{A midsummer night's dream. Celebrating Shakespeare's 400th anniversary}
{Happy Birthday to the Queen! I sketched her surrounded
by coins from all the Commonwealth countries I hold dear:
Canada, Great Britain, South Africa and Namibia.}
{A portrait of Mrs. Pontipine from the children's
TV show "In the Night Garden.}
{Baby's desk...}
{My desk}
{Bright colours for a gloomy day}
The wonderful thing about my "daily drawings" is that I don't berate myself if I can't actually draw every day.
In fact, I do draw every day, but not always fun, experimental or "sharable" things.
My theory is that if I have a goal of "daily fun drawings" and I draw 4 or 5 days out of seven, then I'm succeeding wildly.
It's just like my "daily" yoga practice. My ultimate goal is to do yoga first thing every morning. But I normally manage it three or four mornings per week. That's still a victory, right? It's more than nothing!
I'm trying to celebrate small moments of progress.
What is one small thing you've done this week to move towards your dreams?
{Drawing on the train}
It has been two weeks since Easter, and I'm finally planning to take the egg tree down off our mantlepiece and carefully pack the decorations away for another year.
Easter always sneaks up on me. It blooms, unexpectedly, out of winter darkness like a crocus popping out of the snow. Always before I expected it, and always against the odds.
Despite my unpreparedness, it is my favourite holiday. The promise of new beginnings always gives me new hope. Why don't we make Easter resolutions, instead of New Year's resolutions? The momentum of the new-growth would carry us farther than the gloom of winter.
My Easter resolution this year was to keep a gratitude journal. I've flirted with the idea for years; scribbling little notes in the margins of my journals or day planner, but I've never stuck with it for longer than a few weeks, because I've never had a concrete plan.
This year I decided I needed to be more committed.
Enough flirting, let's get serious.
I realized that if I listed three things I was grateful for every day, that would be 1095 happy things to remember over the course of a year.
I wanted a special notebook to motivate my in my quest for gratitude, so I ordered the gorgeous "Line A Day" diary from Chronicle Books, which is a perpetual diary that runs for 5 years.
Think about this: five years of daily gratitude would record 5475 happy moments.
I hope that as the years go by I will notice how my responses to gratitude will evolve, and that I will discover aspects of my life that I have previously underrated. Maybe I will even discover the secret to lasting happiness. (One can only hope).
When I look back over a period of time and think "I have been happy" or "I have been unhappy," what I say depends completely on the mood I am in at the time.
If I am happy -- if my daughter is laughing and content, and I have had time to draw, or paint, or read -- then that moment acts as a thread to connect to all the other happy moments in my life, when I have felt similarly content. It becomes a string of pearls extended backwards in time.
But if I am unhappy, then I am reminded of all the moments in my past when I have been sad or discontent. The past, and therefore the future, seems impossibly bleak and cold, with all those unhappy memories starting at me like reflections in a hall of mirrors.
What I want to do is focus on all my happy memories. To do that I need to focus on being happy today, so that I can pull that pearl-string of happy memories back into my life.
I want to dwell in gratitude.
This is how I'm doing it:
1. Setting a time.
I like to write my gratitude list right before going to bed, so that I can fall asleep surrounded by happy memories. So that I don't forget (and I forget everything nowadays) I set a reminder on my phone to go off at 9.30pm. I'm usually asleep by 10pm.
2. Three unique things.
I try to make my items unique. So, if I'm grateful for a cup of coffee for the third day in a row, I try to think of something special about it. Maybe holding the warm cup in my hands. Or the smell. Or the ritual of preparing it. That way I can explore as many aspects of the things I love as possible and not get bored in occasional repetitiveness of the process.
3. Really being grateful.
Once I've written my list I pause for a moment and I actually say "thank-you" for those things I've just written down. That way I can internalize the gratitude and not write the lists mindlessly (though some evenings I'm so exhausted I'm happy if I can put pen to paper.)
