like the aforementioned water. Overhead, crows return to the nearby copse. The sound of sheep floats on the evening air. Swallows and house-martins swoop and strafe the golden fields. Horses stand in the receding sunshine, tails swishing occasionally. A long summer’s day drawing to its end… A day that began with ethereal worlds…

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‘The wind plays with my hair as the rising sun greets me, and the clouds move softly through the gentle morning sky.” – Christy Ann Martine

A day that began with unconscious rituals; a tranquil walk, an opportune perch, and steaming coffee.

The promise of fine weather lured me coastwards…and, after a drive followed by a short walk through the undulating dunes, the sweeping bay and lapping sea came into view. Days such as this, with the sea reflecting the blue skies, miles of sparsely populated white sand, and a gentle onshore breeze, are a relatively rare occurrence here, and are therefore to be celebrated and enjoyed.

Sea and Sand

On the sandy path I do walk.
Wildflowers gently swaying.
All planted with loving hands.
It leads me to the sea.

Sun-kissed cheeks and bare footing
Along the rolling shoreline ebbing.
Wavelets forming on  the sand,
Rising and falling of the sea.

Standing, breeze lightly blowing,
I look around, look far, look wide,
Look to the sky, to the sand,
And to the sea.

Beach combing, treasures I do find.
Ghost crabs fast burrowing,
Like ghost apparitions disappearing,
Near the sea.

An infinite variety of shells I seek,
Collecting in my pocket, jingling,
Some spread apart like angel wings,
Cast forth from the sea.

As I walk along the shoreline,
Sandpipers, run fast, always fleeing,
A great blue heron standing stately.
All feeding from the sea.

Looking back from where I came,
My footprints left upon the sand.
Breathing in the salt-rich air,
Taking in the blue green sea.'
Oolong

The joy of being able to wade in the shallow water, sensing the sand sink beneath my feet as the waves recede is a feeling I never tire of. The far horizon dotted with ships, a flotilla of smaller boats and yachts further inshore, cormorants bobbing on the water’s surface before plunging below, resurfacing triumphantly, glittering fish clamped in their beaks – something that hasn’t gone unnoticed by the gathering gulls. Lulled by the rhythmical lapping, I stand, almost trance-like, eyes closed, focusing on the salt water caressing my feet and ankles, tasting the salt-spray on my lips, listening to the song of the sea. Eventually distant sounds permeate my consciousness; a child’s squeal, a parent’s laughter, a barking dog, the piercing shriek of the gulls; I open my eyes, turn and walk on, watching the ebbing waters create patterns on the sand. The tranquil, meditative nature of the seascape never fails to work its restorative magic. A sense of calm sweeps over me, the fluidity of the water and vast expanse providing the impression of freedom; all constraints of everyday life fade, the worries and concerns carried away on the tide. The bay stretches ahead of me, my pace in time with the metronomic waves. The wind ruffles my hair, the sun continues to shine unimpeded by any clouds. A red marker buoy, undulating on the water, catches my attention; I smile inwardly at the antics of a gull trying to settle on it, only to hover, peering suspiciously at the constantly moving object.

The bay is seven miles long; today it is seven miles of unadulterated joy. I find a sheltered spot for lunch, savouring the sandwiches and cold beer (non-alcoholic!!). I sit, wriggle my toes through the warm sand. Such a feeling of tranquility. I sit, staring out to sea, letting it all wash over me (not literally I hasten to add). The shifting sun heralds the passing afternoon; I stir. Eventually I circle back through the dunes, back to the car, opening windows and doors to let the suffocating heat escape. I drive back. The sense of calm continues; the sound of sheep floats on the air, crows return to the nearby copse, horses stand sleepily in the receding sunshine… A day well spent.

‘A change is as good as a rest’, as the saying goes, and just as the change of scenery provided a feeling of rejuvenation, there are more changes afoot. We are, fingers crossed, moving house. I am trying not to get ahead of myself until all the paperwork is signed, and we are in possession of the keys, but there is growing sense of anticipation. Although I will be leaving the river behind, there will be different places to discover, or should that be re-discover…as we are moving back to an area I know well. However, this time I will be looking at the landscape with an artist’s eye so it will be interesting to see how I interpret it now.

