"Life is unpredictable,
It changes with the seasons,
Even your coldest winter,
Happens for the best of reasons,
And though it feels eternal,
Like all you'll ever do is freeze,
I promise Spring is coming,
And with it, brand new leaves."
e.h
Okay, so I think we can safely say that Spring is well and truly here, and the leaves are unfurling, dancing in the sunlight, their bright green flags lifting our hearts…
It’s been a little while since my last post, and much as I would like to say that I am adjusting to the new normal after the loss of my mother, life has a way of throwing curve balls at you. Only five months after that loss, my father passed away, so here we are again organising another funeral…and afterwards, there will be oh so much more to sort out…
Life has been brought into even sharper focus after this latest loss; I remarked to my husband that we are now the oldest generation and that realisation brings more perspective and clarity… As ever, walking has helped with the process; it’s always good to be outdoors, especially when we have had some glorious spring days!
I have long been on a mission to simplify my life, with varying degrees of success. The aim was to have more time to do the things we love – even more important now as the realisation that life is short hits home! Moving house has enabled us to rid ourselves of quite a lot clutter and unwanted items but now, after the recent losses, we find ourselves having to sort through two lifetimes of ‘stuff’ and another whole household…quite the challenge!
This simplification isn’t only confined to the home; I want to streamline in all areas, including what I put out on newsletters, social media, and here, on the blog. It has been a big bugbear of mine, since moving website platform from Clikpic to Squarespace, that I haven’t been able to link this blog to my new site – I should say here, that it’s probably more a case of operator error than a technical issue! So, drum roll, here’s the coming change….although the posts on this blog (wordpress) will be available for a little while longer, I will now be publishing my blog via my Squarespace website www.carolynjrobertsartist.co.uk . Output might still be a little patchy for a while, not only after recent events, but also, I have to get used to the new format – as I keep saying, technology isn’t my strong point – so please bear with me. I hope you will continue to follow and enjoy my blog as we go forwards….
This just seemed appropriate…
I hope you will keep the faith and follow me over on my website blog – be lovely to see you over there!!
As always,
Take care,
Carolyn x
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…
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…
Wide Open Spaces
"Oh how I love those wide open spaces
the calling of nature
where man has not yet intruded
and we can be free
the wide open spaces that are so inviting
and let you be yourself
there is no-one to pretend around
and no-one to hide from
life is slower and you can enjoy all thing beautiful
take things the way you want them to go
you don't have to impose on the space to be part of it
and you can be free from restrictions
endless space to run and shout and just get it all out of your system
everything you've ever wanted to say, say it
the earth will listen and you will feel light
those everyday stresses have gone away
dream of this place, where you can be alone
the freedom of dusk, and dawn
dream of a place where you be angry, sad, and happy
Dream of this place, and survive."
I Am Rebel
Okay, so I would hesitate to say that the Norfolk coastline is an area that ‘man has not yet intruded’…but you get the sentiment, right? That feeling of being ‘free’; away from ‘normal life’ – whatever that means nowadays. Free from routine, free to feel, to be angry and sad, and yes, happy, free to cherish memories, both old and new. Glorious sunshine helped; mainly though, it was just that ability to allow my emotions to come and go, to walk and talk, or just walk, letting feelings sit quietly…
“The world’s continual breathing is what we hear and call silence” – Clarice Lispector
“Sometimes I need only to stand wherever I am to be blessed” – It Was Early, Mary Oliver
Vast swathes of golden sands, backed by marsh with glittering inlets and creeks… I feel such affinity for this landscape; big skies, distant horizons, so reminiscent of the vistas of my childhood. The whipping wind and crashing waves, the expansive scenery, all combine to provoke a sense of insignificance in me, of how small I am in relation to the earth, to time… How short our season is, and how we must cherish and savour the moments.
Waves and wind roar in my ears, each footstep gives way, ever so slightly, in the sinking sand. Gulls wheel round and about, their shrieks lost on the wind. The marram grass sways; to the left, to the right, dipping and bowing as if participating in a sinuous dance. Sunlight glints on the water. The further I walk, the more my pockets bulge. First a mussel shell, then a clam, followed by a mermaid’s purse – each intact, each half a mirror image… Each one a story of a life lived, lost, forever carried on the tide. As I turn and face inland, across the marsh to the line of pine trees, notes of the curlew song reach me, intermittently, the wind transporting and snatching the melody away as if on a whim.
