The Guest House: La Maison d'Hôtes. Rumi

For English it's up top: Pour le Français c'est en bas

Two cultures living in Harmony ;-)

I've been busy faffing around with some scribbles. It feels good to get the inks and paints over my fingers again after so many months off. My fingers are cold from typing at the keys of this keyboard, something that rarely happens when I hold a 'plume' - unless I'm outside braving the elements in some badly timed attempt to break out of these four walls. 

Autumn is settling in. Rich, pumpkin orange and deep, inky indigo evenings. Silver moons rise over the skylight in my roof... And influence the production line.

This human being is a guest house. 

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Rumi

 

Does wanting to steal your child's melting ice cream count as a dark thought?

Accepting that it is, and allowing it to exist with no guilt, will that clear me out for some new delight? The jury's still out on that on for me. 

My, my! I  feel like being flippant today so don't take me too seriously.

But by all means DO ENJOY your week - or month. It's getting harder for me to blog again at the moment. And I'm just letting that be a matter of course because I can't do otherwise without causing myself a lot of guilt and hassle.  I'm a bit over that right now. Must be the art of living happily in one's 40s!!. 

Of course, in the word of the immortal ARNIE  you can still count on one thing - eventually - 'I'll be back!'

Much love till next time. French to follow...

xx

Etre humain, c’est être une maison d'hôtes. 
Tous les matins arrive un nouvel invité. 

Une joie, une dépression, une méchanceté, 
une prise de conscience momentanée vient 
comme un visiteur inattendu. 

Accueillez les tous et prenez-en soin! 
Même s'ils sont une foule de chagrins, 
qui balaient violemment votre maison 
et la vident de tous ses meubles, 
traitez chaque invité honorablement. 
Peut-être vient-il faire de la place en vous
pour de nouveaux délices. 

La pensée sombre, la honte, la malice, 
rencontrez-les à la porte en riant, 
et invitez-les à entrer. 

Soyez reconnaissants pour tous ceux qui viennent, 
parce que chacun a été envoyé 
comme un guide de l’au-delà.

Ca y est - j'ai recommencé mes gribouillages. Quel aubaine après des mois sans en faire. C'est une véritable joie de reprendre ma plume. L'arrivée de l'automne a une grande influence sur les couleurs que j'utilise, bien que l'orange et l'indigo sont de toutes façons mes teintes préférées de toujours.

Pour fêter le retour des potimarrons et autres délices orangées dont je raffole, je vous offre le texte ci-dessus du poète Soufi, 'Rumi,' calligraphié en anglais pour une commande récente. 

Optimiste née, il m'est difficile d'accueillir les pensées noires dans ma maison. Bien que j'avoue avoir voulu piquer le dessert de mes enfants de temps en temps... Ca compte comme pensée sombre et honteuse? ;-) 

En tout cas, c'est vrai et authentique ;-) Bloguer n'est pas mon point fort en ce moment. Duuuhhh! Trop de choses à faire et pas assez de temps comme d'habitude. Alors, jusqu'à notre prochain rencontre qui pourrait aussi bien être dans deux jours ou deux semaines ou même deux mois!

Go Well sweet friends.

Love

Soulful Stillness

Stillness is our most intense mode of action. It is in our moments of deep quiet that is born every idea, emotion and drive which we eventually  honour with the name of action. In stillness every human being is great; he is free from the experience of hostility; he is a poet and most like an Angel.

Leonard Bernstein

I was contemplaing the idea of stillness this morning after I overslept. Beaker and I sat up chatting late into the evening last night which, as you can imagine, was not conducive to an early rise. A precious moment for me that I'm becoming tentatively accustomed to and growing to cherish.

I know I touched on this in my last post, but having that opportunity to lose the calm has served to confirm the rule and brought up some deeper reflections on the subject.

Without that moment of quiet in my day, 

I am definitely NOT like an Angel!!

I realised I become vague, inefficient, hazy and lethargic (Even without a glass of wine over lunch!!!) I hesitate over which of my tasks I should do next, not being able to decide until necessity decides for me. Necessity may be the mother of invention for most, but in my state, all I get done are the basics: breakfast, lunch and dinner for the family, the resulting cleaning up afterwards and the schooling just.

