From Left Field@:Kenmare Butter Market Gallery

 An open studio is something of a tradition that got interrupted by Covid. It began well over 10 years ago to give readers of this newsletter like you an opportunity to visit my  studio workspace and have a relaxed chat and a look at some paintings. This open studio is not about selling paintings, (although if you want to buy that will be possible).  It's about slowing down and having time. There will also be some cards in boxes available and you can pick up a special edition boxes. 

If you are faraway and feeling a bit left out, tell me now and I will set up a zoom link to the event so that you can join in

 

If you are planning to come you might like to arrive a bit earlier and enjoy the surrounding area. For example, you could walk on the beach at Six Mile Point or gaze at the Arctic geese and other birdlife in The Goosefield at the neighbouring East Coast Nature Reserve. If you plan to go to the Reserve, good footwear is recommended, I mean wellies.  And waterproofs everywhere else as rain is expected.

And if you worry about these things, just know that you can wear whatever you like, although it is appreciated off you take your shoes off in the house (but if its a bother for you, this is not essential). You can drop in for 5 mins or stay as long as you like.

In anticipation of a welcome thaw in the current sub zero temperatures, and with more than with a bit of trepidation, I am preparing to hold an open studio this Sunday Dec 18th, from 12 noon to 3pm.

There'll be mince pies, mulled wine, with an alcohol free version too. My magnificent new studio will be open to ramble through. There will be a chance to look at some paintings including some in progress... And if you'd like to get your own hands dirty, you might even try a bit of painting yourself (please bring an old shirt or apron and I'll offer you gloves).

Obviously, I am making this up as I go along. . . . If you've been before, you will know what to expect and if you have not been before, but need to know more, you can sign up for my newsletter, as the open studio event is for the elite members of this group.

If the expected thaw doesn't happen. I guess I'll have to cancel. I have left it as long as possible to decide and I know that a thaw is expected but right now my driveway is an ice rink. 

So here's hoping for thaw best.

An End to Chaos?

 

You might be glad to know there is an end to the chaos?  Peace has broken out in my studio as the painting stops. All is calm and tranquil as I busy myself with the keyboard of my computer creating a very short video about the origin of my ideas for the current show . . .click on the link to see all 3 minutes (that only took me three days)

Madly tap my mouse and type on my keyboard with massive expectations with what can be achieved in the next 12 hours,

 As I continue to madly tap my mouse and type on my keyboard with massive expectations with what can be achieved in the next 12 hours, 

I am secure in the knowledge that it is all ok, even if the world is turned upside down . . You'd never know the world is in turmoil if you make it to Tinahely tomorrow. In the Courthouse, all will be calm. There will be little in the way of speech making, and hopefully some time for a bit of real conversation. If you've not been to an art exhibition opening before, don't be intimidated. It's best described as a relaxed party in the afternoon.

You can ask questions like, "Why don't you paint The Sea/Boats/ Bogs /Rare Fen Habitats anymore?"

And if you either like (or don't like what you see) and are afraid of how to respond if asked, take my advice . . it's nearly always possible to comment that "It's got lots of energy". 

I've used this phrase myself, loads of times, to significant effect in the very same situation. (Thanks, John McGahern)

I suspect that some of you might be curious to know what happened to the painting I attempted to repair with the iron and only made it worse.  Thankfully, it was surplus to requirements, and the show looks great without it. I even fixed the hole by cutting the painting, and I painted over the melted wax iron-shaped marks. Now it is an even better painting than it was before, although I doubt it will ever see a frame.

I am sending this late email because as an astute 'by the nose' navigator, fearless crossing mountainy roads and bóithríns, I am not proud to say that I kept getting lost on my way to Tinahely. I have been a few times now, and my trips were beginning to develop a kind of reputational vortex akin to the Bermuda Triangle. Even last Monday, on my way down with the paintings, I was diverted around Arklow town and I knew it was really time to get a grip. I have come to the conclusion that it was my fantasy that the road should run straight to The Courthouse that caused me to overshoot the turns again and again. In my daydreamy way on the lush and winding roads, I would end up in Coolboy, Carlow or Coolattin.

And so, it is with more than a bit of embarrassment that I offer this advice: , if you intend to travel tomorrow, do keep a keen eye out all the way and use your own judgement rather than blindly following roadsigns, satnav or Google. I am not afraid to use a SatNav or a map, but as I keep getting lost, I have learned to temper my enthusiasm for blindly going where Google has gone before.

