Showing posts with label Scarey Sis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Scarey Sis. Show all posts

Friday, 21 January 2022

Friday Five: Keep on Puzzling

And now we bring you the latest from the puzzling files, beginning with a picture of the church at Port Arthur lent to us by The Luminosity. The trees were the hardest bit. And there was a piece missing, which we only found later after we had boxed it back up.


 Next we have this rather beautiful colour wheel made from sharpened pencils...


...and a cat, lent to me by Design Diva (the puzzle; not Melantho).


Third on the list is this depiction of Jane Austen's world, lent to me by The Purple Lady. I don't love Austen as I do Shakespeare, so this wasn't quite as much fun as the previous one I did from this company, but it was still quirky enough to be enjoyable. 


I did really enjoy piecing together this image of London landmarks, which I did with my Dad while I was visiting my parents at home.


And finally (for now), I completed this picture entitled Frosty Friends at my sister's house while Scary Sis went out to work. Clearly it's been a tough holiday.

Friday, 2 October 2020

Friday Five: Artistic Endeavours (again, counting is nebulous)

Last year, Scarey Sis (who is very good at this sort of thing) arranged a painting 'competition'. Family members who were present were tasked with painting a picture of the view. We were at Inverallt House on the edge of Loch Long, so those views were pretty spectacular, and everyone was free to interpret this as they wished. They were given two hours to get on with it.

Art has never been my strong point, but I do love words, and have always wondered about the adage that a picture is worth a thousand of them; surely that depends on the description? My part in this tomfoolery was to write the accompanying descriptions for the images, as if they were to be hung in a gallery. Incidentally, all of the artists approved the comments and said that was, indeed, what they had been implying with their picture. There were no winners or losers; creativity was the name of the game. If you want to pick a favourite, however, go for it!

8 Images on a Theme:


The confidence and expertise of this image makes the viewer instantly want to be there. The brush strokes are busy and exciting suggesting a story in the movement of the water and the boat, and the dripping of the tree. Painting disparate colours in close proximity reflects the nature of water and creates interest and pleasure. Texture and technique create a tactile impression that invites touch and interaction. If one could pop into a painting, this is the one to choose; the smell of the sea and the tang of the seaweed is in the paint itself -a delight to all senses. It expresses a world of possibilities and adventure if one is only willing to embark on the journey.


There is a beguiling simplicity in this image which is both assured and playful. The sailboats are almost cartoonish in their size and placement and are innocently unaware both of the gathering clouds and the nearby presence of military hardware nosing round the corner. The artist has manipulated the scenery to include Ben Arthur in a distant profile, while cladding the foreground hills in comforting autumnal colours. This combination of the gentle background and sharply-outlined features heightens the dichotomy of the image; the big boats may be threatening or protective, depending on the current viewpoint.


Cleverly here the artist has incorporated the painting position into the painting itself. At once both comforting and disorienting the image highlights the capacity to look both forwards and back simultaneously. Without even placing people in the landscape, the artist implies their presence by the addition of the summer dwelling. Although the doors and windows are closed to indicate the height of the season has passed, there are still hints of warmth in the suggestion of a blue sky and the gentle sloping of the hills. The outline depiction of the sailboat indicates time passing, while the passing resemblance of the gazebo/ tree trunk combination to a teapot registers a persuasion of autumnal domesticity, as we wait for the current storm to blow over.


This is potentially the most creative response to the project. Bands of colour indicate strata layering up over a long passage of time. The colours chosen have a distinctly maritime feel and reflect the tones of the loch and its shores. Superimposing the richness of objects found on the shore enforces the layered approach. The seaweed, leaves, ferns and shells provide the connection between earth, sea and sky highlighted by the layers of colour. By drawing these in dark outline, the artist casts these objects as shadow paintings or cave drawings made by early civilisations to suggest their links to the land before letters and language. The framing can be seen as a border to the lens of the light of the lighthouse or as part of an elaborate tartan pattern which again anchors the drawing to a firm sense of place. It is a defiant assertion of belonging that current political events cannot alter.


