Twisting the Truth

This month sees the Art Day folk wrestling with the world of Picasso. Now, I've heard a lot of people scoff at him down the years... you know the sort of remark "my five year old kid could do that!".
Not so, as we find out.
We start off by really looking hard at one of his still-lifes and discovering things... here's a skirting board, these are tiles, there's a staircase leading down. And what we thought was a pretty pair of bosoms is in fact fruit on a glass dish!
I've set up a fairly complex affair based on and around my Nanna's old 1930s Lloyd-loom table, which has wonderful curved legs; quick preliminary sketches are struggled over, the only rule really is to twist the reality into a good, dynamic design. At one point I wedge a couple of objects so they're leaning at weird angles... "You WILL draw it crooked!"
We work in pastel on coloured paper and I have to be constantly on the alert- students keep sliding back into the world of the real and the literal. For example, a plant automatically coloured in shades of green or a book that looks 'normal' and ordinary -reverse that perspective, please!
Also to be avoided is the importance of subject matter over 'background'- both are equally important in the Picasso we looked at, and sometimes it's difficult to distinguish between the two.
The choice of colour's important, too, and we begin with just two or three, remembering that the tone of the paper counts, then add more if needed.
The moans and groans of the first hour change to interest, concentration, decision and finally surprise and pleasure at what's been achieved.
Well done, ladies, we got there in the end!

Here Comes the Sun..... doopadoodah!

I've neglected my 'big painting' over the festive period ...it's of the castle mound at Clitheroe and all will be revealed, hopefully, in my next blog, but, dear reader, don't hold your breath!
So I thought that, before tackling it again today, I'd sharpen up my eye with some sketching.
Yesterday evening it snowed, and with clear skies and a 'blue' full moon the village and the garden were revealed with a ghostly air of faerie about them.... pretty, but too cold and dark for the indolent artist!
Today, the sun was out - as I drew, the snow was slowly melting, and as I write only the shadows are holding on to their precious patches of white.
Snow outside the studio-dip pen, ink wash and watercolour.

'Tis The Season

This is the doorway from our kitchen to what is now our living room. The house used to be the village café and grocer's shop, and when the door was open it allowed anyone in the kitchen to see what was happening in the bar.
The greenery came from the edge of the wood up the road and this year I was lucky to get there early and find holly with berries- a few days later all the rest been taken.

On Saturday we woke up to snow and had a pretty walk up the hill as far as the old stone cross. In the early afternoon we tried to drive to a friend's house as she'd got the Christmas edition of the 'Radio Times' for us and they're like hen's teeth round here, but we had to turn back after getting stuck partway up a very slippery hill and narrowly escaping a JCB which slewed out of control on its way down and headed in our direction. More fun as a car skidded into it with the bucket smashing into the driver's window. Now, that's what I call excited Frenchmen! Enough thrills for the day, thank you very much, and we headed home. It was just starting to go dark when I drew the the snowy scene from the bedroom window. It had a sense of urgency and oncoming night, time to close up the curtains and stoke up the log stove.

At the busy supermarket on Tuesday large tables had been set up, laden with Coquilles St. Jacques, or scallops, covered with seaweed to keep them cool and fresh. I ordered a tea at the café and when I asked for milk, the man asked if I wanted hot or cold..the French rarely take milk with their tea.

A friend's small sons spotted me sketching and came over to have a look- I teach them drawing, and I was pleased they'd seen me working 'out in the field'- such a good example!

It's Christmas Day, and you don't have to be a monarchist to find yourself watching the Queen's yearly speech to the nation!

As I'm finishing off a drawing from the TV, our neighbour from the farm across the road (who's a bit of a 'rough diamond') comes round to use the phone. Apparently, he's no longer our neighbour as he and his partner have split up.. he tells us she's expecting a baby- they already have a six-year old daughter. He's worried because their Alsatian dog's loose in the village, and no-one home. When I ask him he says he lives 'nowhere' at present, but has work repairing and constructing earth-built houses, and the use of the works' van.

We give him coffee and home-made ginger biscuits and he says we can have his remaining chickens, then he asks if we could do a portrait of his daughter sometime, he would really love a picture of Tia.....

Starry, Starry Window.

I'm woken early by a frantic knocking at the door- there's a train strike, local services are cancelled, and two friends on their way to the States desperately need a lift to Rennes station, in order to catch their train to Charles de Gaulle airport. I check the TGV is still running; Mr Price can take them but as he'll now be very late for work, it means we'll have to do together today's Christmas window painting.
It's at Tregueux, near St. Brieuc, at a bank, and, hurray, when we get there they say we can decide for ourselves what to paint. We've already discussed this in the car- it's a very long window which runs down the side of the bank, and we thought a wide ribbon of small stars, punctuated by shooting stars would look effective. The window is slightly tinted, so we keep to light tones, broken whites and gold-yellows.
The French take a long time over lunch, and so we go to eat at 12.15 at the bar/workman's café just up the road.
In France, even a small village might have one of these; they offer a cheap, mainly home-made meal, usually of four courses. This includes a bottle of red wine, but we can have rosé, cider, or fruit juice if we wish.
It isn't just workmen in here, there's a gaggle of office workers and, next to us, two women with a small child and a baby.
Most commerces here close for around two hours at lunchtime- even some of the large supermarkets, so service is at a 'relaxed pace'. The food's good, too, and it's with food and cider-fuelled enthusiasm that we return to the 'bank job' !
Back at 'Credit Mutuel de Bretagne' the window's taking shape, I'm painting the smaller stars- hundreds of them. People come up and say how lovely, it's a busy place and the girl behind the desk is sick and fed up of people asking for free calendars, which are only ready next Tuesday. There's a sign pinned up about this, but no one notices, and some have come back three times. She makes a strangling sign with her hands....
We make good time and the window paintings finished before dark. I take photos inside and out, it looks good, we're pleased, they're pleased, and we're off and away and home by dusk.

