Weeing, wellies and words

Three addendums:

 

First, the poem-stone which goes with these pictures. Rest assured, there are no photos of me weeing - it's not that sort of blog. (If it was, I'd probably have more followers.)

Lughnasadh

Weeing in grass by starlight,

friends' faces circling a fire;

familiar and reassuring:

this is the life I choose.

 

 

Second, as promised to Lyra (whose blog I heartily recommend to you), a close-up of my most recently completed artwork:

 

Tree

Brush pen on canvas board

10" x 12"

Still not easy to read, I know. Trees ask a little patience before they give up their words. For the full image, see here.

And third, I can't believe I forgot to tell you how childishly pleased I am to own welly boots with my name on:

(One of Thomas's pixie doors in the background.)

May you all share the peace of my snoring husband and daughter :o).

Three weeks in the life of me

Did you miss me? I've been doing everything but blogging lately, so here is a pictorial wander through my recent life.

We were invited to a Lammas homewarming and stew-and-potato feast. The sun shone, the dogs ran, my daughter fell off a chair.

This very handsome man gave Rima her first ever lesson in archery (best to start with imaginary arrows)...

with a little 'help' from Pickle in her Miss Havisham dress.

With a little of Baba Yaga in her eye, Rima fired the best round of anyone.

Lisa joined her in music-making round the fire...

and it seems they (and the rest of us humans) enjoyed it more than than Warlock, our local alpha lurcher, who was more intent on the sausages sizzling at the end of his nose.

As the stars came out, Tom told us the story of Lugh, warming up his storytelling muscles for a performance at Uncivilisation, the second Dark Mountain festival. Very sad I missed his bear dance, but hoping to go another year.

My girl nodded and nuzzled towards sleep, until her kind Gappy (Great Aunt Philippa) took her into her Romahome for a snoozy snuggle so Thomas and I could drink and loll unfettered by a staggering toddler.

Other nights have been quieter, just me and my man and beautiful sunsets. There are huge rewards at the turn of the seasons. The rain can seem relentless, but I wouldn't leave this temperate, rainforest climate when I get skies like this.

We've been to Dartmoor Folk Festival to see more morris dancers and the genuinely alarming Minehead hobby horse.

I've completed another piece for my exhibition, which is now in five days (I will be ready; I will be ready; I will).

We went to Chagford Show, saw very impressive rams,

llamas which I thought were cute until one looked like it was going to spit at Pickle,

miniature donkeys - cute by anybody's standards, but the calf (do donkeys have calves?) was only three months - too young for so much fuss and attention, I felt.

We saw people spangling around the field in big bubbles,

 and the highlight - totally out-of-control terrier racing. 'Terrier' here means ' anything four-legged'. I'm surprised the llamas didn't join in. Once they've been thoroughly wound up and released roughly at the same time to go in entirely separate directions, there's the even more entertaining race between the humans to recapture their dog (who may well be barreling through picnics/toddlers/people perched precariously on stick-stools) and not be the last one yelling and lurching and grasping at thin air while the crowd laughs.

In relation to such ape japes, the beautiful heavy horses were a model of dignity, despite the silly hairdo's, 

and I was quite taken by the fine whiskers of this judge.

Sadly too late to get a stall of his own, Thomas's pixie doors (which now have a dedicated blog) made an appearance on the edge of Miriam's unique jewellery stall

and next to Yuli's stall of felted wonders.

We've been spending our Sunday 'family day' time picking gazillions (I counted) of apples in our incredibly abundant allotment. If you're local, we're looking for good homes for cookers and eaters. 

The trees actually seemed a bit relieved when we took the weight off them, but the three of us did a little thank you dance anyway, just to be polite.

And, most importantly, I have been doing hours and hours of this, soothing my girl as she grows her first molars:

What have you been doing lately?

Self portrait #2, Chagfood, Stones, and Love

At last a new artwork to share with you. Bigger and, as ever, a new approach. My new favourite. I didn't set out to do a self portrait, but as it grew I was telling stories of myself with it, empathising with the different parts and how they met.Right from the start, when I had just drawn the moon, hearts and the first leaves, I regretted the hearts. Too predictable, too naive, too obvious. But that's me. I am frequently not the impressive or stylish or confident one. But I am true and I am loving. Many times I have regretted putting my heart out in the world, but often, as with this piece, when I can see the bigger picture I am so glad I dared and I resolve to go on daring. Because why else?

Self portrait #2

Brush pen on canvas board

10" x 12"

And so to love of an edible kind. We've started getting a veg box from Chagfood and every week it's such a delight to unpack it. The colours, textures, smells, are so good. When we go to the pick-up point, Pickle leans out of her buggy, gesturing for treats. So the produce in the following photos is a few tomatoes and some mange tout short of the full box. (Like me, some days.) It's not a normal veg box scheme. Members buy a share in the produce - a much more stable way for small, organic growers to operate. If you want to know more, have a look at this.