In preparation for the move there are the usual trips to the recycling centre and tip; there’s nothing like moving house for providing the impetus for a major sort out. Already making headway in the garage, my studio is also forefront in the need for ‘tidying’. To that end, I have been holding a Studio Sale on my Instagram feed this week. Lots of work on paper, prices to suit all budgets. I’ll be honest, it’s been slow going, but every sale helps, not only with the ‘tidying’, but also enables me to keep on creating…so a big thank you to all those who have supported in any way! (And just, as a further plug, if you see anything you like in the images below, please DM/email to see if it is still available).

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“Allow nature’s peace to flow into you as sunshine flows into trees,”

John Muir

As ever, I hope you have found something to interest and inspire you…

Thanks for stopping by!

Whatever you’re doing this weekend, enjoy,

Take care,

Cx

If you would like to follow me on my art journey, and see behind the scenes images and works-in-progress please follow me on social media…

Instagram – www.instagram.com/carolynjrobertsartist

Twitter – www.twitter.com/CJRFineArtist

or take a look at my website www.carolynjrobertsartist.co.uk

or, if you can stand even more of my ramblings and musings, arty news, offers and the occasional extra video throw in, please sign up to receive my monthly(ish) newsletter via the link opposite…

The Slow Lane…

‘I stood still, paralysed by the beauty and the magic of this moment. Everything stopped, even my breath. Like a sloth, I didn’t want to move. There was nowhere else I needed or wanted to be. Standing there absorbing the beauty of this place, I stepped out of time. In this timeless moment, I saw and felt the unity of all things. There it was all around me: the chaos of the natural world, silently woven into a tapestry of exquisite, perfect order. I felt at one with the trees, rocks, plants, birds, insects, squirrels, leaves, and water. A witness to this sacred scene…

So this is what the slow lane is about, I realised. Sipping and savouring tiny moment, stopping the clock and slipping out of time, feeling my own heart begin to synchronise with the rhythms of nature…’

Judith Rich

Not a soul in sight, only the sound of the wind, the birds and the water. Even though the skies were grey, clouds scudding through at a rate of knots, with more than a hint of rain in the air, it was a moment to stop. To step into the slow lane. To watch the clear water swirl, trickle, stream, spurt and gurgle its way down the fell side, over the stones and into the reservoir. Each droplet a story. To watch the ripples tremble on the surface. Timeless. All that it was, is now, and will be again.

I sit, remove my boots and dip my feet in the cool water. Watch in fascination as it eddies around this human obstruction. I flex my toes, and all the refreshing vitality of the liquid seeps into my bones. Out of the corner of my eye I spy a gaggle of geese, working their way along the grass bordering the reservoir, nibbling feverishly at the vegetation. I return my gaze to the water before slowly closing my eyes, concentrating solely on its song, and gentle caress. Gradually my heartbeat slows; I lie back, open my eyes and watch the passing clouds, cocooned in the slow lane.

A favourite quote of mine is one by Loren Eiseley: “If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water.” Maybe it has something to do with being an island nation, but the attraction of water is potent. There’s something about the sight and sound of it that tugs at our emotions and inspires us; the energy of a waterfall plummeting, creating bubbling pools, a river tumbling and flowing, the rhythmical lapping of the waves, the taste of salt on our lips and the promise of far-away places…

'Sea Fever
I must go down to the seas again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star
to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song
and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face,
and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that
may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the
white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and blown spume,
and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again,
to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way
where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a
laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream
when the long trick's over.'
John Masefield