If you are driving from Dublin and the north, use the N11 as far as junction 16 Rathnew, heading for Glenealy on the R772. Avoid going via Arklow as there is really no need, and there were loads of roadworks and weird diversions. 

If you are coming from the south, Tinahely is 30 mins north of Bunclody and 40 mins north of Enniscorthy. If coming from anywhere else, I can only advise beware of false directions and crazy diversions and leave in plenty of time. There is a bus service from Arklow train station at 11.58 am if you are that way inclined. It takes 45 mins.

Whatever way you travel, if you arrive early, I understand that O'Connor's Bar, next door to the Gallery, has a carvery lunch on Sundays (if that's your thing). If it's not, the Farm Shop & Restaurant provides for everyone else, and they say that most of their food is "gluten-free and vegetarian".

 

Despite my best efforts, there is pandemonium in the studio right now. Wet paintings everywhere, half-finished, half done. I am racing to the wire with my distinctive, peculiar loping gait. 

Despite my best efforts, there is pandemonium in the studio right now. Wet paintings everywhere, half-finished, half done. I am racing to the wire with my distinctive, peculiar loping gait.  You might recall that I sincerely tried to avoid this outcome several months ago by getting frames made for paintings not yet started. I even bought bubble wrap. By now most of the paintings for the show are wrapped, labelled, and ready to be hung two weeks from Monday. But recently, I discovered that the list doesn't correspond with the pile and must be redone.  So far, so typical If it involves numbers, I get it wrong every time. So, with his generosity of spirit my Beloved is marching around with loving kindness trying to reconcile the list with the neat stack of bubble-wrapped paintings. The labels are duplicated and numerous but in their content they vary wildly. I am at pains to tell him to just "trust the numbers". Whatever about a consistent title, every painting gets a number early on. Then it gets entered into my beautiful database. Always. He can bearly contain his incredulity at the confusion I have managed to create, and neither can he contain his mirth.  I am only interrupting this tranquil scene to let you know that the date has been set for the opening reception for this show at the Courthouse Arts Centre, Tinahely Co Wicklow, on Sunday afternoon, October 16, 2022. My other big news is that I will be included (in a small way) in a TV programme on TG4 called Imeall (Edge) tomorrow night, celebrating Culture Night. The Red Shoe Film crew came here months ago, and despite my love of the cúpla focail, I couldn't cobble together a few sentences 'as Gaeilge'*. For that reason, my contribution will all be 'i mBéarla'.** I find it hard enough to be coherent in English that it was extremely challenging in Irish. I gave it my best shot, and before throwing in the towel, I talked a lot of nonsense about being out of my mind instead of what was in my mind. I probably never said truer words (in Irish or in English)

as Gaeilge. in Irish language 'i mBéarla in English language

Requiem for the Norm

 

I will soon address a conference in New York about my work in the 1980s. The conference was entitled Requiem for the Norm, and celebrated the life and work of Lorenza Böttner.   This Chilean/German artist was born in 1959, and although  her artistic career spanned just sixteen years, Böttner created hundreds of individual works, using dance, photography, street performance, drawing, and installation to celebrate the complexity of armless embodiment and gender expression. Casting herself as a ballerina, a mother, a young man with glass arms, a Greek statue, Böttner’s work is irreverent and hedonistic, filled with the artist’s joy in her own body.

 

Curated by Paul B. Preciado, the exhibition was co-produced by Württembergischer Kunstverein Stuttgart, Germany, and La Virreina Centre de la Imatge Barcelona, Spain. This touring exhibition is organized by the Art Museum at the University of Toronto, Canada, in collaboration with the producers, the Württembergischer Kunstverein Stuttgart, Germany, and La Virreina Centre de la Imatge Barcelona, Spain.

 www.leslielohman.org

26 Wooster Street

New York, NY 10013

Dutch Hansa Championships

 Delighted to have come 5th in the Dutch National Championships in Heeg, today

All wild, windswept and interesting . .

 if you have been reading this blog for a while, I imagine you think this artful life is interesting and full of strange encounters?

Well, you are right. This week was no different. The studio visitor was all wild, windswept, and interesting (as well as a bit 'flappy'). I did not entertain him for long. He left abruptly, somewhat disgruntled.

Now, to be fair, I know him well. He visits regularly. In fact, his family has been guests under our roof for as long as I can remember (well over two decades). They are all intrepid, independent traveler types. They drop in, poke about and stay the whole summer.

