Happy Christmas from the Scottish Borders

Musical Bears Page 4 et al

I am in a quandary. I wrote a text for this book, Musical Bears, and am fond of the characters and the ideas; I spent a long time on the paintings and like the detail. However, three things have happened. Firstly, the last half of the book is all wrong, and whilst more or less scribbling on the back of an envelope, the real ending presented itself, and fits in so much better with the meaning of the story, and yes, it does have a meaning. This new ending also fits in so much better with the landscape of the book, which is basically The Scottish Borders, as per usual. The paintings are too large, which is a bit of a problem with my small scanner, as it is difficult to reduce them down to fit a reasonable book size. One would have thought one would have thought of this. And thirdly, recently I have become very fond of working with coloured pencils, of all kinds, with bits of watercolour and gouache here and there. There is something about the linear in illustration that appeals, and I really can’t work with pen and ink any more – besides, they stopped producing my favourite pen (I found some coconut hobnobs for my husband, which he really liked, but I think they more or less withdrew them that week – such is life – I suppose coconut hobnobs are not everyone’s plate of biscuit). I found this scribble, the one above the finished painting, and it quite appeals to me now. Coloured pencils are spontaneous kinds of things, you can scrat, and rub, and rub out, and mix them all up, and there are masses of materials in the Tardis. Whilst struggling to make a living in London, one watercolour brush that did not work properly was worthy of a letter to the manufacturers (who did respond, which nowadays they would not). Mind you, one could have foregone a few Carlsberg Specials. Ah, those weren’t the days. Maybe I can give away the original Musical Bear paintings, and start again. How indulgent, to be able to think like this. We shall see. I’m not tearing anything up, anyway.

Hirsel 1

“The Moon is made of groundsel

The Sun is made of grass

And in the cornflower summer sky

There is a looking glass

Back and back and back and back

The further and further on

Look in the weed-dark herring pond

For the place where you come from”

For some reason, when copying out this rhyme from Old Merlaine, I kept writing the last line as “for the place where you belong”. Which has quite a different resonance. I just used to write off the top of my head, so have no idea why the sun might be made of grass, though reflected in water it might appear this. But perhaps it is just nonsense. However, the image above, a photograph taken whilst walking in the Hirsel and looking down into the small river that runs through it, the Leet, made me think of this long-ago, badly remembered rhyme. I rarely reread my own work. It is like something written by another person whom I know to be myself, as I can remember that person, but someone whose mind now works in a different way.

Daughters of Thyme

Much to my pleasure, I was asked by a friend, Jane Keenan to produce a cover for this book written by herself and two other poets. They met whilst on an Open University Course, and made this lovely book of poems, with subjects that branch out from the personal to ramifications in the wider world. For anyone wanting to see more about the book, the Daughters of Time site is at https://dotipress.com.

I hand-painted the lettering, as until I do Musical Bears, which will probably be later in the year, I am too mean to get the Adobe programme for laying lettering over text, to present to printers. However, I think with this book the hand-painted lettering does fit the feeling of the book, so I may do the same thing with the cover for Musical Bears. The imagery on the lilac strip is actually taken from a sprig of thyme taken from a pot just outside the Tardis, my octagonal, dark blue studio at the end of the garden.

Wishing you all a Happy Christmas

and a New Year with more delight and a lot less trouble x

Little Musician

This small personage turned up amongst a heap of papers, I see the coloured drawing is inscribed inside as a birthday card to my mother. I used to have a big plan chest and kept my paintings and drawings in there, but when I got all my stuff out of store, where it had been hunkered for about seven years, the plan chest was too big for the room intended, so it was hauled downstairs a week or so later by someone who took it away free, fettled it and sold it to someone who obviously had more room. My drawings went into some drawers under a bed, and elsewhere. My life is piling up behind me, unsorted. I shall have to do something about it. The question is what? Anyway, this little musician has a peaceable air, so no harm in putting him up here. In the new book I am working on, the banjo player has become a bear….

Liddesdale Flowers: Orchid 1

I’m just posting the image of a flower from a place that is dear to my heart. Today I needed to walk to clear my head, then I did not listen to the news, but picked up a book that was in a pile on the edge of the table, one of those wide-ranging and exemplary anthologies produced by Bloodaxe Books, a publisher based in Newcastle upon Tyne. I read poems by Denise Levertov, whilst waiting for the oven to heat up. There comes a time when walking in the woods (thank you, Scotland, for the right to roam, it means more even than it sounds) and reading quietly seems like a way to deal with a feeling of strangeness and stress. Much better than Facebook….

The Seagull Steals the Bear’s Fiddle

Illustration for The Berwick Bear & His Fiddle. Serafina Books.

This was the first of the Serafina Books, and was written and illustrated when I lived in Berwick upon Tweed. It was great fun to go round photographing the background material. I used to see this lovely jumble of pantile roofs when I had a table at the Farmers’ Market, which was held in those days under cover in the Maltings Art Centre, once a month. Happy memories of that market, and of this view. The book is really a search romp through the town. Musical Bears, which is the book I have been working on, and am going to try and find a publisher for, also has a fiddling bear, plus a guitarist, a drum player, a banjoist and a tin whistle player. It is based on my affection for those musicians who travel the world. In the back of my mind, some Chilean musicians of that ilk whom I saw long ago playing in the theatre in Alnwick, in Northumberland. The next book is about automata, but there will doubtless be some instrumentalists among the participants.

Another Poem from “Old Merlaine”

Another poem from some time ago. I think there are more Bitterbirdie Birds around now than there were then. Prescience….

A Poem from “Old Merlaine”

From the third book I had published, Old Merlaine, poems about an imaginary kingdom found as far as I can remember by the Moonwuzo, who fell into a bucket of water which opened up into this other country. But I’d have to check up. The idea came to me between the bottom and the top of an elevator in Green Park Underground Station. Those were the days….

I have no idea who the Silly Swimpswamp was based on.