14 Dec 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Christmas, England, Holidays, winter
Tags: Desborough Island, England, English post box, Focused Moments blog, Lyme Regis, photography, Rachael Talibart, Royal Photographic Society, snow
Postbox in Snow, © Rachael Talibart.
A red English postbox is the essence of beautiful utilitarian design in my book. And this snow dusted postbox seems to be the essence of holiday anticipation.
Rachael Talibart, based in the south of England, is the photographer, and shares about her travels and life through photography at her blog Focused Moments. She is a Licentiate of the Royal Photographic Society and captures light beautifully in her many atmospheric photographs. She sells prints of her landscape and nature work here.
I wish I could post a stack of green-enveloped Christmas cards into this wintry postbox. Or feed into its mouth a brown paper package bound with red and white string. Instead, I will take my letters and packages down to Greg, at the post office in town. With its big blue lozenge of an ugly post box sitting outside.
Winter on Desborough Island, © Rachael Talibart.
Road to No-where, © Rachael Talibart.
Summer Evening, Lyme Regis, © Rachael Talibart.
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29 Nov 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Artisanal Living, Artists, Creativity, Design, England, Fashion, handmade, London, Sewing
Tags: Buddug Humphrey, Columbia Road, Embroidery, enamel jewelry, J&B Columbia Road London, Jessie Chorley, London, sewing, Snowdonia, upcycled clothing, Wales
Where I left you on Columbia Road in London, not so long ago, was Vintage Heaven and Cake Hole. Oh to be there today, nibbling cake and sipping tea. I am, however content to be here this morning. There is a dusting of snow on the hillside and animals waiting at the fence for breakfast. I am drinking tea. And there is good work to do.
This doesn’t stop me from a memory stroll on a Sunday morning in London.
Come along please.
Further along Columbia Road—past the drifts of tulips, hibiscus, and heather in the flower market (that filled that Sunday street)—I came upon Jessie Chorley and Buddug Humphrey’s treasure trove. Their shop, J&B, is self described as ‘A little bit of the Welsh Countryside in the city’.
Indeedy.
These two friends hale from Snowdonia, Wales, and bring the character of the place into everything they do. And then some.
The doorway was an arbor of handmade cardboard letters flanked by clothing embroidered in wonky letters and marvelous enameled jewelry, wall plates and sculptural cups adorned with words and whimsy. The characters of Jessie and Buddug (pronounced bu-th-ig) slowly came into focus. Jessie, the gal with needle and floss took hold of any scrap of cloth and turned it into art to wear or gaze upon. Buddug was the one who crafted enameled metal into jewelry and artwork adorned with handwriting and sketches.
I was struck speechless. I wandered around like a blithering idiot and I think I met Jessie. I mumbled incoherently and she probably took me for a simpleton.
{Struck simple by works of creativity, resourcefulness, good heartedness, beauty.}
Jessie gives sewing workshops! If you’re in London, check it out. Both women have interesting websites, blogs, on-line shops.
J&B Online Shop.
J&B Shop Blog.
Jessie’s website.
Buddug’s website.
Photo credits: all images in this post are from Jessie and Buddug’s various websites.
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10 Oct 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Autumn, England, Family, Natural world, Seasons, Sewing
Tags: arts, bed of leaves, Born Yesterday, Midsummer Night's Dream, nature, Northern Stage, Shakespeare, Stage plays, Stage sets, The Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Theatre
An autumn bed of leaves under our maple tree reminds me of a performance of Midsummer Night’s Dream that I saw in Stratford, England, when I was 19. It was the later 1980s. Life was my oyster.
Before the woodland scenes the stage crew rolled out a carpet of jumbled textile pieces, layered and sewn to resemble the forest floor. Puck, Oberon or Titania flitted about in the nets and branches that were suspended above. The stage lights cast dappled shadows onto the rumpled cloth collage and you could almost smell damp leaf mould. I thought at the time that I’d love to carpet a room with something like that someday.
Now it is that someday, and I sew lots of out-of-box things. No reason why I shouldn’t try t0 sew a textile carpet of raw-edged fragments.
Last night I saw the stage play Born Yesterday, produced by Northern Stage, and here I am looking at fallen leaves that remind me of a play from twenty years ago. When three friends invited me to join them last night I jumped at the chance, and this morning I’m basking in the starry afterglow of being to ‘the theee-uh-tuh.’