Feet dried, boots back on, I stood, transfixed by the babbling water, not wanting to leave; the growing persistence of the rain advised otherwise. Heading on around the reservoir, I followed the track past the slopes of tree stumps and ‘brash’, stark monuments to logging. The sound of running water drew me on, and, tracing the water-course back up the fell, I noticed, dotted on the crest, sheep and their lambs, seemingly oblivious to the oncoming rain, and me. The trail wound its way, twisting and turning, sandwiched as it was between the water’s edge and the fell, with all its ‘inlets’ and landslips, small rocks strewn across the path. But the possibility of a twisted ankle wasn’t the reason I walked slowly. I was in the slow lane. Each footstep a measured pace giving time to look, time to see, time to hear…feel. The cackle of geese, the bleating of lambs, gusts of wind swirling around, sending ripples over the water’s surface, the colours of lichen clinging to rocks, raindrops on my skin. Small details of a larger tapestry. A tapestry that would be incomplete if I hurried; if I wasn’t in the slow lane. As I neared the completion of my circular route, the dam and reservoir spillway came into view. A fresh cast of players; swallows and house-martins diving and barrelling over the water before swooping skywards.

A dog barked. The spell was broken. I turned through the gate, and began walking along the dam roadway. Snippets of conversation drifted on the wind. Fellow slow-laners. We nodded in passing. Another hundred yards and I was at the car. I looked round; the darkest of the clouds had breezed through, taking the worst of the rain showers with it. Still time before I rejoined civilisation. The ritual of coffee making. Savouring the moment, the aroma snaking upwards. Steaming mug in hand, I settle by the water. Not quite time to step out of the slow lane.

‘If you’re having difficulty coming up with new ideas, then slow down. For me, slowing down has been a tremendous source of creativity. It has allowed me to open up – to know that there’s life under the earth and that I have to let it come through me in a new way. Creativity exists in the present moment. You can’t find it anywhere else.’

Natalie Goldberg

Living in the ‘art slow lane’ is beginning to bear fruit…or should that be flowers? After the release of my ‘River Stories‘ collection back in the Spring, my creativity took a bit of a dive. A general air of ‘malaise’ had settled over me, and this, combined with lockdown, led to a sense of lethargy, listlessness, ennui – call it what you will. Add in a large dollop of Imposter Syndrome, and, as is so often the case with such things, it became a vicious circle. In the past I would have given myself a hard time, railed about my lack of ability etc., but what’s that saying about ‘madness’, and doing the same thing and expecting different results? So into the ‘art slow lane’ I have stepped. Painted as and when I felt like it, not worrying if, some days I didn’t lift a paintbrush. (I acknowledge that I am very lucky in that I can take this time…) A change of subject matter and colour palette provided the first hints that my creativity was beginning to emerge from its hiding place… Each day, I dabbled a little more, until nuggets of ideas began to germinate – no pun intended! I no longer had to ‘drag’ myself into the studio; I went with purpose, even if only for half an hour. And slowly, the new subject and colours are leading to a smorgasbord of florals, a florist shop in the making…

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And a couple sold via my Instagram feed – I hadn’t even got around to ‘marketing’ them…amazing!!

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'By slowing down and relishing the unfolding of every experience, you aren't choosing to be less accomplished or productive than others. You're choosing to be accomplished and productive in ways they may not even understand. You're choosing to change what's within your own heart and mind, thereby becoming a part of the solution rather than a part of the problem. By no longer rushing through, you're choosing to stop focusing so much of your energy on the wanting and the yearning, the wishing it was done, the frustration of what hasn't happened yet, and to make, instead, the most of every experience as it unfolds at its own pace.' - Nea Justice

Living in the art slow lane is beginning to pay dividends, and I don’t just mean with the sales. Slowing down has given me the time to rethink the pressure I put on myself, which has led to a more relaxed approach – and I am beginning to enjoy my creativity once more…

“There’s magic in the water that draws all men away from the land, that leads them over the hills, down creeks and streams and rivers to the sea.” Anon

As ever, I hope you have found something to interest and inspire you…

Thanks for stopping by!