If you liked this post, pin it, share it, tweet it... or just leave a comment to say hello!
Part of this daily drawing discipline is about experimentation.
My normal style is pen and ink coloured with watercolour, then scanned and given sleight of hand photoshop touches.
This works really well for me. But, sometimes it's necessary to jump into new waters for a refreshing swim. Then one can return to work with a renewed mind and fresh perspective.
So, I've been playing with collage this week. I feel like I've returned to the delights of kindergarten, when cutting, gluing and sticking were my favourite activities.
I've done fewer drawings this week, as little one has been miserably sick with conjunctivitis. So in between cuddles I rush to my sketchbook to record the visions from my inside-eye.
{There is nothing better than clouds of cherry blossoms and a clear sky. The skies have been altogether too cloudy for my taste recently.}
When I open my front door I step into a cloud of purple fragrance. It is sweet and intoxicating. At my feet the bees are getting drunk on the nectar from the hyacinths. My window boxes are an open bar with an infinite tab.
I love to see the bees waltz, bourrée, and fox trot around the hyacinths, muscari and daffodils.
Sometimes, when I'm stuck in my studio with a fog of thoughts and worries clouding my senses, I think I hear the flowers knocking on the door, wanting me to come out to play.
So, the other day I did.
I drew a fairy, and she and I cavorted with the spring flowers for an afternoon.
In January I resolved to do daily drawings. I purchased a new moleskine sketchbook (small enough to carry in my hand-bag, but still large enough to hold big ideas), and set out to experiment, play and have fun.
I haven’t managed to draw every day, but I draw most days, and I consider that a success.
The thing with being an illustrator is that I
do
draw every day, but most of the time the drawings are for other people. They fulfil a brief. They need to be vetted by editors and art directors. They get sent back for changes. I love my work, but sometimes I crave the freedom to experiment.
So daily drawings are a way for me to let my creative soul soar.
Here are a few.....
I'll keep posting more on either a weekly or monthly basis.
Do you have a daily discipline that makes you happy? It doesn't have to be drawing, it could be journalling, or yoga, or cooking delicious dinners.... There are so many ways to ignite our creative hearts.
In February we made the long trek to Johannesburg and Namibia to celebrate my sister-in-law's wedding. We frolicked in the sandy desert and I enjoyed sketching the out-of-this-world scenery.
If you like these sketchbook pages, please feel free to share on Facebook, Pin on Pinterest or Tweet to all your friends!
What have you been up to in the past month?
The seasons are changing from gloomy winter to glittering spring and we're gradually settling into our new little house. I'm so grateful for the feeling of new beginnings; new home, new ideas, new routines, new excitement for life!
{Packing....}
{Enduring a 12 hour over-night flight with a 14 month old baby girl....}
{From the air}
{Sand and sea forever}
{I got my Dad's watch repaired at a friend's antique watch shop. My Dad would have been thrilled that his watch travelled all the way to Namibia to be repaired. He loved Africa.}
{My niece and nephews playing on the dunes}
{The wedding car}
My Christmas gift this year was upgrading my iphone4 to an iPhone6. I've never been much of a technology snob, but this small change has revolutionised my smart phone experience. The camera is crystal clear, maybe even nicer than my fancy dslr in some ways.
However, the one thing the new phone didn't have was my favourite "cloudy cosmos" wallpaper.
So I decided to paint my own!
Sunset on the winter solstice above the roofs of west London.
The view from our kitchen window
Sketching on regent street
It's dark and cold, the time when we all crave the light the most. Yesterday, on Winter Solstice Eve, the sunset was merely a faint glow of light above the Victorian rooftops of West London.
When the year is the darkest, I have to keep reminding myself to keep my inner light shining brightly.
What do you do to protect the light in these dark months? I read, write and draw. They are the triumvirate of all things good for me.
(If you like the drawings, feel free to pin, share on facebook, or otherwise appreciate them!)
I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas!
A few more daily drawings.