That's barely half of what I achieve if I get up before the birds, start with some breathing and meditation exercises, roll up my sleeves and get stuck in. That sounds obvious doesn't it. We all get more done if we start earlier - although the job may expand to fit the time available. Last week I said that I saw my own, personal path more clearly when I take that 'me' time early morn, before the first chirp, while the rest of France is still asleep.

It's taken me a week to experience that it has more far reaching implications than I'd first thought. (I'm hoping that at the rate of one Eureka moment per week I may reach Buddha hood by my 90th birthday ;-)

Seriously though, it's the snowball effect on efficiency during the day that most takes me by surprise each time. My whole day becomes more organised AND fun if I get my 'stillness' time. Taking the early morning hours to define and work at my personal project gives me the extra energy to move mountains for everybody else and still find time for my calligraphy in the afternoon, almost effortlessly.

Whether this is pure imagination, due to my happy perception of the world which makes me more patient and open to what arises during the day, or whether everyone actually does cooperate and things slot into place naturally, I'm still unsure. It's maybe a mix of both. Often I wonder how much of my frazzled nerves mental state my messmonsters absorb and express in their own way.

What do you think?
How much time do you spend in contemplative stillness?
Do you yearn for it?
Do you allow yourself the luxury? How often?

I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts…
IF you would like more of mine, on wellness, pop over to Simone's gorgeous blog: The Bottom of the Ironing Basket. Simone has spent all of November interviewing women from around the globe on their perceptions of what Wellness means. You can find my contribution by clicking here

See you next Tuesday with an advent calendar 'Signed by Ange' style.  It's a little secret I've been working on for grown ups as a precurser to the inevitable New Year's resolutions list…

Love

PS. This piece is in my Etsy store. 

You can find it if you look on the right hand side bar for the Etsy mini icon.

You got me singing the blues...

Well, not you exactly. Something else. Something a little too touchy at the moment to write here.

For a few weeks there, things were feeling pretty sad here at La Rivière. This thing (read: me) was anyway.

Strangely enough, I've never, EVER associated the colour blue with sadness. It's a colour that fills me with Peace and even Joy. Blue is the colour I paint most. So this calligraphy is a far cry from expressing sadness.

Actually, it was born, so to speak, while I was cheerfully listening to 'Annie's Song' by John Denver. The secret's out. Now you know I was brought up on country and western music. I'm a grown up 41 year old now, so I can stand tall in front of you contemporary melomaniacs and say this at the top of my voice… without flinching. (OMG I just  admitted this in front of all 1609706 people who read this blog: CRINGE, I SAY, CRINGE!).  You may remember from this post then, that I'm a closet John Denver lover. Closet, that is, if you aren't within earshot; which technically spans a 2km radius around my atelier.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. At a loss for inspiration and chortling out YOU FILL UP MY SEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENSES LIKE A SLEEPY BLUE OCEAN!!!

Then it hit me. I grabbed an old door; one I had been turning around and around for weeks wondering if we were really destined to work together, ripped out my gesso and pallet knife then started whipping up a storm.

Literally. 

A très blue one.

LIKE A NIGHT IN THE RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIN. Yeah! That's it! SPLASH went the Lectoure blue pigment. FLASH went the indigo ink - like drops racing down a window pane.

LIKE THE MOUNTAINS IN SPRIIIIIIIIIIING TIIIIIIIIIIIME. Hmmm - it's nearly Autumn. Bugger it! I'll 'live' a little and make the final touch flame red!! Et TAC ;-)

Now that I've calmed down somewhat. 

I'm curious. About YOU!

How does colour affect your emotions? 

Do certain colours pull you up out of your socks or others sink you down further?

Do you associate certain colours with certain states of being? 

Just asking. 

Sorta wondering if I'm the only  crazy out here…

Love :)

Mon ami Pierrot being Utterly British: Keeping a stiff upper lip!