Whatever you’re doing this weekend, enjoy,

Take care,

Cx

If you would like to follow me on my art journey, and see behind the scenes images and works-in-progress please follow me on social media…

Instagram – www.instagram.com/carolynjrobertsartist

Twitter – www.twitter.com/CJRFineArtist

or take a look at my website www.carolynjrobertsartist.co.uk

or, if you can stand even more of my ramblings and musings, arty news, offers and the occasional extra video throw in, please sign up to receive my monthly(ish) newsletter via the link opposite…

Present Tense…

'A Summer Afternoon

A languid atmosphere, a lazy breeze,
With laboured respiration, moves the wheat
From distant reaches, till the golden seas
Break in crisp whispers at my feet...

Off through the haze that dances in the shine
The warm sun showers in the open glade,
The forest lies, a silhouette design
Dimmed through and through with shade...

A dreamy day...gazing at the sky.'
James Whitcomb Riley

Cloudless blue, soaring temperatures, cornfields on the cusp – beginning to crackle in the heat. Parched earth, scored with fissures, the distant tree line a shimmering haze. Hedgerows swamped with bindweed and purple tufted thistles, alive with the sound of bees. The merest whisper of a cooling breeze. Two buzzards circling, riding the thermals, as if engaged in some slow pavane. Swathes of pink and purple weave along the field edges and on, through the corn; rosebay willowherb, ‘fireweed’, pioneer, coloniser, tall spires swaying.

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The metronomic sound of my footsteps; slow, steady. Too hot to rush. Time to savour.

“Coloured scents that fill the air as drowsy insects hum around in the meadow is the place of secret magic where nature alone renews itself.”

Kate Bergquist

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“Where’er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade, trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade.” – Alexander Pope

On I walk, the trail leading me away from the openness of the fields to the cool of the trees: shaded woodlands, dappled sunlight showing the track. Flutterings, the snap of twigs, crisp leaves shattering underfoot, the brown earth contrasting against the still lush foliage. A blackbird, startled by my presence, sounds the alarm, flaps agitatedly past and flies deeper into the trees, away from the path, weaving amongst the trunks, until both he and his call fade into the darkness. Eventually the canopy widens, and I turn, heading towards the sound of water. Time to pause. I find a bench in the shade, sit and take a long thirst-quenching drink. Angry squawks catch my attention; neighbours falling out, heat fraying tempers. By the by, the pair of swans glide nonchalantly away -arguing with moorhens for too long being beneath their haughty demeanor. The water twinkles and ripples, fish gulp at the surface, damsel flies sparkle above.

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Not daring to sit too long lest I become glued to the seat, I carry on, skirting the lake, on through the trees, thankful for the shade they provide. All too soon, I emerge from the cool, following the well-trodden path alongside a field hedgerow. Bees hum, butterflies dance. I stand, close my eyes, in full appreciation of the breeze flowing over my face. Turning slowly, eyes open, I look across the meadow, the large, round bales like a herd of ruminants working their way down the gentle slope. Walking, pace noticeably slackening, I negotiate the field gate, and find myself on a farm lane. Dust swirls from a recent passing tractor – all busy making hay…while the sun shines. Traffic noise permeates my senses; the lane leading me down to the road. Five and a half miles, three hours, and I have come full circle. A welcome seat; I remove my hat and walking boots – bliss.

It was hot, maybe too hot, maybe I should have set off earlier – what’s that saying about ‘Mad dogs and Englishmen…’ However, being able to plan a walk days in advance, knowing no rain was forecast, is somewhat of a rarity in the UK; such opportunities are not to be missed.

We Brits do like to talk about the weather – a lot! For those of you outside of the UK, who find our obsession with the weather a little eccentric, this article attempts to explain it: Why do Brits talk about the weather so much? – BBC Future It does seem that we are never satisfied with the weather; it’s either too cold, too hot, too little rain, too much rain, wanting a white Christmas – only for, oh no, too much snow and so on…always wishing for things for be otherwise.

