I was 8 years old sitting at a desk with two huge needles learning to knit - a vest with prickly wool. Just after the second World War materials were scarce. I knew that I would never wear it… Two years later my teacher gave me a beautiful piece of flowery fabric to make an apron – to learn to hem, picking up every alternate thread. It was a pleasure to work on. My Dad wouldn’t buy it as he believed that all education should be free, but the Headmaster consoled me saying that it was so good that he would take it home with him, kind man. In my teens I helped my Mum to do tapestries, telling her which square next, top right etc., so she did not have to keep looking at the pattern. She had to buy the background wool a skein or two at a time and, towards the end, the stock ran out. The new dye was not quite the same. I learned!
At secondary school I loved art, drawing flowers and bones in biology – not double lines and no gaps. I learned about poster making. In the latter years, having to choose between geography and art, I was almost inconsolable but was told that I could ‘pick up’ art more easily when I left school. The poster skills came in useful at teacher training college. I tried sewing dresses to economise, but soon gave up as only one out of
three of my efforts was successful. Purchasing one was no more expensive and less effort than making three.
With my first earnings I indulged myself buying a beautiful plate from Poole Pottery, a blend of reds and oranges. Thinking I might imitate this, I joined a pottery class but the teacher did the glazes with no chance of getting red or orange. I also wanted to make a large bread crock but as I could not quickly master the wheel, made my crock out of large coils. It was hard bringing in the shoulder but I decorated the neck with wheat
ears, glazed the outside and got it ready for the tutor to glaze inside and fire. The inside came out wrinkly and so was unusable. Sad… but it made a good garden pot until the frost got it. I learned decorating techniques and it seems that my forté was slab pots. Much later when I joined another class, I learned that red and orange glazes often run on to other pots during the firing process. This tutor allowed them but strictly
controlled how we applied them. She was very kind, even made me a glaze from the ashes of the decimated, diseased Elm trees at Barn Elms in London, where I lived. I rushed to make a mould plate to complete firing by the end of the year. It is a beautiful green.
When I got married I lived on a sports centre, so was involved helping there in a voluntary capacity so had little time for art. Badminton was my recreation. When my children were born, I crocheted a shell pattern shawl for each of them. My mother and grandmother were highly skilled so had already taught me the rudiments of this craft. I tried to knit a coat and hat for my first baby and chose a complicated pattern. I was such a novice that I had to look at every stitch anyway. It is still lovely, unworn because my tension was much too tight which made it far too small. I subsequently knitted useful sweaters but gave up as the boys grew larger. I dabbled in archery and golf and went out to sample trampolining as well as continuing with badminton.
Whilst on holiday in Norway I fell in love with their woodwork and bright, cheerful wall hangings. We stayed in a friend’s isolated house on the edge of a fjord, delightful for swimming, fishing and boating. I bought a pattern for a table runner and stitched away in the evenings. When I returned home, I joined a sewing class and made a tapestry. I learned about different canvases and wools, preferring crewel wools as they give more flexibility in design. I liked a mathematical corner design in blue and red but altered the colours completely. It took much counting to get the corners of my rectangle correct. The bright autumnal colours were stunning on the brilliant white background. I was even asked if I would like to work for the Royal School of Needlework! As planned, I hung it on the wall but the London air made it grubby. I washed it carefully never thinking that the dye from the canvas would run. It has never been quite the same since so I have framed it to prevent further deterioration.
In the 1980s, I joined a couple of cooking classes - one on cake decorating. Knowing the best tools and ingredients enabled me to make lots of artistic celebratory ones. The seasonal, mural size collages I designed and helped the children make in the hospital where I worked, met with much approval. I learned to make corn dollies, even making a large Devonshire Cross which was sought after for harvest festivals. I struggled to
make a Horn of Plenty but found it unachievable. Towards 1990, I joined a calligraphy class thinking I might use the skill to make posters or cards. It involved much measuring of lines for spacing. The tutor insisted we learned round hand and started ‘large’. Those perfect circles are so hard to obtain. Total concentration was required. I was in a bad patch in my life and found the whole process very therapeutic. I would recommend it.
I also went to an art appreciation course but it was not what I wanted, just explanations of old religious paintings. Then in 1993 I spotted a 4-day course on botanical painting at Kew Gardens. It harked back to those biology lessons at school. The teachers for both had memorable sunny personalities. Here I learned about special paper, pencils, paints and techniques for watercolour, much more what I was looking for. On white paper we drew ten squares and shaded each one slightly darker to reach black; then with a single colour, painted degrees of colour strength. I could not master the shady greens, I was told that if I wanted to paint other than flowers, I should first join a drawing class. The only local one I could find was for life drawing. I loved the curves of the models but drew what I saw. One day towards the end of the course another student
said, “Why don’t you make her more beautiful? Give her a lift.” It gave me food for thought. But I wanted colour. When I tried, I could not do shadows, they looked too grey with added black. On the tutor’s recommendation, I went to another local teacher.