And more stories emerge, fashioned by the elements…a wooden ‘stonehenge’, each trunk seemingly striving skywards, twisting and turning, emerging from the marsh…gnarled and weathered, fossils standing watch over the distant turbines on the horizon…
My imagination seems to be in overdrive; these beach huts, a gathering of long-legged crabs waiting to dart towards an incoming tide…
The time away provided space and perspective; the healing process continues, the journey towards accommodating my grief is emerging from the fog…
The Journey
"One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save"
Mary Oliver
Nothing is easy; some days the anger rages before subsiding into tears and sadness. But I am beginning to note a sense of ‘letting go’; letting go of the worst memories and focusing on the good…it’s a slow process and progress is sporadic…but progress there is…
For first time in almost five months I have picked up a paint brush and doodled in my sketchbook…
And, although they may not appear much, it is a milestone for me… Every day I do a little more and I remember how it feels to paint, my hand intuitively dancing over the paper. Eventually more serious work will emerge, but for now I am being gentle, putting no pressure on myself to create ‘masterpieces’. I know this can’t last; the Patchings Festival in July is fast approaching, but for now I am enjoying a sense of calm….
"May you come to know that work
Which emerges from the mind of love
Will have beauty and form"
(I can't remember where I read this quote so any help attributing it would be appreciated!)
I hope you have all had a peaceful start to 2022 !
I look forward to sharing more art and life with you!
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…
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…
“Winter takes away the distractions, the buzz, and presents us with the perfect time to rest and withdraw into a womb like love, bringing fire & light to our hearth…and then, just around the corner the new year will begin again, and like a seed planted deep in the earth, we will all rise with renewed energy once again to dance in the sunlight -Dee Laliberte
2021; another rollercoaster. All years have their highs and lows, but this year has felt like no other. Globally, I wonder if the world will be as before – I have my doubts. Personally, I know my world will never be the same. The passing of my mother has left a void. It would be easy just to focus on the black nothingness, that empty chair… But, as I said previously, I am fortunate in that I have 60 years of love and memories to reflect upon, and it is on those that I am choosing to concentrate. And as those ‘firsts’ come round; the first Christmas without her, the first birthday without her, the first anniversary…I will have to hang on tight to the memories and the love.
“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all the lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”
J.R.R. Tolkien
The art materials are still packed away; to be fair, I am not sure I am in the right frame of mind. There is a certain appeal in withdrawing, retreating, hibernating. A certain appeal in hunkering down, lighting some candles, wrapping myself in blankets…to spend time remembering, but also, to spend time in contemplation. Reflection is natural at the turning of the year; add in the loss of a parent, thoughts of one’s own mortality, and that reflection takes on a deeper importance. Even though I have yet to come to any earth-shattering realisations, what I have acknowledged is that I need to take some time; time to mourn, time to feel, time to adjust to my ‘new normal’ without Mum, time to discover how my life will look after the move… And slowly, hopefully, as the year turns and winter gives way to the light, I will have found my balance, replenished my creative well and be unfurling myself ‘into the grace of a new beginning’ – (John O’ Donohue). Hence the image above:
Snowdrops, a reminder that no matter how long the darkness, hope rises again to dance in the sunlight.
This will be my last post of 2021, and as I take a pause, I would just like to say, to all of you who regularly read, like and comment on my posts, to those of you who find a resonance with my ramblings, thank you.
I wish you all a Merry Christmas; I hope it is filled with love and joy!
And for the coming year:
I look forward to ‘meeting up’ with you all again soon, and to continue on our creative ‘journey’ together.
Until then, 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…
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…
It’s been almost two weeks now since she passed. There’s a sense of the days merging into one; limbo-land, that time between death and funeral, has lengthened owing to complications, compounding our grief.
And even though I know, I still half expect her to walk through the door calling out ‘Put the kettle on! Oh and here, I bought you some flowers, or a pound of sausage…’ or whatever had caught her eye. And then I remember. But these memories are treasured, and as I begin to compose the eulogy, I console myself that I am lucky, I have 60 years of such memories; others are not so fortunate.
Grief is a strange land, and we each navigate it in our own way. I am trying to be gentle with myself and others; not always easy. At times I feel like raging. And then I think ‘What would Mum do?’ Realistic as ever, she would have answered ‘Life happens, find a way and move on’. Not that she was being flippant about such things. Life had dealt her some hard knocks early on. She was painfully aware that we only have a finite time; her advice would be to grab life with both hands, hang on tight and love it with zest and passion.