Chagfood Bounty (small box)

Romanesco: Architectural masterpiece

Two-toned turnips

Flat-leaf parsley, red and green basil

Sweet and juicy cherry tomatoes 

Perfect, crunchy carrots just waiting for houmous

Big bowl of salad; Pickle loves eating the flowers

And a bonus bunch of flowers for the table

Naked under the sun

Naked under the sun,
my girl takes me by the hand,
walks me down the lane.
Friends stop to admire her;
she to study them.
A car crawls towards us
and we press back into hedge.
One, four, many wasps.
My friend shouts and darts away.
Stung.
Shouts again.
Now they are pouring out.
I lift my skirt to cover my child
and walk steadily away.
She, delighted,
buzzes in my arms.


Holiday

Lying
hot, hot
on the lawn,
slowly filling canvas,
I am grateful the internet
has taken a holiday.


Wool wash

So concerned
at my family's absence,
I did a wool wash.


Canvas children

I have called more
canvas children in,
to shape and nurture,
set boundaries for
and learn from,
but mostly to watch
as they grow.

And finally, love given liberty. This brought a tear to my eye:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-14271370

Various stones of knickers and music

I've been away at Chagstock (foolishly taking no photos) for a few days of outdoors family jollity. It was Pickle's first festival (although she's an old hand at camping) and she loved the big puppets, the hula hooping, the noise, the lights and best of all was learning to 'Aaaarrr' every time she saw a pirate (which happened a lot as that was the theme). In fact, she got so good at it, and currently has such piratical teeth (few, not black) that a soft-hearted stallholder gave her a pirate flag which she delighted in waving in my face for the rest of the day. I truly love the rhythm of my everyday life, but it's so refreshing to drop routines sometimes. There were challenges (try taking a toddler into a portaloo and preventing them from touching the sides), but my fear that she'd crawl out of our beloved bell tent in the night proved unfounded - of course she just crawled onto my chest.

So, sleep-deprived, sun-kissed and happy, I have for you  a whole clutch of stones to sort through and feel the shapes of. I hope you find one that fits your palm.

That first time

As she staggers -

bump - up -

staggers over the field, 

young buzzards

take tiny loops of -

dip - swoop -

loops of flight from the hedge.

We mothers hover, cheering -

cautioning - congratulating -

cheering them on.

The Band

The band pours all over us.

Pensioners abandon stick-stools

and leap and clap and yell.

Teenagers waiting for a different sound

play cards at the back of the tent.

Babies in ear defenders

slump on shoulders

or sleep in scattered stars

across the trampled grass.


Keep your sunsets
A happy, sleeping child.
You can keep your sunsets;
I could gaze all night.

Knickers and Lego

My husband dreamed he was buying me knickers

but got distracted by free Lego.

Then he awoke in a house with

more Lego than decent knickers.

And at last the sun

And at last the sun

highlights my heart.

And then I remember

And then I remember

I make the rules for myself.

And in breaking them

I am offered new patterns.

I rock

I rock

I rock my girl in the crook of my arms.
A rook, wild, rocks on the branch.

I jump, catch eggs and break stuff

I jump

I jump a jigged line

to the ring

of a baffled bird

meeting solid air.

An illness, an artwork and several poems ago, our family and some friends went to Belstone Village Fair. It was a typical Dartmoor example of stunning scenery, slightly odd activities and a Heath Robinson approach to organisation.

Plenty of green space to run about in left the adults free to explore the wonders of the stalls:

and, most importantly, the tea tent:

(Free kudos to anyone who can spot an Ent.)

Announcements were made by microphone, amplified by speakers which only worked if you started the car:

All generations joined in for the chaos and hilarious mess of the egg-catching (or not) game, presided over by two very strict but sadly inaudible ladies:

A pair of older gentlemen who took the 'sport' aspect rather seriously ended up sharing the prize with a pair of young girls who said, every time the lines stepped back, 'But I can't throw that far.' We all had a little chuckle. And then pretended not to laugh as a group of boys started smashing eggs over each other's heads.

In an unusual display of inhibition, no adult allowed themselves the wanton fun of smashing crockery:

There's no point; no game - just paying for the pleasure of being allowed to break stuff. The noise alone was a tonic.

And in the universal spirit of a day out, one would normally bury one's father in the sand. However, this being Dartmoor, we used the stocks. Then legged it:

And if ever proof was needed that, even on such a jolly day as this, we have reason to fear our inlaws, this is it:

A more lucid and folklore-based account of the day is here, along with a bunch of other strange but true stuff you have no need of knowing, but will be unable to keep to yourself once you do know.

Almost a rockery

Desperation

The gods
drop crumbs
from their table.
I eat them.
I am lost.


Lies

If it was only
other people
who told me lies,
I would barely
mind at all.


Rain

Rain worms through my dreads.
Carefully, I split my skin,
clavicle to pubis,
opening so the water worms
can make compost of my history
and I can start afresh.


Waiting

Waiting
for something worth stating
...
...
...
frustrating.


Magic

As I sculpt words and colour
to call magic into our home,
my husband simply
builds a door for it to enter.


Patience

If you are lucky,
the patience of the healthy
is in a negative correlation
to the health of the patient.