If you have been paying attention my dearest Possums, or dropped by recently, you would be aware that I had planned to write a post this weekend. Yesterday in fact (one day late is better than one month as is my wont of late, n'est-ce pas? ;)

It was going to be upbeat. Racy. Dare I say witty even. First of all I was going to give you the secret recipe for the lime putty (ever had a witty lime putty recipe thrown at you?).

Unfortunately, the photos I took for the post have ALL disappeared, and are currently being held hostage by my computer. I know they are in there, because I can see the thumbnails… But each time I try to retreive one in full, there is a big blank space where the photo should be. "Ha!" said I. "Hah!" again. "This is but a minor setback; a childish game of hide and seek." So I gave my Mac that 'we are not amused' look I usually reserve for my messmonsters at crucial moments, took 3 deep breaths and raced up to the next door neighbour's to wench Libellule off the poney she should have put to sleep long before it got dark. That was at 10pm.

And THAT was when the bombshell dropped… You see, tomorrow, while Seth posts his Style File in which I am a rather chuffed participant this week, I was meant to be taking Chickpea to a long awaited horse-riding camp in England. We were to get up at the proverbial sparrow's and fly from Toulouse to London via Paris. Lunch in London then we would part ways - moi back home to Toulouse via Paris, and chickpea on to the riding centre with her very best friend whom she's not seen for a year. All thanks to Beaker's accumulated air miles with Air France.

Ever had a little message on your phone: "Flight Cancelled?" Sigh. Tears. Exasperation. Powerlessness. Anger and Frustration Dammit!!!!! It's summer… and strike time again. Eh OUI mes amis, Air France, French rail and French ferries - they make a sport of it every holiday season.

It only seems like yesterday that I raced over to Avignon (a mere 4 ½ hours away) to pick up my darling friend Kim who, wide eyed an innocent, had never until then even imagined the dark and dastardly alter ego lurking behind France's exquisite Ladurée macarons… You can read about that adventure here.  Ah BUGGER! London's just that little bit further than Avignon…

So what do I do? Drown my sorrows in champagne like Pierrot? Jump head first into the champagne bucket like Colombine? How fortunate that I keep a champagne bucket handy in my studio for special moments… and those of excruciating self-pity.

  Oh it's alright. I'll get over it. And Beaker has valiantly forged off in the direction of the airport as I type away to you and rant like a madwoman while slowly downing a pot of liquid caramel au sel de Guérande that friends just brought me back from Brittany. Maybe next time I should ask them to bring back two on their next holidays so I can keep it next to the champagne bucket for … occasions such as these ;-)

I hear a car… Quick! Beaker's back - ALREADY??Hide the empty caramel pot!!!

Stay tuned!

Will Ange fly her beloved Chickpea to London, whipping in for a Ladurée stop en route?

Will Chickpea be devastated, 

forced to spend a week riding in the French countryside?

(Mmm, there could be worse options out there for a young rider. Let's downplay the self pity bit afterall)

Are any of you free in London tomorrow in case I only make it half way 

and they cancel my flight back to Toulouse????

Answers on Monday!

Crossing fingers AND toes!! ;-)

Ange

PS. Pierrot et Colombine, are weary of my company. 'The champagne bucket is always empty,' they say, and they thirst for adventure. Colombine is aghast that I still haven't mastered the art of haute couture and longs for beautiful gowns of brocade and lace, in accordance with her French heritage. Accordingly, we came to a common understanding that they should both go into my Etsy shop which will be reopening this week. I would be much obliged if one of you could give them a good home in the fine manner they were previously accustomed to. 

The Quicklime Quickstep

I'm back from London. 

With THESE!!!

I had to wear them home!!

 Incidentally, I ran into a friend I hadn't seen in 12 months in the line-up for customs.

She was behind me. 

Eying off the SHOES thinking 'I could really get on well with the girl wearing those...'

Then I turned around ;-)

Funny how life works, isn't it!

I also came back with 2 other pairs: both rather more sophisticated, rather less 'zany' but with heels so high I could touch the sky.

All 3 pairs are hopelessly impractical for a woman who lives in the middle of a very muddy or dusty countryside, surrounded by horses, who homeschools her messmonsters and plays with pigments and ink at least once per day.