What a delight to see such a joyful interpretation of landscape. All of the natural elements are present and correct, from the shore cluttered with rocks, shells and seaweed, to the clear demarcations of the trees on the hills. While these and the lighthouse, along with the tidal movement of the water, are all suggested through colour and wash, the highlight of the image is clearly the Loch Long Monster, presented with more clarity than its surroundings. The inclusion of this mythical beast brings a fanciful element to the reality of the scene. The jaunty tam o'shanter on the monster's head instantly makes it friendly rather than threatening, and the location is obviously Scotland. In troubling times of disunity and encroaching differences, this image seems to welcome all-comers and celebrate diversity.


This image is a faithful representation of the scene, with some excellent layering and shading creating mood and atmosphere. The placement of the featured item in the background provides depth and perspective, while challenging assumptions: generally lighthouses are depicted as pillars of light shining forth, whereas this minute beacon is almost hidden. The viewer is aware that it will make its presence known when necessary and guide travellers home to safety. The suggestion is to look beyond the immediate present for signs of future hope and comfort.


This artist has used a mixture of colours and techniques from dabs and dashes to swirls and blocks of colour. Not wanting to leave anything behind, the artist has revelled in all the tricks of the paintbox. Sky, land and sea are given equal weight in a well-proportioned depiction of the landscape, as seen through an open window. The addition of blobs of colour to represent buoys is inspired. At points laid on thick and in other places applied as a thin veneer to allow the paper to come through, the paint is versatile and becomes a character in its own right. The artist implies that the technique and the method is as important as the result.


With a simple but expressive colour palette and not extending to the edges, this image captures a fleeting moment. The sail boat is central and strong picked out in black and white, but it still manages to portray an element of fragility, surrounded by strong blue water. The dashes of black, green and grey enhance the feeling of uncertainty as the weather reflects a sudden squall of rain. Whereas the green suggests the nearby land, it is not particularly reassuring. This is a passionate painting full of movement and restless energy: unsettling and unpredictable.

A recap

Friday, 11 March 2011

Wonderful Whitby



I love Whitby. I love those North East seaside towns where the houses look like they are about to tumble down to the sea; where the streets are narrow and cobbled with a pub on each corner; where the fish and chips (and mushy peas) are substantial; where the winds are brisk; the cliff-tops walks 'refreshing'; where colourful boats bob in the harbour; where the people are weather-lined but not beaten; and where the sunshine is a gift.


A few years ago, I had a fantastic day out in Whitby with my parents and Scarey Sis, and I always think of it as a special place. This week on Lakeland Cam (a website I look at frequently to make myself homesick) Tony Richards took his camera to town and captured these evocative images. He posted lots of Whitby during the daytime too, which are also worth a look, but I thought I'd share these night-time reflections. Thanks to my mum for reminding me to take a look.



Friday, 7 May 2010

The way the cookie crumbles

When I was living in Manchester I got knocked off my bike and dislocated my shoulder. I was taken by ambulance to the hospital (A&E in Manchester Royal Infirmary is not a place I long to be) where they assessed my head injuries – I had been wearing a helmet – and then made me wait in a cubicle before they could see to me after all the other emergencies – I popped my head out to go and be sick (a dangling arm can do that to you) and saw a man with half a pint glass sticking out of his face. It didn’t help matters.

The nurses were great and the doctor was calm and understanding – with all that violence and trauma going on all around them, they were impressively relaxed and I have only good things to say about them. Him Outdoors collected me with ‘What on earth have you done to yourself now?’ took me home and put me to bed. He had to go to work the next day and I assured him I would be fine.

It’s amazing what I suddenly realised I couldn’t do. I tried to get up in the morning and I couldn’t roll into a sitting position. Being the anal Libran that I am, I always make my bed first thing in the morning; I couldn’t. It took about half an hour to haul my clothes on and I decided to reward myself with a cup of tea (I had not long stopped being a student, after all) but I couldn’t open the carton and dropped it on the floor in my struggle. So I thought I would go and buy another one, but I couldn’t tie my shoelaces.