This week, when one of them popped into the studio, the welcome was a little cold, unfriendly, possibly even, a bit, dare I say . . hostile?

It was not a good time.

These days my studio is busy. I am preoccupied, dealing with numbers. There is a lot of measuring and labeling, stacking and storing to be done, as I force myself to focus on preparing for not one, not two, but three exhibitions before the end of the year.  As a result, I can't do much painting. I rely on most of my visual thrills in artfully arranging cucumber peel or lime zest over baba ghanoush. But now as the measuring and labeling, storing and stacking continues, I can actually see an end in sight. In the past, it was different. There was never any sense of completion until the work was dispatched to the gallery. At that time, my biggest failure was to keep painting until the day before the exhibition was hung, madly framing anything that didn't move. This meant when it came to hanging the show, I would have many options, few regrets, and lots to choose from. This is no way to organise an exhibition. Trust me. So, now, I am doing it differently. I am determined to do it better. For weeks now, most of the work has been spread out all over the floor. Five months out, I find myself working with what I've got until I have it all finished, framed and ready to go.  I have even ordered bubble wrap. In this context, yesterday's visitor proved quite the disruption. With the sun shining, and a light breeze blowing, I had flung the doors wide open with abandon.  He swoops in, with a flourish. He was all glamorous and noisy, purposeful and speedy while managing at the same time to be darkly dramatic. I was in no mood.  I reached for the floor brush sweeping it about, hoping to discourage his enthusiasm for an unscheduled visit. This didn't work very well as a strategy.  Instead of getting the hint and going back out as quick as he came, he artfully avoided the messy floor by soaring above it all. At the same time, I must admit, he was making very appreciative noises (I can only assume it was about the artwork). Because my workspace is full of wet, white-painted frames, I couldn't help noticing his rigout. He was stunningly attired . . . black dress suit complete with tails, and a lovely bright orange sash to the front. As elegant as he was handsome, as noisy as he was nimble, I still urged him towards the door. But he wasn't having any of it. Eventually, tiring of us I suppose, and the artwork, he started to screech so alarmingly I feel sure the whole neighbourhood would rush in to find what the commotion was about. In desperation to see him leave, I closed the blinds. It had the effect of darkening the space. It left him one option. And thankfully he took it, leaving as swiftly as he came. For my troubles, on his departure, he endowed me with a gift of his own. During his swooping strike on this studio, he shat on the nice, clean, white frames.  As it is being washed off and repainted, we can only marvel and be forever grateful that he missed each and every one of the paintings.

On Bravura and Barmy Requests

 

"How long did it take you to paint that?" It is a question that I am asked frequently and I never quite know how to answer. In the old days, I would say (with a smirk), “half a day and half a lifetime”. But that was me just trying to avoid the question. It was not true then, and it's not true now. My paintings are always like open-ended conversations. They start at some point after I begin with bravura* and end only when the painting leaves the studio. Tone, of course, is everything. Often the question sounds like an attempt at polite conversation . . . (which it is not). Like the question awkward adults often ask children . . “What class are you in at school?” Other times, it presents as a challenge.. . . If it costs this much, and it took you that long, "shouldn't we all have a go at this painting craic?" And yet, other times, the tone has a dollop of “All the same, isn’t it a great way for you to pass the time?” So, really, how long does it actually take me to paint a painting? I finished a commission recently so I should really be able to quantify it. Since December 1st, I have worked mostly on this one commission (although I have tried and failed to finish 3 other paintings as well). That’s about 9 weeks. In getting to the final piece, I used three large canvases (most bigger than myself). I knew what was the right size for the job, but in the Brexit / Covid climate, it proved hard to get. And so, as I waited, I couldn't resist starting on a smaller canvas (small means 120 cm in height), in order to reach the deadline of the end of January.  But even then, as I discarded the one that was too small, and started on a larger one, the conversation turned slightly weird . . The image began to represent something not at all suitable for the living room of a couple starting out in life. And so it was a big brush and lots of white paint to pivot that conversation.  That painting reminded me of a woman in the supermarket who explained to me in all seriousness that she can't wear a mask because she needs to lipread. I resisted pointing out that a mask would not cover her eyes and therefore would not interfere with lipreading. Instead, I just moved along.  At last, I am learning to disengage with all the daft conversations that exist in my world. . . like the intense, earnest young man who asked me to teach him to paint “with his feet”, because he said he had “tried and tried and read all the books" and he still couldn't paint. He told me "Seriously, I really couldn’t manage it with my hands. I need your help" He had tried very hard. Now he wanted to try using his feet. He said I made it look "easy".  Right.  I confess I did look around for the hidden camera. But he was serious. I was, he said, his last shot. Would I not help him realise his dream of being an artist?  As I said, it is really enough to have the paintings talking to me without him at it in that slightly too serious tone of voice. The conversation with the painting does not begin easily and certainly, not straight away. There is that awkward bit of making a start first. This ball is firmly in my court. I start really without knowing what to expect. But when it does begin, the talking back never stops. I can only get to appreciate the painting when I take it out of the studio and place it on what I call, “my breakfast wall”, my wall of contemplation (what I see before I try and do anything else in the morning). When on the contemplation wall, something changes. The conversation on both sides ceases. But back to the big painting I delivered recently. I had some instructions for the commission before I started. . . It had to be big. It had to light up a large 5-metre high dark wall. It had celebrate the colour orange and mark the start of this couple’s lives together. It does all this and more. Happy Valentines Day to you and yours,