And it’s much the same in my art ‘journey’; ‘oh, I wish I could paint like that – oh no, actually that’s not really me’, ‘I wish I could have an exhibition – you know, I’m just not ready,’ ‘I wish I had a bigger audience – ooh, now I have to produce something to keep that audience,’ ‘I should be painting non-stop’ – ‘ oh I just don’t feel like it,’ etc., etc. Always wishing, always wanting. I came across this poem that speaks of just this…

'Present Tense

It was spring
but it was summer I wanted, the warm days.
It was summer, but it was fall I wanted,
the colourful leaves, and the cool, dry air.
It was fall, but it was winter I wanted,
the beautiful snow,
and the joy of the holiday season.
It was winter, but it was spring I wanted,
the warmth and the blossoming of nature.
I was a child, but it was adulthood I wanted,
the freedom and respect.
I was 20 but it was 30 I wanted,
to be mature, and sophisticated.
I was middle-aged, but it was 20 I wanted,
the youth and the free spirit.
I was retired, but it was middle age I wanted,
the presence of mind without limitations.
My life was over, and I never got what I wanted.'
Jason Lehman

A wave of sadness rippled, followed by a determination, a resolve, not to forego future aspirations, but to not focus solely on wishing and wanting to the detriment of the here and now…

So I will work on savouring each moment; I will walk if I want to, come rain or shine, hat, sun-cream, walking boots, raincoat and water to hand, I shall read if I want to, and not feel guilty if the afternoon passes by. I shall paint what I want, and not worry if nothing is resolved. I shall pause, watch, from my back doorstep, the mewing buzzard, circling slowly over the rooftops. I shall breathe in deeply the heady scent of the jasmine as it wafts through the French doors. I will feel the cool river water trickling through my fingers… I will nurture my future dreams, but recognise the beauty and worth of each day, for each day, rain or shine, good painting or not so good, will include some small treasures…

'Summer's Melody

Rippling crystal waters shine like silver to reflect summer's glow.
Soothing and calming in rhythm, echoing its lyrical flow.
Magical music of nature, a symphony of splendid delight.
Skies like blue oceans in paradise, birds soaring to grasp full flight.

Gently swans glide gracefully, elegant yet proud and strong,
Birds and bees in unison, the joyful hum of nature's song.
Rolling summer meadows shimmer, like jewels in Mother Nature's crown.
Embellishing fields of emerald green draped in its golden gown.

Light sweet air blows softly, scented by sweet cherry blossom in bloom.
Delicate, pretty petals lifting to dance in harmony with summer's tune.
The sounds and scent of summer, it melody light and free.
Sands of gold that glisten, embracing waves of a warm and whispering sea.'
Edel T. Copeland

As ever, I hope you have found something to interest and inspire you…

Thanks for stopping by!

Whatever you’re doing this weekend, enjoy,

Take care,

Cx

If you would like to follow me on my art journey, and see behind the scenes images and works-in-progress please follow me on social media…

Instagram – www.instagram.com/carolynjrobertsartist

Twitter – www.twitter.com/CJRFineArtist

or take a look at my website www.carolynjrobertsartist.co.uk

or, if you can stand even more of my ramblings and musings, arty news, offers and the occasional extra video throw in, please sign up to receive my monthly(ish) newsletter via the link opposite…

Grounding One’s Dreams…

What’s that line from Longfellow’s ‘The Rainy Day’? Ah yes, that’s the one: ‘Into each life some rain must fall’. It’s been a couple of weeks since my last post, and as I re-read it, I was aware there was a slight wistful air to it, much as Longfellow’s poem has a melancholic tone – all too conscious of time slipping by, of a lost youth…

'In the middle
of a life that's as complicated as everyone else's,
struggling for balance, juggling time.
The mantle clock that was my grandfather's
has stopped at 9.20; we haven't had time
to get it repaired. The brass pendulum is still,
the chimes don't ring. One day you look out the window,
green summer, the next, and the leaves have already fallen,
and a grey sky lowers the horizon. Our children almost grown,
our parents gone, it happened so fast. Each day, we must learn
again how to love, between morning's quick coffee
and evening's slow return. Steam from a pot of soup rises,
mixing with the yeasty smell of baking bread. Our bodies
twine, and the big black dog pushes his head between;
his tail is a metronome,3/4 time. We'll never get there,
Time is always ahead of us, running down the beach, urging
us on faster, faster, but sometimes we take off our watches,
sometimes we lie in the hammock, caught between the mesh
of rope and the net of stars, suspended, tangled up
in love, running out of time.'
Barbara Crooker