I broke down in tears and called my sister, who raced to the rescue on her white charger (well, it was a red Golf GTI actually), took me back to her place and looked after me. I tell this story because it is incredible to find what an injury can do to you – how you have to reassess your abilities and find alternative ways to do things (especially if you haven’t got a saintly older sister to help out).

The big things are obvious, but they lead to smaller issues which can be equally frustrating. If you are still able to perform your job, the doctors will say you are rehabilitated and you won’t get any further assistance on the National Health. At the time I was working in a book shop. I could still do that. But I couldn’t do handstands any more. This apparently is unnecessary to lead a full and happy life. I disagree, so I paid to go to a gym to build up the strength in my shoulder so that I can swing from bars, stand on my hands, and box – it was an excellent boxing gym.
 
Fifteen years later, things are fine most of the time, although my shoulders are slightly uneven and the left one sometimes aches when it rains. But I can’t rub butter into flour to make crumble or pastry. Not a big issue, you might think, but I love crumble – it’s usually so easy to make and comforting to eat – and so I was delighted to find a recipe that doesn’t involve all that rubbing. I serve it at dinner parties and it always gets a favourable reaction. In fact, last week my friend Scally-wag asked for the recipe – so here it is.


Apple and Peanut Butter Crumble

Ingredients:
4 cups peeled and thinly-sliced apples
1 cup sugar
1 cup standard flour
3 tablespoons butter
1 cup rolled oats
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 cup crunchy peanut butter

Method:
Heat the oven to 180C
Grease a 22cm baking dish
Stir together apples, ¾ cup of sugar and ¼ cup of flour in a large bowl; spread into dish and dot with 2 tablespoons of butter
Combine oats, remaining ¾ cup of flour, remaining ¼ cup of sugar and cinnamon in a medium bowl; set aside
Place remaining 1 tablespoon of butter and peanut butter in a small microwave-safe bowl; microwave on high for 30 seconds or until butter is melted; stir until smooth
Add to oat mixture and blend until crumbs are formed
Sprinkle crumb mixture over apples
Bake 40-45 minutes or until apples are tender and edges are bubbly
Cool slightly
Serve warmed with whipped cream or ice-cream

Tuesday, 5 January 2010

You lucky, lucky...


I have always wanted to be snowed in. It's a sort of ambition of mine. That time at Digbeth Coach Station doesn't count. Nor does the skiiing holiday in Norway - that's sort of expected, really, isn't it?
One New Year's Eve (2005) we went walking with Screy Sis and Mr Smartypants to the Old Lion Inn in Blakely. It was a cold walk (hence we were wrapped up warm).



As we began to thaw out by the fire, even those who don't drink (that would be Scarey Sis then) soon got a glow on.

As for those that do (and the Old Peculier was going down very nicely thank you very much) they were positively Ready Brek!

Sadly, although it was cold, there was no snow that night, and we were home and tucked up in bed snoring soundly by about two minutes past midnight. So I have nothing but envy for those stuck in the Tan Hill Inn (this fabulous atmospheric picture by Richard Quirk) - they got a three-day lock-in! Being snowed in over New Year's Eve in a pub must surely be a dream come true. The only danger is of the beer running out.

It was no surprise to learn that among those 'stranded' were members of DOSS AC - this is the club to which Him Outdoors belongs. They hail from Leeds University and are often to be found running up and down hills, drinking pints in or outside pubs and wearing a particularly virulent shade of yellow. That would doubtless help them be spotted in a blizzard. Whether anyone would then choose to rescue them or not is another matter... Here they are outside another pub; see what I mean!

What a way to usher in 2010 - now there would be a good reason for a sore head. I suppose there is a slight feeling of how can things possibly get better than that? As they say at the Tan Hill Inn; it's all donwhill from here. (Actually, I don't know if they do say that, but they should - highest pub in the country and all that).