Bravura . . I had to look up the definition to make sure it meant what I intended and the answer is yes. "a show of daring or brilliance"

‌

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 As the year turns, my focus in the studio is laser-sharp on taking stock, tidying up, and ordering supplies. It is a temporary phenomenon that evaporates in early January as effortlessly as the morning mist.

My focus has been so sharp on that task of cleaning up that I found time to throw together a short studio tour. This shows my nice, once clean, new and tidy studio is a glorious mess once more and the task of taming it forgotten momentarily.

Over Christmas,. due to the confines of Covid, I was left to my own devices and free from the seasonal conventions of food with company. I had instead, the pleasure of scouring the fridge each evening to see what might be scrambled together. 

At this task, I excel. My fridge clearance dinners are legendary for their beauty and elegance. So when I find myself sculpting cucumber and moulding it artfully around carved avocado, adding a complementary red tomato, it is a siren call . . . I know that it is time to stop cleaning, cooking and tidying the studio. 

It is time to paint.

But before I head out again, I see that my last blog had a subject line of "On life being very interesting . ." and it reads like a curse., I am reminded of the Chinese saying "May you live in uninteresting times". So, for 2022 and beyond, May We All Live in Uninteresting Times". A life without masks, sanitising gel or degradation of the earth, poverty, storms, fires or floods. 

Too much to hope for? 

Probably. 

But this is what I wish for the coming year . . that we live in uninteresting times . .

On Heading West

 It is not yet 6am and I am typing here and trying not to spill my cup of tea. It is of course, pitch dark outside and I am doing "one last thing before I go. ." . . 

Later in the morning I will be driving off west on what I think of as my "painting retreat". In order to get away for ten days, I have been working hard but mostly, I must admit, failing to catch up.

It was not possible to do anything except focus entirely on getting to Palermo, being there and getting home again. In fact, it was all very challenging and if you have an appetite for it you can read about an account I wrote about my experience and especially about my last race for Irish Sailing magazine. It is called "You All have Someone and I have Nobody" and it's a frank account of the emotional toll stuff like this takes. Despite appearances to the contrary, living in this world without arms is not easy, (while it does make life very interesting). However, because it was written for sailors it has some terms that are frankly, very strange. The short version is that in sailing ropes are called sheets and pulling ropes is called "sheeting in".

A Crazy Distraction from the Stuff of Life?

 I was busy up to my knees in paint a few weeks ago, when I got a call asking would I like to represent Ireland in the World Championships for my type of boat, in Italy?

Well, uncharacteristically, I did hesitate to answer The Call.

Of course, there was Covid to consider but the major issue was not the virus or the vaccinations, but how was going to get my boat there? I have my own specially designed dinghy and I can't hire a boat so I cannot sail without it. Normally I tow it to where I am going, but I was not quite ready to drive over 3,000 km to Sicily. The caller offered to put it in a Container (funded by World Sailing) if I would agree to bring it to the UK. So, of course, I peeled off my painting bootees and picked up my buoyancy aid, and I am off to Palermo in the early hours of Wednesday morning.

The other interesting thing happening in my world is that RTE came out some weeks ago to my studio and filmed a short feature for Nationwide , the television programme on RTE 1. It is going out tonight at 7 pm.

