…to immerse yourself fully is to almost no longer exist. It’s as though I’m floating in the landscape… Thought has been almost entirely removed and intuition flows. It is magical.

I wrote a blog Plein air painting back in 2022. It was my first year discovering the pure joy of painting outside. It was a revelation, once I got over the practicalities and the interest passers by would bestow on me when I was ‘spotted’. I described finding this aspect, the hardest part of all..

The hardest part of all was being approached by people asking to take a look and chat. I admit, the first couple of times, I positively scowled  to keep people away! I soon realised that this was something I was going to have to deal with in a far better way! After a couple of times, I got used to the approaches people made. I started to really enjoy the conversations with people who were genuinely interested  – if perhaps a little less than impressed with my efforts ha!

A special place

This week our art society was invited to a special garden to enjoy the grounds and the views and to set up to paint wherever we liked. The garden is on the banks of the River Darwen. It is a joy. The owner, Chris Mortimer has lavished his attention on the grounds and the planting but also in the unexpected buildings that you discover as you explore the grounds in his 50 plus years here. These include a secluded groto approached via a tunnel and a dark tower which can be reached if you’re feeling adventurous, by an extremely narrow suspension bridge. There is woodland, a quarry pit and orchard amongst other delights.

The weather so far this summer in the UK has been pretty dismal, especially in the North. The day before had seen torrential rain and temperatures down to 10 degrees in the daytime, so it was touch and go whether the event would go ahead. Thankfully, we decided to go and hope for the best and apart from a few spots of rain, we were blessed with intermittent sunshine.

I found a sheltered spot on the banks of the river and set up my tripod and Etchr Mini Slate (you can read more about that in my previous blog here. )

Getting started

It takes some setting up, finding the ‘right’ spot and having some kit with you, to get started. The kit can be minimal though. A sketchbook and pencil can be enough and I have happily sketched with just these few supplies. Though for me, I want to paint with my watercolours and I like to stand up to do this. I’ve found I can’t hold a sketchbook for long in one position whilst I paint and If I’m not comfortable, then I can’t appreciate the full benefits of plein air painting.

Immerse yourself

Once I’m set up, it becomes about being immersed in the setting. Becoming almost one with the nature that surrounds me. It’s like the distinction between myself and the environment melts away and I am one within it. I picked a spot because of the view in front of me and yet it’s as if it’s no longer a view but an experience. To see a view and perhaps take a photo, walk or drive on is to appreciate it in that moment and then pass by. To become distracted with the next piece of information that fills your brain, often uninvited. But to immerse yourself fully is to almost no longer exist. It’s as though I’m floating in the landscape, there are no cares or distracting thoughts for long periods of time. It is a meditation, a day-dream, almost trance like.

The sounds, the air on your skin the flow of watercolour across the page transcends the realm of being into one of experience. Some of my loveliest watercolours have been painted this way in sketchbooks. Thought has been almost entirely removed and intuition flows. It is magical.

This time, I wasn’t able to complete my painting in-situ and so finished it at home. I could’ve left it as it was and although incomplete, it was fresh and spontaneous. But that place was in my heart and mind. I wanted to prolong the experience and so I continued it at home. I loved how it turned out and so did my Mum who has asked if she could have it framed.

Some progress

It’s been an art filled week which culminated in time in the studio. At last.

Monday was my first ever teaching experience. I have recently given some demo’s but teaching is totally new to me and this is another revelation. Years ago, I was asked if I would teach when I designed and hand made bags. I declined. I have never seen myself as a teacher. Never thought I had that teaching bone in my body. So to have been approached and asked out of the blue was a complete surprise. Originally I was asked to do a talk/demo and then it morphed to a teaching spot once a month.

Learning self-confidence

Having the confidence to teach doesn’t come easy but I have been un-prepared for the joy it’s brought me! And them too apparently which is unbelievably gratifying. And so I hope the confidence in me will grow with the patience of my fledgling art group who are SO appreciative of my efforts.

What a joy it is to talk art, to show your techniques and ideas and for others to be so enthralled. I wouldn’t have chosen to do this, I sort of fell into it and I believe it is total serendipity. I am grateful to the universe or perhaps that should just be to Facebook where the lady originally found me 😂 I’d far rather thank the universe!

And on Tuesday..

I delivered my painting to Brewery Arts gallery for their Open exhibition for which it was selected. I have been thrilled to be included with 40 plus other artists whose works were chosen for this juried show.

This is a painting about overcoming adversity and the trials of life. Of the dark against the light and how there is always hope.

Release the pressure and just paint!

These 2 events this week have given me the kick I needed to get back in the studio. I’ve been really struggling with my main painting this year. In some ways, I think I have put too much pressure on myself and pressure is certainly not conducive to creativity.

I had started a series called Dust at the end of last year and it had been going well but I was disappointed with the direction they took and I’m now rethinking the whole series and how to move it forward.

A wise peer said to me this week, something she’d learnt from American artist Nicholas Wilton who says, it takes a while for your art to catch up with your taste.

And then it all makes sense.

The only way to get to make the paintings I dream of making is to keep going. Keep pushing my painting and experimenting.

I have nearly a full week in studio this week. I’m looking forward to it!

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Have you tried your creative pursuit in a different environment and does it make a difference to your whole experience?

If you’d like to read more about Chris’s beautiful garden Mill Barn, you can find it here

Boredom led to discovery

Out of a need to be occupied I discovered a love of drawing and painting with my small watercolour set. I would copy these lovely illustrations from my favourite poetry book, which I still have to this day. I got out on my bike whenever I could and loved getting lost in stories from books we would borrow from the library once a month or so. And I discovered sewing and crocheting granny squares taught to me by ‘Aunty’ June across the road.

Boredom gave me a love for things that I value more than ever these days. I relished the joy in learning something new, often after weeks of frustration. It gave me deep satisfaction and a sense of pride and accomplishment.

Too much stuff

Looking back now, those creative ‘achievements’ gave me a much needed sense of self although I never realised it at the time and it makes me wonder where the children of today might get that too. These days there is no time to be bored. Their every waking moment is filled with ‘stuff’. Other people’s stuff. Social media, accessibility to friends 24 hours a day. Pushed to achieve more and more academically at school with SATs and tests. Where is the space for boredom and the need to create?

Is overwhelm the new boredom?

Creating requires some space. And so I am led to the subject of overwhelm. Is overwhelm the new boredom? Now there is too much. Of everything. Boredom created a necessity to get off your backside and DO something. To make yourself feel better. Now there is so much to do, we don’t know where to turn next or manage to stay focused for more than 10 minutes at a time.

Overwhelm is the nemesis of creativity

Overwhelm invades, pushes out any desire to create or even the ability to. Leaving no space for creativeness to flow. It makes me realise how lucky I was to experience boredom, how overwhelm wasn’t a thing when I was growing up. I am grateful for all the boredom I was ever subjected to, for it gifted me creativity.

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Does any of this resonate with you?

Do you remember being bored as a child and did you learn things from it too?

What favourite flower would you pick and why?

I’d love to hear your thoughts and perhaps we can generate a discussion here in the comments.

First time ever

I’ve been preparing for my first ever teaching assignment. I set some homework, as requested, for my ladies which was to choose a favourite flower that’s blooming now. I’ve asked them to think about the flower and what it means to them. We will use this to help them paint intuitively in class in a couple of weeks time.

