lead

I've really been missing posting here. I've still been taking pictures of the things I've been making, doing, seeing, but I can't find my camera lead to upload them. And it's not the same without images is it... I miss sharing the pictures here, the process of sorting through, looking again at the books and boxes I've made, the experiments, details, seeds planted. Gathering my thoughts and writing them down. There's something about this process that I find so useful, both in the middle of making and afterwards, almost like taking a step away, to look and think about what's been done, what worked, what could be better... the thoughts are never quite concrete in my head, as much as they seem to be, until I think about how to write them down. And if I don't pin them down they slip away. It probably seems obvious...

I've got a clamshell box to show you, A3, with inlayed text. And a set of three stacking trays (which all fit together, and I was very surprised indeed!) A sock elephant and some new soft cover books, not to mention the pea shoots coming up in the garden. As soon as I find the lead for the camera (as soon as I can unpack!) I'll be here...

nearly.

I still haven't unpacked any of the big brown boxes waiting in the attic and cupboards and in creaking piles in the corners of rooms, haven't lifted the dust sheets. So I still haven't found my camera lead and all the photos of the new stove and the tiles in the bathroom are stuck on my camera for now...

I haven't done any sewing or knitting or bookmaking for fun for over a month now. All my time is spoken for, which is good, but pictures are swirling round my head, ideas for books and prints and drawings. Bird feet.

‘Do not indulge in dreams of having what you have not, but reckon up the chief of the blessings you possess and thankfully remember how you would crave them if they were not yours.’

Marcus Aurelius 170AD

It's been a while.

I'm sat in the garden (my garden!) and inside the house a however-many foot long steel pipe is being removed, bit by heavy bit, and a slightly wider (more expensive) pipe is being installed so that tomorrow I may, just may, have a wood burning stove. And the last time I went inside there was a thin layer of dirty black soot over ever surface and I'm expecting it to be slightly thicker the next time I check.

So the dust hasn't gone just quite yet. But it's all good really.

The garden is full of plants. Geraniums and poppys and hydrangeas and forget-me-nots and pansies. All the kind of things that survive the slow neglect of a few years in the garden of an empty house. All the tiny flowerbeds and pathways and stones overgrown with dandelions and violets and unidentified orange flowers. Bricks and concrete. Sycamore trees.

I met the man who found the old lady when she died in this house. I hope she'd like us.

Hopefully all the dust will disappear soon.