Middle of Nowhere

Wayzgoose

2008-07-12T19:51:00.022+01:00

Oh dear, look at the dust...and the cobwebs. This old place hasn't been taken care of for a while...let me grab a duster, hang on...there, that's better - get out spider! Days and days spent plodding away at this book job. I have taken the air twice in eight days, (unless you count collecting the bins). One tramp through the woods and a rare trip into civilisation to visit the Witney Wayzgoose. Yes indeed.

According to my Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, a Wayzgoose is 'an annual dinner, picnic or beanfeast especially one given to, or held by, those employed in a printing house. 'Wayz' ('wase') is an obsolete word for a bundle of hay, straw or stubble, hence a harvest goose or fat goose, which is the crowning dish of the entertainment '.

Anyhow, here we had a lovely collection of small presses and bookbinders, many of who I had seen and some of whom I had had the privilege of meeting at the Fine Press Book Fair, back in rainy, dull November last. (As opposed to rainy, dull July, now). My first mission was to find Alan Brignull, the Founding Father of Adanaland. I have it on good authority that they don't have websites in Adanaland, though traces of it can be found through the all-seeing Google. (Nearly) everything that Alan produces, including his wonderful stamps, is beautifully printed on an Adana 8x5 press.

We shook hands, I was introduced to his nice family and we exchanged gifts - I am afraid my offering was a mere jar of jam, from my plum-fest last year. I was thrilled to received a packet of goodies from the Rambling Urchin, the mini-sheet published by the Hedgehog Press. All letter pressed, with a gorgeous variety of ornaments and a miscellany of fascinating snippets.

The envelope was charmingly addressed to 'the Great Stabber' - (needle felt meets letter press!) Cotswold Gent asked if he was 'the only bloke who read my blog', and this is proof that he is not alone - although in a distinct minority. (I clumsily got a bit of red printing ink on the envelope. Bad me). And this time I just had to buy his latest stamp editions 'Women of Adanaland' - all the images are from original little Adana blocks. And purchased in a most satisfying way from the Adanaland stamp machine. Coin in, handle pulled - ker-clunk - stamps out.

And with them, a little box of Adanaland matches -

At the stall next door I spotted a booklet illustrated by my old life teacher, Annie Newnham. She grounded me in everything useful I needed to know about how to draw figures. The most important thing, which became ingrained in my own style, was how to sense the rhythm and flow of a body, how to really look and love the unconscious, graceful poses into which the most seemingly ordinary of people fall into when they are waiting for a bus or chatting over coffee. I soaked up her teaching in over two years and never forgot them. She pulled my figure drawings from being tight little pencil daubs sat in the middle of an white page, to being big, bold charcoal statements, full of expression and joy. Thank you for that, Annie. So I spent a little of my pocket money on buying the illustrated Ted Hughes poem 'Comics'.

And moved on to admire the working press further along. (This is where I picked up the smudge of red ink which besmirched my lovely Adanaland envelope).

And on to say hello to nice Graham and Cathy, down from the North with the Incline Press. While admiring some of their latest editions -

I sensed a 'personality' next to me. A small, beady eyed, lady of advanced years, holding herself upright with two walking sticks. Graham was talking her through one of their newest publications, beautifully illustrated by young artist Rose Harries.

Her opinions - for she certainly did have opinions - were being carefully considered. She was definitely someone.

When she slowly left the stall and was safely out of earshot I asked Graham who she was: Beth Cooke, a well respected artist, still painting and exhibiting today. I can only hope that I am still wielding a paintbrush, if I am lucky enough to reach that kind of age.

I came away regretting that my time is so - squashed - right now. I know I haven't managed to get any of my Adanas printing as they should (my fault) and now I am all stocked up I could be doing so much. But a grand day out, and an opportunity to pick up a horde of little printed treasures; so many of the stall holders ask such reasonable prices that it would be rude not to.

These events happen more often than most people know, so if Alan would like to keep me up-to-date with when and where they are being held in the UK, I will advertise the dates here - and you too can visit Adanaland and other magical letter press kingdoms. With pocket money at the ready.

