Where is my rebel?
I only wish our road to the croft was this straight.
Our long-awaited building materials for the agricultural barn landed in Duncan MacGregor’s field while Yorick and I waxed lyrical about applique in Paris. We did ask the hauliers to wait until our return but alas, instruction blew softly into one ear and swiftly out the other as seems so often to be the case with this particular crew. Fortunately D. MacGregor is being most gracious and is allowing the load to stay put until access issues move forward. In the meantime I take advantage of their ordered aesthetic to provide a bit of light relief and inspiration. I’m seeing quilts personally.
Wood ends...and they really do come this colour, how green is that?
Peek a boo
I spent the afternoon attending to designs for a potential blind commission. This gave me the opportunity to attempt a “Dog Rose” in stitch.
Dog Rose in a tungsten glow
It is a most unsettling sensation when I find myself doing the very things which, as a teenager I so derided my mum for. In her later years mum became fascinated with botanical drawing. She was, however, mildly rebellious in her brush strokes…never one to follow rules, least of all the pernickity detailing of the true botanical draughtsman. I however, in my argumentative art college years, wished she would be more gung-ho, more abrasive, more big and bold. Look at me now, admiring the turn of a tender petal, detailing a slender stamen. Well within my comfort zone and well without my internal rebel. At least I don’t have a testy teenage daughter to rub salt into the wound.
Blind proposal Pack
Not so tame. Flowers by Marjorie Campbell