My parents were avid theatre-goers during my childhood, but I haven’t made it a habit. I completely forgot the thrill of sitting so near, seeing and feeling the energy come from the actors, and reacting with gasps or laughter in a collective way with the audience all around.
So many kinds of artistic expression are right here to grasp. I plan to book a seat for next month’s production and get back in the theatre habit.
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07 Oct 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Design, England, Housewares, London, Travel
Tags: "Columbia Road Flower Market", Cake Hole Cafe, Columbia Road, East London, F. Fraser Darling, London, Northern Line Tube, travel, Vintage Heaven, Wild Life of Britain
Several weeks ago I arrived in London after the red eye from Boston. It was a Sunday morning, but noontime by the time I’d settled in my hotel. The bed was calling me, but not as strongly as the Sunday-only markets of London. I set out for Columbia Road and its famous Sunday flower market and quirky vintage, art, and design shops—many with limited open hours on any other day of the week.
I have a lilt in my step. I am in London, and I love the place. My parents brought me here as a child and I keep returning—like a moth to flame. {Only not singed by the light, but illuminated.} London has sights to break ones’ heart, but also beauty and ingenuity to fuel hours, weeks, months, years of creative endeavors. For me, at least.
So onto the Tube train—smelling familiar like shoe leather, hint of tobacco, mesh of cooking spice, body odors and damp newspaper. On the familiar Northern Line—the one I lived closest to when I spent a college term in London—I head north to Old Street Station. From here a short walk brings me to one end of Columbia Road, chock full of wonders.
First, I need sustenance. It occurs to me that I last ate something on the airplane hours—seeming lifetimes—ago.
Vintage Heaven and Cake Hole {the cafe through and behind} lure me in. Vintage Heaven is true to its name—a beautifully curated shop of color-grouped cups, plates and teapots. Books, textiles, and various ephemera linger among the kitchen goods, paired for color and theme very cleverly. I would take most of the shop’s contents home with me, but this is day one of an eleven day trip, and I can’t coddle breakables from here to Paris and home.
A small apple green book called Wild Life of Britain, with a jaunty illustrated squirrel on the cover, is the backdrop for a tableaux of jade cups and saucers. Its binding is slightly damaged, and as I buy it the shop’s owner and I discuss the beauty of the book. She says how some would pass over it for the marks on the top of the spine. It does look like a mouse has snacked on it. But I prefer to imagine a squirrel is the one who took a bite, and say so aloud. She and I laugh at this idea and page through admiring the illustrations and sampling bits of the writing by author F. Fraser Darling (whose name is yet another reason why I choose to buy this book).
If you are ever in East London on a Sunday go to Vintage Heaven and chat with the owner. She is marvelous and so is her shop.
Cake Hole is just the place to sit with my new book and eat my first meal in London (and drink my first cup of quality English tea). The cafe is intimate and charming, with some of the qualities of Vintage Heaven spilling over into its decor. Throughout the shop and cafe mismatched Scrabble letters are used to label things—tea, scones, Victoria sponge cake.
I share my table with two different couples—both friendly and carting their flower purchases and other goodies from their amble on Columbia Road. My smoked salmon sandwich and scone with jam and clotted cream are served upon 70s era china. The tea takes a swing at my mild jetlag headache and the food is a good start to establishing me in Greenwich Mean Time, plus one.
More Columbia Road discoveries coming soon. Stay tuned.
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29 Sep 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Autumn, England, Seasons, Summer, Vermont
Tags: apples, Humbert Wolfe, leaves, October eves, plum island, summer evenings, sunflowers, wind
“Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves,
We have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!”
Humbert Wolfe
Autumn has only arrived, in accordance with the calendar. Though leaves have been falling and the air is chill each morning for a few weeks now.
It’s apple time, but I feel a glimmer of nostalgia for some special summer evenings that passed this year. Artisanal pizza eaten outdoors in Waitsfield, Vermont—with old dear friends who live in Ontario, al fresco dining at a secluded cottage in Corinth, Vermont—with our exiled Vermont-to-Glasgow friends, walking the beach on Plum Island in late August as the sun went down, watching fireworks by a campfire with friends….
So let the leaves fly, I’m okay with that.
We had heat, a good garden, a few hard knocks on the farm—and yet here we are, ready to put the grounds to bed before another year. The ground can only be fertile by being allowed to rest. It is the same for we people, I think.
