Week Eighteen
I really like the feeling of warmth seeping through your coat as the sun shines above in the sky. Every day it seems different though. One minute there is blazing sunshine, the next snow, then bitter cold frost.
It is so cold here sometimes you can even taste it and your teeth hurt. Consequently the landscape is like a chromatic wheel of Russian roulette, you’re not sure what you’re going to get, or even how the middle and the end of the day may turn out. Apparently it is really, really cold in Mongolia. It appears they are having the coldest winter in centuries. Livestock are dying in there thousands; they are literally just freezing to death. 
Here in Northumberland the Sheep however are thriving. They are all looking rather pleased with themselves; I think it must be something to do with all the exposed grass they can munch. Apparently its time for ‘coppering’ where ewes have to be inoculated with copper to stop lambs getting ‘swayback’. 
This disease causes a paralysis of the back legs. It’s a tricky business by all accounts with pellets fired into the mouth, and lots of complications such as only certain sheep should have it, there is also a risk of poisoning if you get it wrong! 
I have been blessed with a few stunning sunsets recently, rich gold’s, deep reds with exquisite three-dimensional clouds. I found myself (alone) on the fells one evening shouting “BEAUTIFUL” at the top of my voice. 
It reminded me of the character, ‘George’ in E.M. Forsters’ ‘Room with a view’. He shouts out his creed “Joy, Beauty, Love” at the top of his voice whilst swinging from a tree (all before he kisses Miss Honeychurch in the field of cornflowers)…err not that I know the film inside out, back to front, or word for word …or anything like that. Anyhow I am intrigued to find out if any one heard me or not, as my voice did…carry somewhat. 
Went for an exquisite walk towards Black Middens, a beautiful tree lined route. The trees seemed to be positioned in pairs giving the impression of dancing together or caught in conversation. 
It seems that ‘walking’ is a conversation between the body and the world, it almost becomes a reciprocal and simultaneous act of both interpretation and manipulation; an embodied and active way of shaping and being shaped. Stephen Graham, whom walked across America once, Russia twice and Britain several times wrote: “As you sit on the hillside, or lie prone under the trees of the forest, or sprawl wet-legged by mountain stream, the great door, that does not look like a door…opens.” 
My daily walks offer different treasures every day, and I am really benefiting from this peripatetic (….oh, I so love that word) investigation of this place. 
It seems, there is some concern that I have not ventured to many places afar, such as Newcastle etc, but I feel there is no need when there is such richness on my doorstep. A richness, I may never get to experience again, therefore, I consider each day to be precious; why rush to a city when I have spent my life living in one? 
I have had a joyous week in the studio; although certain schemes have not gone to plan, I let go into chance and play instead. I have been experimenting with the concept of ‘layers’ and feel there is something there 
I want to continue with. I feel a sense of ‘passion’ beginning to flow in my ideas, and that excites me. On a technical side, things were not that successful, my car decided to break down (again), I could not get the printer to work and my head torch is determined to turn off every time I place it on my head. The head torch, what an invention hey….fabulous…that’s of course when they work! 
I finished what I consider to be the most beautiful book I have ever read, ‘The Wild Places’ by Robert Macfarlane. It has had me in rapture, tears, and delight and has altered my perception of the outside world. He has been ‘around’ a lot this week, on the radio and on television. I was particularly excited about seeing him so asked a neighbour (by assuming the begging posture) if it was possible to watch the programme. Amused by me asking on my knees, it was agreed I could come over to view the man himself. Unfortunately a passionate writer does not always make a great, nay, a good presenter, or even a half decent one. ‘Robert honey’…stick to writing …its not your medium to be on the big screen. Anyhow it’s a brilliant book. 
I am coming to the end of another book, my sketchbook, and that also makes me sad. A sketchbook becomes a friend, you traverse a journey together of ideas, it takes time for it to develop and evolve. It reveals secrets and directions that you didn’t think were possible. If people look at my sketchbook I always want them to peruse it backwards. I hate starting a new book, a blank page is always difficult and my uncomfortableness is reflected in the awkwardness of my beginning pages. That’s the thing about being an artist, your always having to start again. Maybe that’s where vulnerability comes in to play, the constant new starts? 
My favourite flower has begun to appear, yes the much loved Snowdrop or apparently ‘Galanthus’ to some. Snowdrops were introduced in Britain in the seventeenth century from Italy. I am only used to seeing a few and there are hundreds here! How scrumptious is that. I think I may spend an hour lying next to them when they come to full bloom, of course not squashing any…… that would be criminal! Thanks to Robert Macfarlane for letting me see new ways, Fiona for the support and Patrick for being my ‘biggest’ fan. Week eighteen done!