I try to avoid watching these things because I will remember forever every stupid thing I said, but I thought you might remember not what I said, but how beautifully it was made, or what create pictures were featured in it. But, also, I do understand that you might be interested to know that Best Foot Forward, the young students' documentary made last spring, is being well received all over and has been selected as a finalist for Kerry International Film Festival, the Clones Film Festival, and is nominated for Louth International Film Festival.

It is actually not possible to organize participation in a World Championship Sailing and paint at the same time, even for someone like me, used to juggling lots of balls in the air. It is not possible to do anything except deal with something like this. So, in recent weeks everything got ditched as Palermo got prioritized.

It was interesting for me to note that lately,  all my paintings have a maritime theme . . So it feels serendipitous to be heading off sailing and not, as some might suggest, a crazy distraction from the stuff of life.

The Medic & The Missing Punchline

 it has been a very peculiar time. There is no denying that. And it is not just the confinement and the chaos as a result of Covid. There has been a lot of banging and drilling as the work goes on and on. I have complicated matters of course, by deciding to relocate the little nook I call 'my office' where I write this, to the attic. I am in pursuit of a bit of "leg room" and a better view of The Goosefield, to the sea and beyond. After 18 months of dust and disruption, I am very nearly spun out.

But not quite.

The main purpose of this blog post is to share with you a most glorious new video, made recently by two young men, just finishing college.

Sean Hart and Bill McHugh. recorded this on a sunny day in late April. The camerawork is remarkable and beautiful, and the sound recording is just simply, outstanding. (I am at heart, an old radio head).  Even though I talk a lot of incoherent nonsense and don't finish many of my sentences, surprisingly, this doesn't take away from the video, which is a work of art.

Near the end, while telling a simple story, I leave out the punchline. Maybe the punchline is implied, and doesn't need to be said out loud, but to me it is a glaring omission (on my part . . . like the lads did not edit it out).

The story involves a medic who was asking me a load of questions, as he was puzzling how was it possible for ANYONE to accidentally cut their own big toe with a knife? In the whole time I was with him, he never looked at me once. I mean, he never looked at me in the eye. He was too busy bandaging my bleeding toe as he repeatedly asked, exactly how had I done the damage? 

In telling my story I did not mention that to cut my right foot so effortlessly, I did, of course, use my left foot. That might have caused him to glance at me, but I never said it, and he never did and he packed me off, once he had finished admiring his own handiwork.

As I walked away, I was still puzzling as to why he kept asking me the same question. Was he asking it to ascertain my level of consciousness or comprehension? I hadn't banged my head, so his repeated inquiries made no sense. 

As I hit the street and the cold November rain lashed my face, in a flash, I realised what had happened. 

He never knew.  Did I really have to spell it out? In my experience, yes, I really did, because someone that hell-bent
on figuring out the mystery of the bleeding toe, could not see what was right in front of them.

 

It's Saturday morning… A bank holiday weekend… And I'm sitting in my magnificent studio with wishy-washy unreliable Wi-Fi and the borrowed laptop. Thanks to Helen, a fellow Mac user, who inducted me in the ways of the PC and to fellow artist, Patricia Aherne, a reader of this newsletter, who organised her friend to whisk off my computer for repair several weeks ago, all is well. Even though my images are still in cyberspace, truth to tell, I'm doing quite well without it. Having no computer has felt like having a bit of a holiday. Without it, I have to focus on the real work which of course is painting. But before my Apple Mac was taken away, I made a short video of one of my recent paintings. You can see it here, complete with the story of its creation. The large painting is one of two I created. The commissioning process is always interesting, and the most important part for me is to see the paintings in the place it was made for. I have just taken them back to varnish. Covid has not allow me to see the paintings in situ… Given that it was made for a particular space, I feel it's really important to see it there. However I just have to trust the person who asked me to make it that he likes it (for the most part), just the way it is. There is a patch on the top left hand corner that I really like… The Americans call it "A Little Darling"… It's what painters often contort themselves to keep in a painting, when we really ought to let it go. It is like a metaphor for life itself and on that note, having had my breakfast, I shall now tear off on my bicycle to the North Wicklow country market for my weekly social outing (vegetable shopping)

‌I had great hopes to do zoom from my studio and I am still hoping and waiting for getting more stable Wi-Fi. But this will be my next project and for those of you who have expressed an interest in a studio visit, I will be in touch with you very very soon. If you would like to be included, use the button below to contact me.