And to honour her, that is what I am doing; slowly I am unfurling from my cocoon. Weeks of hospital visiting, almost a fortnight of numbness… But November is enticing me outdoors again. Beautiful sunrises and sunsets, and in between, cloudless blue and a palette of autumnal colours so rich and vivid that I am, mentally at least, painting a picture. Even the moon has heard our laughter and our tears, lighting the night sky with such luminosity, it’s as if a multitude of candles are glowing, showing us the way forward. And, not to be outshone, the stars are twinkling highlights, each a story, a moment in time, whispering softly ‘Remember when…’
So, I walk, finding enjoyment in small things; the wind ruffling my hair, the rustle of the leaves, even the squawking crows. Breathing the crisp, autumn air elicits a clarity of thought and emotion. Death bring life into sharp focus; notions and ideas, intentions flit across my mind. Nothing concrete as of yet, just a feeling, a sense, of needing to highlight what’s important…to let go of what isn’t.
Painting is confined to deciding colours for the new home; yes, amongst everything else the house move is heading towards completion. Art materials have been packed in readiness. For now, I am reduced to scrolling through Pinterest and such like, looking for new ideas and inspiration as well as looking through my own archives. And, rather fittingly I thought, I happened upon this short video of one of my sketchbook collages…its sentiment definitely something to ‘highlight’, to not let go. Something to live by.
‘Above all else it is about leaving a mark’ – Felix Gonzalez-Torres
Whatever you’re doing this weekend, cherish,
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…
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…
When great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety.
When great trees fall in forests, small things recoil into silence, their senses eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die, the air around us becomes light, rare, sterile. We breathe, briefly. Our eyes, briefly, see with a hurtful clarity. Our memory, suddenly sharpened, examines, gnaws on kind words unsaid, promised walks never taken.
Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us. Our souls, dependent upon their nurture, now shrink, wizened. Our minds, formed and informed by their radiance, fall away. We are not so much maddened as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of dark, cold caves.
And when great souls die, after a period peace blooms, slowly and always irregularly. Spaces fill with a kind of soothing electric vibration. Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.
Maya Angelou
And then she was gone. Those of us who are left, struggle to find our way through the ‘dark, cold caves.’ My brushes remain untouched, the paper lays pristine. Days pass in a blur of tea-drinking, laughing, crying. Daily chores, completed on auto-pilot. The bureaucracy of death, a necessary task to navigate…
November is being gentle with us, sensing our grief and bewilderment. Sunrises – golden, glowing, with silver-edged clouds. Sunshine, still warm to the face. And finally, autumn is displaying her finery. Gold, bronze, liquid amber; the trees exhale, their leaves soaring away, as spirits take their leave of us.
Yet, so much remains. There is no manual on being a mother, no ‘Art of Mothering’ textbook. Mum didn’t need such books. Having lost her own mother when she was only 7, she determined that no child, grandchild or great-grandchild of hers would be bereft of a mother’s love. Times weren’t always easy, but her love shone through. That’s not to say she was a pushover; that ‘stare’ could send us to our rooms, not a word spoken. But we knew everything was done with love. And so, these past few days, we have smiled at the memories, laughed at the photos and reminisced over her old LPs; Mario Lanza, Jim Reeves, Perry Como, Dusty Springfield…to name a few.
And as time passes, as it surely will, it’s her no-nonsense approach to life, her sense of humour, and most of all, her love, that will live on…
When I die Give what’s left of me away To children And old men that wait to die. And if you need to cry, Cry for your brother Walking the street beside you. And when you need me, Put your arms Around anyone And give them What you need to give to me.
I want to leave you something, Something better Than words Or sounds.
Look for me In the people I’ve known Or loved, And if you cannot give me away, At least let me live on your eyes And not on your mind.
You can love me most By letting Hands touch hands, By letting Bodies touch bodies, And by letting go Of children That need to be free.
Love doesn’t die, People do. So, when all that’s left of me Is love, Give me away.
Merrit Malloy
Whatever you’re doing this weekend, cherish,
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…
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…
'For Rockhill - On a Winter Morning (Haiku)
The landscape of home
'neath blanket of crisp, clean frost
Keeping warm the heart.'
David Bremner
There are moments of late, when I have wondered how I haven’t ‘broken’ – perhaps that will come later. For now, I carry on. The caring, the worrying, providing support, a shoulder to cry on…alongside all the mundane stuff. And moving house.
I think of myself as unremarkable, but from somewhere I am finding the strength to keep on going. The days pass, November ‘wakes and stretches.’ I am a November ‘baby’; perhaps this is where my ‘stubborn, unconquerable strength’ comes from. Or is it from somewhere else?