I just ADORE the impracticality of life.

Mind you, it's probably best that I have a propensity to avoid cities and shopping most of the time…

For an art blog, shoes should not be very important. Unless, that is, a girl is wearing them whilst shimmying around her studio to the tune of 'Mamma Mia,' breezily whizzing herself up a quick fix lighting solution for over her work table with some plaster and old bedsprings. 

They inspire me to create

What can I say?

Hope your weekend was fabulous too.

(still have to bunch up my kiwi fruit vines and cement them into a gumboot)

Stay tuned for a 'lighting tutorial' later in the week 

and some specs for those of you who asked about the recipe for the lime mix.

 

Much love to you all. 

Mixing the blues… colour of the sky, flying high!

As you can see, I've got a case of the blues. 

Up to my elbows in it. Literally!

You have to use your fingers to knead out the bumps made when mixing lime powder and fine sand with water, before you add the acetate that binds it all together so you can plaster it to the wall.

There's something that drives me crazy about blue pigments

Bleu Céruleum…

Bleu outremer...

I know I have a big load of visiting to do.

But this weekend I am taking the extra special friend 

who spent ALL last Monday helping me 

apply lime putty to my new studio wall 

with a big blue border around the door frame :) 

to

LONDON

for the weekend.

In fact there are 3 of us taking her.

And we have reason to suspect she's never taken a plane before.

So it was quite a job getting an identity card for her without her guessing ;-)

We told her she would need her bikini and skis.

So far, so good! She hasn't guessed where we are going!

Although she did try and wheedle a clue out of my messmonsters on the sly!!

It's amazing how kids pull through in urgent situations ;-)

I love girly weekends

Especially when they are a big surprise

for someone so lovely as my sweet friend Nath.

She doesn't read my blog. Or anyone else's for that matter.
Internet is not her thing.
Fortunately for me she is the world's leading expert in mixing and applying blue lime putty or 'la chaux' as we fondly call it here.

So she will never know I wrote this, thank goodness.

She is uncomfortable around verbal outbursts of affection.

.

She doesn't speak ANY ENGLISH

Hehe. The weekend is going to be a blast.

When I get back, I shall grab a wine and tell you all about it,
(as well as doing a bit more visiting from the seat of my chair :)

She'll be like a messmonster in a lolly shop

Hope your weekend is bright blue too :)

Joan: the making of a story

Today as I was urging my bike against the wind that hurtled across La Vallée de la Save, my mind was frequently peppered with the words and images I was going to use to describe the incredible transformation of Joan (you haven't forgotten her already have you?). 

And as I huffed and puffed pedaled, I realised that the transformation 

really isn't Joan's, but my own. 

'Huh??' you ask, 'Oh no not another Reality TV, Ange bares all confession!!'

Keep reading - it's not that bad I assure you ;-)

Let me use the words of one of my favourite artists to explain it instead:

The thing has already taken form in my mind before I start it.

(OK - that's not entirely true in Joan's case but she's an exception. I had no idea in the beginning what I wanted her to look like, nor what I wanted her to say. She told me herself.)

 

The first attempts are absolutely unbearable.

(check!)

I say this because I want you to know that if you see something worthwhile in what I am doing, it is not by accident but because of real direction and purpose.

Vincent Van Gogh

Yup! 

Am I going to elaborate further? 

Nope! 

Just kidding. Actually - in Joan's case, I've purely and simply enjoyed a process of playing around and trying stuff out, which is something I NEVER allow myself to do. I encourage my kids to do it. Encourage other grown up types to do it. And never find the time to do it myself. Funny how we are programmed to think that the 'fun' is only 'allowable' if it's definably productive.  Yet it's been sooooo necessary. Why - I may never stop!

My intentions for Joan then? 

1) play around and see how many layers of paint and text I could put on one piece of wood.

She now has officially 8 coats of acrylic paint and gesso in varying degrees of disrepair. 

2) make her look like someone had randomly scratched a message into the paint.