Abundance

I have chosen cow parsley. It is a favourite time of year to see this wild flower proliferate the hedgerows. Their abundant exuberance seems to come all at once and soften the vibrant greens everywhere. Creamy white blossoms, like clouds of loveliness gently nodding in the breeze as you pass by.

Learning to see in a deeper way

Learning all about these details are useful in helping to build a picture in my mind of the flower. It helps hold the subject in my subconscious when it comes time to painting later. I am teaching my group of ladies to see their subject with a little more depth, not just in a looking way but also in a knowledgeable and a feeling way.

When I was a girl. . .

To me, hedgerows bursting with cow parsley remind me of being a young girl, cycling through country lanes on my bicycle with my friend. We were attempting to escape the confines of our homes and the boredom of the days during the long school holidays. Life was far more simple back then. No internet, precious little to see on the 3 channels we had on our TV’s and being in a village, very little entertainment of any kind, apart from that which we made ourselves. My Mum couldn’t drive and Dad was always working. My bike was freedom. An escape.

Finding a narrative

By giving the flower of our choice a bit more consideration than just a cursory glance, we are rounding it out, giving it a narrative. We can build stories and bring our hearts into our work. It brings expression and a part of us and is a wonderful way into intuitive painting. Yes of course there are all the technical skills we need to think about but getting bogged down in these takes away the joy in your painting, for you and perhaps for the viewer too.

Describing the experience

There are so many ways to approach painting and in the past I have used photographs and had a need to reproduce what I can see. This left me dissatisfied and underwhelmed. Now I can see that it is my desire to describe the experience of whatever it is I am painting and by giving it some forethought it can help lead a way in. And so this is what I hope to show to my class.

It feels very ‘grown up’ to have a class to teach. My friend always wanted to teach when we were growing up, I never did. I wanted to work in a bank - how glamourous! It wasn’t 😂 Now, being given the opportunity to teach feels exciting and a privilege.

I’ll write again after the class and let you know how it went.

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What is your favourite flower of this season?

Does it bring back memories for you and have a special place in your heart? Perhaps it’s something you had in a wedding bouquet that holds special memories.

I’d love to chat to you. Post a comment below and let’s talk flowers, art and childhood memories.

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This . . .

Art is the nourishment. It fills me up. It’s the place where all cares ebb away. Stood within this space, there is a sunlit warmth, a gentle refreshing breeze, a blackbird is singing his beautiful song and there is an endless supply of tea. The river gently flows by, the light glinting off the surface casting silver wavelets across the surface of my work and there is dappled light beneath the silver birch tree. Time ceases to exist. There is ease here, no friction. Intuition has slipped past conscious thinking and very gently pushed it back. The release in this subtle shift brings a pure peace. My fragile mind is eased, soothed, gifted a great big gentle hug.

Hello! I have an apology for taking an impromptu break. I hadn’t expected to but it was welcome and I’ve returned with a renewed energy and enthusiasm.

The sun is finally shining. A proper late spring day in the north of the UK at last. We’ve been away at our caravan in the Lake District and my heart is full and there has been some healing since my last post Perhaps all that's needed is a little bit of space. Life right now, isn’t perfect but it’s feeling so much more manageable. Lighter. And yes, the weather really does help.

Re-discovering drawing again, because I don’t often...

I have re-discovered drawing. It crept in and I have relished it. There’s something so refreshingly simple about a sketchbook and pencil. You might imagine that being an artist I’d draw a lot but this isn’t the case. I’ve had periods where I’ve drawn intensely for a month or so and then it passes. I have a feeling this might be like that again. But whilst it’s here, it’s been so welcome.

A few weeks back I went on a morning’s sketching course in Cumbria. The day was reliably cold and wet because of course, we were sketching outside. The other members of our group had come suitably attired as they were ‘proper Cumbrians’. Me, not so much. I’d forgotten a warm hat, gloves and some walking boots. Getting out of the car into the drizzle from the blanket of low cloud that hovered just above our heads, I smiled bravely and entered into our plein air sketching with conviction. We were provided with a board, paper and some chubby water-soluble graphite sticks. I was grateful for their robust size as the cold was numbing my fingers. It felt a little childlike, wielding this chunky stick and oh so freeing! I was even more grateful however when our teacher said let’s go back to the studio and get a warm brew! Once back inside we spent the rest of the morning drawing and I was happy with my efforts. More importantly I’d so enjoyed being with others and I’d had a lot of fun.

Time away

2 days later, we flew away on holiday to Ibiza. I took my sketchbook and plein air watercolour kit and I painted.

I painted and I sketched for the pure please of it. Sat out on the balcony or taking myself off for a walk and finding a quiet spot.

Looking out to sea and a tiny island, water lapping the shoreline, sat on some concrete steps and under my holiday hat, I was in my element painting the view. Before I could finish, big fat raindrops began to splat on my page. So I packed up and found a nearby cafe and sat and wrote for nearly 2 hours. It was such a rewarding morning not for any other reason than feeling happy within myself.

Listening to intuition

Since I’ve been home I’ve continued to draw. Not every day, but when I can. When I’ve felt the urge. It’s been important to recognise that and not let it slip past. A moment, an opportunity missed as a distraction takes hold. I have relished this time. My intuition has provided me with the perfect gift and I am listening.

I have been inspired to try more abstracted compositions. Whenever I’ve drawn in the past, it’s always been in an attempt to describe the subject or view as I did in previous years when I painted in watercolours. Now my focus is abstract and so I attempt to try something different. I am enjoying the challenge.

I have taken lots of photos in a different way this time too. Cropping images and strange angles to see something that’s quite plain and simple, such as this teacup and saucer on a mat, in a more cryptic way. I am eager to draw more of these from the photos I took. They won’t become subjects in my paintings so much as ideas that will translate in different and unexpected ways.

Learning lessons

My art should’ve been a solace for me. I’d allowed myself to be led away in the pursuit of making a success of, hopefully, myself. And then life happened and there has been a sad period. Rather than have my art to lean into, to stabilise me, I’d over-loaded myself again.

I am so thankful now to have rebalanced.

Drawing is holding a gentle space, for me to connect with me. No expectation, no desire to make something magnificent. Just paper, pencils and myself.

I’ve realised I’m tired. That I could lay down right here, right now on this sofa and fall asleep at 5.00pm on a Sunday afternoon. Life has been wearing me out lately and apart from the ongoing difficulties I wrote about last week, I’m really not sure why.

Perhaps I just need a little bit of space.

Busyness can be an affliction can’t it. I hear myself constantly saying no I can’t do this because I have to do that … then that and then that. My husband queries it from time to time and I get cross. Yes, I HAVE to do these things, of course I do! But as he often so rightly points out, I pile all this pressure on myself. I make my life one endless to do list:

Finish that quarterly review

Finish watching the live video that goes with it

Read that book to take part in a journaling prompt on another Substack you’ve just joined. But don’t forget to do the prep for that Substack live that’s happening on Monday and in the meantime - write your next post to publish.

Put together a lesson for a demo for a local art group - must be ready by the end of the week!

Finish website updates for my local art group

Get website looking simpler/cleaner - the to do list for this is looooooong

Catch up on the #100 day challenge you set yourself that you’re about a month behind on!

Complete the workbook for the Stu McLaren live course this week

Re-photograph and re-list paintings

Prepare social media posts……. The list goes on and on

BUT I’m supposed to be an artist! Where is the time to paint? What is going on here?