Confessions. I am not just illustrating. I am mainly - 90% - illustrating. On the edge of things I am also house-working, needle felting, gardening, cake making, meal cooking, eBay selling, Etsy-ing and occasionally sleeping. But all in small doses around the book job. I am weary, grumpy, and run down; I have to go to the dentist next week to sort out my gaping, niggling back molar cavity. So apologies for lack of returned emails, lack of blog visiting and comments. It's the juggling thing and I have picked up too many balls. But they are almost all up in the air...for the moment.

The Malvern Show

2008-06-26T19:43:00.046+01:00

No matter how hard up we were, (and we always were) my Mum always managed to scrape together the money for tickets for the two of us to the Devon County Show. She would have loved to have her own smallholding. When I was about four, she returned jubilant from an evening class, declaring to Dad and I that she had won her certificate in sheep shearing. This may seem odd when taken in context - we were poor, living on benefits, on a council estate and my mum had rheumatoid arthritis at an early age, in her thirties. But somehow I think she had the faith and optimism to believe that one day, somehow, we might have a few chickens, grow veg and what-not. As is so trendy nowadays.

More foody pics from the Malvern Show here

So from a very young age, I was taken to the livestock market at Newton Abbot, to the auction ring, (and once a pig farm) - and the pair of us loved it. We used to play a 'let's pretend 'game where I was the last lamb at market and no-one wanted me, but she came along and bought me.

So the Devon County Show was our big day out, and we went for a few years, until I was eleven and she was too ill to take me. I did go instead that year with a relative, but it wasn't the same without her. And as she died soon after, she never quite realised that rather over-hopeful dream. I haven't been to one since, although I have inherited her dream. So when Andy returned from his jolly camping in Wales, he realised I was a little burned out from long days in the studio. And he took me to the Malvern Three Counties Show.

It was Heaven. I've gone a bit feral living in the country, and even going to a small town I feel ill at ease. But here I was completely at home. The smells, the atmosphere, the noises - all combined to remind me of those heady days out with my mother, and briefly I was seven years old again. I wanted to look at everything, and over the next six hours, we pretty much did. We saw sheep shearing -

More sheep shearing from the Malvern Show here

Farriers in competition, such a primitive sight; the roaring furnaces, sweating bodies, shifting horses and always the constant 'chink-chink' of iron being hammered into shape

More Smithy photos from the Malvern Show here

There were birds of prey -

Owls a-plenty -

More owls and birds of prey from the Malvern Show here

Traction engines, vintage vans and vintage tractors -

More vintage engines from the Malvern Show here

But for me, the very best part was the livestock section. The Malvern ground is purpose built for shows, and it has a long block of halls for animals. The musty aromas of warm farm animals, straw and muck was like sniffing a long forgotten perfume, and for a while the feelings and memories were so intense I was overwhelmed. Then I got my camera out and started taking a gazillion shots of cattle, sheep, and every living creature I could get within shot of. There was one moment when I was taking a close shot of a cow's behind, and some sixth sense made me skip to one side, just as it squirted liquid manure directly at me, causing much hilarity amid the farmers and Andy.

More Malvern Show cattle here

With my new needle felting habit, the sheep had an added interest for me, and I found myself wondering if you could actually sculpt directly onto the sheep itself, (without stabbing it of course). Would it be 'Art' or Craft?

More Malvern Show sheep here

Oh, and the hens and roosters! I was in a dizzy whirl of joy. For a few brief months my mother DID have a modest flock of her own chickens, but circumstances in the form of a vindictive neighbour conspired to deprive her of this small pleasure. I loved feeding the chickens, taking warm, steaming mash up to the coop on cold nights. When Mum sadly had to give them up, it became yet another childhood vow that one day - one day - I would have chickens of my own. This is impossible just now, as we only rent. So I contented myself with taking yet more photos, grumbling with a fellow amateur photographer that the bars of the cages made for poor shots.

There were even champion eggs -

and a magnificent first prize winning goose -

Outside, there was judging going on in the show ring. Smart sheep and their equally smart shepherds -

and the biggest bull we ever did see, a Devon Red, whose chest was so deep you could hear his bellows echoing inside him like a bass drum -

...later in the champions parade, having won his section, he got a tad tetchy, and his poor herdsman was pulled about a bit. He was taken away for a bit of quiet time.

