Cherry Blossom and Winter Fayre Cheer

I try to skip my eye from rosehip to holly berry to the herbs flowering valiantly against the grey. I try to accept the freshness of the wind and focus on the gaps between the rain. But perhaps I should just confess that I don't want the darkness to come. Some years the winter solstice is a cave I can crawl into; it is safety and solitude and snuggling warm with a cold nose. This year the darkening feels exhausting. Each week I am more tired and I fear it is because I need the sun. Maybe I need the sun's masculine strength, but that thought is a heavy one and doesn't help me. Maybe I am lonely inside all my many protective layers. That thought neither. Which is possibly why, in my work, I am creating sunshine :o).

This is Cherry Blossom, completed in time for The Chagford Winter Artisan Fayre, of which I am proud to be a part. It promises to be a day of warmth, levity and bright company - just exactly what I need.

And there is fun to be found even on a cold morning. Forest School is the highlight of our week. Here Emily regales us with a story of the wind and the sun while we glug hot chocolate and scoff snacks.

Later we made hogitats (hedgehog homes, for those not in the know). Pickle (whose Forest School name is Earthworm) and her lovely friend Rabbit made one together and it did look very inviting.

And we finally met Thomas's cousin, Naomi, and her dad, Bob. Pickle was impressed with Naomi's Hawkins-style communicator, but more so with Naomi's pirate boots. It was good to spend time together, although Chagford's windy lanes and unconventional shops narrowed the choice of venues. Here we are in The New Forge, Pickle clutching the bubbles set Naomi had given her.

I am not entirely in denial about the season. I have bought a fibre optic tree (don't tell Pickle - it's a surprise) and have made some of my work into seasonal cards which will be at our splendid Fayre and are also in my Etsy shop.

So, okay, although I have my Eeyore moments, I am actually quite excited about Christmas. I know it's cool to be aloof and moral about the consumerism and the excess, and for good reason, but I love finding things of happiness and knowing they're stashed away for my girl or for the other wonders who people my lucky life. For balance of sorts, I have been talking about the Philippines tornado. I told Pickle people from all over the world are sending money to help. She looked a bit sad and said, 'But I haven't got any money.' Then, much brighter, 'I can send them chocolate money for a present!' I am coming to believe that the thought really does count.

Winter Trees

OK. You're safe today. No nudity, I promise. (If that's disappointing, check out Self Portrait). Instead, some 'proper' art (you know; a picture of a thing which has been painted many times before) that you could show to your Grandma.

Winter Trees

Acrylic on Card

9" x 6"

 Which is great. Because this little painting was a gift from me to my beloved Nana. I didn't know what she'd think of it when I sent it, but I hoped the thought would truly, in this case, count.

And it did.

In fact, it's quite amazing it got to her at all. I was pondering how to get it to her without it getting bent and thinking I'd prefer to present it to her in a frame, so in the end I just wedged the framed painting (glass and all) into a padded envelope and posted it. It dropped through my Nana's letterbox and landed on her doormat in one piece. 

This is doubly amazing because my Nana's part of London is pretty dodgy and it must have been an intriguing package. I remember (as a child) asking her why someone had drawn a chalk person in the road and getting some evasive reply about graffiti...

So, I knew it had arrived safely and of course my Nana said thank you and that she liked it very much. But it's hard to really know if a gift is genuinely appreciated, isn't it? Especially when it's art.

Unless chance steps in.

As my Nana lay dying (much sooner than we'd expected) in my parents' house, she was sad to be so far away from her own home in which she'd lived for decades with so many memories breathing from the walls.

So my uncle, who also lives in London, went round her house taking photos. It was the best we could manage at the time.

And guess what? The photo of the heart of her home; the living room mantelpiece, showed my humble little painting standing proudly amongst treasures from her long-departed husband.

Oh! 

And later I was told her visitors would be subjected to, 'My eldest granddaughter did that. Isn't it good?'

And although I know that many people have painted more impressive renditions of winter trees than I have managed here, I have a fondness for this little painting. 

And I think, yes, it is good, because when I, so foolishly it seemed, posted off that work and it thunked into my Nana's house, I sent her years of pleasure too, and a reassurance that her granddaughter, who was forever doing odd things in odd places with, frankly, some pretty odd people, thought about her and loved her enough to spend some time making a painting just for her.

And that's a grand achievement for any artwork.