The Rain It Raineth Every Day

I've been away for several weeks. I've been away and it's rained every day without exception.
This is Lancashire where the high and lonely moors soak up the rain like sponges and where the loud and swollen streams run fast into the rivers Ribble and Hodder.
Mr. Price and myself have rented the tiniest, cosiest cottage after that one on the little bridge at Ambleside. It's (and I'm being polite) 'up the back-end of nowhere' above the market town of Clitheroe. I'm still convinced it's in a heavenly spot, if only the weather would improve. We're here to do Christmas window paintings in as many of the shops as will have them; each morning we leave in the rain and the gloom and each evening we get back in the rain and the dark.
In town, folk are still cheerful. I'm painting a restaurant window with a jolly scene of a stagecoach in the snow and I meet two very old ladies who've come on a bus from Burnley for the day. They cast off their rain-bonnets and order soup then the roast beef dinner. "Such a shame our friend isn't with us today to see your work," one says, "She usually comes along with her camera and she's ninety-seven!".
Elsewhere- and we paint twenty-six windows in all- there's always a cup of tea on the go, sometimes with cake or mince pies.
I'm in an empty shop, brightening up the dull facade with a vision of happy snowmen decorating their Christmas tree when the thoughtful owner of the Health Food shop across the road spies me and runs over with a drink.. this is kindness itself!
How different from Brittany. I've kept fairly quiet about this, but generally the ratio of drinks to hours worked is nil to limitless. It's a rare event here when liquid refreshment's offered to the toiling window-painter. Typically, this week Mr. Price worked for five hours in a hairdressers, where the clients were furnished with fluids, and where he was given none.
However, it's heartening to know, n'est-pas, that the locals don't neglect their livestocks' basic needs and that pig-rearing and milk production continues to thrive.
Ah yes, we've been away and it rained every day. But what brightened the dullest of days was the respect and the goodwill of the folk we met and worked for.
The milk of human kindness.. and the tea and coffee!

Grandma's Treat or Another Grand Day Out.

I'm the 'Grandma' element of a family outing to Moncontour when my daughter and family come to stay in summer. It's a fortified medieval town on a rocky outcrop.
Mr. Price and I have worked here in the past, painting medieval style windows, often copied directly using images from the time.
As we stroll round the town I point out out the few that remain- there's even a brothel scene from the Middle Ages. This is painted on the window of the PMU bar, only yards from the church- someone I know took great delight in sneaking that one in!
We indulge in expensive cakes from the Patisserie and climb a steep street to look out over the ramparts. I show the grandsons Probably the Smallest Front Door in the World, then we set out for the nearby village of Tredaniel.
Just on its outskirts is the small chapel of Notre Dame du Haut, home to The Seven Healing Saints
These are polychrome wooden effigies, and can cure many illnesses... colic, headache, fears, dogbites, sores, eye-ailments and one for ease of childbirth. Here also, there are plaques to give thanks from the healed..and here we find a weird letter hidden in a niche, praying for the favourible outcome of a court case with the writer's neighbour.. spooky!
There are candles burning, and the boys buy one each to light, declaring it's "against Fear!", which is understandable when you're only seven or nine.
Outside once more, into the sunlight and away from the gloom of superstition, the others trek into the nearby wood to look at the sacred fountain. There's a 'pardon' to here from the chapel every August.
I clamber up a grassy bank to paint. It's a sweet enough scene, so I limit my colour to better express the drama of this ancient place of worship, washed in sunlight with its dark background of trees.
The boys are back and climb up beside me.. "Sam fell over!" "We saw a nest!"..."Draw me, Grandma Caroline!"Pictured: the view from the ramparts; steep steps in Moncontour; Notre Dame du Haut.

The Roar of the Greasepaint, the Smell of the Crowd

A van goes through the village, loudly announcing a circus close by- this very afternoon!
On my way back from Lidl I suss out where they've encamped and spot a bench perfect for sketching just across the road.
It's windy but sunny day, Mr. Price is game, so after lunch we head off.
Travelling circuses are small affairs round here- more of your 'Small Top', but the place is bright with colour.
We can hear the show from our bench, apparently it's an extra two Euros if your child wants to circle the ring on a pony... and another fifty Euros if they want to dismount and go home with their parents after the show...ha-ha, je blague, bien sur!
A clown rushes in and out, we can see a camel, ponies, a llama and a donkey, but there's no sign of the elephants painted on the side of the trucks, and the only trumpeting is from the piped music.
We're disturbed at one point by a pair of Bretonnes and have to move along the seat for a while. They're elderly ladies coming back from the graveyard- a favourite activity in these parts... I knew this would be Someone's Bench!
Being a couple of artists out sketching together puts me in mind of The Fast Show's 'Johnny Nice Painter'- and I strongly recommend you watch this before you continue reading.

A dapper French man in a hat approaches and peers over my shoulder, commenting that only the English seem to go out sketching.
Out with the paints.. I've worked up the drawing- and fixed it- on watercolour paper with a disappointingly scratchy conté crayon, go in with colour and then more drawing.
It's a lovely scene, with the bright reds and yellows of the vans, cages and the tent itself, and the
shouts of les enfants within... Mr Price turns to me and says "what colour are those tyres, darling, the ones in the dark shadows over there?"