120513 tree planting

I love my garden, and at this time of year I have a one to one with each of my plants. Tonight all the acers in the front garden were given their annual Spring cocktail of goodness AKA liquid fertiliser via my watering can to help them on their way and bring oodles of Spring growth to the fore and front garden. As the last drop of goodness dripped into the ground I could be seen gently caressing the leaf of each tree and whispering sweet nothings into its metaphorical ear; very Prince Charles. Whilst all this was going on my other half was valliantly firing up the bbq and cooking the smokiest, most  flavoursome cuisine of the year so far……and, hey, all on a Sunday night, with kids’ exams the next morning. Normally we’d be tucking into a roast, but for parents worried about their kids’ exam results we by contrast relax and lose ourselves in the summer time pursuits of gardening and eating al fresco which ultimately  keeps us sane. Yesterday I planted a tiny oak tree grown from an acorn (ask me where in thirty years time) , and today I planted a pear tree that has been patiently waiting to be planted since last autumn when it was bought.

Goodness; I’ve just looked at this post and noticed that the drawing is larger than normal; but I like it and shall leave it like that. All the marks and incidentals take on a presence that can be examined at a closer scale. Look hard and absorb; take in and enjoy!

120315 All the time in the world

I have been thinking long and hard about my next body of work. I have decided that my paintings will develop a new language of colour whilst my illustrations will continue their exagerrated quirky pen and ink style.  The good news is that they are all there in my head; the bad news is that they have yet to appear on paper. But they will, I promise you, they will. 

I was very taken by the Edward Burra exhibition I saw recently at Pallant House in Chichester. The experience inspired a short story called Loaded which  I intend to submit it to Mslexia magazine if I can meet the deadline early next week; but deadlines can be very good at focusing all energies, and forcing you to pull out the stops,  knowing full well that if you miss another year that’s a whopping 365 from where you want to be. Which isn’t a good place to be, unless of course you have all the time in the world. Which we don’t, do we?

*Stop Press* Sadly I didn’t meet the deadline but shan’t beat  myself up about it too much; I was busy with other things. I’ll get there one day!

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110608 small is beautiful

The inaugural Worcestershire Arts Trail went really well; Paul and I met some lovely people and the four days went very quickly. I am sure that by next year there will be even more participants and even more people coming round. By next year we intend to have more drawings, prints and cards available. It felt good to be able to recommend other artist studios in the vicinity for interested parties to discover.

We then spent a magical few days on the coast in mid Wales catching up with the Museum of Modern Art in Macchynleth and sunbathing amongst the dunes in Aberdovey. The weather was kind and the wild natural beauty of the area delightful after being studio bound for the previous few days. Although we were camping we managed to find the nearest 4* hotel at lunch time and treat ourselves to the most delicious three course lunches you can imagine. This turned it into more of a glamping experience but goodness me, having left the kids behind who can blame us! Sadly however this week I now have to diet trying to lose all the extra pounds I put on. Ah well. It seemed a good idea at the time but boy! does sea air make you ravenous.

Now the inaugural Worcestershire Literary Festival is nearly upon us and we are busy framing paintings for the literary portrait exhibition we are holding here in our studios at 74 Battenhall Avenue. I am also going to be involved reading at Worcester Writers’ Circle events during the festival and being on the door selling tickets for some of the events, as well as running a picture book workshop with Karen King. But well done, Lisa Ventura, for organising it and getting it off the ground. Its good to have a cultural event going on in the city and I hope everyone tries to support it. There are so many interviews, workshops, book signings, readings taking place there is surely something for everybody. Small is beautiful this year but I am sure that by next year, just like the Arts Trail, it will have grown. Check out: www.worcslitfest.com for all the up to date details.

110514 artists’ gardens

Enid Blyton

Carpe Diem! I have been working in the garden today. On a small scale I started off early on by sowing a tray full of hollyhocks. The packet said to sow in early Spring or Autumn but I have decided to ignore this advice and sow them now, in May, anyway.  Sod the instructions. Too bad if I’ve missed the early Spring slot, I’m sure nature will do her stuff. I then took pity on three pinus that have been waiting patiently in pots for two years and decided to plant them in the lawn of our front garden to balance and compliment the three acers lining the drive on the other side. As I worked I meditated on the sudden and tragic death of Lousie Draper – an effervescent hugely talented 35 year old student of mine from Foundation a few years ago -  who died suddenly two weeks ago from heart failure. She was absolutely into recycling and as I dug each inch of earth, preparing the land to receive the pinus pots that were frankly screaming out to be planted good and proper, I thought of her infectious enthusiasm in all that she did. These are now my “Louise trees”. RIP Louise Draper – you won’t be forgotten. After cutting out a yard circle of turf, digging out the soil, and  planting the pinus a trois, I watered them in, made up special watering cans of garden fertiliser to feed them in order to get them off to a good start, and all the while blessed the fact that hubby was indoors fervently supporting the FA cup. Sadly he’s just kindly informed me that he now refuses to mow the front lawn because my planting the pinus has made his job a minute longer. No comment. He is now cooking the supper so seriously I have no axe to grind but will just have to win him over!