The Malvern Hills loomed quietly in the background, hugging damp rainclouds round their peaks. I ate an ostrich pasty and bought some sausages for supper. Andy's eyes began to glaze over and he was starting to look like a temperamental bull himself. But before he could start pawing the ground, we noticed the brewery drays, pulled by teams of magnificent heavy horses, and we watched these beauties, moist eyed, as they clattered and clumped with unlikely grace.

Andy fell in love with the Suffolk Punches -

More heavy horses from the Malvern Show here

And as even I reluctantly admitted that it might just be time to find the bike and head home for tea, we took a last look at the pig judging - Andy has a yen to keep pigs, so it was not difficult to persuade him to linger.

More Malvern Show pigs

It was supposed to be a day away from work for me, but as we pootled home, my head spinning with new ideas for an ark load of felt farm animals, I realised that my visually-obsessive brain had been soaking up images like a great sponge; I had not only had fun, but was filled with fresh inspiration and impetus. The dream of a small holding didn't happen for my mother. But I am determined it will happen for us, somehow. Someday.

IF THE READER HAS NOT FALLEN ASLEEP AND IS EVEN EAGER FOR MORE COUNTRY SHOW PICS, THE WHOLE HUMUNGOUS COLLECTION CAN BE FOUND HERE, OR IN THE LINKED SECTIONS ON THE SELECTED BLOG PHOTOS.

B happy!

2008-06-22T17:54:00.004+01:00

Broad Beans Bursting

Barley Bristling

Bread Baked

Overheard at the boundary

2008-06-17T15:01:00.012+01:00

The characters -
Head Monkey
Grey Goosie
Wise Monkey
Custard
The Great Stabber (unseen and unheard, but definitely there)
and a rather grumpy bottle of beer who becomes more subdued as the scene progresses.

The scene - A Sunday cricket match in a rather chilly June. We are near the boundary, listening to the assorted shouts of exasperated bowlers and cheering team mates. The dying sun casts long shadows across the field as the match draws to a close. If we listen carefully, we can just hear a whispered conversation coming from a small group of friends...

Custard - 'Is that our chap out there bowling?'
Wise Monkey - 'I think so - hard to tell from here, they look the same from a distance, and all dressed in white.'

Grey Goosie - 'Can someone tell me who I am, where am I and why I am please? I'm only two hours old.'
Head Monkey - 'You are a mere babe! We saw you being created by the Great Stabber. You are at a cricket match and your name is Grey Goosie.'
Grey Goosie 'What is cricket? Who is the Great Stabber? Why? How? When?'

(momentary distraction as attention reverts to the match)

Head Monkey - 'Oh good running sir!'
Custard - 'I wish I could run like that, but alas, I am legless'
Bottle of Beer 'Well don't blame me! I didn't ask you to stick your great yellow snout into my neck!'
Wise Monkey - 'Calm down, Beer, he meant legless as in legless, not as in legless. But then, you are a rather fine specimen of Fiddler's Elbow, so you must expect to be drunk, if you pardon the pun.'

(The bottle of beer subsides, grumbling, then squeaks as it is plucked from its resting place. When it returns, it is somewhat quieter).

Grey Goosie - 'So why are we here? What are we doing? Who are you all?'
Custard - 'Well I am waiting for my legs, then I will be going to my new home. I have heard that she is a lovely, gentle lady who lives in a magical palace filled with wondrous materials and treasures.'
Head Monkey - 'I have been waiting for the rest of my body for weeks...I am destined to travel far across the ocean to sunny climes' (he shivers as a breeze cuts across the field) 'and not before time - this country is far too cold for a monkey. I have heard that my new mistress is a talented artist who creates delightful books for children. I am to be her special toy, all her own. I would jump for joy, except I am only a head...'
Wise Monkey - 'And you have been made in my image. I belong to the Great Stabber. Before that I belonged to her father, and he brought me from a far hotter country than you are destined for. Although I too am missing some limbs, I am very old, and one of her prized possessions.'
Grey Goosie (breaking in impetuously) - 'What about me? What about me? Where am I going? Who will love ME? More importantly, why haven't I got a proper grown-up beak?'

