​I don't need to to tell you we are facing difficult times just now.  I hope this finds you and your loved ones well and adapting to whatever circumstances you find yourself in. 

In my last newsletter, I was sharing news of being part of Poolewe Tuesday Market, stocking some of my products in Cabinet at the lovely An Talla Solais Gallery in Ullapool and an exhibition of my paintings at Inverewe Garden.  You can see the paintings I planned to exhibit (and more), in the gallery pages of my website.  More recently, I had provided cards and sketchbooks to the shop at Gairloch Museum. None of these things is happening now, for obvious reasons. 

​I highly recommend doing something creative during these trying times - draw, paint, write, play music. Plant seeds, and look forward to watching them grow. That's what I was doing yesterday.  Or learn a language - I discovered the wonderful App, Duolingo and have been learning a bit of Gaelic, as well as brushing up on my French and German and getting going with Spanish.  It's a great way to learn, very encouraging and good fun.  Or make soup. Making soup is one of my go-to things when it all gets a bit too much.  It feels like a time for recalibration, in so many ways.

Wishing you all the very best - thank you for your interest in my work, it is greatly appreciated.

Jennifer x

 See my Pebbles on the Beach Facebook page for regular posts and updates.

Photo credit : Ailsa Watson

I wrote this free-form poem (with minor alterations) at the start of this year. It was a contribution to the Sustaining Life as a Creative Programme, run by the wonderful Creative Learning team in Aberdeen, which I was very fortunate to take part in. 
​The brief was to describe our creative journey. 

I am
 
I am the small pigtailed girl
Perched on the window seat, with
sugar paper and poster paints,
brush and water pot,
newspaper protecting
the wooden trolley
 
I am that girl in shorts and tee-shirt
on the west coast shore
searching for crabs every summer
under stones,
exploring rockpools
before rockpooling was a thing
collecting shells and pebbles,
sticks and stones
 
I am the girl playing in the
corrugated iron shed behind
my granny’s house
wildflowers in a jam jar on the rickety table -
the hedgehog visiting -
imagination my best friend
 
I’m the schoolgirl sailing on the loch
with my first love
 
I'm the teenager climbing hills with friends
gazing over Scotland  -
hills and heather
burns and boulders,
big skies
 
I am the student, drawing in my lab book,
Learning the nature of science
I am the scientist, fishing for facts about
Trout and mackerel and herring,
 
I am the translator, editor, creator,
putter-together of research volumes,
organiser of conferences and treasurer of troves
 
I am the mum with no clue -
doing, not making,
(except soup and cakes and occasionally marmalade)
Making do,
with a head crammed full, jammed full
of domesticity,
a scarcity of time to call mine
 
I am the thirty-something friend,
persuaded to trade
My violin for a fiddle,
To play tunes with people
Who would become pals
To add another dimension
to being
 
I am the mandolin-playing ceilidh band member,
calling out dance steps
- Oh, the feeling of power!
​ 
I am the teacher of students,
The organiser of labs and lectures,
Marker of essays,
And later,
Developer of screen-based things
With no song to sing
Or dance to bring
 
I am the escapee,
Fleeing to evening classes -
Some shaky pots, a few pale paintings,
Tiny steps
 
My sketchbook brought along
On family holidays
For rare moments of
aloneness
 
I am the e-learning adviser,
Brain addled by screens,
Quitting the squeaky lino floors
Before it was too late
 
I am the pupil once more, online
And for real,
(because I respond well to being
given homework)
 
I am the walker,
Walking with purpose -
Two Moonwalks
In three years. 
And Ben Nevis
No hesitation –
meditation.
 
I am the delivery driver,
Dropping off veg
Noticing things.
Gathering ideas
 
I am the spinner of stories
Weaver of yarns
 
I am the open studios partaker
Opening the door to my shed,
Pretending it is a studio,
letting people in to my life
To ask me questions
Which I find hard to answer –
When, What, Why, How?
It seems that some
Wish they had my life, whatever they
May think that is – living the dream –
An endless stream of ideas, most of which
Get washed away in the shower -
Down the drain, never to be
Seen again.
 
I am the artist, maker,
Creator of things
Which bring joy
 
I am the West coast
Inhabitant -
Still walking the tideline
In search of shells and pebbles,
Bleached bones of wood
Filling my pockets
Again and again
Still looking out to sea
And finding
Something there
 

This will be my eighth year taking part in NEOS (North East Open Studios). I'm number 269 in the book this year and will be at the Phoenix Centre at Newton Dee in Bieldside in Aberdeen again.  Eleven artists and makers will show their work there; we call ourselves "Art at the Phoenix".  There will be a lovely mix of paintings, mixed media work, textiles, ceramics, fused glass, wooden furniture and more.  Delighted to be part of it again - also thrilled that my daughter, Ailsa (number 268 in the book) is showing her textiles and illustration work at the same venue.  Looking forward to welcoming visitors!  

We will be open daily 10am - 4pm, from Saturday 8th - Sunday 16th September.  