My focus has been scattered. Writing this I can see it’s all too much and I’m overwhelmed with it all. I am missing my painting, the thing I’m supposed to be about. The person who I want to be isn’t who I’m being right now. My creativity is being stifled by my own drive for ….. what?!

I’m striving to be the best artist I can be but the focus has gone awry. Without my stabilising creative focus I feel all at sea and the thing I really need AND really want to do to be that person, isn’t happening.

There are things to be done this week, non-negotiables and then I fly away for a weeks holiday in 7 days time. I can’t wait. By the time I come back home I will be another year older. Let’s see if I can make that a slighter wiser year too. I am determined to come back as the artist that I set out on this journey to be.

Do you suffer from over complicating life? Is it a case of wanting too much? Perhaps not being clear enough on your destination, not focusing on what is actually important? Or something else entirely. Leave a comment and let’s chat.

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Episode 246 of Art juice with Louise Fletcher and Alice Sheridan talk about making space for creativity and taking breaks to recharge that creative flow. Brilliant listening if you are feeling a little like this too.

has set up The Selfish Bookclub (one of my To Do items but one I’m very much looking forward to) with live journaling sessions. I’m hoping this will help me get clearer on what’s actually important.

I really wanted to write something cheerful. There is so much preying on my mind that I can’t write about, I wanted to distract myself and write something uplifting. But the truth is, I can’t divert my mind to something more trivial or at least if I did, it would just be words on a page. It wouldn’t contain part of me which is after all, one of the reasons I’m here on Substack. To write from my heart and soul.

What do you do. . . ?

So instead I am exploring what do you do when you have real difficulties in your life, what do you do to ease your mind? What can you do to help keep a balance so that you don’t fall into a pit of despair?

How do you cope with the guilt? Shouldn’t this never ending situation remain front and centre in your brain? Shouldn’t you devote all your time and attention to the issue in the hope of ….. what??….. Finding a solution? But there isn’t one because the situation is beyond your control. You can only stand by and watch it unfold. You know you’re doing what you can. You question yourself time and time again. Anguish over it. The reality is you’re living with it day in and day out.

Relief by distraction

There has to be some relief. Even just for a while. Distraction in some form or other, a rest for the mind.

If there is one thing I have learnt over my 58 years, fretting over something really never helps. It doesn’t solve anything. Dissecting problems can cause fixations and that can only be unhealthy. Any sense of balance lost. Spiralling thoughts can become never ending, insistent, demanding. Ill making.

Sometimes you have no choice but to let something play out. The interventions you’ve tried over the past months haven’t resolved anything and perhaps in someway it’s had the opposite effect and extended the trauma, however unwittingly. Enabling in a bid to try and save someone never works. At least not in my experience.

I am resigned to knowing I’m doing what I can. I’m here. I’m providing support and I’ll listen if only there could be an opening up. I wish there could be a chink of light, a realisation, a desire to get better. But right now there isn’t and I can’t magic it so.

So for me, to be any use, requires me to hold onto my life of normality. To keep my sanity. Loosing myself in this mire isn’t going to help anyone.

Becoming insignificant

I’ve come away to our caravan. It’s in such a peaceful spot overlooking the estuary. The panorama stretches all the way to the Cumbrian mountains and I am an insignificant dot in the landscape.

To be so insignificant in the face of all this nature is a joy. It fills my depleted soul. It gives and I so gratefully receive. I breathe deeply and my eyes soak up all that open space and beauty and it filters down into my soul. It refreshes and fills me up again. It heals.

When all is said and done that estuary will continue to ebb and flow. The mountains will always be. The birds will continue to fly in and out , to feed in the tidal pools. The rooks will continue to build their nests in the tops of the trees. The sun will shine and the heavens still open. The wind will blow the cobwebs away. There is something so comforting in this.

The wonder of nature

Nature is our healer.

And so I get outside. Go for a walk. Sketch. Appreciate every little bit of what I see before me. I soak up that peace and energy and conserve it to help me navigate these very difficult times.

Do you have any words of wisdom? My mother-in-law tells me nothing lasts forever, I try to keep this in my mind

My first day back in my favourite place, Holker on the Cartmel Peninsular in Cumbria. We are so lucky to have a caravan here, overlooking the Leven Estuary. The site re-opens 1st March but it’s been so wet I’ve not made it back until yesterday evening.

The Daffodils

For my first day I packed up some paper and pencils and went out to sketch the daffodils in the woodland.

It was an effort.

It feels like such a long time since I did any plein air sketching and I was both rusty and a little anxious that my first attempt would be disappointing. Not that it matters to anyone. But it matters to me.

The weather was dull and cold and my brain said, leave it today… go out next time. It would have been so easy to give in and stop inside with my book. Excuses come easily, my brain is a master at them and they’re all SO plausible..

• It’s cold outside

• It might rain any time

• You don’t draw ‘things’ so why bother?

• You haven’t got the right tools you want… watercolours and brushes and inks

• You could……….. (insert just about anything here) instead!

• What’s the point?

The Point is

It’s joyful.

Once I’d dug out my big winter coat, my walking boots and a bag of limited supplies I was out the door and walking. The air was bitter but I was warm. The daffodils everywhere were nodding away in the wind. A formation of geese flew overhead. The rooks were back and forth adding to their impressive sky high nests. I could hear a chiff chaff and blackbird. And very little else. Bliss!

I tried out a couple of spots in an a small area of woodland between lodges and caravans. Settling on my spot, I took out my pad and pencils and began.

Fighting Myself

It was hard at first. My know-it-all brain was loud, telling me to quit before I’d started. But I was determined. I made tentative marks with a 4H pencil, lamenting the absence of my watercolour set that was back at home in Lancashire. I mapped out the areas I’d decided to focus on. Feeling a little bolder I pulled out a darker pencil and scribbled some areas with the flat of the lead, laying down patches of tone. This felt good. I’d begun to loosen up already. Sharper marks were added to bring in some structure, drawing leaf shapes and brambles in the foreground and strengthening the trees in the background. and then some dark tone beneath the daffodil flowers, using a negative method of rendering.

All my ‘bones’ in place

Once I had all the ‘bones’ in place I packed up and headed back home. I could’ve stopped here. I’d managed a loose sketch. It described the scene well. I’d finally started my plein air season. I was really happy with this.

But I’d really enjoyed myself and I didn’t want to stop. Brew made, I spent the next hour or so tightening the whole sketch up.

I am actually aiming to loosen up, not the opposite, but it didn’t matter. The point was I was having fun. I lost myself. My mind was completely absorbed. All my worries slipped away and there was just me and my pencil. When I finally finished. I went on to fiddle around with some pieces I’m doing for my #100 day project, I’m very far behind with this but I’m doing it in my own time.

Getting started is the worst. It’s the same with anything you’ve not done for a while. Actually taking action and spending that couple of hours was the best therapy. I felt really good about myself, a sense of achievement. A confidence that I can tackle the river next time… an urge to get out there again, and soon!

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Why sketch realist scenes when I no longer paint them?

My paintings revolve around flora and fauna and the fragility of the planet. Sketching helps me to connect to all of this. To really see and absorb the details, yes, but the atmosphere, the sounds and smells too. It makes me slow down and really see. And this feeds my paintings.

Over the winter I’ve hardly sketched at all, outdoors or indoors. It’s a skill and one I need to practice much more. The benefits to my mind are myriad. Plein air painting and sketching is challenging, it takes all my concentration and I end my sessions feeling lighter, refreshed and happy. I’d forgotten just how good it feels.