Here I found what I really wanted, a classicist and watercolour specialist. The first lesson was outside by a river at sunset where we learned about washes. Inside we had yet another colour wheel to paint, this time with outer wheels which had graded additions of the opposite colours. I learned about shade and blacks. I had learned about perspective and colours fading bluer on horizons at school but now learnt how even a splash of red brings things forward, adjacent contrasting colours too. We copied a Fauve picture learning to appreciate how another artist or master had worked. We went outside later in the year painting with ink trying to emphasise shadows on trees. We learned to do preliminary sketches. I tried mine in charcoal. I wished I had known about these things when I did my tapestries. Sadly the art teacher moved. I did go to another, a
colourist. I tried using pastel crayons on this course but preferred watercolours and did a couple of personal landscape paintings. At this time I also embroidered a tablecloth but didn’t aspire to long-and-short stitch.
After two more holidays in Norway in which I searched in vain for gloves for women that I liked, I bought a ‘Fana’ pattern and some wool to make some myself. With a Norwegian friend, translating the instructions was quick and easy as the words and phrases are few with repetitions; but enacting it at home was not. I quickly lost count of the number of times I unpicked sections to make it right. It was worth it as they still give me a lift when I go out in the cold.
Over time I did outdoor woodwork, mostly upkeep and crude wooden structures. With wood coppiced from my hazel trees, I made an s-shaped woven fence of which I was quite proud. My recently bought panels are nowhere near as good. I joined a woodwork class with a tutor specialising in cabinet making in order to make a half size model of a beehive feeder/crown board which my father had invented. I was much older than the
others in the class and found muscle power a problem. Luckily beehives are made in cedar, a soft wood. I found planes hard to handle but the tutor, who taught me about good tools, found a small one for me. I achieved my goal despite it being much trickier than anticipated. Later, I used this knowledge to renovate antique door handles and to make a couple of small trays in which to arrange leftover mosaic squares and some book ends.
More recently, where opportunities have arisen, I have joined art sessions trying to do better at painting people and water. At one, a very small portable paintbox was included for the fee; not really wanted but might be useful. In another I appreciated being given a list of colour combinations for various skin tones.
Lastly, I have just completed a tapestry for a purpose-built footstool. I covered my small child’ s chair when the original wore out. The footstool matches. I was delighted to be able to thread the wools and locate the holes at my age but hadn’t envisaged the wear on the skin on my hands where they constantly rubbed across the canvas… My skin is thinner now. I’m pleased the tapestry is finished.
What next for me in art? Always a gardener, and having participated in ‘Open Gardens’ in Barnes, I have totally redesigned my new garden in Letchworth. It is hard graft on clay, full of roots and accumulated debris from 100 years ago when the house was built. Does that count as art? I have no desire to do oil painting and the time when I might have tried working with glass or metal is over. My hands do not move as smoothly as
before but maybe I will return to watercolour painting, undoubtedly my second love after gardening. I have certainly been able to ‘pick up’ art as I was told. I made the right choice at school.
At secondary school I loved art, drawing flowers and bones in biology – not double lines and no gaps. I learned about poster making. In the latter years, having to choose between geography and art, I was almost inconsolable but was told that I could ‘pick up’ art more easily when I left school. The poster skills came in useful at teacher training college. I tried sewing dresses to economise, but soon gave up as only one out of
three of my efforts was successful. Purchasing one was no more expensive and less effort than making three.
With my first earnings I indulged myself buying a beautiful plate from Poole Pottery, a blend of reds and oranges. Thinking I might imitate this, I joined a pottery class but the teacher did the glazes with no chance of getting red or orange. I also wanted to make a large bread crock but as I could not quickly master the wheel, made my crock out of large coils. It was hard bringing in the shoulder but I decorated the neck with wheat
ears, glazed the outside and got it ready for the tutor to glaze inside and fire. The inside came out wrinkly and so was unusable. Sad… but it made a good garden pot until the frost got it. I learned decorating techniques and it seems that my forté was slab pots. Much later when I joined another class, I learned that red and orange glazes often run on to other pots during the firing process. This tutor allowed them but strictly
controlled how we applied them. She was very kind, even made me a glaze from the ashes of the decimated, diseased Elm trees at Barn Elms in London, where I lived. I rushed to make a mould plate to complete firing by the end of the year. It is a beautiful green.
When I got married I lived on a sports centre, so was involved helping there in a voluntary capacity so had little time for art. Badminton was my recreation. When my children were born, I crocheted a shell pattern shawl for each of them. My mother and grandmother were highly skilled so had already taught me the rudiments of this craft. I tried to knit a coat and hat for my first baby and chose a complicated pattern. I was such a novice that I had to look at every stitch anyway. It is still lovely, unworn because my tension was much too tight which made it far too small. I subsequently knitted useful sweaters but gave up as the boys grew larger. I dabbled in archery and golf and went out to sample trampolining as well as continuing with badminton.
