More of my art works

More of the artworks I have in my home...

The first image is a photograph by a Yorkshire-based photographer, Lizzie Shepherd. Called 'Broken birch, Hodge Close', she says: 'This damaged birch tree, with its wonderful mix of colours and form immediately caught my eye when exploring near Hodge Close Quarry in the Lake District. It was an overcast day, with soft light and low cloud offering the perfect conditions for woodland photography. Hodge Close, Cumbria, England.' 

Lizzie is brilliant at making sense of complicated woodland scenes, as well as mastering landscapes in general. I've long admired her work. I've had the good fortune to attend a couple of her workshops and watch some of her presentations to my camera club. I've been inspired by her and have learnt a lot from her, as well as enjoying her company. I bought this print when she offered it to raise money (as far as I recall) for a fellow photographer who'd had a serious accident. So for me that was a double bonus. 

I display it alongside a small print that I bought from the Skipton 'Art in the Pen' exhibition years ago. It's a painting rather than a photograph but it seems to me to echo some of the same qualities and tones as Lizzie's image. I had it framed and it's so well sealed that I cannot now see any label with the artist's name, which is a bit silly as I can't recall who I bought it from! I do like it though. Both of these pieces have given me pleasure for several years now. 

Garden gnomes

The hot weather stopped me from venturing out and then I've been preparing to go away on holiday so I'm running out of photos, at least until I've uploaded and processed my holiday snaps. I was looking back to some of my blog posts ten years ago and this one popped up. I remember it well and it still amuses me. 

'My local Asda are selling these cheery garden gnomes and have them lined up on the windowsill - I think they're hilarious! (Someone must be buying them, as the line is getting shorter week on week). On Friday night there was a small boy, aged about six, sitting on the windowsill at the end of the row. He was sitting very still and had one hand raised, palm out, just like the gnomes. So cute, made me smile - made my night, in fact. (Though I didn't dare take a picture of him.)'

To be honest, I'm not fond of gnomes and garden ornaments in general - though there is a very old and faded gnome in the garden outside my flat (see below) that someone obviously once liked. Even so, there was something very heart-warming about the scene in the supermarket. 

Fusedale

Another of my long-cherished artworks on display in my home: a beautiful photo, sadly not authored by me. It was taken by a renowned Lake District photographer, John Gravett. I met John when I attended one of his workshops at Lakeland Photographic Holidays way back in 2011, not all that long into my own journey into photography. I didn't even have a very good camera in those days; in fact it was John who encouraged me to take my photography more seriously and invest in a decent DSLR camera. I learned a huge amount from him in the space of a week, about composition and about the technical side of camera skills and post-processing. I also learned that I haven't the patience to be a dedicated landscape photographer! John is now retired, though still taking beautiful photos. (Photographers never stop developing!) 

This particular monochrome print is the remnants of a barn in Fusedale, just south of Ullswater in the NE Lake District. I particularly enjoy the drama of the sky and the way the shape of the ruined building mirrors the contours of the surrounding hills. 

My calm space

When I was sorting some folders recently, I came across a scrap of paper with a sentence written on it: 

'Touching the simple truth from my calm space' 

Those words were the result of an exercise some of us did, in a group at work, many years ago. I can't recall all the details now but we had to think of a time we'd been truly happy, calm and at peace, and then go through a process that involved sifting the words we'd written and refining them down to their essence. It was all a rather magical experience and from it we each distilled a very individual 'life principle'. That phrase was the one I ended with. I rather liked it at the time and, over the years, I have sometimes gone back to it. It still seems to hold good for me. 

Even in my photographic 'journey' I feel this is what I'm often reaching for: something simple, truthful, essential, calm, beautiful. Occasionally, I even come close to achieving it, at least in my own eyes: at best, the process of exploring with my camera and then the resulting image can feel like a 'flow state'. 

Bolton Abbey is one of my happy places and (usually) a truly calm space, in whatever season. The River Wharfe thunders through the rocks in the deep, narrow gorge called the Strid (behind me in this photo). Then, once the river bed widens again, it resumes its gentle flow, a line of bubbles the only sign of the turmoil it has just been through. Sometimes life feels like that, doesn't it? 

Pink explosion

I find it interesting that, despite having lived in my previous home - where I was very happy -  for over 25 years, I don't miss it a bit. I'm totally content with my new apartment and relieved not to have to worry any more about the maintenance of a house that was over 120 years old. The only things I do miss are my lovely neighbour (and we are still in touch anyway) and the cherry blossom: mature trees at the end of the street that, for a couple of weeks each year, explode in a riot of pink. It's that time of year now and, happily, just a short stroll down the road takes me back there to enjoy their colour. 

When the blossom is over, the petals fall like confetti and get swept up in the breeze. I used to find my front garden absolutely covered in them, like pink snow. It was pretty but messy! So I don't really miss that either. 