We're starting to get excited for Christmas!
I am challenging myself to do daily drawings in my tiny moleskine sketchbook for the advent season. Who knows? If I find it inspiring enough I might even continue into the New Year.
Here are the first few pages...
If you like them, please pin on pinterest, or share on Facebook or Twitter!
I hope you all have a wonderful, lovely Holiday Season.
My mom stayed with us for a month and helped to look after Little M while I tackled a few creative projects that were gathering dust in the corner. I had the liberty write and draw freely and exuberantly.
I finished the dummy for a new book for Penguin Random House South Africa. And I made headway on two personal projects that I had been bursting to start. One has completely changed shape after a transformative weekend retreat at Gladstone's Library; the other is plodding along at a slow pace, but I'm very happy with its progress.
So... success all around.
But it's interesting to notice how success "feels" versus how you "thought" success would look when you were imagining it.
I didn't write 500 words per day.
Not even close. But if you consider that a picture might be worth a 1000 words, then I didn't do so badly.
I managed to close the door and turn off the internet.
But I ended up sleeping most of that time. I'm convincing myself that sleep can be as restorative and inspiring as drawing and writing.
I wanted to page through the dictionary.
I did look up a few words words (asperity, restive, adumbration...) but otherwise the tome gathered dust on the floor beside my bedside table. Perhaps I'll open it more now? One can only live in hope.
I hoped to read with reckless joy.
And I did. This isn't a difficult resolution to make because it's what I always do anyway.
And finally. I wanted to feel proud of anything I could accomplish,
even if it was less than I had hoped for, because being a stay-at-home/working mom is tough. Yes it is. No question. And I'm so proud of the small steps I've taken this month.
This month of rest and creativity has given me a lot of courage.
To all you readers who might be stay-at-home/working moms... it can be done.
It takes 3 minutes to sterilize Little M's bottles in the microwave. I often pop them in, and then quickly do a few chores in the kitchen. I wash a few dishes. I wipe the counters. I fold laundry.
It's amazing what one can accomplish in 3 minutes. I can do anything for 3 minutes, even the things I think are impossible, like sitting down to write or draw. (Someone, someday, will be able to run a 3 minute mile, even that's not impossible.)
Sometimes, when Little M is fractious and I'm exhausted, I divide my day into innumerable 3 minute parcels. That way things don't feel overwhelming.
I write for three minutes; I draw for three minutes.
I thread those little moments together like beads on a string, and suddenly I've accomplish more than I thought I could.
I'm not sure how I'll manage now that my mom has returned to Canada, but I saw a scintilla of light glimmering in the fog of confusion and exhaustion.
It must be possible....
It is possible.
The key is to realize that there's no way of knowing how to do it until you're in the middle of it, muddling your way through.
I'm just going to start and hope for the best. And hopefully I'll find inspiration, energy and a bit of luck along the way.
I spent two days working in the grand theology room at Gladstone’s Library. I desperately needed some peace, quiet and rest after 10 strenuous months of motherhood. My mom and M looked after baby while I burrowed into hibernation in North Wales.
I set up my computer, my notebooks, and all my other resources (pens, paper) and hoped that both motivation and inspiration would be close at hand. The library reminded me, nostalgically, of my studying days; sitting in the Warburg with piles of books, trying to sift through citations and notes to discover some clear ideas about art history.
Like panning for gold.
It felt similar being at Gladstone's Library. I wasn't actually there for the books, but for the "bookish" atmosphere. I wanted to sit quietly in a place inspired by, and completely passionate about, books.
So there I was; with all my supplies; ready to work; but with no idea what I should be doing.
I revelled in the quiet, dusty smell of old books, with their tooled bindings and leather covers. I heard the hushed whispers of other studious folk. Their fingers tapped their computer keys (were they more inspired that I was?). They shuffled papers. Every so often quiet sighs of contentment or frustration echoed in the vaulted hall.
