Today we headed into toun to visit the degree show at college. Although I’d helped out with the illustration section I’d not seen any of the other departments. Unusually Big Dreamer wanted to come. He remains traumatised by an exhibition I once took him to which included a video of a woman eating her hair and lots of dead pigeons so it’s not often he volunteers to see art. It’s not that he’s not cultured. Give Big Dreamer poetry, prose, theatre, film but most of all music and he’s with you. Art is a different story. It brings out the dry-witted yorkshire man in him.
Unfortunately today was no different. He stood squarely, surveying some wax wolves’ heads scattered around the floor while Little Owl tried to put her head inside one of them (thankfully the attendant wasn’t watching). He looks exactly as if he should be leaning on a rail at a cattle fair bemoaning beef prices with his cronies. “So what’s it for then? What does it do?” he asks. Although I ignore most of his comments because I know he is being purposefully difficult it is interesting to see the often insular world of art through his eyes.
Anyway, here are some of my favourites from the show:
Elly Cottrill: Piranesi-esque drawings of the Greggs factory.
Katie Rowland: Beautiful tonal prints. I especially liked her lithographic books.
Justine King: Epically sensitive work.
Sofia Noble: Brilliant graphic design.
Kate McLelland: Really accomplished illustrator but I’m a bit biased about the whole illustration department.
Claire Lamond: The animation department were top notch and I loved this piece. You can watch the trailer below.
Recently we invested in a bike seat for Little Owl. After a search we settled on one where she sits in front of the rider with footwells for her feet. I like it because I can have a chat with her as we go along. It’s also useful because I can tell when she’s about to launch her weight from one side or the other to see something and can then engage pre-emptive action to stop me losing my balance. I wish we’d done it ages ago because the seat will take quite little children and she loves it.
Today the bike seat got its first proper outing. Little Owl and I cycled over to the next village to ours where they have a pretty little cafe where we could refuel before coming back. We are able to cycle along a small back road into the village and so avoid busy traffic. It was wonderful swishing along with the wind in our hair. We spotted a heron fishing in the river as we flashed past. The hawthorn is out and the verges are gold and blue with buttercups and borage. I’ve drawn a picture of us for you. Little Owl was particularly interested in the gears and I had to keep a firm grip of the switch on the handlebar so that she didn’t keep clicking them up and down. Oh and note the bee helmet…too cool!
Listening to the radio this weekend the presenters are full of the joys ofΒ 
the Queen’s Jubilee celebrations and it feels as though they are broadcasting from another planet. We don’t get this bank holiday in Scotland and only some people have been given Tuesday off. Neither my Framers or Printer will be closed on Tuesday. The farm is in the middle of calving so they’ll not be slowing down. It feels like a very ordinary weekend in Scotland.
On Woman’s Hour they’re doing a series on the Queens of England to mark the Jubilee. Their section on Queen Anne recounted how the Union, achieved during her reign, saved the UK from war. A number of years ago I read Magnus Magnusson’s brilliant Scotland: The Story of a Nation. In it he portrayed the Union as an act of self-interest by a group of ‘noble’ men who could hardly claim to represent the views of the Scottish people. Two very different interpretations of the same event. History is full of these different interpretations and that is how we end up where we are. And it’s not as if the Scots can’t celebrate. We are just entering Gala season here in Scotland, where villages and towns are filled with bunting and celebrations…just not for the Queen.
Interestingly, Magnus Magnusson also portrays Scotland as a culture with much more in common with its Scandinavian cousins than its southern neighbours. As someone who has given little thought to the monarchy (although I must confess I am quite partial to Kate Middleton) I’m impressed by the level of discussion given to the topic by ordinary Scots. I suspect most English people are like me. Not too bothered either way about the monarchy, the Queen seems like a great old gal, and it’s just an excuse for a party isn’t it? But people here are politically engaged in a way I’ve not seen in England. And I’ve never experienced the loathing of English people I was told to expect. Here there is a deep belief in social justice and meritocracy. If you’re prepared to roll your sleeves up and muck in, you’re welcome.
Yesterday Little Owl and I had a visit from our friend Emily (Elemee to Little Owl). We went for a wander down by the river and there was a plethora of wild flowers to see. Many of our old friends were out: water avens, bluebells, white comfrey, marsh marigolds, and greater stitchwort. But there were also some new additions. These corn marigolds were peeping out from behind a tree…just a single clump.