Yellow peril

Another in the Colour series, yellow this time. Although it's a cheery colour, I find I don't have much of it. For clothes, it's not a shade that particularly suits my colouring, and around the house it seems reserved for fairly utilitarian items - rubber gloves, dusters and the like. We did once paint our back door yellow, years ago, prompting my mother to warn that we'd be plagued with flies. I never really managed scientifically to prove or disprove that one! Anyway, it's the colour of spring and we've all been longing for spring, so this will help us on the way. 

Rhapsody in blue

And still it rains... and still I'm amusing myself finding 'colour' pictures inside. It's honestly not hard for me to find blue things! It has always been my favourite colour for clothes and I love blue glass. When I moved here, I felt drawn also to decorate with a lot of blue. It's peaceful and, perhaps surprisingly, doesn't feel like a 'cold' colour to me.  

Years ago as a young woman, I visited some friends and was charmed by their mismatched blue and white china plates and dishes, vowing I'd have the same one day. Then life happened...  I was gifted china when I got married and I was never bold enough to start my own collection. One day, many years later, the thought came to me that if I really wanted a blue and white china collection, maybe I should start acquiring some! So I did, picking up random pieces that attracted me in vintage shops and other stores. When I moved house recently and downsized, I kept the blue and white and donated most of my other patterns and colours. You've no idea how happy it makes me to open my cupboard and use all the pretty dishes and plates. I also discovered The Japanese Shop that sometimes has a pop-up store at RHS Harlow Carr. They stock some delightful, delicate, blue and white porcelain, so I've added a few lovely little bowls. 

Three local images

More of the artwork I have in my home... 

Over the years I've collected a few pictures of local scenes. The first two are both prints by the Yorkshire artist Stuart Hirst. Stuart is more or less my contemporary, and studied at Bradford Art College before going on to do a degree in Fine Art at Exeter University. He is perhaps most well-known for his 'wet streets' paintings. The print above, 'Rain Stopped Play', and the one below, 'The Road to the Mill', are two of them, depicting the rain shining on the ground. 

Both these have a deep meaning for me personally. The gable end of the house above is the end of the row of terraces where I used to live. It borders the Caroline Street playground, which has been upgraded (and grassed) since the picture was made. When I first moved in there though, it looked very much like the picture. The lower of the two is, of course, a view along Albert Terrace and, though it has more foliage along the length now, it still looks the same. (See HERE)

The third of these scenes is a print called 'Hidden Treasure', depicting Salts Mill at night, with the lights glowing and a touch of the mysterious about it. This one is by the Bingley-based artist Jane Fielder, an active member of Aire Valley Arts. I bought it at Saltaire Festival because it reminded me a bit of one of my own photos. (See HERE)

 I enjoy having this little trio of of local scenes. 

(As always, my apologies for the reflections in the glass, which I try to minimise but which still creep in!).

Nostalgia

 

I was idly wondering whether writers go back and reread their own novels, or diarists thrill again to their own journal entries. (We all know that famous Oscar Wilde quote: 'I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train.')  Maybe I'm odd - or self-obsessed! - but I do occasionally like to look back at my blog, which is, after all, a record of what I've been up to for the past eighteen or so years. So I was looking back ten years, to 2016 and I found, for the 13th January, this delightful memory:

"And she's off....

We are fortunate that the town of Halifax is almost equidistant between my daughter's new home and mine - and even more fortunate that it holds the fabulous National Children's Museum: Eureka. The museum was in its infancy when my daughter was a child but is continually renewed and re-envisioned and has gone from strength to strength. My granddaughters love it - and so do we adults, as it is a wonderful place to take them when the weather precludes outdoor play. With both children still being under school age we can go during the week when it's quieter. It gets packed, as you can imagine, at weekends and holidays.

On our recent visit, E, who is four, was captivated by the workshop devoted to transport. She 'drove' a lorry, took a car through a carwash, filled up with petrol and then donned overalls to change the tyres. A future in Formula One looks assured. One-year-old M was curious at first ...  and then decided the smooth floors were perfect for getting in some walking practice. She is so proud of her new-found skills and balance.

Up...  steady...  and off she goes.....'

I loved looking back at this. Little M, the adventurer, now eleven, is still curious, brave and bright. She's a lot bigger, of course! In the meantime, she grew her hair until it reached below her waist. Last week, she had it chopped off into a very stylish, short, razor-cut bob. I believe her intention was to donate her long plaits to a charity that makes wigs for child cancer patients. 

Favourites from 2025 #2

More of my more memorable moments of 2025, these from the second half of the year:

A quiet, green, summer wander in upper Wharfedale.

An atmospheric sunset.

Playing around with a shallow depth of field in Salts Mill's antiques centre.

A truly stunning performance of 'The Railway Children', part of Bradford's City of Culture 2025.

A fascinating insight into the William Morris & Co stained glass in Bradford Cathedral.