I recently took part in the Art Fair which was part of the Scottish Traditional Boat Festival in Portsoy.  The weather was fantastic all weekend, hot and sunny, which made for a great time down at the harbour for all the boat-related events.   Inspired by the boating theme, I developed some new pieces of work, using mixed media for a change from my usual watercolours.  This year I have been keen to recycle old work; repurposing, upcycling, whatever you like to call it.  Not using new materials, wherever possible.  So I gathered some paintings which I felt hadn't "worked" - or did not stand alone  - bright acrylics and some small watercolour studies.   Added to the materials pile were an old book of sheet music (classical music, as it happens),  sheets torn from magazines and also the coloured nets which I've bought fruit in (mainly oranges).   Last but not least, I cut out some of my little lino-print boats, some of which had been printed on watercolour studies.  I simply gathered what I had to hand.  

And then the fun began; it took longer than I thought to find pleasing compositions.  Perhaps they are not even that.  Patterns, shapes, colours which complement each other.  Little pictures.  I am calling the series "Songs from the Sea" as they reflect my love of the sea and all things marine, including boats, and also my love of music, both listening to it and playing it.  Each composition has a little fragment of sheet music within it.  The first six works will be on show during North East Open Studios (NEOS)  in September (8th - 16th) - I am exhibiting at the Phoenix Centre at Newton Dee again this year.   In the meantime, they are also available for sale here on my website. 

A friend asked me the other day what I'd been up to recently.  I answered very unsatisfactorily, I suspect.  "Oh, this and that," I said.  I managed to gather my thoughts sufficiently to mention a couple of reasonably concrete things - a new outlet for my work, plans for the open studios event later in the year.   I feel as if I have been pretty busy recently, but it's all fairly disparate, with not a lot of tangible results for my efforts.  Perhaps it is time to take stock, see where I am with various projects, and start prioritising what to do next.  North East Open Studios seems a long way off (it's not really, it's in 4 months' time!).

This is the problem I find with working creatively, on my own.  The lack of a sounding board, someone to say "that's not one of your best ideas, what about that other one you mentioned the other day?" - the less brutal version of "that idea is rubbish.... next!"   I find I am often full of ideas, but whether it is worth pursuing them can be a difficult decision. Recently, I have done a bit more drawing, as well as some sketching out and about (sitting on the harbour at Portsoy was so lovely, especially in the sunshine).  It made me recall how much I enjoy this; absorption is total, concentration absolute, focus intense.  Time just disappears.  I had hoped to do a pile of sketches, and managed three or four.  I tried doing a few in the city centre the other day, but found that I needed to find a quiet spot, somewhere I could sit, as I felt too conspicuous otherwise.  The practicalities of balancing sketchbook, water pot and tiny box of watercolours also have to be taken into account.  Of course I took photographs as well, many of Portsoy harbour.  I very much admire the work of John Glynn, who I believe is now based in Moray. When I got back to my shed/studio I had a go at doing a simplified drawing of Findochty harbour, inspired by his style.  It was an interesting exercise, which made me focus even more clearly on the shapes I was seeing, and avoid making "sketchy" marks.   Plans are afoot to do some drawings like this, using some of the reference photos I've taken recently of northeast harbours.  There we go, a plan has been crystallised before my very eyes!  Thank you for listening/reading :)

It's nearly Easter.   Things have been very busy recently.  I'm heading off to the west coast for a break.  Just a very short post to say I'll be back in a  bit.  Some photos from a recent visit to Castle Fraser.  
I will be taking a painting to the Torridon Community Centre for their upcoming "Wild about Colour" exhibition, and stocking up my cards there and at the GALE centre in Gairloch.   Hoping for some relaxing walks on the beaches, some battery recharging and no doubt some new image gathering (either photos or sketches, or both).    Maybe some to time to review and reflect on what comes next, creatively speaking.   Hope you have a lovely Easter, when it comes! 

It's that time of year again, when my thoughts turn to putting together a calendar for next year.  This year seems to have flown by.  My age is creeping up on me, I suppose, and while it feels like it must only be about March-time, it's nearly the end of October and the clocks change tonight.  

I had a sift through the photographs I've taken over the past year (and a few from the tail end of last year) and have been pleasantly surprised by what I have found.  I tend to take a lot of photographs if I'm out and about somewhere - at the beach (any beach), out in the woods for a walk, down at Stonehaven for an afternoon, over on the west coast for a long weekend.  It's easier to take pictures when you're on your own, I find.  It takes more concentration than I used to imagine, to capture images that are worth looking at again later.  And one tends to walk very slowly, looking at things along the way.  Up through the trees, down at the shells in the sand at your feet, over at the rock formations of the cliffs or the rocky shore. The bit of the whole process I love most is the looking through the images afterwards.  It's like opening presents - free ones, ones from myself to me.  Gifts of memories, instants in time.  The slope of a roof, the brilliant colour of flowers or leaves against an azure sky, the patterns made by lichens on old wood.   With the help of friends and followers on Facebook, I've whittled the images down to twelve, for inclusion in next year's calendar.  It was tempting to put two together, one of abstract images and one of purely flora, but I managed to resist.  Time to get on and finalise the order - I'll let you know when they arrive!  There is already a watercolour paintings calendar available for 2015, on the Store page.