I have spoken before (in a previous post – ‘Something for the Weekend’ ) – about a quote by American artist Brian Rutenberg, in his book ‘Clear Seeing Place’…
“I especially love the chapter ‘Why Landscape?’ – where Rutenberg discusses knowing ‘…your origins. Where do you come from? What place stacked your bones into the shape of you?….My connection to the landscape of South Carolina has nothing to do with nostalgia; it’s much broader than memory. It’s my clear seeing place. A career has many moving parts, but there must be a cable that runs from your soft tissue directly to your clear-seeing place. Every artist needs such a place, for this is where your muse resides…’ Rutenberg, p95, Clear Seeing Place.
The fenlands of Lincolnshire are where I grew up and it is the place that ‘stacked my bones’; I often wonder if these flatlands, that are my ‘clear-seeing place’, are why I feel such affinity for the marshes and coast-line of north Norfolk…lands that stretch to the far horizons… And why, whenever I visit, there is a ‘settling’, an ‘ahhhhhh’ moment…and suddenly, everything becomes much clearer…”
There is something about the big, open blue skies and crisp mornings, where the ploughed earth has a ‘crust’ that yields when walked upon, that acts as the ‘cable that runs from my soft tissue directly to my clear-seeing place.’ Perhaps it’s this ‘intertwining’ with the land that provides a solid foundation, a deep well of strength for me to draw upon…
‘Winter’s Edge’ is an ink painting inspired by those very mornings; the piercing sky against the furrowed earth, beginning its winter slumber. Every autumn, when I see this landscape, I am transported back to my childhood growing up on a Lincolnshire farm. After the frenzy of harvest-time, there seemed to be a ‘settling’ of the land, a restful period, a fallow time…time for the earth to replenish. As a child it was the prelude to Christmas – a time of celebration and joy. All of these memories are a reminder of the cyclical nature of life. The highs and lows…
Childhood has long since gone. Now, I think of this cycle in relation to my artwork. The ebbs and flows. The harvest times, when inspiration hits, and the work flows from the brush, to the fallow periods when either the muse has gone ‘walkabout’, or it’s an in-between time, one collection finished, the next, not begun, or, as I am at the moment, in an enforced time away from creating. But… When I look at this painting, when I think about this work, I am reminded that the harvest times return. I remember that the frosty earth gives way, and new shoots emerge…
Winter’s Edge
‘Winter’s Edge‘ is available to purchase on my website. It is in an 11″ x 14″ double mount, and the artwork measures approximately 3.75″ x 6″. Turquoise and Sepia acrylic inks provide the colour, speckles of granulation fluid create a hint of frost on the soil… This was one of those works that ‘flowed from the brush’; a very intuitive painting. And though relatively simple in composition, it speaks volumes to me; of childhood days, walking the land, wind whipping my hair, the sharp air bringing tears…crows cawing as they headed off… Of years when life was ruled by the earth, its seasons…’to everything, a time…’ Of strong beginnings, and a knowledge that time passes, ‘downs’ are followed by ‘ups’. Life will find a balance, and I will find my ‘harvest time’ again…
Take One Picture – as you can see, it’s more than just a painting…
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…
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…
Mid-October, and for once we had chosen the right week weather-wise for a trip away. Blue skies, and a sun that still retained some of its summer warmth, trees tuning up for their final, glorious autumnal concerto, and hedgerows alive with the hum of bees, feasting on the ivy larder.