A close look at some interesting civic sculpture in Leeds.

Lovely light in my local woods.

Heavy horses at Keighley Show - and a blacksmith hard at work.

A memorable celebration - 'Bloom' - in Shipley's market square, another City of Culture event.

Edinburgh Castle, a reminder of a few days exploration further afield.

Also in Edinburgh, a quirky view of one of the exhibits in Andy Goldsworthy's exhibition. 

A perfect and colourful autumn day in upper Wharfedale.

The Turner Prize exhibition, hosted in Bradford as part of the City of Culture 2025. This was the winning entry, raw and expressive, from Nnena Kalu. 

A couple of night shots in beautiful Paris. 

And finally, an enjoyable little 'early music' concert in Salts Mill. 

Favourites from 2025 #1

 

It's that time of year when we look back over the past twelve months and choose our 'best' or 'favourite' photos. I don't think, for me, 2025 was a particularly outstanding year photographically. I haven't travelled widely and I seem to have been too busy simply enjoying myself and taking photos along the way, rather than putting photography front and foremost. Another day and I would probably choose an entirely different selection but here are some that stuck out as among my favourites from the first half of the year. 

Blue sky and bare, sunlit branches = welcome light in the depths of winter. 

A trio of black and white studies in Saltaire.

The welcome sight of snowdrops.

A mono square from a memorable walk in Calderdale. 

New buds on colourful stems.

A moody and textural shot in attractive light inside Heptonstall's museum.

Bluebells in Calderdale.

The hazy, fresh greens of Spring.

Two most enjoyable events from Bradford's City of Culture 2025 feast: 'The Bradford Progress' - music on the canal, and beguiling wool cloaks from Ann Hamilton's 'We Will Sing' installation in Salts Mill. 

A re-enactor from 'The Sealed Knot Society' bringing the English Civil War history to life.

My favourite border at Harlow Carr Gardens. 

The lost generation

I'm scraping the barrel somewhat here, as I've pretty much run out of decent photos to post. I've been really busy the last few weeks but not the kind of busy that has taken me anywhere photogenic. 

My uncle Colin, one of dad's brothers, died recently. Aged 91 and in frail health, his death wasn't unexpected, but it still feels significant. He was ten years younger than my father and when I was born he was only 17. That means my earliest memories of him are of his playfulness. They say that some of my first words as a toddler were 'Up the Stags', the Stags being the local football team - and guess who taught me to say that?  Another vivid recall is of when I was dressed in my 'nurse's outfit', aged about four I guess, and my uncle was my 'patient'. He groaned and writhed around so realistically that I got scared and thought he really was ill! He was a competent cricketer, playing in the local village team. I remember weekends at my grandma's, the womenfolk making sandwiches for the 'cricket teas' and then going to watch Colin and his younger brother play. He was also a master player of 'the bones' - a folk percussion instrument used in a similar way to playing 'spoons'. He did try to teach me once but with little success. 

It was his funeral in Retford, Nottinghamshire the other day, so of course I attended. The eulogy and all the photos on display reminded family and friends of his great capacity for fun, alongside his caring for others. It is a shock to realise that Colin was the last of my parents' generation, now 'the lost generation'. Now I'm the oldest person in my family! 

I took the train to Retford as it's a long and scary motorway drive from here. I arrived in plenty of time and, as it was a chilly but bright day, I decided I'd walk the two miles to the crematorium, rather than get a taxi. Not an especially pleasant walk as it was on a narrow pavement alongside a fairly busy road, but the sunshine was nice and the landscape different enough from my own locality to be mildly interesting. Retford is a small but very historic market town in the wide, flat, flood plain of the River Idle. It has, tragically, suffered many floods (even quite recently) and fires. In 1528 nearly three quarters of the buildings in the town were destroyed in a fire. In 1916, the local gas works was bombed and blown up spectacularly by a German Zeppelin. It may be a small place but it's had a wild ride over the years!  

The crematorium had a large memorial garden around it, with a small, reed-filled lake providing a quiet spot to sit and contemplate in the gentle, late autumn sunshine. 

A hint of sunshine

More of the artwork I have in my home...

I absolutely adore this little print. I met Rob Friel, the photographer, many years ago: a fellow participant on the first photography workshop I ever attended. We subsequently became Facebook friends and it was on his page that I saw this picture, which I believe he took on holiday in the USA. For some reason I fell in love with it and asked Rob if I could buy a print. He very kindly sent me a copy as a gift and I've had it on my wall ever since, now happily hanging in my study. I've never been quite sure exactly what about it appeals to me so much. It's quite a simple image; its square format, the 'magic' three trees and a gentle colour palette give it - to me - a calming, almost Zen-like quality. Those little yellow flowers shyly peeping out from behind the birch trunks bring a hint of sunshine. Gorgeous. I love it every time I look at it.