Whilst on holiday in Norway I fell in love with their woodwork and bright, cheerful wall hangings. We stayed in a friend’s isolated house on the edge of a fjord, delightful for swimming, fishing and boating. I bought a pattern for a table runner and stitched away in the evenings. When I returned home, I joined a sewing class and made a tapestry. I learned about different canvases and wools, preferring crewel wools as they give more flexibility in design. I liked a mathematical corner design in blue and red but altered the colours completely. It took much counting to get the corners of my rectangle correct. The bright autumnal colours were stunning on the brilliant white background. I was even asked if I would like to work for the Royal School of Needlework! As planned, I hung it on the wall but the London air made it grubby. I washed it carefully never thinking that the dye from the canvas would run. It has never been quite the same since so I have framed it to prevent further deterioration.
In the 1980s, I joined a couple of cooking classes - one on cake decorating. Knowing the best tools and ingredients enabled me to make lots of artistic celebratory ones. The seasonal, mural size collages I designed and helped the children make in the hospital where I worked, met with much approval. I learned to make corn dollies, even making a large Devonshire Cross which was sought after for harvest festivals. I struggled to
make a Horn of Plenty but found it unachievable. Towards 1990, I joined a calligraphy class thinking I might use the skill to make posters or cards. It involved much measuring of lines for spacing. The tutor insisted we learned round hand and started ‘large’. Those perfect circles are so hard to obtain. Total concentration was required. I was in a bad patch in my life and found the whole process very therapeutic. I would recommend it.
I also went to an art appreciation course but it was not what I wanted, just explanations of old religious paintings. Then in 1993 I spotted a 4-day course on botanical painting at Kew Gardens. It harked back to those biology lessons at school. The teachers for both had memorable sunny personalities. Here I learned about special paper, pencils, paints and techniques for watercolour, much more what I was looking for. On white paper we drew ten squares and shaded each one slightly darker to reach black; then with a single colour, painted degrees of colour strength. I could not master the shady greens, I was told that if I wanted to paint other than flowers, I should first join a drawing class. The only local one I could find was for life drawing. I loved the curves of the models but drew what I saw. One day towards the end of the course another student
said, “Why don’t you make her more beautiful? Give her a lift.” It gave me food for thought. But I wanted colour. When I tried, I could not do shadows, they looked too grey with added black. On the tutor’s recommendation, I went to another local teacher.
Here I found what I really wanted, a classicist and watercolour specialist. The first lesson was outside by a river at sunset where we learned about washes. Inside we had yet another colour wheel to paint, this time with outer wheels which had graded additions of the opposite colours. I learned about shade and blacks. I had learned about perspective and colours fading bluer on horizons at school but now learnt how even a splash of red brings things forward, adjacent contrasting colours too. We copied a Fauve picture learning to appreciate how another artist or master had worked. We went outside later in the year painting with ink trying to emphasise shadows on trees. We learned to do preliminary sketches. I tried mine in charcoal. I wished I had known about these things when I did my tapestries. Sadly the art teacher moved. I did go to another, a
colourist. I tried using pastel crayons on this course but preferred watercolours and did a couple of personal landscape paintings. At this time I also embroidered a tablecloth but didn’t aspire to long-and-short stitch.
After two more holidays in Norway in which I searched in vain for gloves for women that I liked, I bought a ‘Fana’ pattern and some wool to make some myself. With a Norwegian friend, translating the instructions was quick and easy as the words and phrases are few with repetitions; but enacting it at home was not. I quickly lost count of the number of times I unpicked sections to make it right. It was worth it as they still give me a lift when I go out in the cold.
Over time I did outdoor woodwork, mostly upkeep and crude wooden structures. With wood coppiced from my hazel trees, I made an s-shaped woven fence of which I was quite proud. My recently bought panels are nowhere near as good. I joined a woodwork class with a tutor specialising in cabinet making in order to make a half size model of a beehive feeder/crown board which my father had invented. I was much older than the
others in the class and found muscle power a problem. Luckily beehives are made in cedar, a soft wood. I found planes hard to handle but the tutor, who taught me about good tools, found a small one for me. I achieved my goal despite it being much trickier than anticipated. Later, I used this knowledge to renovate antique door handles and to make a couple of small trays in which to arrange leftover mosaic squares and some book ends.
More recently, where opportunities have arisen, I have joined art sessions trying to do better at painting people and water. At one, a very small portable paintbox was included for the fee; not really wanted but might be useful. In another I appreciated being given a list of colour combinations for various skin tones.
Lastly, I have just completed a tapestry for a purpose-built footstool. I covered my small child’ s chair when the original wore out. The footstool matches. I was delighted to be able to thread the wools and locate the holes at my age but hadn’t envisaged the wear on the skin on my hands where they constantly rubbed across the canvas… My skin is thinner now. I’m pleased the tapestry is finished.
What next for me in art? Always a gardener, and having participated in ‘Open Gardens’ in Barnes, I have totally redesigned my new garden in Letchworth. It is hard graft on clay, full of roots and accumulated debris from 100 years ago when the house was built. Does that count as art? I have no desire to do oil painting and the time when I might have tried working with glass or metal is over. My hands do not move as smoothly as
before but maybe I will return to watercolour painting, undoubtedly my second love after gardening. I have certainly been able to ‘pick up’ art as I was told. I made the right choice at school.
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