studio

The place where I work. This photograph was taken during the late morning of a breezy day at the end of April. On the drawing board lies an unfinished supernova drawing. Coffee to hand, cats present but invisible; very often they sit on my drawing board and I needs must edge over to find an unoccupied corner there to work. Drawing practice suffering something of a hiatus at present; after having made several small drawings of solar flares, I founder and need to take a rest.We are allowed one hour's exercise a day, so I go out for a walk in the blossom scented afternoon. I order further supplies of paper on my return, take photographs of the solar flare drawings made over the last few days.

remnants II

Further drawings in the series of supernovae remnant drawings. I have spent the greater part of the morning and afternoon photographing drawings and adding them to this online diary; the process has been supremely satisfying. Later, I shall return to the series of solar eclipse drawings that I am making on creamy white Lokta paper, in the cool of the sitting room. However, it would be a pity not to experience the Spring glory of our little wild garden, so I shall repair outside and sit on the step of the patio, where I can breathe the Lily of the Valley scented air. These beautiful plants came from the lodge; when I knew we were to move, I dug up some of each of the plants growing in the garden there, and transplanted them in this Somerset garden. The transplantees have taken to the new soil, and the lovely Lily of the Valley have naturalised beautifully. I would that I were able to pick a posy of them for my mother, but the advice from the Government is to remain at home and avoid meeting with family and friends, particularly if they are members of the vulnerable groups. My mother is vulnerable, and although she craves our company, we are obliged to withold it for the present, however painful that may be.

remnants

Supernovae remnant drawings, as before made on black Lokta paper; this time on half a sheet, so the drawings are larger. They were made by sprinkling pencil sharpenings over the paper, then easing the coloured dust into the surface with my fingers before adding the stars. A return to a technique used before in making the drawings of clouds, so there is a definite affinity with  the earlier drawings. These drawings were made at the tail end of 2019, and the beginning of 2020, so that they are relatively new.

As I write, it is a perfect April day, full of birdsong. It is difficult to believe that we are in the middle of a pandemic which has obviously impacted hugely upon our lives. At this time, work is a solace; I find comfort in revisiting this online diary, and in taking photographs of work made during the four years in which this diary was silent, and, to all intents and purposes, abandoned. I have come to realise, over the course of the quiet, restricted time in which we live at present, that I, too, need periods of silence, of withdrawal; time in order to let ideas settle in my mind, to evaluate work made and find the straightforward path once more; the path upon which I now tread.

solar flares

Two of a series of drawings made on creamy white thick Lokta paper,sometime in 2016 or 2017, I think 2016, just after I made the cloud drawings earlier in the year. I retrieved these small drawings from one of the boxes where I store drawings and found myself still pleased when I looked upon them.They were the first drawings I made of celestial bodies, when my interest in the universe was just quickened, but my confidence yet fragile. I shall return to this series, however as I think there is potential for development; I have not yet said all that I wished to.

the transit of Mercury

One of several series of drawings depicting the transits of Mercury and Venus across the face of the sun. This particular series was made in April 2018;almost exactly two years ago. The tiny black disc of Mercury can just be seen making it's way across the greater disc of the sun, from left to right, following a curved trajectory. I am not sure when this celestial event took place, as my source did not indicate, but I do know that such a transit is rare enough, and to me, a tremendous event.

I was able to colour in to my heart's content, enjoying the laying down of first spectrum orange, then yellow, then 'apricot' , before adding a rim of  red to deliniate the sun's outer edge, or 'limb'. The placing of the sooty black , tiny disc depicting the transitting planet caused me much deliberation and I took great pains in my application of the waxy tip of the pencil to paper.

solar

Three images from a series depicting the gradual and total eclipse of the sun, not in sequence. These drawings were made in 2018, I think somewhere around the beginning of the year, but I didn't date them. It is not my habit to date or even sign works; I have a rough idea in my mind as to when I make drawings, sometimes a date will fix itself in my mind because of associated events or weather. There are thirty drawings in the series. As before, they are made on black Lokta paer with colour pencils. The colours are muted by the black, but nevertheless, shine out softly; to my eye there is something mediaeval and naive about these drawings, a quality which I have come to identify with my work.

I have come to accept my deficiencies as a draughtswoman; I am not capable of photorealist drawing, for example, indeed cannot copy with any degree of accuracy as I have not eye for the relationship of shapes and lines , but I can colour in. I am driven by a need to express ideas through visual art, therefore must needs to find a way of so doing whilst understanding and accepting my compromised facilities and utilising my strengths. After all, untutored artists and so called 'outsider' artists are capable of powerful, articulate works despite, maybe, being less than perfect draughtsmen and women.

I need to expunge the words "I cannot draw" from my mind; they are far from helpful. Instead, seed the words " I can colour in", and seek out shapes to colour in that enable me to articulate my ideas.To that end, I shall purchase three sets of stencils that I came across recently; a set of female figures, a set of male figures, and a set of figures of the child. I am excited about this future purchase and can imagine joyfully colouring in carefully arranged figures. I am reminded that I used stencils a good deal in previous works; stencils that I had made, cutting them out of stiff paper, thereby allowing myself the pleasure of making something as well as the undoubted pleasure of then colouring in. Perhaps there is scope for assembling a drawing from different motifs; the sun and figures, for example.

lunar

One of a series of twenty eight drawings documenting the phases of the moon; this drawing is round about half way. I began working on this series in the latter part of 2017, as far as I remember; I did not date them, only numbered them.

My partner found a moon calendar for the month of February 2011, the month of my father's death. My father loved the moon, although during his last days he found it's presence in the sky less of a comfort than had hitherto been the case.

This series is not taken from that calender, but I do have a copy, and fully intend to make another series of the phases of the moon using it for reference and dedicating the series to my father.

These drawings are made on black Lokta paper, as are the stardust drawings. It is soft and thin, only 30gsm. It often has inclusions of coloured threads and is textured, as may be seen from the photograph. It is irregular in size with four delicate deckle edges, being made completely by hand. I love it, love the jet sheen of the surface, it's fragility, it's inconsistencies, love the knowledge that it is a sustainable, indeed under utilised, source of material, and that it's production provides employment for otherwise extremely poor Nepalese women.

cloud studies 2016

A return to drawing practice in the early part of the year 2016. I made four or five cloud studies, then some tiny studies of black smoke rising from the ocean, none of which I kept, to my regret. The smoke studies were made on tissue paper and were extremely delicate.

There followed a series of looking glass egg drawings, but I did not keep those, either. Thereafter, on newly discovered creamy Lokta paper I made a series of drawings of black mountains, again tiny; I did not, and do not, seem able to work on a larger scale, although the cloud studies shown above are 22" by 30", as was customary for me. I found, and find something liberating in working small, which may seem odd; perhaps usually it is the other way around. But tearing down a sheet of Lokta paper into eight small pieces and working intently theron, I feel safe and able to begin to explore once more. I remember visiting an exhibition of William Blake's watercolours with my beloved father and being amazed at how tiny they were; both my father and myself had expected monumental works. It was my youngest sister who explained how working small could be a liberation, and after some thought, I understood why she had said that, although I am not sure that I know how to articulate this.
Certainly, I began working in a very different way when I began to work small. Perhaps I have been liberated from the hitherto ever attendant fear of failure.

stardust etc

To be presented in a black cloth-covered box.

stardust and supernovae

Two drawings from a suite of around one hundred depicting stardust and supernovae remains, made on black Lokta paper frm Nepal, the roof of the world.