Add Your Tuppence Ha'penny Worth

I have made a video of a current work in progress. It explores the making of a large commissioned painting 80 cm x 180 cm before it is completed. You can watch it by clicking here or on the image above.

The title, 'A Minute to First Gun' refers to the subject of the painting . . . the moments before the start of a race of sailing dinghies.

If after watching the video you would like to post a comment, please feel free to do so in the comments section below.

 Right now, I'm in the process of varnishing some recently completed commissioned paintings. The one is of Bray Harbour and is a large piece measuring 120 cm x 90 cm.

I really loved working on this painting. I started it last autumn, and using a new medium for me, acrylic ink.

The available colours are luscious and vibrant and they flow in extraordinary ways.

While my studio is still being renovated these inks allow me to continue to make pictures.

On Being Catapulted Back 40 years

Today, I cycled in my first St Patrick's Day parade. It was also a first, I think,  for Newcastle village where I live. 

A motley crew was hastily gathered to follow the the1954 Massey Ferguson bedecked with festive flags. Most of us were in our pyjamas 20 minutes before, so it was quite the lesson in organisation to see how it all came together.

 

As I cycled up the road,  I met my neighbours ( (in a socially distant way)), In an instant, I was catapulted back 40 years.

 

In 1981, The International Year of The Disabled, I was invited by a state agency with responsibility for disabled people to participate in the St Patrick's Day parade in Dublin, using a tandem, under the banner 'We Can Do It Together'.

 

By that time, I was already a familiar sight around the city on my bicycle with two empty sleeves flying in the wind. I created quite the spectacle

 

 

My bicycle was an elegant, two-wheel racing machine. The racing handlebars return slightly upwards at an angle of 45°. Into those handlebars was fitted and aluminium frame. It looked pretty much like the handlebars on a pram. This device allowed me to steer the bicycle, and together with a backpedal brake, I was ready to take on the city that was beset with bus strikes. As a mode of transport, it attracted a lot of attention and this attention resulted in my invitation to participate in the St Patrick's Day parade.

 

At that time, I was a student in art college and not yet 20 years old, but I really knew that in the circumstances, I needed to be in the driving seat. The state agency with the tandem, would not hear of it.  I was as adamant then as  I would be now -  I don't see myself as a passenger.

 

It was as clear to me then that as disabled people we need to be leading the way when it comes to solving issues that affect us deeply.

 Forty years ago as a teenager, I thought this ought to have been also evident to the agency set up to support us live self-determined, independent lives.   But clearly, it wasn't.

 

I recall the almost total incredulity that I was not cooperating. The agency was fairly lacking in any comprehension as to what my difficulty might be. For myself, it was clear that it was far from co-operation they had in mind (It felt more like conscription).

 

I even suggested that we cycle two independent bicycles under the banner but it didn't happen.

 

So, yesterday,  after 40 years I finally got to cycle in the St Patrick's Day parade. 

Now my bicycle has got three wheels. It is a recumbent machine built for speed and so I had no trouble keeping up with Billy on the 1954 tractor or my neighbour Ruth with Winnie, the Wonderful Falabella. Keeping up with Ruth and Raz's little ones proved to be the real challenge.

 

St Patrick's Day Parade Newcastle, Wicklow

When Even The Rising Sun is Out of Sorts

As I got up this morning, as well as the surprise of heavy sprinkling of snow, there was a very strange glow in the pre-dawn light.

I noticed it straight away. There was something odd, as the striking glow of the sunrise was in the wrong part of the sky. Normally, that red patch is in the east, directly over the sea (where it should be). I reckon this apparent distortion might be caused by the clouds (or my lack of coffee). 

The clouds, heavy and laden with the fluffy stuff, could be obscuring the real sun, and that this strange sun rising in the south, is just a distortion, a reflection of the peculiar times we find ourselves in. So, in the context of strange times, thank you all for your funny and welcoming responses to both my Virtual Open Studio invitation & the Perpetual Calendar idea. 

The Virtual Open Studio continues and more about that below. Helen has done great work and the calendar is ready to be recycled. My last poll was about the Virtual Open Studio and it was a great to know if I did the work to build it, you would come. Thank you. 

I have decided to extend the Open Studio for the duration of Covid, as this Lockdown looks like is going on indefinitely. As well as having loads of work for sale that was hidden prior to my move, I discovered a real talent for matching people with paintings. If you are bewildered by choices or want some help, contact me.