On walls in six of the seven continents...

I WAS RECENTLY SENT a picture of my Weed Wife print framed most exquisitely, and thought that it deserved to be shared with you here. This picture (above) was sent to me by Stacey Carroll whose father made the amazing wooden frame to fit the Weed Wife perfectly; it sits on Stacey's altar as an honouring of her herbalism work. 

It always excites me to see photos of my paintings in other people's homes - the many ways people choose to frame them and the different places and ways they display and use them. As I address envelopes to send print orders to places with unfamiliar street names and postal codes across the seas, I wonder about those doormats where the envelopes will land, and the walls on which the prints will hang - what kind of places are they? What kinds of people live there? And of course, it is always delicious to get a little glimpse into these worlds! So I thought it'd be fun to share some of the photos of my work on far away walls that people have kindly sent me. 

This one (above) showing my calendar hanging in a cozy kitchen is from book artist Abby Nolan in Missouri, USA.

And this one (above) is from artist Lynn Hardaker in Regensburg, Germany. You can see the roofs of the city through the window beyond my Picking Up Sticks and Väinämöinen Sings A Ship.

Here two of my pictures - Soup & Pipe and Telling Stories to the Trees flank an oval clock in the magic-brewing kitchen of Michelle Bergeron-Martin in Ohio, USA.

This cozy nook (above) harbouring my Atching Tan print in the Highlands of Scotland is in the home of jewellery carvers Geoff & Fuggo King of Woodland Treasures.

Here (above) my Dark Mountain print, framed beautifully, hangs in the inviting Prague hallway of David Binar.

A mask watches over the walls of Burnard Burns in London, UK, where a few of my works can be seen.

Here (above) my calendar hangs sweetly in Suzy Davies' kitchen in Herefordshire, UK.

This wonderful studio wall, where a couple of my images share the inspiration-space, belongs to sculptor Jason Parr in Norfolk, UK.

Very pleased to show you this one (above) - sent to me by Cherlyn Simpkins, a teacher in Aberdeen, Scotland, UK - here my rendition of Roald Dahl's words about magic hangs on her classroom wall: "And above all watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you, for the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."

This one (above) comes from the home of woodcarver Martin Hazell - as well as my calendar, you can see two of my original pieces amongst other wonders.

These two (above & below) show my prints and calendar displayed in Rebecca Elwell's shepherd's hut in the New Forest.

Here (below) my cards sit amongst small creatures in the home of Sally Mineur in Tasmania:

This lovely tableau by the phone (below) is from Kate Duerden in Surrey, UK.

And these next four lovely pictures are from shamanic healer & drum-maker Suzi Crockford's cozy cottage in Devon, UK:

Here below is a photo of two of my prints in the home of artist & ceramicist Marieke Ringel in Halle, Germany.

And this intriguing bookshelf (below) belongs to artist Jericho Moral in the Philippines:

I was excited to see this photo (below) - it shows the original of Soup & Pipe, framed beautifully, on Rebecca Wilson's wall in Ottawa, Canada.

In this one (below), we can see the Dia de los Muertos celebration altar of Anna Björkman in Sweden; there are two of my pictures - Anja in the Horse Chestnut and Sova Slova - amongst the other magics in there.

This one's from Aurélie Hesse in Romans sur Isère, France, and shows my calendar hanging on the wall of her jewellery studio where she creates fruit for her L'Arbre aux Abricots d'Argent (tree of silver apricots):

And here (below) my Smudge Fly sits in an art corner in the home of Becca Chapman in Pennsylvania, USA:

This is the hallway of Earthlines Magazine editor Sharon Blackie in Donegal, Ireland, where visitors to her home are welcomed by my Weed Wife:

These wonderful pictures (below) are from Carrie Osborne in Frome, Somerset who blogs her art and writing at Windsongs & Wordhoards. Here in her home my Alchemist is framed beautifully beside a box of wonders, nests and shells and skulls.. and my calendar hangs there too.

This one (below) was sent to me by Professor of Folklore and Mythology Ari Berk - you can see on his myth-filled Michigan, USA walls the original of my little oil painting on wood A Mountain Song to My Wordless Son.

And here (below) are two of my pieces on the creature-full walls of felt artist Charlotte Hills, in Nottingham, UK.

This one makes me smile, and is delightfully out of keeping with the rest. This is the home of a lovely man named Doris who lives in Norfolk, UK. Here my Sova Slova owl woman shares a wall with Lady Gaga!