3) make her look like a sort of guerilla art/improvised object that you might find hanging nonchalantly somewhere beachy, on a beach hut or batch - for you kiwis, a weather worn fence etc ... to give some food for thought to passers by. 

What I actually got out of all the playing was much more than a shabby Joan, but rather a knowledge of which instruments work best on the irregularities of wood other than the fine brush I am used to calligraphing with. I got to find out that drawing gum works as well under gesso and thick layers of acrylic paint as under watercolour and ink. I got to enjoy trying lots of different alphabets - none of which were suitable for my purpose but which will look great on other pieces later on. And I got to wallow in indigo, pthalo, ceruleum, turquoise and Hoggar's blue - some of my all time favourite colours. Not to mention allowing myself an hour's hard bike ride because I'd been a good girl and 'discovered' stuff that might just save me time on future pieces! Oops! Have to justify - can't help myself. 

I still don't know if calligraphing is a real verb either... 

Why am I boring you with all this two posts in a row?

Do you really need to know all the nitty gritty psychological benefits of my playing around with paint and wooden objects?

Do you not have busy lives full of much more important things to read - like fashion magazines, recipe books, Ikea instruction manuals... ?

Of course you do!

But thanks for reading anyway.

I've got a case of ...

... NERVES! 

Nervous about what I have to reveal to you (my REAL direction and purpose - or one of them at least) on Thursday just before I disappear for two weeks holiday, leaving the messmonsters in the extremely capable hands of the very overworked Beaker!

Gulp!

I think he will be needing some of this:

Watch this space...

Time to pack my bags.

See you Thursday.

xxx

PS - for the curious person who asked me what drawing gum was. The English translation on my French bottle says, Liquid Frisket. The mind boggles ;-)

If a story is in you...

...it has got to come out!

William Faulkner

This is one of the many pieces inhabiting my studio dining room that has already been through many reincarnations. I am still unsure what it's first life was exactly, but what I do know is that I rescued it from a premature death by burning when I 'tidied out' a friend's Mother-in-Law's barn... (Remember the blue shutter? This is a smaller member of the same household).

With all the voices it's been hearing eg, my loud singing, and text after text of calligraphy that has been systematically scrapped one after the other for no reason other than me considering  it  'pas beau,' as well as taking into account it's narrow escape from death by bonfire; I've started nicknaming this one Joan of Arc.   Just a few days ago, JoAn looked like this...

Before that she was very brown and dirty. Mustering up whatever pride was left she begged me not to get the camera out. Nah - just kidding, I got her before I started blogging so didn't even think of photographing her. Rather, I scrubbed her up and covered her with lots of blue and white layers of paint. Since then I've been spending time scrubbing them all back off again in order to find her story which, given the number of paint layers she has, is no mean feat. 

I tried R.W. Emerson - but he didn't look right on Joan. Too verbose. Hope we all agree on this because I have already undressed her and started again. Sometimes a girl really does have to go through the icky-trying-things-on-stage before she comes up with the right outfit, n'est-ce pas? You know, the-ugly-duckling-before-you-grow-into-the-swan type transformation...

After a particularly inspiring calligraphy class this morning I raced home and said, 'Joan, you and I are going to play around with drawing gum this afternoon.' She promptly replied, 'What's drawing gum? Anything's better than what I'm in now.  Oh rid me of this verbose attire.'

We definitely had fun playing dress-ups again, but methinks her story still isn't finished. She's destined to be undressed again tomorrow. No mind, we have time to find just the right outfit. Thanks to your very wise and kind comments on my last post, I'm a little less worried about how long it's taking me to get her  and the other 15 or so bigger pieces lying around there. However, I do believe that we are both enjoying the process... 

Speaking of enjoying the process ... This post is specially dedicated to someone who has become a treasured friend over the last few months, Laura at 52 Flea, who is this week's guest curator for the blog Crescendoh, and who has very kindly linked to my website today, presenting me as someone who could inspire others. At this point you could knock me down with a feather...  I feel extremely privileged.