Do they? ……. Do you? Feel you need to connect with the creator to feel the full impact of a piece of work? Whether it’s writing or a piece of art, does that connection make a big difference?

Does the story matter? Within a piece of writing perhaps that’s a given, but does a narrative make a difference to how you perceive an artwork, particularly when it’s abstract?

I know that I have been captivated with a work when I have learned the thinking behind it. Knowing that information has opened a gate in my mind and I am there, experiencing what the creator has described, sharing in their story through my own eyes and my own perception. An intermingling and a knowing.

Is connecting to the artist part of this too?

How much to share?

I’ve been questioning how much to share of my experience. Connection is important to me. I paint to connect to others who feel like me. And so I decided to share this on Instagram this week. I put on my big girl pants and I wrote …

I thought I’d write a little about why I paint and what it means for me. It can be hard to describe and I’ll be honest, I get anxious about being too deep. But I’m going to tell you what’s in my heart.

Fragility and impermanence are reoccurring themes in my paintings. The fragility of the planet, the loss of habitat and climate change make my heart weep. Some of my paintings are dark.. Rising and the poem I wrote to go with it is a good example.

And there are 2 I haven’t shared with you yet. I have entered them for a juried show. If I am lucky enough to get them longlisted (probably an out of reach aspiration) but IF they were accepted I would feel a little surer about sharing them here. And if they’re not, I am committing to share them anyway. Because I am proud of them and because they come from within me.

The fragility is within me too. It is always there under the surface.

When I paint, it comes from deep inside. It is not a conscious decision to paint the subjects I do. They appear. Thought takes place in the final layers but it still takes me by surprise that I have produced what I have.

I paint to connect to people who feel like me. Who feel that fragility and are troubled by it too.

To connect, to protest in my own quiet way.

Much of this is allusive and not easy to articulate. I am anxious about putting people off but equally, perhaps it will strengthen the connection with you.

And so I am being brave.

And it it’s a disaster, I might disappear in a cloud of embarrassment.

But also, many of my paintings are celebratory of that glorious nature too!

My poem, Rising

My poem I wrote for Rising, perhaps says it best…

in celebration of our planet.

Uplifted

The response to this opening of my heart was beautiful and unexpected if I’m honest. It was uplifting. It brought deeper connection from many of those I’ve known for years from being on social media. Perhaps they understood me just a little bit more? Perhaps they recognised something in themselves in what I’d written?

Speak our truths

If we can’t speak out truths ( as long as those truths aren’t hurtful to anyone else) then how can we hope to find people with similar convictions to us. How can we truly recognise one another and join in harmony? Does that all sound a bit ‘whoo whoo’? Perhaps. But without doubt this world of ours needs all the harmony it can muster. And we as humans, need to know there are more people like us. We are all to aware of the trolls and the haters and it adds another level of apprehension but perhaps we can counteract that. Perhaps we can join together and fill the internet with love, joy and hope.

What is your experience?

Does this resonate with you? Do you like to ‘know’ the author or artist a little to appreciate and understand the work on a different level, or is it superfluous? Perhaps you find it a bit much and would rather there was less of a deeper sharing?

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Celebrating International Women’s Day

For International Women’s Day I want to write in admiration and heartfelt thanks to the women who’ve had such a huge impact on my self-belief. Women who’ve taught that it is a wonderful to be your own person, your own artist. To own your creativity and not to be afraid to push boundaries and aim for the stars, whilst keeping your feet firmly on the ground as Michelle would say.

These women have helped me see that there is another way. I don’t need to stay locked in my self-doubt, apologising for myself. Apologising for being too sensitive, too anxious for some sort of affirmation from outside myself, whether that’s about me or my art. Doubting and questioning - is this the ‘right’ way? Perhaps it’s too this or too that. What if people hate it, or worse still, are completely indifferent?

Little Pieces of Your Soul

As a creative you put little pieces of your soul out there on display. It takes confidence or perhaps a thick skin. But truthfully, how many creatives have a thick skin? Not many I would think.

To be a creative means reaching inside yourself, giving with passion, for all to see. And that takes vulnerability and courage.

And so. I would guess most of us are sensitive and we have to overcome that to reach beyond our limiting selves. For me that’s been a struggle my entire life. Difficult family relationships amplify my limiting beliefs. It’s often a battle to face these reoccurring hurts, intensifying that sensitivity and vulnerability.

Missing Pieces Found

And so each of these women have been like a part of a jigsaw that I was missing. Each and every time I have joined in with their courses, listened to their podcasts, YouTube videos, reels, read their posts and ultimately joined their communities, they have offered me a little piece of my missing puzzle.

These women have shown me another way of painting with abandon, believing that I can run an art business and most poignantly, that I can believe in myself. They have given me skills I use EVERY day and their generosity of spirit has reached all the way through the internet to my home - from New Zealand, from California and from other parts of the UK.

And yes they charge for their expertise and support. EVENTUALLY. It is entirely your choice whether to pay for the full courses or join their communities. Michelle, Judy, Louise and Marisa give a tremendous amount for free.

Each one, digs deep and puts out there, over and over and over to reach people like me.

Integrity and Generosity

I am beyond grateful to these women. I am grateful that they had enough self-belief to step out there and show us what’s possible.

Grateful that they are so giving of themselves.

Their integrity and generosity shines through.

Their persistence, showing up, giving their time, has had such an impact on me and I’m sure I’m not alone.

These women have helped this sensitive soul to find a way to break through constant self doubt. They have lifted me up and taught me valuable truths.

I thank you Michelle Lloyd (from United Art Space) Judy Woods, Louise Fletcher and your wonderful Art Tribe and Marisa Cummings and your Expansive Artists community, from the bottom of my heart.

I’m passing this daily chain to and if you’d like to join in.

Tagging

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I also missed another article post this week, I’m sorry to say. It seems to have flown by in a whirl and I’m left spinning. Family dramas have been upsetting and it’s not easy to carry on as ‘normal’ but I’ve done my best.

So this, my lovely readers will be a short one tonight. I have been at my lap- top practically all weekend. It’s edging towards 8.50 pm on Sunday night and I’m determined to shut everything down very soon.

Exhibitions

2 exhibition applications have been completed and entered - on time! TICK

1 competition entry completed and entered along with supporting bio’s and statements - on time! TICK

1 application for a residency completed - delivered 1 minute, yes 1 minute, too late. I could’ve cried! I spent the weekend putting it together and it seems I failed. I have no one but myself to blame. It took me longer than I anticipated and the other entries had to be completed or I would’ve missed those deadlines. That’s what you get when you leave things to the last minute! In fairness, I have been completing paintings for the those exhibitions. And also life has been happening. My eldest son has had to move back home. It’s been traumatic and difficult. so I guess I should give myself a break.

Silver linings

I have a new CV. I’ve not had one of those for a few years. I’ve given a lot of consideration to self-development for my art practice going forward and considered ideas I’d not previously thought of. It won’t be a waste, however dis-heartening it is.

Tomorrow I head to Derbyshire to collect 2 unsold paintings from The Old Lock Up Gallery and deliver 3 new ones.

And to end on a positive note, I won the opportunity to exhibit with the gallery going forward in 2024 and 25. Was one of 9 artists picked for this honour and it has made me VERY happy! So I will take my fail and put it down to experience. And I am going to now go and flop down on my sofa next to the fire and relax.