Okay, so it wasn’t a ‘clear, cold day with a nipping air’, nor were the trees completely bereft of their leaves…nor was I close to a river at this stage, but you’re getting my point right….? I only had the vaguest idea of a route when setting out. It didn’t seem to matter. For a blissful afternoon, my feet carried me ‘thither’ and my spirit was free…
Strolling through a street lined with thatch covered cottages, clambering roses, their petals fluttering like gentle tears to the ground, warm sun on my back…a perfect beginning. I turned into a side road, that eventually, after a section of ‘grass growing down the middle of the road’, petered out into a track, bordered by hedgerows, creating a tunnel of green, shadows dancing in the warm breeze. A slight uphill, a tapering of the bushes, and the rolling countryside was slowly revealed, the far distance a shimmering purple haze. Giant hogweeds, seeds poised atop their umbels, stood tall, framing the view. A pause, watching the everyday life of the land; cattle grazing in the pastures, a farmer working in a far field, the earth transforming from harvest to fallow. A movement in the low hedge caught my attention, a tiny brown wren darting amongst the twisted branches. And in the warm, autumnal sunshine, midges began to dance before me. I turned to continue, the hedgerow tunnel engulfing me once more. After a while the track, at best a ‘desire path’, worn down by countless feet, disappeared into the field corner. I passed through a gate, and out into green pastures cropped short by the herd of cattle now resting in the warmth of the sun, the occasional swish of a tail the only movement. Heading in the opposite direction, side-stepping the multitude of cattle deposits (!), I made my way across to the extremely dilapidated stile that took me from one field to another. Eyeing the stile warily, I placed my foot gingerly on the cross-step, testing to see if it would take my weight. Hearing no discernible creak, and not sensing any indication of an imminent crack, I hastily clambered over, pulling up short when I spied the electric fence but two feet in front of me. A momentary pause, gathering my bearings. Although not entirely sure of my whereabouts, I wasn’t ‘lost’. Seeing another stile to my right, I headed for it, only to halt half-way over. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, I re-traced my foot-steps. I might be a farm girl at heart, but I don’t enter fields when I can see a bull glaring at me… I tracked the field boundary, back past the dilapidated stile, and on into the farm yard; a mix of buildings, including a Dutch barn stacked with bales, which I skirted around, relishing the aroma of the new straw, before finally spotting a way marker. A scramble down, a precarious crossing over a single plank, and I was over the dyke and into the field. Reaching the far side, the path split in two. My feet lead me right; my sense told me that the other path would entail a much longer walk than I had intended, especially on such a warm day – my water bottle was rapidly diminishing. This grass paddock had yet to be mown, and although I kept to the edge, it still felt at times, as if I was wading through water. By and by, I came to another stile, this one leaning at a sharp angle away from me with quite a drop on the other side – not easy for this old grandma of 5′ 2″! Following the stone path along the back of some houses, I emerged into a side street. The mix of houses in the traditional stone, some with thatched roofs, some dating back hundreds of years, the small village green, the weathered war memorial – a quintessential English village. Too late for the refreshments on offer in the village church, I walked on, my metronomic footsteps a form of meditation. Baskets of windfallen apples, placed on stone walls, free to those who could make use of them, prompted thoughts of warm apple pies and crumbles. A road sign ahead, a village name I recognised, a direction to travel. The sun was slowly sinking, its warmth almost spent, my pace quickened. The narrow lane bordered by tall hedges wound its way through the countryside bringing me back to the village where I began. Back to our temporary home. Boots off, I headed for the outdoor table and chairs, cool drink in hand, to watch the blushing skies, reflections of a glorious afternoon…
I wrote the above almost three weeks ago now; so much has happened since. Holiday memories, thoughts about moving house or an imminent art exhibition, all disappeared in a heartbeat on receiving an A & E doctor’s phone call saying ‘I think you had better come now…’ Midnight drives, anxious waits, hushed conversations – silence, each lost in our own introspection.
At this moment, the fight goes on but recovery is slow; there is a reluctant acknowledgement from a previously independent 84 year old lady, that life has changed forever. Somehow, as a family, we are muddling along. I am reminded of the swans on the river; above the water so serene, below the surface, paddling furiously… There is work, caring for a disabled father, not to mention renovating/ moving house, the deadline for which cannot be altered – all this alongside the stress and worry about an extremely ill mother. At times it threatens to overwhelm. But the ties that bind us are strong, and together we are taking it one step at a time, one day at a time. Even so, something had to give. The act of creating art has taken a back seat…for now…
…but that doesn’t mean I am not thinking about my work or the direction I would like to take it. I think it fair to say however, that with all of the above going on, my brain was a little frazzled, and I definitely lacked focus. So I booked myself a coaching session with the lovely Anna Macdonald. And how glad I am that I did. For one glorious hour (plus a little extra for all my tears…), we talked of life, and art, wonderful art. After three weeks of trying to be everything to everyone, with the inevitable tension that creates, I could feel, after just this short time chatting with Anna, my shoulders beginning to relax, and to look forward with positivity to a time when I could focus again on my work. (I have to own up here; I was starting to think that, after such a long break and accompanying stress, I would get back to my ‘studio’ and go ‘now what?’) She helped me to focus and clarify. She helped to kickstart my understandably flagging inspiration. Already I can feel my fingers itching to pick up a pencil, charcoal, paint brush…. We all need support and help in all sorts of ways – would I recommend Anna – in a heartbeat!
One of the contributing factors to me contacting Anna was thoughts of my own mortality. Keep with me, it’s not all doom and gloom! Thinking about the loss of a parent, and with my next ‘big’ birthday fast approaching, well, you start to reappraise where you are and where you are going. Did I want to continue making the same art again and again? No, was the short answer. As an artist, and human being, I want to evolve and develop; learn from the past, and move on with increasing awareness of what I would like to achieve.