I wrote that it would be all too easy to slide into a mood of ‘gloominess’, so it was fortuitous that, after the past 18 months, our much altered plan for a break finally came to fruition, and we headed northwards; time away, time out, time for perspective, to think of all the things we had to be grateful for, time to walk in the landscape…time to be still…

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“The silence of landscape conceals vast presence. Place is not simply location. A place is a profound individuality. With complete attention, landscape celebrates the liturgy of the seasons, giving itself unreservedly to the passion of the goddess. The shape of a landscape is an ancient and silent form of consciousness. Mountains are huge contemplatives. Rivers and streams offer voice; they are the tears of the earth’s joy and despair. The earth is full of soul… Civilisation has tamed place. Left to itself, the curvature of the landscape invites presence and the loyalty of stillness.” – John O’Donohue

“There is nothing like walking to get the feel of a country. A fine landscape is like a piece of music; it must be taken at the right tempo. Even a bicycle goes too fast.”

Paul Scott Mowrer

I have written previously about how meditative I find the action of walking; one foot in front of the other, striking up a rhythm that takes me out into the landscape. Out to places where there’s solitude to be found, where the worries of ‘normal life’ recede, my focus solely on placing my feet on the path, hearing the crunch of the stone or the ‘silent’ tread on the grass. Senses become heightened: the sound of running water, tumbling over rocks, lapping at the shoreline, unfamiliar birdsong carried on the wind, wildflowers with unknown names swaying in the breeze. Nature’s colour palettes; slate grey skies against bright green moss and ferns, pink and purple dotted amongst the foliage, or seas reflecting the bluest of skies, shores of white sands, pebbles, washed and scattered by the swell…

And it’s whilst I am walking, out in nature, in the landscape, away from the crowds, that I know this is where I am meant to be, this is ‘home’. All of my angst, all of my ‘navel-gazing’ disappears…inner peace comes from finding my ‘place’…

“We spend out lives searching for meaning in ourselves, engaged in deep conversations with our ‘inner child’, meditating on a mat indoors, trained to be ever-mindful of what’s going on inside us – our breath and our thoughts and emotions – when so much of the meaning we need is beneath our feet, in the plants and animals around us, in the air we breathe. We swaddle ourselves so tightly in the centrality of our own self-referential humanness that we forget that we are creatures of the Earth, and need also to connect with the land. We need to get out of the confines of our own heads. We need – we badly need – grounding; we need to find our anchor in place, wherever that is we live. Once we find that anchor, so often we uncover the nature of our true work, the nature of the gift we can offer up to the world.” – If Women Rose Rooted – Sharon Blackie

I dream of a cottage surrounded by wildness, a stream running close by…or the sea… Birdsong floating aloft, noises in the gloaming… My studio would be an outbuilding, and wouldn’t it be great to have a place where artists could come for a period to immerse themselves…

Photo by Stepan Unar via unsplash

“No star is ever lost

we once have seen

We always may be

what we might have been.”

Anon

One can dream…and hopefully there is still time to ‘be what we might have been’…

“Nana always said the rain was nature’s way of adding sparkle to the outdoors.’ – Mehmet Murat Ildan

…and do you know, Nana was right. 5am, the morning after the rain…we woke to this…

As ever, I hope you have found something to interest and inspire you…

Thanks for stopping by!ll

Whatever you’re doing this weekend, enjoy,

Take care,

Cx

If you would like to follow me on my art journey, and see behind the scenes images and works-in-progress please follow me on social media…

Instagram – www.instagram.com/carolynjrobertsartist

Twitter – www.twitter.com/CJRFineArtist

or take a look at my website www.carolynjrobertsartist.co.uk

or, if you can stand even more of my ramblings and musings, arty news, offers and the occasional extra video throw in, please sign up to receive my monthly(ish) newsletter via the link opposite…