Before I came in I braved the May showers to give the eight or so box bushes lining our lane a haircut. It is a very satisfying job which I undertake perhaps twice a year. Rather than look completely unruly they now look sharp and edgy, more King’s Road than Brick Lane. Result.

Incidentally I have a charming book called Artists’ Gardens I bought years ago and flicking through it just now I realise that although I may never feature in one, artists from Claude Monet and Pierre-Auguste Renoir to Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant, Henry Moore, and Jennifer Bartlett have all continued their creative urge outside into the land surrounding their studios for years and it’s absolutely nothing new. And that, dear friends, is exactly what I have been doing all day, creating my (but I should say our) artist’s garden – partly to make Saturday different to all the other days of the week in my studio, and partly to quietly think and commune with nature and reflect on issues happy and sad.

PS I’m quite sure my old friend Enid Blyton would have warmly approved of my Garden of Adventure – all grit and mud and spades and watering cans you see. Such fun!

110413 spring clean

There must be a blue moon somewhere because I’ve just vacuumed under the bed. I found a long lost tin of vaseline and plenty of naval fluff but you really didn’t want to know that. Spring is in the air and with it comes the desire to clear the decks and scrub the scullery cupboard. My studio is next on the agenda so I shall take a deep breath and go in there armed with a dozen bin bags and be ruthless. I feel a minimalist moment coming on so watch this space. In reality I shall of course get side tracked and start reading every darn piece of paper in piles on the floor and set up elaborate filing systems instead of adopting the digger approach and  just chucking it. When I was a student they called me Tuesday Hayward, now they could very well call me Hoarder Hayward and I would understand why. I blame my mother for instilling the Waste not Want not idealogy in to me and starting every sentence with ” in the war you know…”

sketch book study in medical dictionary: Comrie, J.D 1931 News Chronicle Home Doctor Morrison and Gibb Ltd., London

110411 riverside walk

I heard the Millenium Youth Choir sing at the Cathedral yesterday which was uplifting. I’m assuming they’ve been around for 11 years now. I also went for a lovely walk in the Spring bordering on high summer sunshine through the newly landscaped Cherry Orchard and over the brand new Diglis bridge. It is standing the test of time well and with its generous proportions and top quality materials is still looking fantastic. We turned left and followed the west bank of the Severn southwards to the confluence with the river Teme. It is a really magical spot and one we return to often. Really rural but still within the boundary of the city.The most perfect picnic spot.

sketch book study in medical dictionary: Comrie, J.D 1931 News Chronicle Home Doctor Morrison and Gibb Ltd., London

Thaw (extract) 110102

Thaw (extract)

Grey growler lurches forth

Past soft edged solid road

And low light snow surfaces

As disconsolate trees breathe…..

Dreary sledges in long night mist dim straight abreast

As white town turns

And leading magpies blankly glide;

Eternal ice flow drips and grey grime skids -

As this grey dawn starts to thaw.

breakdown 101116

red bracken hurdle

blackens underfoot; all part

of winter breakdown

pheasant 10929

When I walked in to the studio yesterday I was greeted by a pheasant lying lifeless on the table. Nice. Always the opportunist I quickly devised a lesson plan that gave the impression this session had been long planned and was very much a special treat.

My students drew the dead bird all day long and by home time had also designed a pub sign for a hostelry called, yep, you’ve guessed it, “The Pheasant”. Staring at the thing all day I noticed the colours of the feathers were stunningly beautiful- from ginger through deep chocolate to magenta, with splashes of irridescent turquoise: gorgeous. I loved the  graphic quality of the red, black and white feathers around its head, not to mention the elegant long tweed inspired tail feathers draping so gracefully; the designer was clearly on good form that day. At the end of the session one student removed a speckled tail feather as a souvenir and exclaimed, “Oh! It’s got blood on the end.” “What did you expect?” I quipped and he promptly tried to push the thing back.

So, the pheasant shooting season begins tomorrow, lasting until February 1^st and I can feel a winter stew coming on. When I told my students about the various cooking options for a brace of pheasants: pheasant in cider, pheasant pate, pheasant in milk, pheasant stuffed with mushrooms, Lincoln pheasant, and how the Italians cook it with pancetta, plenty of white wine and brandy, they were listening intently; drooling even.

That is, of course until I advised them to watch out for the shot.