I hope you had a great weekend.

Sue x

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Today is my youngest son’s 30th birthday. It feels an important day. A day where I take a deep breathe and wonder at all the time that has passed. It takes me back to early days when he was just a babe, to traumatic times when we had to flee for our safety, to moving 300 miles and the opposite end of the country. To new lives and settling in and to becoming a new family. Those 30 years have been a struggle at times and this man that stands before me today makes me so very proud.

A complete lack of funds

Last year after 10 years (minus a year or so in the middle) I was stuck. I had renewed energy and commitment to my creative path but a complete lack of funds. My husband had already paid for an expensive course which had led to this powerful enthusiasm as well as building a studio for me a few years before and many other generous instances too numerous to mention. And now, I was in need of a loan to keep me going. I had invested too much of me, years of effort and money and so much learning and growth to throw it away and just give up.

My son came to my rescue and offered to lend me a good sum to enable me to keep going. He didn’t want to see me fail and he offered his support.

Should I / Shouldn’t I?

It feels a strange thing to accept money from your child. On one hand I was excited at what the loan would mean to me and on the other was some guilt. Could I really accept? It could be a long time before I was in a position to pay it back. Crucially though, it was a small amount to him and didn’t affect his life in anyway. And so I very gratefully accepted.

There was one thing he said he would like and that was a large abstract canvas for his house. This caused me some anxiety. At that point, my biggest painting had been 12 x 12 inches. As all artists know, scaling up is a huge challenge. Painting a large painting is a completely different kettle of fish to painting small. Everything is that much larger, requiring copious amounts more paint, larger tools and a larger vision. What works on a small canvas won’t necessarily work on such a large work, even scaled up.

Procrastination

I procrastinated for several months during which time I was slowly growing the size of my painting and had got to the giddy heights of 16 inches square!

In December I made the decision to go for it. I ordered a canvas 31 1/2 x 39 1/2 and large quantities of the colours I intended to use the most of. More procrastination and some anxiety ensued as it sat in it’s box taking up a big space in my studio for a few weeks.

So much better than I could’ve anticipated!

In January I finally started. I was aware his 30th birthday was fast approaching and I wanted to be able to present it to him as an extra birthday gift.

What struck me apart from the difficulties of moving it and storing it whilst the next layer dried, was just how much I enjoyed this (to me) vast space I had to play with!

It was joyful!

I already had a plasterers trowel that I hadn’t used much previously and it came into it’s own here. Sweeping arcs of thick luscious swathes of paint using my whole arm and body in a gestural movement felt so freeing and really quite poetic. I gave more of myself in the creation of this painting. It took more energy and emotion. I felt a synchronicity with the canvas, like we were talking to one another.

I am so very happy with this large work, the largest I have ever tackled. And most importantly, my son loves it. We have agreed a couple of tweaks and then it will be varnished and strung and then finally delivered to be hung in his home.

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When the fear is allowed too much say

Left to my own devices, I have no idea how long it would’ve taken me to scale up so large. I know I’m not alone in finding the thought of doing so, quite daunting. At the end of the day, like the wonderful Louise Fletcher says, it’s just paint and paper (or canvas) and if you hate it you can just paint over it.

As always we are so often our own worst enemies. Our brains talking us out of trying something new, something ‘too out there’. Those ‘what if’s’ drowning out the vast potential possibilities.

Afraid of ‘failing’.

Afraid of ‘wasting paint’.

Afraid of upsetting our fragile self-confidences.

When the opposite is true. We can’t fail if we try because whatever the outcome, we learn something new.

We don’t waste paint when something doesn’t work out, it is the tool of our trade. Painting over what’s been before is a gift to an abstract artist. It gives depth and history and a richness.

And fragile self-confidences are bolstered by experiences and growth. I can now confidently say I can paint a large canvas. I’ve done it. I know it’s possible. I know I love it. I know it opens up a whole new world to me.

Lets see where we go from here!

My mojo is back! Loosing it occurs on a yearly basis. It’s not new, but it’s disconcerting every time.

A sense of relief and a gift

In the beginning there’s a sense of relief and even freedom when the constant activity of creativity stops. A big sigh, shoulders go down, a sense of peace. The overwhelm in my brain quiets. Everything on the periphery comes back into focus seems brighter and more colourful.

Loosing the impetus to work becomes a gift. Constant creating and thinking about creating and doing the work behind the creating - social media, website, learning and participating in groups becomes all encompassing, crowds out ‘real life’. Or is that just me?

So loosing it feels great.

For a while.

A new status quo

As days turn into weeks and worse yet, months, the unease builds. a sense of something missing grows. And yet despite this the thought of going back into the studio becomes anxiety producing. The new status quo is disquieting on both fronts. Boredom creeps in and everything feels a bit off kilter. This state of flux becomes increasingly uncomfortable so you gather yourself and step back inside your creative space.

It’s great to be back?

But a deep clean has occurred in your absence and sadly not a physical one. Your space is sterile. You can’t paint. Your can’t draw. You’ve forgotten what you even do in this place. What is it for? It’s as if you’ve turned up to a big party only to find it’s happening somewhere else. The anticipation which became trepidation dissipates in a cloud of disappointment.

Wow. All that effort and for what? It’s gone you’ve missed it, you’re too late.

After you pull yourself together, resolution takes over. Sleeves rolled up, you get stuck in. It feels clunky. you have little idea of what you’re doing and react by slapping a lot of paint around. It feels …….. GOOD! You squeeze out more colour, grab the charcoal and loose it.

A great big glorious mess

Before you know it something’s occurred which changes the dynamic. Sparks have flown, time has passed in a whirl and you have a great big glorious mess! Suddenly your brain is buzzing with ideas and a glimpse of that long lost excitement is found.

It all sounds rather dramatic but this is what it’s felt like these past 2 months. I thought it’d gone, that perhaps this wasn’t my path after all. I thought oh how you’ve been kidding yourself……. Call yourself an artist?! Pahhh! Thoughts of why? WHY am I doing this and do I really want to be doing something else entirely?

And now it’s back. work is progressing, new research is ongoing, a state of settledness has arrived. This is where I’m meant to be.

Ebb and flow and starting my Substack

As difficult as it can feel, and it is difficult, it’s a necessary process. Creativity is not one long endless source of inspiration, ready to use every time you feel like it at the end of your fingertips. It ebbs and flows just like the rest of life. Quiet periods allow rest and time to reflect. And for me this time, it gave me the space to start my Substack which has been such a gift. Forging on constantly is ultimately draining and the well of ideas dries up. Or at least, this is my experience.

Creativity and the seasons

Each year I feel the effect of the seasons increasingly more. My creativity seems intrinsically bound to the rhythm of winter then spring. The energy that spring brings with it is palpable and it’s effect is magical. I have felt it even more keenly this time as it comes after a long period of rest.

Fallow periods are perhaps essential to enable dreams of new possibilities and to reach new, unimagined heights. To push through boundaries with renewed energy to see my muses in new light.

This last period for me felt too long. And perhaps that’s the danger. Time out is good, essential even, but letting it drag on leads to lethargy and a loss of any balance I might have gained by stopping in the first place. Creativity does not operate in a vacuum however and there has been other ‘stuff’ to deal with. Now I’m back in the fold and very grateful for my practice.

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Does any of this sound familiar? Do you feel a sense of relief when it all stops for a while? I’d love to hear if it’s like this or a different experience for you?