Last September, I very quickly put together a collection of ten short and very short stories and self-published them via Blurb.com.  I had previously used this method for putting books of photos together, but had never tried my hand at a book containing only text.  I should know by now that doing something too hastily is not a great idea.  But there is a balance between being a perfectionist and getting things done.  Sometimes it is necessary just to get on and make things even if they are imperfect.  Often we learn more by making mistakes than by doing something exactly right.  And to be honest, how often does the latter happen?  Not very often, in my experience.

What I am trying to say, in rather a roundabout way, is that there were mistakes in the first edition of my short story book.  As someone who has edited scientific journals and biological text books with razor-sharp precision (or so I like to think) in the past, I should be ashamed of myself.  But funnily enough, I am not. For once, I just got on and put the book together.  Yes, there were a few places where words got chopped in half at the ends of lines.  Yes, horror of horrors, the font size changed from one story to the next, at one point (but not within a story, now that would be unforgivable).  Yes, there was a slight inconsistency in the use of "'cause" and "'cos".  But no-one complained. At least not to me. I don't think the tiny wandering apostrophes spoiled anyone's reading enjoyment - I do hope not.  

Since there is still a perfectionist lying dormant, mostly, within me, I have recently edited the book, taking on board the very useful notes and comments from a very helpful friend at my art class.  Thank you, May.  So, the second edition is now available, either via Blurb, or directly here, from my website, or, coming soon, from Amazon (for Kindle).
  
And if you spot any errors - please do let me know and I'll keep notes for the third edition.

I could put it off no longer.  The idea that had been fermenting in the back of my head for a significant period of time had come to fruition.  Although if it was fermenting it should surely by now be an alcoholic beverage. Never mind the detail.  I had an idea, ages ago.  As you already know, I live in northeast Scotland. The referendum about whether or not Scotland should become independent from the rest of the UK is happening this year.  On 18th September, to be precise.  

Travelling around the country, I've noticed signs in windows, declaring the inhabitants' voting intentions. Personally, I never do this.  Declare my intentions.  It's an inherited trait; my parents never told each other how they were voting, in anything from local to general elections.  Sometimes I haven't decided until I read the ballot paper.  Sometimes I have.  I don't believe it's anyone else's business.  So I have been intrigued to see the signs in house windows.  Playing on my own extremely indecisive nature, I thought it would be fun to create a painting incorporating the sense of history, along with the possibility that different members of one household are likely to have different opinions.   A recent trip to Perthshire provided me with the source material; a photograph which I took of a quintessentially Scottish house.  A large house in the country, true, but a sandstone one and typical of the area.  The rest of the task involved putting pencil to paper, brush into water, into watercolour and a fair bit of time.  I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labours.  

Now for the next task; to decide on a title.

Last weekend I discovered that it's not easy to take photographs with gloves on.  The air was chilly, as one would expect at the start of February in the Scottish Highlands.  The pale turquoise soft wool gloves I received as a Christmas present nearly worked, though I struggled to take the lens cap on and off.  Still, some photographs were taken; more "source material", as I have come to call it, for my boat paintings.  And also some photos which I think work well just as they are - like the ones above. They are bits of a boat which has been lying on top of the harbour in Gairloch in Wester Ross for quite a while now.  It's a great subject - I've taken pictures of it before.  I love the peeling paint, where layers have come off to show what lies underneath; the corroded metal, like verdigris - perhaps it is.  

Before Christmas, at a little fair where I was showing some of my recent work, an American lady asked me why I was painting boats.  I hadn't really thought about this; I like them, the shape of the them, the colours.  But it is more than that.  I only started to discover the answer when I told them that I used to sail.  And now I have thought about it some more and these memories have come to me.

I used to sail a lot when I was young.  I sailed at school, in the sailing club;  in a dinghy, on Linlithgow Loch, on summer evenings.  And then we sailed as a family, a wee blue wooden dinghy to start with, then a slightly bigger boat, a cruiser with an inboard engine and bunk beds, a gas stove for making toast and tea and heating soup.  We sailed on the Firth of Forth during term time and then on the west coast of Scotland during the summer holidays   The boats were towed north and then south.  Long days were spent trekking the trailer down the shore, waiting for the tide to come in, floating the boat off and then mooring her safely in the bay.  I was never so keen on sailing in the cruiser.  There wasn't the immediacy, the closeness to the water, that one felt in a dinghy.  The sound of the water lapping at the bow, the feel of the rudder in my hand, the tautness of the sheets, held against the wind.   Watching the luff of the sail for any flapping, indicating that you were sailing too close to the wind.  Or the homemade woolen telltales tied to the stays, showing exactly where the wind was coming from.  All these memories, there in the back of my head; there whenever I paint another boat.  There is more about this in there - more for another day.