I sat in solitude and silence for 2 days, and this is what I learned...
My stay at Gladstone's library was everything I wanted it to be. I had solitude and rest in spades. I read. I wrote. I fleshed out the idea for a new story. I planned. I imagined. I daydreamed.
In the end, I left refreshed and rejuvenated, and eager to return home and bury my head in Little M's curls.
Fancy your own quiet weekend amongst the books at Gladstone's Library?
.
* * *
And finally...
Did you enjoy this post?
Feel free to pin the photos, heart the post on bloglovin, tweet it, or share it on Facebook. And, make sure you subscribe or follow along to get even more weekly inspiration and follow along in my creative journey.
See you next week!
{Heaven in the Library}
{The Bar}
{The Gorgeousness!}
{Time to Read}
{The view from the graveyard}
{The Library Garden}
{Classical music on the radio in my bedroom}
My mom arrives this week; I’m excited and nervous.
I’m excited because I haven’t seen her for half a year, and I can’t wait to sit at the kitchen table chatting about not-much-in-particular, with Little M crawling underfoot and clinging to our knees.
I’m nervous because it means I have to start working.
I have two rather important projects that need time, energy and creative spirit. So far I haven’t been able to concentrate on them, and having my mom around means I’ll have live-in nanny for a month. So… no more excuses.
What I’ve realized is that, in order to succeed as a stay-at-home/working mom, I need to completely re-imagine my writing life.
I used to stumble out of bed just before M left for work. I kissed him goodbye, made a cup of decaf (always and only decaf), opened the curtains just enough to let a shaft of light in (but not to much to pierce the morning dream-state), crawled back under the covers, pulled my laptop onto my knees and started writing. Or, if I had pressing illustration work to finish, I would hunch over my paintings at the kitchen table, still in my pyjamas and with my decaf in hand, to complete the day’s quota of illustrations. In the afternoon I would switch, either writing or illustrating depending on which I had done in the morning.
This is no longer possible; my mornings are unrecognizable.
Now, I jump out of bed at 7 am sharp while M is still in the shower. I fetch Little M, who is often already awake and playing with her stuffies in her cot. I change her diaper (usually poopy), make breakfast, pour her bottle. I try to coax spoonsful of porridge or fruit into her mouth. Meanwhile, I jump up to brew my cup of decaf in between her complaints at not being able to wield the spoon herself, and wiping mush off the floor.
I roll out the yoga mat and attempt a few serene sun salutations and other stretches while Little M climbs under, over and through. She touches my face while I’m in downward dog, she fiddles with my pony tail or climbs over my legs while I’m practising the splits, and she sits underneath me while I’m in the bridge, making getting down very challenging.
Then, I re-roll the yoga mat and open my computer and dayplanner to focus at the tasks at hand.
Little M roars around on her hands and knees, trying to explore any undiscovered corner or piece of fuzz on the floor. She bangs empty water bottles against the fridge. She watches the sudsy laundry revolving around in our front loading washing machine. She pulls her books off her bookshelf and pages through them, examining each page to see if any new characters arrived over night. (This means I need to read her a story, of course).
I take a deep breath and make another cup of decaf. Sometimes I clean something. Little M watches with fascination, thinking my scrubbing and spraying is some sort of game.
By 9 am Little M is ready for her morning nap. I snuggle her into her blankets and deposit her gently into her cot. I close the curtains and sneak out the door.
Finally. An hour and a half to write/draw/think/read/try to be creative.
And all I want to do is make another cup of decaf and stare at the victorian rooftops and swaying plane trees out our window. The hurly-burly morning has exhausted me.
Novelist Roxana Robinson wrote a poetic article about her morning writing routine in the New Yorker in 2013. She talks about how, if she answered emails or looked at the news, the delicate membrane of her early morning imagination would be pierced. She wants to keep the mysterious and limitless post-sleep dreamlike state alive as long as possible.
I can’t do that any more. I have to try to recapture that penumbral state hours later.