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Standing next to my 2 paintings in The Old Lock Up Gallery on Saturday was such a thrill. My first selection for my paintings, not as part of a group.

Autumn Equinox and Rising had both been chosen to form part of the Open 24 exhibition in the most characterful gallery in Cromford in Derbyshire.

Finding my way

The town is set within the Peak District and should be about a 2 hour drive from my home in Lancashire, although missing my junction exit extended that. Grateful for my sat nav, I finally descended down ‘The Hill’ and into Cromford through heavy mists that had formed a damp covering, smudging edges of buildings and softening colours to tones of warm grey.

After a lunch in the Greyhound I set out to find the gallery. Calling in at the local hardware shop, with it’s wares distributed across the pavement felt like stepping back in time. Woven baskets and trugs, buckets and a coal scuttle amongst other things. The hardware shopkeeper wasn’t sure where the gallery was so I kept heading back up The Hill.

A blackboard at the edge of an alley pointed the way.

Back in time

Stepping into the alley was like stepping back in time. A track led onto a courtyard where cottage back gardens and bigger houses set further back all converged. Higgledy-piggledy rooves, painted wooden shutters and garage doors with blacksmith forged strap hinges.

Off to the right was a cobbled path and little fairy lights that led the way. Round the corner and up deep stone steps I paused at the teal painted door. Taking a deep breathe, I turned the handle and stepped inside.

What a wonderful space!

I was warmly greeted by Rachael the gallery owner, any nerves quickly faded away.

The room was bright and warm despite the grey wet weather outside. High vaulted ceiling, white textured stone walls and track lighting above along with windows and Velux’s and a real fire burning in the stove created a lovely welcoming ambience. Through the mullioned windows were views from various aspects of the town and the hills beyond.

The reason we came

And then there was the art. Such a varied selection from 35 artists.

The galleries ethos centres around humanity and art with meaning. Figurative, abstract, florals, still life, landscape and portrait. All beautifully displayed in groupings that harmonised and enhanced colours and subject. There was something to see on every surface and yet there was space to breathe and appreciate each of the pieces individually.

And the room was full of heart

The room felt full of love. A room full of art lovers and artists and art. We were all there to celebrate that which had come from the heart.

Meeting some of the other artists was such a treat and of course we all talked art. We discussed our stories of our art and being artists and of being a member of Art Tribe (were your ears burning Louise Fletcher?!) We left feeling we’d made new friends and buoyed up by our afternoon in an old lock up.

The exhibition runs until the 3rd March and all the entries can be seen online at Open 24 Online Gallery

Finally

I’ll leave you with the 2 poems I wrote to accompany my paintings:

If you enjoyed reading my article, I would very much appreciate a like, comment or share. I am new here on Substack and every little helps.

Thank you.

Sue x

I’m re-reading Beth Kempton’s The way of The Fearless Writer. I got so far through last year and then stopped. Painting took over any writing aspirations. I’d begun to write a few short poems. I loved writing these poems but then I doubted myself and stopped. Decided I was an artist painter not a writer.

I understand now, I can be both. One is not mutually exclusive to the other.

Going back to this little gem of a book, I find very many turned corners, indicating I’d discovered something wonderful. Something that resonated deeply or that had clicked in my brain.

Why do I keep forgetting what I desperately want to remember?

I’m now back at Towards the Gate of Desirelessness. Page 19 has 2 turned corners, top and bottom. This means the messages on this page are important and yet re-reading it, I’d forgotten them. It frustrates me so much that I read these wonderful words that I recognise in my soul and then I can forget them so easily. How the day flows on and those poignant moments of recognition are swept away with it.

How can I keep those precious wisdoms in my mind so that I can recall them at the times they are needed?

It happens here on Substack too. I read wonderful, insightful pieces and then poof!

Gone!

Distractions

Is it an aging brain? Some. But perhaps more so, a distracted and over stimulated mind more. And yet I’ve cut my phone usage by at least half. I like my days quiet. No music. No TV until after 8 pm. I get up and write 6 days out of 7. It’s my new habit since starting my Substack. It can be 2 hours before I look at my phone which is quite remarkable when I think it was the first thing I reached for when I woke up. Johann Hari’s Stolen Focus really scared me. Made me sit up and realise just what was going on and I want to make changes.

Anyway! You see…. distracted!

Thoughtful, perceptive and wise words

I was writing about the wise words of Beth Kempton. Everything she writes is so calming and perceptive. Thoughtful. Beth has this way of writing such profound words and yet in a measured way that I admire so much. There is much to absorb in those words. My favourite book Wabi Sabi by Beth, even more so. You should see the state of it, it’s sacrilege really although I have resisted the highlighter which would just be a step too far. It’s become a book of bent pages. It is very much loved.

Back to the issue. The best way to take those words and embed them in my consciousness is to write about them.

Back to page 19, The Gate of Desirelessness

wu wei conventionally translated from the Chinese as ‘non-action’. This is not passivity, but rather letting things take their natural course, having your mind perfectly attuned to an activity or situation so that no conscious effort is needed to accomplish it'.

Beth goes on to write that there are frequent references to the natural world and ziran, Chinese term for naturalness and embracing things as they are. And de, authenticity.

This is the wisdom of listening, practising and trusting without trying to force outcomes. In recent years I have discovered that this is also the wisdom of fearless writing.

ALL of this!

The gift of acceptance

It’s acceptance, something I’ve struggled with a lot and has led to some darkness in my life.

This resonates deeply for me with my art practice too. The desire to embrace this wisdom in order to achieve desirelessness. A paradox for me?

I paint intuitively. I don’t know what my paintings will be. They appear. Eventually. (Although many never do and are resigned to the scrap heap to be painted over). The less conscious thought I put into them, the more wonderful they are. My desire is to express my soul. Once my brain becomes entangled with that process, desirelessness is lost. The intangible pathway between my soul and my hand is all too easily hijacked.

My brain thinks it knows it all and it really doesn’t.

My desire is desirelessness

I’m trusting that writing about this will help me to absorb this concept, this state of being. For it to strengthen my unconsciousness and allow it to have more of a presence when I’m painting (perhaps one day I’ll be able to apply it to my writing too, but this is all new to me - writing, and so I am conscious most of the time!) for it to become instinctive. I hesitate to say habitual because what I paint is in no way formulaic and yet I think instinctiveness and habit are connected. Perhaps in my efforts to achieve more instinctiveness, habit will creep in.

I’ll worry about that if and when it happens.

Process is important. Processes I can rely on allow freedom and expression. Processes can help disengage my obstinate know it all conscious mind. And this is where I am. Developing and evolving my processes - noticing the things I love, the marks that feel connected to soul. The colours, the surface, the shapes.

I realise I have been desiring too much.

Trying too hard.

The message I’m telling myself is

just to let go

and see what happens.

If you enjoyed reading this please would you give it a like or even a share, it makes all the difference.

Thank you x

My state of mind is still in ‘stuckness’ as I call it. The weather outside continues to be dull and wet and of course, it’s February. My internal weather feels the same, grey and soggy. Puddles and wet feet. Where’s my spark?

And then a friend knocks unexpectedly. She’s come bearing gifts of the last piece of homemade Christmas cake because she knows it’s my favourite. She is all wrapped up in her long duvet coat and a bobble hat on her head and she makes me smile when I open the door. She’s been to the library to collect her next book club book which is now another added to my reading list.