This one's from Emma Welsh in York, UK - here my Weed Wife forms part of her Winter Solstice altar mandala:

Here (below) my Sova Slova print nestles on the walls of jeweller Miriam Boy of Silver & Moor, in Devon, UK:

And this one, taken at wintertime, shows my Feast of Fools wreathed beautifully for the solstice on book artist Abby Nolan's walls in Missouri, USA:

Here my calendar and The Alchemist framed beautifully adorn the home of Natasha Burge in Saudi Arabia:

And this one (below) is from Nathalie Desoil in Angreau, Belgium. The lovely frame was made by a French craftsman, and houses two of my works - Lodka and A Song to All Our Sorrows:

This group of photos (below) showing various works of mine in different settings is from the home of Teresa Interlicchia in New York, USA:

Very excited to show you this one (below) - it was sent to me by Amy Bogard in Cincinnati, Ohio, USA, and shows my Concertina Eggcup Song print on display at the workshop where Carroll Concertinas are made - a more perfect setting I cannot imagine!

And these artful walls of magic and inspiration, where a good few of my works dwell, belong to writer and wonder-weaver Sylvia Linsteadt in California, USA:

And lastly, a whole wall dedicated to my work in the home of Adam and Rhen Garland, in Suffolk, UK, guarded by Cernunnos and a boar. Adam and Rhen visit my stall every year at the Weird and Wonderful Wood fair, and each year buy a picture. What a lovely thing for me to see.

I hope you've enjoyed peeping into other people's homes with me! If you have any photos of my work in your homes, do send them along, I'd love to see, and perhaps we'll amass enough for another of these blog posts! And if you don't yet have any of my work - come along and buy some here! It really warms my cockles to see the fruits of my paintbrush-and-soul adorning the lives of folks far and wide, and reminds me why I do it in the first place. Thank you all so much.

The Book of Faces and The Web of the World

ALL THOSE FACES! The face is my favourite part of a human to paint. Into it I can paint all the soul and sorrow and stories and subtlety of being alive. Collecting together many of the faces I have painted over the years like this feels like calling a gathering in the village square of my imagination, and it feels too like seeing my own soul reflected in the eyes of this odd throng of characters looking back at me. Despite the many many other ways we can communicate with one another these days, nothing will ever better face-to-face contact as the most real way of speaking soul-to-soul to another human being.

How strange then, to find myself and this ancient ochre-hearted company of mine with a page in the Book of Faces. I have avoided joining facebook staunchly, vociferously and indignantly up until now. There are many reasons to hate it - it is ugly, invasive, corporate, virtual, unethical... but yet, everyone is on it. If you don't belong, you are shut out of a gated community where everything is happening. And I have noticed a certain amount of tumbleweed blowing through these halls since facebook became the place to be.

I have a complex love-hate relationship with the internet. I am of the last generation who didn't have it during their growing up years. Now it is so ubiquitous that governments talk of high-speed broadband in remote areas being a human right(!). Clearly this web of uncountable things that we have strung about the world is full of wonderful, rich and interesting matter. It enables self-employed artists like me to make a living from their work in any place, by putting them in touch with the very people who will love what they do. It fosters connections which continue in the real world and which could not have been made in any other way. It is a true network and it is infinite pathways to inspiration.

But do you not also share my frustration and loathing for the way the internet has squirmed into our every minute, addicting us to updates, and overloading us with eons more information each second than we are naturally made to process in a lifetime? Even if we ignore the endless shite and horror that the internet contains, it is still spilling over with wonder. There are so many beautiful things out there, genuine heartfelt pieces of writing, ideas and images - too many - so we have learnt to skim, to take in only the bubbles from the top of every slowly crafted brew. And I for one feel this is not a true and considered honouring of these beautiful works, not to mention of the eyes and hearts and souls and bodies of the people who are consuming these streams of information every millisecond, utterly removed from the place and land where they sit, out in the ether somewhere, following a trail whilst their extremities get gradually colder and they forget to eat lunch.

I have a theory that using the internet occupies a very particular place in us. I think it takes the place of dreaming. Not night-dreaming, but that very shamanic soul-travelling that we all do to a greater or lesser extent when our mind wanders, when we create art, when we day-dream, imagine, journey in our minds and spirits to elsewhere, elsewhen. Internet-travelling uses the same metaphorical muscle I think, but is utterly hollow in comparison because it is not creative in that same sense. It is not magical. And worst of all it replaces the dreaming.