(There is a startled gasp from the beer bottle as yet again it is lifted from the table top, to a mysterious Somewhere high above their heads).

Wise Monkey - 'Oh impatient youth! Barely three hours old and already seeking the answer to everything. For every creature there is a home. It is written in the stars'
Custard - 'We have heard tell of Mavis, who stayed on the toy shelf for many weeks, but at last found a home and flew hundreds of miles to live with a f airy artist. She even laid an egg on her journey. You will find your Someone, one day. When there's a bit more of you.'
Head Monkey (grumpily) - 'I wish there was a bit more of ME!'
Wise Monkey - Now hush, my children, the sun is sinking and the wind is gathering...let us snuggle into our basket and I will tell you stories of toys who were found, and we will dream...'

(As the curtain descends on the drowsy scene, the beer bottle is heard gurgling emptily off-stage, before silence falls, disturbed only by tiny snores emanating from the sewing basket).

Alone with the Jackdaws

2008-06-10T20:07:00.010+01:00

And the down side of being a children's illustrator...there is so much work to do roughing out the book bits that there is no time for an impromptu holiday. Which is why Andy is having a lovely time camping in Wales, and I am living a somewhat bacherlorette lifestyle, working all day and grazing on bizarre little meals. Unfortunately it is just one of those things, and I'd far rather he was off enjoying himself up mountains than sat moodily at home while I slog away at a large bundle of work. But I kind of wish he wouldn't ring me from sunny Barmouth to tell me that he is sat on the beach about to go paddling...

The one distraction has been the jackdaws; now that the fledglings are beginning to emerge from the chimneys, they are noisier than a bunch of pensioners on a day out in Bournemouth. I've been hearing loud cheepings from the wall and the couple who nest in our chimney have been calling and peering down into their sooty home.

Unlike the cartoons where a cute little fellow nervously flaps about on a branch before being pushed off and finding he can fly, he can fly, jackdaw youngsters spend a while on the ground, learning to fend off beetles and grubs, watched over by anxious parents who may still bring it the odd titbit. At first it cries loudly, and its' mother and father answer back - jackdaws have a variety of cries, and can sound like rooks if they are warning you off. This is when teenage Daw is at its most vulnerable, especially to cats. Yesterday there was an horrendous cackling and cawing; the birds were going crazy - mobbing something in the lane. I knew exactly what was happening and dashed out. Sure enough, next door's cat had trapped a young bird, but luckily had not had time to hurt it; it was unharmed but in great danger - there are 8 cats in our little lane. I eventually put it in the shrubbery garden of a neighbour who has a cat-hating collie dog; it is a foolish feline indeed who ventures in there.

Several times that morning I ran out, often to false alarms, summoned by the hysterical shrieks of massed birds. Twice a big jackdaw came and called in from the telephone wire outside my studio window, as if making a personal appeal. I love the Corvid family. Beautiful, dignified and intelligent, they are such loyal family creatures, and always stick up for their own - the welfare of one fledgling is the concern of them all. As I returned up the lane later, I spotted the parents, now perched on the dog-owning neighbour's TV aerial. They had finally located their baby, obviously still safe under the bush where I left it. They cawed raucously at me, and I told them not to be so ungrateful. I reflected that it was a good job the lane was deserted, as I was, to all intents and purposes, talking at chimneys.

It's interesting being 'Home Alone' - I don't have to worry about getting meals ready and have discovered that left to my own devices, without having to think about anyone else, I tend to stay in the studio from 9 till 8. Snacking on cold chicken bits and yummy Mr Kiplings Lemon Viennese cakes (which I can highly recommend as being delicious). The bathroom remains spotless and there are no trails of discarded clothes. I find that sleeping on my own I throw the quilt off in my sleep and wake shivering. It will be nice to have him back.