Crescendoh is a blog focused on promoting artists and encouraging them to tell their story. Laura, a million Mercis from the bottom of my heart both for including me in your guest blogging week and especially for sharing more about yourself.  Your blog gives us tantalising glimpses of your exquisite taste and beautiful collections - through Crescendo it was precious to get to know you more as a person and to see another example of how art can transform.  May your own art continue to help you overcome those daily worries that life throws at us... and take you down a path of joyful discovery.

Affectueusement, 

Ange

PS - There may have to be another giveaway soon as I now have 200 lovely people following my blog and I love a good celebration. Welcome to all the new people who are along for the ride. Your support is so appreciated that I'm thinking hard as to what the next giveaway theme could be. Watch this space ...

;-)

I can see clearly now...

...the rain has gone
I can see all obstacles in my way
gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
it's gonna be a BRIGHT BRIGHT sunshiny day!
(Johnny Nash)

I've been hiding from my MAC in a guise to concentrate on my calligraphy.

(Have you noticed the very infrequent posting? Please say yes ;-)

It mostly worked. But I was caught between seasons...

Then today the sun shone down on La Rivière... 

and every where I looked there were nothing but blue skies!

Funny though in spite of the sunshine, 

I just didn't feel like touching ANY
of the projects that I've been working on.

So I scrubbed and cleaned

every nook and cranny 

in the house,

singing loudly about sunshine and blue skies

(housework always seems so much more fun 

when I dance with my mop and imagine myself 

overcoming obstacles with ease and grace)

Then took the time to appreciate some of the work 

I had already done in Chickpea's room.

It's heartening to remember our achievements sometimes, eh?

Sacré bleu! 

I dyed some antique linen turquoise to brighten up her pillows.

Dyed an antique dress 'antique bleu,'

wrote 'it's time to light the stars'
(Guillaume Appollinaire)

at the bottom in white fabric paint,

then sewed it onto her white duvet cover.

I 'patined' an old door various shades of blue.

(It was my first try at colour 5 year's ago and I'm very fond of it still)

The ballerine is just marking the spot for a small applique light.

She is looking slightly worn as she has been sitting there for a while now.

Ahem... Another family project that needs the finishing touches. Oops!

That doesn't seem to bother Chickpea.

Although I'm sure she'd prefer it was a horse now...

Sometimes I just have to get my house in order 

and take stock a bit before diving head first back into 

production mode.

And sing really loudly, 

dancing around my home in wild abandon...
(this IS why I live in the country and have no neighbours, you know)

I even enjoyed mopping the floors today.
Did I JUST SAY THAT???

Shh - don't tell Beaker ...

It'll be all white!!

From this perspective ... 

high up the mountain path that leads to La Colette

(Old chapel St Pierre, where Pokemon and Libellule were Christened)

It's all white 

as far as the eye can see.

From the back yard...

To the neighbour's place

Lucky we didn't need the lawn mower!

As I arrived late to the snow fields 

(between working and property negociations)

I thought I would take a closer look at all this white.

And all I could find was

COLOUR

In all its contrast and splendour.

Nothing is ever as white, or black, as it seems!

(Mmm - I love the rosehip syrup my MiL makes 

- looks and tastes scrumptious on FROMAGE BLANC

But we only get the syrup if we pick the rosehips OUCH!)

It seemed there were more adults on sleds than kids!! 

Anyway - sledding is thirsty work so I thought it time for a little mulled wine ...

in an ORANGE cup none the less!

Mustard, mayonnaise and Ketchup

The primary colours!

From my vantage point in the café I 

couldn't miss this fella sweeping  his roof and 

talking to his sweetheart at the same time...

Then Libellule's orange helmet

Loved the aqua blue snow machine
(not that it was in use this year!)

Pokemon passed his 2nd star in royal colours
(I think I am just about at 2nd star level but he is faster than me)

Libellule was a gold star!

And on the way back up the 4km track 

to that well lived and loved old farm house at 1700m altitude,

with its rough wood floors, worn through hundreds of years of use,

and no heating system other than an old wood stove...

I realised that for every thing to be all white.

It wouldn't be the same without a bit of colour to 

pepper its pristineness.

That's life!