Do not think that I am railing blindly and utterly against this technology. I am not saying that magic doesn't happen as a result of online discoveries, meetings, connections. I am a Luddite with a dilemma. The internet democratizes information like never before, it enables me to create my unusual art and sell it direct to folks who are moved by it, without the need to convince somebody with money/gallery/publishing house to endorse me. I am stuck between a very real desire to live off-grid in a hut in the woods with a brambled but well-trodden path the only means of communication, and the fact that I live in a world that requires us to pay for things and therefore requires me to earn money. I hope that my internet work has integrity and genuinely touches people in a tangible, honest way, and I am not ready to scurry off to the woods just yet. So, throwing in my pounds with my pennies, I have reluctantly and contrarily decided to join facebook, since that's where everyone is! 

We actually experimented with getting rid of the internet from our house altogether this year. We were fed up with evenings on laptops, and the way our home life was peppered with constant checking and replying and updating and with how our eyes and shoulders and souls felt after hours in front of a screen. So we cancelled our broadband connection. (That was quite a funny conversation - the phone company representative unable to actually comprehend what we were asking - "We'd like to cancel our broadband package" ... "You are changing service providers?" ... "No - we just want to turn the internet off" ... "You are transferring to another company? Sorry to see you go, can I ask why you wish to leave us?" ... "No, we just don't want the internet any more!" ... - confused silence -)

In return we gained quiet evenings at home, more vivid dreams, baths and cooking, reading! We re-learned the ancient art of sitting staring into space, which I can report is much more restful after a busy tiring day than checking your emails for the seven hundredth time. 

We learnt how ingrained the internet was in our lives once it was no longer there. There was an itch that we couldn't scratch. (Except if we stood in a certain spot where there was an annoyingly useless wifi signal from next door!) 

We didn't disappear from our online lives, because we decided to use our "work hours" to use the internet elsewhere. We began by using cafes with wifi, which resulted in rather a lot of coffee purchased and hurried distracted dealings with all the internet required of us. This was not ideal. So we moved our online work to our studios where we spent the day working, but left at the end of the day for a laptop-free home. 

But that didn't quite work either. The fact remains that if you are engaged in the online world with your work, you need to be there a lot. You need to keep feeding the beast that feeds you. We ended up driving to and from our studios more than necessary whenever a quick search or email reply was needed. We tried writing lists on pieces of paper of Things To Do On The Internet Next Time We're In Town. But invariably you'd forget something, and there was more on that list than you could realistically do in just one or two allocated days a week. We had to face up to the fact that we live in a digitally connected world. This is the way of things for us for now until we cut all the wires, tie a handkerchief to the end of a stick and head into the forest. Perhaps the wires will be cut for us, and then what will we do?! Does anyone have an address book made of paper any more? Do you know where all your friends actually live? Could you find them in real geography if the internet disappeared?

I speak from a concerned and somewhat frightened yet simultaneously grateful and amazed viewpoint. If we use this thing, we still need to remember the land on which we stand, remember our bodies and the faces of those we love. I think we should be frightened that all intercity trains these days are filled with blue-faced passengers, every one of them swiping their fingers across a tiny screen, oblivious of the people around them acting identically. If we use this thing, then we should use it to find other faces in the throng and go and really touch them, in real life. Arrange it so that you can look into their real eyes and hear their real stories. This amazing network can be used for proliferating inane fluff or it can be used to organize and gather for good and real reasons, and to stir souls. 

Please do not think I am devaluing my connection to you, dear reader. Quite the opposite. I know and love the fact that every one of you is a real person with a real, and deliciously unknown and different life from mine going on around and in you as you sit in front of your screen there reading these words. My words of caution, celebration and confusion are aimed rather at this thing in between us, which I cannot touch or name or understand, but without which we wouldn't be connected, yet it also causes us not to tangibly connect. 

Actually, I'm quite enjoying leafing through the Face Book. It's a strange world, but you all seem to be there, so I have come to join you. I'll be posting pictures of works in progress and offering for sale little spur-of-the-moment paintings and drawings which might not make it outside those blue walls. Please pull up a log, help me find my feet in this new and unfamiliar territory, it'll be nice to see some familiar faces there.