Thinking in this way has made me feel strangely freer, especially with regards to my art – ‘it gives me license to make any kind of picture I want with great courage’. If I want to paint cats, or twee chocolate box cottages then I will do. (Don’t fret, I have no burning desire to paint either, not, I hasten to add, that there is anything wrong if you do want to!!) The thing is, we should all paint what brings us joy. Yes, there might be hiccups along the way, and there will be days when you can’t seem to paint anything at all. But. Create with love. Create with joy. Create what makes your heart sing. If you start with that, the rest will follow…
If you have got this far, thank you. I normally try to keep this blog a place of inspiration, but this week I have an additional message. I have tried to demonstrate how something positive can come from an extremely stressful time. As I said earlier, we all need help at times, and it doesn’t matter if it’s with your art, or with life in general. Never think that your concerns are trivial – if it upsets you, it matters! Don’t struggle on in silence, reach out, find someone you trust, someone who will listen, without judgement. I wouldn’t have been able to write this if I didn’t have such people in my life…
Whatever you’re doing this weekend, pause a while, take a moment, check in with yourself and your loved ones…
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…
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…
As you are reading this, I will hopefully be walking somewhere new, paying attention, being astonished. The ‘telling’ part will have to wait. There’s nothing like having a break from routine, seeing new landscapes…taking time to find new inspiration…or to fall in love with your passion all over again.
"The secret of beginning a life of deep awareness and sensitivity lies in our willingness to pay attention. Our growth as conscious, awake human beings is marked not so much by grand gestures and visible renunciations as by extending loving attention to the minutest particulars of our lives. Every relationship, every thought, every gesture is blessed with meaning through the wholehearted attention we bring to it. In the complexities of our minds and lives we easily forget the power of attention, yet without attention we live only on the surface of existence. It is just simple attention that allows us truly to listen to the song of a bird, to see deeply the glory of an autumn leaf, to touch the heart of another and be touched. We need to be fully present in order to love a single thing wholeheartedly. We need to be fully awake in this moment if we are to receive and respond to the learning inherent in it."
- Christina Feldman and Jack Kornfield, Stories of the Spirit, Stories of the Heart
Paying attention to your passion, nourishing it, delighting in it, whether its something you do as a hobby or it’s your career – give yourself permission to fully embrace whatever it is that feeds your soul…
And as we pay attention and give ourselves permission, sometimes, something magical will…
And just in case you’re missing my usual, hopefully inspiring blog, take a look at my ‘Best of…’ page – click on the link in the navigation bar. Here you will find a few of my past posts that have struck a chord with lots of you, so do have a browse, over the weekend, whilst you’re paying attention, nourishing your creativity…
'The Real Prayers Are Not the Words,
But the Attention that Comes First
The little hawk leaned sideways and, tilted,
rode the wind. Its eye at this distance looked
like green glass; its feet were the colour
of butter. Speed, obviously was joy. But
then, so was the sudden, slow circle it carved
into the slightly silvery air, and the
squaring of its shoulders, and the pulling into
itself the long, sharp-edged wings, and the
fall into the grass where it tussled a moment,
like a bundle of brown leaves, and then, again,
lifted itself into the air, that butter-colour
clenched in order to hold a small, still
body, and it flew off as my mind sang out oh
all that loose, blue rink of sky, where does
it go and why?'
Mary Oliver
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…
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…
'Song for Autumn
Don't you imagine the leaves dream now
how comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of the air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don't you think
the trees, especially those with
mossy hollows, are beginning to look for
the birds that will come - six, a dozen - to sleep
inside their bodies? And don't you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
stiffens and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its long blue shadows. The wind wags
its many tails. And in the evening
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.'
Mary Oliver
The low autumn sun dances on the arch of the bridge. The gusting breeze and birds combine to create their own music. I clamber over the stile, the wooden step worn and thin, and on, passed the pub with its gaily coloured parasols pointing upwards to the the blue skies. Ducks surge forwards in anticipation – only to swim away, tutting indignantly at my lack of food for them. Through another gate, and under the busy road, I keep walking, watching the water’s surface, one minute calm, the next rippling like quicksilver downstream. The path narrows, thankfully still dry, sheltered by the hedgerows from the worst of the weekend rains. The roaring sound grows louder as I approach the weir, a wooden bridge traversing the divergent waters. A choice of two paths; I select the longer route, following the bend in the river, meandering through the Leicestershire countryside. Meadows mirror each other on opposing banks. And where the fields meet, there is already a suggestion of the quagmires to come; the pitted divots of countless cloven hooves just that little bit softer, stickier underfoot, clinging…don’t go, don’t go… I negotiate the gate, nod to the waiting dog-walker and continue. Clouds roll in, the wind picks up, grasses tremble. The river turns sharp left, and, floating mid-stream, a pair of swans, preening, resting. On I walk, my mind emptying of all thoughts of busy-ness – only the present moment matters; the river and environs, the action of walking. The meditative motion of my footsteps brings a calmness. A few miles from home, I can do nothing but carry on.