The High Life

2008-06-05T08:21:00.034+01:00

'Oooh it must be lovely to be a children's illustrator'...yes, it certainly beats mowing graveyards, washing up, cleaning, selling pine furniture and stacking supermarket shelves, all of which I have done in my time until fairly recently. These jobs all have one thing in common - a regular (if not gargantuan) wage. But next time you pick up a picture book, ponder this: for every pretty picture there will have been hours, days or even weeks of brainstorming, rough sketching, too-ing and fro-ing between artist/art director and maybe others, not to mention the final art work. There is the design, the text setting, the layout, the choice of paper/book size, the printing and colour proofing; it often takes about 14 months or so for a book to come to the shelf, and that is on a good day - sometimes it can take years. But not in my case.

It has to be art worked by the second week in July. So, a last minute request from my lovely publishers, to thrash out the first half of the project meant that I found my self travelling (via motorbike and train) to the outskirts of London, and a meeting with my Art Director. If you had to have classes in 'How to be a Brilliant Art Director', she would be the model example. We've known each other for quite a while now, and the first hour or so was spent yakkering about juicy news, all of which made me practically faint with excitement and none of which must pass my lips until it is in the public domain. With the yakkering came a shower of hardback picture books; many of my favourite illustrators work with Templar, including Alison Jay, who creates some of the most gorgeous images, using lush, rich colours; I can lose myself in her work...

'Counting'

'The Race'

'The Emperor's New Clothes'

'My Grandpa's Amazing Inventions'

'Beowulf'

Soon I had a comforting stack of bookish treasure to take home, including a limited edition of 'Varmints' signed (SIGNED!!!!) by the wonderful author/illustrator Helen Ward (article link) and Marc Craste.

You know the to-die-for Lloyds Bank adverts? That's him. Stunning work. Invent a new word for it, stunning is not enough.

'VARMINTS'

If you like Shaun Tan's work, you will love this - buy it. Just buy it. It is marvellous.

Templar Publishing have relocated from a lovely converted Mill to an equally delightful old Granary, so there was a tour of the new premises and I was introduced to the members of the production team for my small contribution to their new list - the production room being very large and a quiet bustle of designers and creatives working away on numerous titles. Up to the top level, where the art directors roost - and finding a few familiar faces last seen in the wee hours of the morning round a camp fire at the brilliant Templar party, two years ago. Having said that my AD is marvellous, it should be added that Templar, as a company, not only produce some of the finest, most innovative books in the UK, but are a shining light in what can be a pretty cut-throat business. Publishers - especially the very big ones, who are more like corporations - sadly do not always treat their freelancers as well as they could do. There are horror stories...but Templar are wonderfully friendly, inclusive, respectful and all round Good Eggs.

'Wizardology' from the famous 'ology' series. Website at www.ologyworld.com

Back down to the senior AD's office, (another familiar face) and more heart-palpitating inside knowledge about future publications (I have now stitched my lips together, so don't even ask!) and finally back to the board room and a highly intense, enjoyable three hour session spent working out the details of the new book. We were so absorbed we lost track of time, and thinking it must be about midday and time for lunch, we were startled to find it was nearly two...

'Monsterology'

Lunch was an informal but delicious affair at Pizza Express, courtesy of Templar and there was more - much more - chattering. About two hours later we sleepily emerged, full of garlicky carbs, and strolled back through Dorking Center, past the old church with its albino squirrel, to collect my large pile of work-to-do and of course, my books.

The final cherry on what had been a monumental gateaux cake of a day was bumping into one of my all time favourite illustrators - and his agent - Simon Bartram. We shook hands and I went all quiet and shy and went a bit pink; as you do when you meet one of your heroes. (Earlier I had also had the privilege of seeing some of his original artwork for his next book, which was breathtaking).

More Alison Jay: baby board books in a box - absolutely delightful!

I managed to get my precious books all packed and waterproofed (another British summer and therefore a seasonally rainy day). I made the trek back home, finally arriving, after two crowded trains and a bus, in Witney at 8pm (having left home at 6.15 that morning) and was whisked back via motorbike through wet, green country lanes, home. Wonderful home.

Through my little visit, I snagged another toy order; I'm trying to get the needle felting done at night after I've spent a good stint in the studio and I am going to be somewhat absorbed until mid-summer. But yes, on the whole, it IS lovely being a children's illustrator. Toymaker. Card company. Gardener. Head Cake-Maker. Housewife.