So, for the next month, while I have a little extra help at home, I’m planning to adopt a few writing principles to help me through this transition…
1.
Write and draw daily.
Even if it’s one line or one tiny gesture with the pencil. The ultimate goal is 500 words of either fiction or journalling every day and 2-3 spreads, sketched (even roughly).
2.
Close the door. Turn off the internet.
I need to give myself permission to seek solitude. Little M will be fine with my mom. The internet won’t collapse without my attention.
3.
Page through the dictionary.
Words are our resources, we need to know how to use them wisely.
4.
Read everything else with reckless joy.
(Fiction, poetry, self-help; it all inspires)
5.
Feel proud of what I am able to accomplish, even if it is less than my (probably) impossible expectations.
Being a stay-at-home/working mom is challenging… and amazing.
* * *
For this post I was deeply indebted the post my good friend Ayla wrote on her blog.
{So tall it doesn't fit in the picture}
When is a bookshelf not just a bookshelf?
When it is a rainbow.
When it is a home for all the books previously stores in dusty boxes in the attic.
When it is an invocation.
I have been dreaming about this bookshelf for several months now. I visualized it in all it's rainbow glory. I knew exactly how I was going to arrange the books. I knew how it would look when I was lying on the couch, admiring it.
With all things, though, the actual reality of getting it was more complicated and more hilarious than I could have ever imagined.
Our good friend
a master woodworker, designed and installed the shelves. To make sure they were perfect, he built the whole unit in his workshop beforehand. When he arrived and placed it on our front step I was blown away.
It was beautiful.
It was so beautiful and sooooo tall.
There was no way it was going to fit up the steep, narrow, Victorian staircase leading to our flat door. We tried and got catastrophically stuck trying to manoeuvre around the first landing.
Being Dutch, Anne's first thought was to haul it up through the windows. In Amsterdam all the tall narrow houses have winches hanging in the eaves, perfect for moving heavy furniture in and out of the windows.
Our flat is very high up on the third floor (second floor to Brits), and we don't have any winches. There was no way the bookshelf could come up via the front. However, after a complete inspection, we realized that our bedroom window in the back overlooks the flat roof of our ground floor neighbour's bedroom.
That was the solution!
It's not every day you find yourself pulling a bookshelf through your downstairs neighbour's flat, into their garden, up onto their roof, and then through your own bedroom window. After that the installation went as planned. But what an adventure!
Whew!
Now that the bookshelf is there it feels like an invocation. An act of calling upon the creative spirit for strength and inspiration.
We have brought all the books down from the attic and organized them beautifully on the shelves. We are finally treating all of our books with the respect they deserve. They have an honoured place in our home.
This, then, is a turning point. I am ready to continue this journey in writing and illustrating.
There are some objects that acquire layers of meaning beyond their basic function. This bookshelf is one of them.
{copies of Magic at the Museum, signed, and ready to be delivered to Somerset House}
It's murphy's law that the minute you proclaim to the universe (or the internet, that's the same thing, right?) that you're ready to start working, you get steamrolled by the worst head cold you've had in months.
I'm lying on the couch drinking tea and blowing my nose while Little M sorts through our recycling in the kitchen. She is judiciously taking all the bottles, boxes, papers and containers out of the Westminster City recycling bags and scattering them on the kitchen floor.
I don't mind, as long as she's quiet and playing independently and doesn't mind that I've been rendered horizontal.
So, rather than pushing myself forwards, I'm taking a step back and reviewing where I am and where I want to go. I'm paging through my sketchbooks, and leafing through my journals.
I used the last page in my teeny-tiny moleskine sketchbook the other day. Here are a few selections from the past few weeks. I'm not sketching every day, but I'm sketching regularly, which is good enough. Don't you think?
Hopefully I will get over this dreadful lurgy soon.
What were you up to this week
? Please let me know in the comments.
* * *
And finally...
Did you like the drawings in this post?