I’ve been painting in the kitchen, joining in with a co-create with my new Connected Artists Club. Chairs moved from around the dining table and sat at the room edges. The table is covered in a sheet of plastic, paint and paintings. My friend glances over, notices the disarray and launches into chatter.

How am I? How has my new treatment been? And then come her worries as I finish pouring milk into steaming mugs of tea. She tells it like it is. A stream of agitated sentences looking for my take on the current situation. And then she moves on, not one to dwell. Pictures and video of her beautiful grandson on her phone make us both smile as he attempts to say blueberry. Our smiles are warm as we offer each other our gifts of attention and affection for each other.

She has to go. It was only a flying visit. Coat back on and bobble hat on top, she gives me the biggest hug and then she’s gone.

I am lifted, heart and mind lighter. My friend brought a new energy into my space. She came with love and a need to share and in sharing her world she lightened mine. And of course, she left me that delicious cake!

If you enjoyed my post, a like would be wonderful and helps to spread the love.

It’s enough to make you want to give up. Quit. Do something FAR, far easier. But it’s not. I forge on. Because something inside knows this is my journey. I have faith that I can do this. That I can earn a living from my art. That this is my path.

What am I talking about? The fact that 11 years of a creative ‘business’ and I’ve managed to make a loss every year but two (and they were by the skin of my teeth). From designing and making handmade bags, textile artist, watercolour artist. I worked so hard, burnt myself out with the bags and grew to hate it. I felt a failure.

How many lessons have I learned during that time? A gazillion for sure. But my biggest has been to invest in joining groups and taking courses. I’ve learnt this the hard way. I now know, doing this ‘alone’ is painfully slow and can be soul destroying.

You don’t know what you don’t know!

My first club I joined was A Handcrafted Business with Nicola Smith. Nicola had set up a free Facebook group in the days of GDPR which quite frankly, had blown my mind! Thanks to Nicola, I learnt about it and set up a GDPR policy. I joined her Handcrafted Business club. Here I learnt a plethora of things I WASN’T doing and my eyes were opened to my complete lack of business expertise and capabilities.

As the saying goes, you don’t know, what you don’t know. However, when you do know what you don’t know, it gets complicated!

Through Nicola, I was introduced to Ben from Rosier Internet who became my long suffering website host. God this man has had the patience of a saint. Always at the end of an email, he has helped and enabled me to set up my Wordpress website Susan Mills Art which I am very proud of. I am far from technical. It has been an uphill struggle but I’ve done it and generally, can sort out my own issues.

Discovering my place

In 2022 I took a free intro course with abstract artist Judy Woods. Judy’s free course led me to sign up to her full year StArts course, which has been the best course I’ve ever taken and investment in myself.

Judy’s course changed my life. I went from realist watercolour to mixed media abstracts and felt I’d found my Nirvana. Abstract art had never been on my radar before this. It wasn’t something I enjoyed looking at particularly and I had no aspirations what-so-ever. But something clicked. I began to appreciate abstracts. With Judy’s tuition, I learnt how an abstract can have good composition and subject, even if it’s just about the colour red for example as well as different techniques and process, colour and tone. And freedom.

Best dreams

This week I have finally achieved my best dream to join Connected Artists with Alice Sheridan.

I am also a member of Art Tribe with Louise Fletcher (another best dream group of mine). I belong to Marissa Cummings Expansive Artists group and I’ve taken multiple courses with Michelle Lloyd from United Art Space this year and previous years.

That’s a lot isn’t it.

Timing could’ve better for Alice’s group as I’d committed to a year with EA. However, opportunities don’t come up very often to join Connected Artists and I know what I’m aiming for. With the support of Alice Sheridan’s group, I will progress more quickly.

And yes. I am spending a lot of money from savings and from a family loan and from earnings from painting sales. In some ways it’s a risky strategy. But I know how lucky I am I can do this. If I still had my young family, it wouldn’t be an option and my health is an issue. I want to do this now.

My mind is on the long game, on the goals I’ve set myself, on my dreams.

But what about YouTube?

There is so much ‘free’ advice out there - just Google or YouTube it? Much of it is great and at the start of my painting journey, I was so grateful for the lessons. There is so much there, provided for free. However it lacks support. Support from the teacher but also from others inside a group. A community that is full of so much knowledge. Friends you make. Fellow creatives who get the trials and who also show you the highlights. Show what can be possible. You get to celebrate their wins, share in their achievements.

It is said that you should surround yourself with people who are ahead of you. And honestly, that is the best advice.

I wonder if you’re reading this and thinking but surely being an artist is all fun, fun, fun! It can be. Painting when you’re in the zone is the BEST feeling. However. There’s a lot involved when trying to run a business of any kind. And being a creative, my business brain finds this stuff challenging!

Without the groups I’ve joined these past few years I wouldn’t

• have a blog and a fab website.

• have had the courage or the skills to turn to abstract painting.

• have the self-belief I have now and lessons on planning, goal setting, working out my ‘Why’, which has been vital.

• have started to learn and attend to mindset and how important that is.

• be surrounded by other artists at all stages and with all-sorts of advice, know how and most of all that friendship and support.

• keep learning techniques, skills and have a place to be sparked with new ideas.

• Have the courage to start my Substack.

The list goes on.

Caveat

My only caveat is choose wisely. I’ve found the best groups and courses are committed to giving quite a lot for free before they offer you memberships or more in depth courses. You get to see that you really like the person who is teaching. That you like their methods, that they are a good fit to what you aspire to be, do, have (as Michelle Lloyd from United Art Space would say).

I have loved all of mine without exception. Be prepared to evolve, different groups for different stages. Join in, be part of the community and reap the rewards.

If you could give this post a like, if you did like, it will make all the difference. I am new to Substack and it all helps.

Thank you!

An indulgent Saturday morning lie in makes me feel lazy and a tad guilty. My head starts to fill with a long list of must’s and should’s as I pad around the bed to draw back the curtains. On my way I’m aware this morning feels different. The house is warm because of course the heating has had a chance to kick in. A sense of a lighter heart starts to flow into my awareness as I reach for the curtain…..

It’s bright outside! It’s dry!

In a year when we’ve had more rain in the past 6 months than on record in the UK, this feels like something to celebrate.

I swoosh the curtain around the track (it’s a bay window) and the room is filled with bright light. It’s going to be a nice day!

In my brain new thoughts flood in shoving those should’s right out of the way. Optimism rising, plans forming, it’s a day to get outside.

The light on the front of the houses opposite is steely sharp and cold. The rooves patterned with frost that’s settled in the troughs of the tiles. But it’s the slices of golden light cutting through and lighting the gable ends of the houses that make my heart sing. The brickwork glows bright orange in contrast to the cool front exteriors and twirls of smoke gently rise into the air from the odd chimney.

For just a moment, I am a child again. Transported back to living in a Suffolk village and seeing such a view for just those few seconds where there was total peace in my mind. Memories from a long time ago.

And then

I realise to my horror,

I am standing in my peace in my bedroom window in just a PJ top and knickers! I scuttle back to bed and my brew!

I have 2 halves of my writing book. Back and front. I write in the front half if it feels like something for Substack or I write in the back if it is more of a rambling, journal esq entry. Perhaps, sometimes, it’s hard to tell the difference!

Today I couldn’t decide between the two. I mean, does it really matter?! Not at all, no. It’s the distinction in my mind I guess. I’ve been much more…. scattered…. lately.