'The Wind in the Willows' illustrated by the Great Robert Ingpen. My favourite book. Ever.

"Home! That was what they meant, those caressing appeals, those soft touches wafted through the air, those invisible little hands pulling and tugging, all one way...shabby indeed, and small and poorly furnished, and yet his, the home he had made for himself, the home he had been so happy to get back to after his day's work..."

excerpt, 'Dolce Domum' , Wind in the Willows

Sleepy Sam

2008-05-31T17:49:00.005+01:00

...and he's not the only one. But while Sam is wearing just the one hat, I am wearing several, as it were and juggling a book job with toy making with getting my new card designs up for sale, is starting to wear a little.

Yawn...

...pick me up and put me to bed with a good book and some cocoa. Preferably not standing on my head.

Balancing act

2008-05-27T10:31:00.005+01:00

Trying to keep up with everything is a bit of a balancing act at the moment...

...I think I'll curl up in the felting basket with Sam and grab forty winks.

Going over the top

2008-05-23T16:18:00.020+01:00

Isn't he beautiful? I couldn't do this with a spider...

But there is something very endearing about cockchafers. This fellow was rescued from a bucket of water by Andy. I have been doing my own rescuing, but of a somewhat more extreme nature...

A quantity of standard Adana equipment and presses which were in need of a home. It looked worse than it was...I had a day's hefting about, (and the kind use of a neighbour's shed corner for the presses). Luckily most of it was cabinets of type and stacked nicely up the walls in dead space. I have taken a solemn and terrible oath not to bring home any more 'stuff'. There really is no more room at the inn.

So what am I going to do with it all? Well, precisely nothing at the moment, it was simply a mercy dash (as much as you can dash with lead type) to get it from there to here. There is plenty I plan to do with it, in the future - but right now I have my hands full. The new book job is wonderful, a dream project, but very intense; with three toy orders to fulfill, if I am not drawing, I am needle felting. And my toy shelf is emptying again. Mavis - who languished on the shelf longer than anyone and watched enviously as her friends were packed off to new homes - has been posted across the Atlantic, where she is destined for a very special chicken shed indeed. And not before time; she was starting to get ideas about the Rooster Boys...

All creatures...

2008-05-16T18:24:00.017+01:00

My studio has been hit by a mini-plague of flies. For the last three days I have been acting as door-lady to a steady trickle of blow-flies. First thing in the morning they are clustered at the window like anxious commuters at a train station. They are definitely emerging from within, and almost certainly from a crack joining the attic. No smell can be detected, so I think we can rule out any little 'presents' left by one of the cats. They seem to be lessening in number, so hopefully whatever it is - wherever it is - is almost done decomposing.

Out on night time patrol in the rainy back garden, with my old pair of snicker-snacker-scissors. Beware all slugs and snails, my veg seedlings are at your mercy - and you are at mine! With the gentle rain and darkness emerge the worms, swiftly pulling themselves underground as I make my progess through the vegetable patch. And there, behind the soaking tub, is dear Mrs Toad, doing her usual round as she seeks a juicy snail supper. This corner of the yard is littered with the remains of past feasts - as a careless person chucks their Big Mac carton on the floor, so she strews the patio with eviscerated shells. Maybe she needs a little litter basket?

Despite having to give most of my time to my lovely new illustration job, I did finally finish my NFEST challenge - Synthia. (I was going to call her Madame Syn, but thought the reference not quite nice for a needle felt toy, if anyone is old enough to remember the infamous Cynthia Payne). She is the one snail who hasn't come to an unfortunate end, via my scissors or Mrs Toad's voracious appetite. I know she was only curious to discover what thyme smelt like. Now I have her in the shop, along with Rose - (Rose is now sold to a new home).

- I can put my mind to my two orders, not the least of which is an extravaganza of toy making for Stephanie. We went through various designs -

- but eventually I tempted her with a monkey.

We whittled it down to a skinny one, possibly with a few little extras...an embedded music box is a distinct possibility. Steph is brilliant to work with, she is as dotty about vintage toys as I am, and so enthusiastic; between us we hope to create something rather special, and I can take my toy making up to the next level.

(Oh look, another fly. Would you like your coat sir?)