“Walking, much like singing, steadies the mind. When we place one foot in front of the other, we can feel the body lean and sway as we move forward. The first steps may be slow, but gradually we find our gait. Though we may require effort to break our inertia, our willingness to move is soon requited. At first, we notice the mind doing the walking. Then the body soon takes over, and with that, our thoughts are free to flow.”
Stephen Levine – Unattended Sorrow
The field peters out, the desire path merges into a gravel track, still bordering the river; I reach another bridge. This time, a taller affair, steps up, across the wooden boards, the view backwards tracking my footsteps, the view onwards to a further weir and small boatyard. The chicken-wire covered boards muffle my tread, and I turn left to follow the river, nodding silently to the fishermen sitting patiently, quietly, rods poised, flask of coffee, or tea, steaming in the morning air. Again the river diverges, two weirs, gushing, churning the waters until they become a whirling, swirling froth of lace bubbles swept either downstream or into the relative calm of the boatyard. Fellow walkers nod in acknowledgement before returning to their own thoughts. My route takes me away from the river, along a lane bordered by hedgerows, each a smorgasbord of delights for the birds and insects; a feast before winter. Passed the cricket ground, and out onto the path. For the next mile or so, I walk alongside the road – constant traffic a reminder of our 21st century pace of life. My eyes look to the right, through the hedges, to the fields beyond, dotted with sheep, oblivious. Eventually my loop is complete and I find myself once more near the pub, and once more the ducks surge forward expectantly – only to be disappointed again. Next time, I promise. Turning right, I clamber once more over the stile. Just a little further before journey’s end, until finally I reach home, my stretch of the river. I cross the water, and turn again, before reaching my favoured spot. A deep breath, a gentle stretch. I sit, taking a few moments. And only then do my thoughts turn to the day ahead. Calmly, without stress, I think of all that has to be done, making a to-do list, and any time that overwhelm starts to set in, I stop, close my eyes, breathe deeply and picture my walk; the sounds, smells, sensations… Slowly I settle, and calmly begin the day…
“In a world of constant change and flux where being in the moment seems increasingly harder to attain, there is also something about the notion of traveling along a pathway–under our own power–that reconnects us, and indeed binds together all humanity…”
– Robert Searns
It has been a week of reflections in more ways than just the flickering, dancing light above. Seemingly aimless at the moment with my art – hence the mad half hour with inks…
…I have been doing some soul-searching, navel-gazing, call it what you will…and made a few decisions, more of which in the coming weeks as the ideas and plans take shape and come to fruition. In the meantime…
I am doing what I can with what I’ve got – and at the moment, that means I am enjoying the little things…like the reflections on the wall, and the straw-coloured stems against the dark foliage. Fleeting observations of temporary things; will the sunlight happen to fall on the passing car brake-light and bounce through the front door window pane onto the wall again – if so, will I be there to capture it? How long before the trees are bare of leaves and the contrast between foliage and dead cow parsley is no more? Will the rain splatter and drip from the fatsia leaves in the same way, creating pools and glittering diamonds on the hosta’s lace remnants…? Each a moment in time, a memory forever.
“Our world isn’t made of earth, air and water or even molecules and atoms; our world is made of moments in time.”
― Khalid Masood
As ever, I hope you have found something to interest and inspire you…
Thanks for stopping by!
Whatever you’re doing this weekend, take a moment, 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…
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…
'Robin Redbreast
Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!
For Summer's nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our Thrushes now are silent,
Our Swallows flown away, -
But Robin's here in coat of brown,
With ruddy breast-knot gay,
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
Robin singing sweetly
In the falling of the year...'