There were also blankets of a little pink flower in amongst the bluebells. After searching my books the only culprit I can come up with is common centaury (I don’t know how you’re supposed to say that). It doesn’t quite fit the description, being much taller and paler where we are. Then I read: “Before the enormous range of size and form displayed by the species was realised, different plants were sometimes treated as different species.” So have decided it must be. Apparently it is also a biennial, which explains why we didn’t see it last year (although that’s not the only explanation…short-sightedness is another!). Apparently common centaury is named after the centaur Chiron who used the plant to cure himself of a wound inflicted by the nine-headed serpent Hydra. Personally I think he was lucky he had his fight in the right year of its cycle, but maybe it doesn’t matter.
Our friend Elemee is a wonderful writer and poet, known as Aunty Emily. Do take a look at her blog here.
This weekend we traveled south to Oxfordshire for a wedding. The hedgerows were full of blossoming hawthorne. The season is much further on than in Scotland. Heavy laden hawthorne always reminds me of a section of the Leeds-Liverpool canal where Big Dreamer and I used to cycle. There was some sort of electric hub full of humming conductors and buzzing pylons. Most of the year it was a vision of a cold war dystopia but in the summer the hawthorne would bloom. Towering pillars of creamy froth would appear between the conductors, mirroring their arrangement. It was a thrilling sight. Nature definitely has a sense of humour.
So, in amongst the hawthorne our friends were married. The wedding was the epitome of elegance. Here are our favours: sloe gin with a label saying ‘Drink Me’. Straight from Alice in Wonderland, I loved this. We played lawn games against the backdrop of a historic property with the New Orleans Foot Stompers, dressed in stripey suits, jazzing it up in the background. I kept expecting Sebastian from Brideshead Revisited to stroll up. And of course it was wonderful to meet up with so many old friends. Although I was careful which chairs I sat on as most of them are pregnant and I’ve got a degree to finish!
One of the ironies of this magnificent country Scotland is that it is mostly cold and windy, then when the sun shines the midgies come out. If you haven’t heard of these nasty biting insects I can’t convey in words the horror of finding yourself in a swarm of them. Much, much worse than mosquitoes. Evenings are their favourite time to feast, hence Big Dreamer and I were watching the sun go down over the valley from the lounge window.
Suddenly there was a loud ping and a strange bug appeared on the outside of the window pane. What a funny little creature, we declared. We watched him for a while, poddling over the glass, antennae waving. We thought he was sweet and full of character. I’ll look him up, said I. This is what I read:
“Black Vine Weevil. The adult vine weevil is a pest in the greenhouse or on pot plants: it eats the edges of leaves leaving semi-circular notches. It feeds at night and is difficult to detect, as it drops off and plays dead if the plant is disturbed. However, it is the larva that does the most harm, feeding on roots and tubers underground until the plant is unable to take up water and collapses.”
UNTIL THE PLANT IS UNABLE TO TAKE UP WATER AND COLLAPSES!!! And it was poddling about directly above my tubs of peas. Urgent action was required. Like a complete hypocrite I hid in the kitchen while Big Dreamer did the deed.
Six swallows, two butterflies, one bumblebee, a line full of washing, sun in the sky, and a glass of homemade nettle beer…could it be? Surely not! Could this be summer?!
Here’s a wedding invitation I designed a while a go for a lovely couple I know. The invitations have just been sent out and it’s great to see them all printed up.
It was the valley horticultural society coffee morning today. The three villages in the valley all have members in it. The title makes it sound very serious but it’s more village fete than RHS. I find the very existence of a horticultural society in the valley encouraging. So you can grow things here! The coffee morning was, of course, accompanied by a plant sale. It was great to see people wandering away with trays of green leaves. Now we just need some sunshine.
I woke up this morning and there was a little bird’s egg, about the size of my thumb, smashed on the window sill of my studio. It had obviously taken a tumble from one of the nests in our guttering. I thought to myself, I feel a bit like that egg. There is something about the end of the academic year that sends me into a gloom. It happened last year too. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve worked so hard towards a deadline and then I stop and sort of can’t cope. I think there’s also a weird thing with illustration that you are producing something which is supposed to have a public function such as a front cover or editorial illustration. Yet for an illustration student you rarely, if ever, get that final bit of closure on your work.
The best solution seemed to be to draw some hares. The lovely Carol Farmer of the Chapel Street Gallery in Innerleithen has asked me to produce some pen and ink drawings for the gallery so I thought I’d make a start. All that wind in my long flapping ears and swishing grass. I felt a lot better.
Data from Goodreads