Feel free to pin them, heart them on bloglovin, tweet them, or share them on Facebook. And, make sure you subscribe or follow along to get even more weekly inspiration and follow along in my creative journey.
See you next week!
{This was the last page.}
{Photo taken at Beluga in Cape Town}
I have decided that my maternity leave is officially over. It's difficult to make "official" proclamations when you work for yourself (who's keeping track of whether or not you clock in at your desk?), but I have to tell someone, so I'm telling you, dear readers.
I've had a long hiatus full of soul-searching, self-doubt, moments of happy inspiration, and lots of cuddles with Little M.
She is now 9 months old.... which also means that I have been a mother for 9 months. I think it's time to transform from a nesting, stay-at-home mom into a working mom (who also happens to work from home).
I have no idea how I'm going to make this work. Motherhood and my passion for making books sometimes feel like two diametrically opposing forces pushing me in different directions. One tells me to savour each moment and not work too hard, and the other tells me to sharpen my pencils and get creating because the seconds are rushing by faster than we can count them.
But, this week I signed a contract to illustrate two children's picture books.
Now I have no choice but to stick my head into my sketchbooks. I can't wait to get back to drawing, because a part of me will never feel whole unless I'm creating a book and telling a story, in some way.
So, cheers! Let's celebrate! Raise a glass ... to new books! ... to 9 month birthdays. And to venturing bravely into uncharted territories.
On babies:
"A baby is a wishing well. We walk by every day and throw our pennies in. Most are bright and shiny, full of smiles and possibility. Some are tarnished with bad memories, unlucky genes. Others have been hiding under the couch cushions all these years, just waiting for someone to dig them out. A baby is a wishing well. Everyone puts their hopes, their fears, their pasts, their two cents in." Elizabeth Bard from
Picnic in Provence.
On divine intervention:
"I learned that to simply ask a blessing on one's circumstances, whatever they are, is somehow to improve them, and to tap some mysterious source of energy and joy. I came upon one of the most ancient and universal truths -- that to affirm and claim God's help even before it is given, is to receive it." Marjorie Holmes.
There’s something about lavender that lifts the mood. It’s not just its clean, fresh, fragrance (reminiscent of sea spray, loamy earth and clean sheets), but also the way the purple flowers bob and sway, conducting silent symphonies in the breeze.
In Cape Town we had a lavender garden in our front courtyard. There was a thick, high stone garden wall facing the road (as you must, in South Africa), with a heavy wooden door set in its centre. From the street it didn’t look like much, but once you entered, you were beguiled by a tiny courtyard garden planted mounds of lavender.
I miss that garden. I miss sitting on the stoop and watching the bees dance from flower to flower as the unseen traffic raced down the hill on the other side of the wall.
So, as a birthday surprise for my husband, I planted window boxes on the sills of our London flat. I ordered one box for each front window and filled them with lavender, petunias and ivy. Now, when I sit on the couch and gaze out the window, I not only see the rows of Victorian terraced houses and plane trees, but also the bobbing lavender, the delicate ruffles of the petunia petals, and the occasional bee who has lucked out and found our tiny oasis.
The window boxes give a new dimension to the flat: there is now an inside
and
an outside. When the evening sun pours through the windows the lavender throws dancing shadows on the white walls. When we open the windows we can smell the sweet petunias in the warm summer air.
All that in a space 18 cm wide.
It's a miracle.
. The more you kiss or hug babies or young children, the happier they will be when they grow up. {That sounds like a wonderful plan to me!}
Virginia Woolf
. I decided to go to London, for the sake of hearing the Strand roar, which I think one does want, after a day or two of Richmond. {This is particularly appropriate after recent conversations of where we would move to if we left central London.}
Kate di Camillo
. Poetry. He liked the word -- its smallness, its density, the way it rose up at the end as if it had wings.
Poetry
.
D. H. Lawrence
. We ought to dance with rapture that we might be alive ... and part of the living, incarnate cosmos.