William Allingham
I stand and watch. I listen as this robin sings for all to hear. Gone are the chattering house-martins and swallows; even the blackbirds are quiet. The robin, seemingly, has the stage all to himself. And, like me, he appears to be relishing the warm, autumnal sunshine. I set out along the tow-path, edged with an abundance of nettles and dried stalks, the hedgerow bending under the weight of fruit… The river level seems relatively high considering the lack of recent rain. The low sun casts long shadows, reflections are elongated across the water’s surface, rippling – giving the appearance of being one of those fairground mirrors. On the opposite bank, in the warm, radiant heat, horses and ponies, some lying on the short grass, others stood, heads drooping, tails occasionally swishing, swatting flies, ears flicking backwards and forwards. One of the herd lifts its head, ears pricked, watching for a few moments before slowly returning to its desultory grazing.
I follow the meandering path of the river as it winds through the pastureland. Over stiles, through gates, across a small, wooden footbridge, all the while looking, watching. The fields are empty now, the grass short, bare earth plainly visible. Dips in the riverbank, where livestock have previously made their way down to drink, are dried, crusted moonscapes, crumbling underfoot. As I draw near, the distant rumbling grows louder and louder, until eventually it becomes a constant roar. I cross the bridge, this time a more substantial affair of metal and rivets, the river on one side, the weir, gushing and spewing water on the other. I stand and watch the water tumble and swirl, bubbles forming, pooling into froth before drifting downstream. The nearby boatyard is busy. The warm sunshine has enticed everyone to the water. Some are on the river in a variety of craft; others are content to sit, feet dangling in the cool liquid, chatting to friends. And, in amongst all the human activity, a pair of swans glide regally past, their brood of nine, yes nine, cygnets trailing in their wake. I walk on, the path taking me away from the river for a short while, on between paddocks, cropped short by the resident horses. Before long the looping walkway takes me back over the water, a rather more care-worn bridge this time; narrow, wooden slats that move and creak with each footstep, my sweater catching on the chicken wire that is wound around the rails. The uneven, broken concrete path edging the field is a ‘twisted ankle in waiting’ for the unwary, and between that and the nettles that are taller than me, swaying in the breeze and stinging my bare arms as I pass, the wide open expanse of the next field is a welcome respite. I follow the ‘desire path’ across the grass, before clambering over another stile, heading back to the river. Splash! A dog exuberantly leaps into the water. Ball retrieved, the dog bounds over to me, stands four-square in front, tilts her head, eyes me mischievously – and shakes herself violently, spraying water droplets in all directions. Profuse apologies, laughter all round. As I turn to leave, I hear another splash.
I am back on the path, dust-dry. The ruby red hips dangle like Christmas baubles. The fruit of the ivy, clambering over and around the field edges, is burgeoning. For now, the clump of reeds is tall, moving to the dance of the river. A small twig, leaf remnants clinging fiercely on, floats downriver, it’s story almost told. Walk complete, I sit in my favourite spot, the gloaming light a delight of coral sunshine and shadows. I wait, quietly, still. In the distance a buzzard calls, circling, lower and lower, before settling in the far tree. I wait. The river current moves from right to left. I turn my head fractionally to follow its journey. I close my eyes, and listen to the ‘settling’ of the landscape; the day almost over. But not quite. I wait, eyes open now, waiting. I screw my eyes up, squinting in the half-light – until I get my reward. A flash of blue and orange, downstream and back, returning to its favourite spot, where, waiting, is another, smaller version of that same blue and orange. My day is complete.
Time out for a little ‘ambedo’ is so important for me. The every day minutiae can sometimes overwhelm, especially at the moment with the coming house move. So taking a little time to absorb the small details, from the shimmering water’s surface, to the breeze ruffling my hair, to watching the swirls of steam rise as I make my morning coffee, reminds me to stop rushing from one job to another, noticing and seeing nothing bar the task in front of me and to remember, there is more to life.
And the joy and delight I gain from my time in the landscape, from absorbing the smallest of details, feeds into my work – sometimes in ways I don’t even realise, unconsciously, intuitively…
“To know how to choose a path with heart is to learn how to follow intuitive feeling. Logic can tell you superficially where a path might lead to, but it cannot tell if your heart will be in it.” – Jean Shinoda Bolen
For the moment my heart is drawn to my florals. And tulips in particular. Even though their time has long past, there is something about the luscious goblets, the way they stand ramrod tall before fading, drooping, shedding their petals, that is so beautiful, I long to capture that essence over and over again with all the lightness and joy I can portray on paper…
'It is the simple pleasures
That make it all worthwhile
Sometimes just a sunrise
Is enough to make me smile
So much is in the watching
Or listening to Nature's voice
And knowing when to stop
And realise you have a choice
Take some time to just step back
And just take in the view
It's about the simple pleasures
That all of us once knew'
Robert Longley
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…
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…
Carolyn J Roberts 