Butterflies

Being in my field of thoughts is like trying to catch butterflies. They’re there, just within grasp and then gone again. Some days I have a net and I catch hold before it is lost again. On other days, the butterflies aren’t even in my garden.

Now I am thinking, but do I need to write? Am I stifling my flow? Is it a negative to have nothing much floating through my mind? Am I not trying hard enough? Or perhaps the reverse is true and I am trying TOO hard!

My current flow state is down to a trickle at best.

I read a great article yesterday by On writing and meditation in which she discusses having difficulty being able to meditate and write within the same phase. One does not facilitate the other. It got me thinking. Is this the same with my writing and my painting? And then I remember, I write to connect with self to help with my painting. To write thoughts. To write around evaluating process. Writing about my painting is like having a discussion with myself. It helps bring my awareness to fleeting wisps of things that occur to me. However, as Kate said when she replied to my comment later,

maybe in painting there’s more room for just being intuitive and allowing your work to sit somewhere beyond words without needing to be explained…..

And I thought how beautifully she described that.

I am an intuitive painter and this state of flux I’m in is even more pronounced with my painting.

There is definitely no flow. At all.

It’s my job

It’s my job to work it out. What’s causing the dam? If I can figure it out I can develop my practice to release it.

I do know it’s crucial not to give up at this stage, even if at times it’s very tempting! As awkward and uncomfortable as it feels, I know it is a period of growth not a death of creative ability. It will take time and no doubt it will frustrate me beyond words. Like when you find a favourite necklace at the bottom of a jewellery box and the fine chain is in the most intricate tangle. Do you throw it away because you know it will take the patience of a saint to unravel it? Or do you take it in hand with your frayed patience and vow to undo each knot at a time? That’s how it feels right now.

The push and pull

I do know there’s treasure to be found. It’s the push and pull of being a creative. The flow is sometimes more of a drip. Allowing frustration and doubt to seep in just extends the whole process. And it is a process.

Growth and discovery can’t happen overnight, with no effort involved. At least, it’s a fortuitous and rare moment when it does happen that way, serendipity. Rather, a growth spurt comes from a stuck stage. Stuck from being content - happy the way things are - no momentum or little motivation to change them. Or stuck from trying and not getting results you’re happy with. Butting your head against a tree (brick walls are cliche). Striving but failing.

Stuckness isn’t failure

Stuckness isn’t failure. It’s a state. Stuckness is a place to expand from. To explore from. Perhaps the trick is to allow it to lay there, like a blanket of fog. The only way through the fog to find the path is to try different directions. . .

One path leads to more of the same. One leads to the bright lights of the city - no thank you! One leads to a building site and eventually you find the path that leads to the sunlit meadow filled with wildflowers, bees and birds (yes so cliche but it’s definitely the path I would choose).

Either I stay in the fog, or I work my way out and I don’t want to settle for more of the same. The desire is strong and it’s willing me to find my Arcadia within my art, within my process.

There’s been a long period of rest that precedes this predicament I’m in now. A period of illness too. A hibernation. And so it’s inevitable isn’t it that the growth will come because like a snowdrop fighting it’s way out of the cold dark earth to burst out into the light, my determination will get me there.

It’s nature, it’s the circle of everything, the ebb and flow.

Trust the process and relax and enjoy it for the answers will appear.

Sue x

The heart shaped tree I can see from my bedroom window is waving.

It sways, appearing to inflate and contract. When the wind settles for a moment the tree quivers gently and doesn’t quite find stillness. Another gust and it let’s itself loose to be tossed this way and that.

To be a tree . . .

is to be flexible, to endure whatever comes with good grace. Accepting of the wind, heavy deluges of rain and snow. Enduring scorching sun and drought.

To be a tree . . .

is to witness all of life as it passes by day and night. To be pee’d on by dogs and the odd human too. To be hit by balls in the park and have love letters carved into it’s bark.

To be a tree . . .

is to offer all of humanity oxygen to breathe, shade from the heat of the sun on a summers day and shelter from a sudden downpour.

To be a tree . . .

Is to have deep roots to provide resilience, nourishment and stability. To keep the tree grounded when all around is wild and unpredictable. Its root system strong and wide, its connection to the earth.

A tree doesn’t bite the hand that feeds it.

The earth is its benefactor, its provider, its trusted friend.

Without the earth the tree cannot exist.

The tree know this.

The tree is grateful.

The tree does not question it’s reliance on the earth.

It knows its natural, nature, as things should be.

To Be a Human . . .

Humans are no different to the trees. Except, we have lost our way. We take too much for granted. We are not grateful for our earth, we exploit it.

And one day we’ll come along and cut that beautiful tree down. So it can be useful to us. That beautiful wise tree, that has taken years to flourish and grow and provide oxygen for humans to breathe and shelter and shade.

It’s cut down.

Chopped off.

No ceremony.

No care.

To make toilet paper.

We need to be more tree.

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I stepped into the studio yesterday. Not for some random errand or other but as my artist self. The sun was shining, I’d put the heater on and I had my brew in hand.

Warmth, light and mess!

It had become a bit of a dumping ground so a tidy up was needed even before I could reach for my paints. Sketch books and journals, collage material and ephemera, gauzy tissue paper and a Lancashire Wildlife Trust magazine. Never mind boxes and packaging that I am determined to save. . . just in case!

I pick up my Japanese style apron and put it over my head. This means business!

I’d forgotten

Finally with a clear desk I lay out the series of paintings I started in the lead up to Christmas. It’s been so long I’ve forgotten what they look like. My first impression is underwhelming. I am not convinced. But these are the initial layers and there are many more to come yet. There are some areas that I hesitate over

- hmmm I really like this bit and that - lovely marks where the paint has mingled - water marks changing the paint surface - areas of light translucency.

But it is too soon. Too soon to get attached.

Aldeburgh

In October I visited an exhibition from 3 Instagram friends in Aldeburgh. It was my first time to this pretty town despite having lived my first 33 years in Suffolk.

I know this coast well though. Wide pebbly beaches, sea foam surging up onto stones in long stretches that reach for miles. The clang of bells in buoys farther out in the swell. Sharp winds that bite when coming from the east. My Dad was a sailor you see and I sailed with him a lot in my younger days.

Stranded

On the beach at Aldeburgh are 2 large clinker dinghies, sat there,

stranded.

Grounded and looking out to sea. One facing into the easterlies and the other south. Slowly these boats are disintegrating, bit by bit they will return to the sea, to the place they belong.

I sat there sketching the boats. Dark brooding skies told of a storm out to sea. Sheltered behind The South Lookout from the brisk winds that had whipped up, I felt peace.

I felt connected to my dad in someway that is inexplicable. We had never been to Aldeburgh together and to my knowledge it isn’t somewhere he used to come.

Something in the air

But there was something in the air; being swept up onto the beach amongst the ebb and flow of the foam on tide; above my head in the cries of the gulls circling around; in the dark foreboding skies. And in those boats. I felt my Dad in those boats. He had been a boat builder from age 14 and to my Dad, a boat wasn’t a boat unless it was a wooden boat. He also happened to restore antique furniture, but that’s a story for another day.

I could feel my Dad in this place, looking onto those crumbling boats. It occurred to me, the inevitability of life, how we return to dust. There was something so comforting in that thought. I felt my Dad in the ether. I felt my Dad in my heart. It filled me with a quiet, knowing peace.

And so my series is inspired by Aldeburgh and by the sea and by dust. Not in a dark sad way but in peace. In light. In love.

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