Ready for pumkins and wool sweaters. Ready to take the quilts from the cedar chest and fold away the light cotton covers of summer. As I write the fire crackles, rain and fog cloak the morning.
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01 Sep 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Autumn, Chickens, England, Family, Farm Life, Garden, London, Paris, Travel, Vermont
Tags: Anniversary, Chores, Duality, hops, hydrangea, London, Marriage, Packing, signs of autumn, travel, woodbine
This morning I woke to wish R a happy 22nd anniversary.
We celebrated last night, since today would take on the non-reality that days do when you prepare to travel.
We shared a nice breakfast together and then he took off on a long rugged bike ride. L got up and played with her many toy horses, and I—well—I cleaned out the chicken house.
You may think I spend all my time mucking barns after my lamb post last week. I probably should spend more time mucking (I thought to myself as I scooped the wheelbarrow full from our little hen house). The hens were gathered around watching me. I had clucking commentators.
All around I noted the tangle of my gardens, growing wildly out of my control. The hydrangeas are tinging pink, and the woodbine is getting its first kisses of red at the edges. The hop blooms are shaking their beer-fragrant pollen around the patio. When I return the steps toward autumn will be more pronounced.
A few hours and several other unsavory chores later, I got to packing in earnest: checking my many lists, moving piles around. Eying my luggage dubiously and wondering how I’d make it all fit.
Such is my life at times. One moment in the wellies, and the next picking out clothes and shoes that are suitable for urban Europe. No complaints, just acknowledging the inconsistencies and surprises that life brings. And when you face a 22nd anniversary it’s nice to rewind the years and think of the things, places, events and people that brought you to this place where you look down and see your feet in mucky boots one day and kicky little black flats the next.
Just before the leaving the ache of love can be so strong and powerful. Our family lunch made me miss R and L, before I’d even left.
Then back to the packing—but now making the decisions of what was essential and what could be left behind.
Highway miles are flying by my window as the first leg of the trip begins from Vermont to Boston. Then on to Heathrow tonight and a much anticipated time in London. Later Paris.
Already anticipating the first cup of strong tea.
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16 Feb 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Artists, England, Natural world, Vermont
Tags: Bill Yardley, death of an artist, grace and beauty, horizon, morning moon, printmaking, vermont moon
Sometimes you see something so perfect that the day has served its purpose.
Such was the case with this early morning moon a few days ago. It hung impossibly huge and golden. And was sinking fast over the horizon (this I learned while fumbling with lenses and nearly missing it entirely). A lesson to pause and observe and not be fanatical about recording everything you see.
I learned today of the death of Bill Yardley, the marvelous wildlife printmaker I wrote about a few weeks ago. Thank you, Gill Bolton, for telling me. Through writing about Bill I learned how many people loved his work and had also discovered him through the same article in the UK version of Country Living.
The grace and beauty of this morning moon is for you, Bill.
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18 Jan 2012
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Art Portfolios, Artists, Chickens, England, Natural world
Tags: animals, Bill Yardley, chickens, England, farm, fox, owl, printmaking, sheep
Bill Yardley, farmer and artist, resides in Warwickshire, England, where his observations on his 200 acre farm give rise to works of art that show the inherent nature of his animal subjects. I am quite fond of the sheep and hens—being a carer of these animals myself. But the fox makes my heart race (one just raced across the road in front of us on Friday night) and the owl is showing that expression of both shock and wisdom that endears me to owls when I am lucky enough to see one.
I read a full article about Bill in the January edition of Country Living UK (which is nowhere to be found online). Worth a look if you can find one at your local bookstore.
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09 Dec 2011
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Artisanal Living, Artists, Creativity, Design, England, handmade, Housewares, Photography, Travel, winter
Tags: Andrea Brugi, Artist, bodging, Carved wood, Cote Sud, Ditte Isager, handmade, Italian woodworker, Samina Langholz, Wood spoon
Rustic wood is so beautiful, especially in the light of early winter. Whether gray with exposure and age, bleached by the sun, or mellow and golden in patina, I never tire of looking at the many ways wood reveals its beauty in rustic or finished designs.
Years ago, on a trip to the English Cotswolds, we bought a book about building and designing with green wood. The technique is called bodging, and those who practice are bodgers. We grasped onto that word and flung it around in sentences whenever we could. Let’s bodger this. We could bodger that.
More than 10 years later we still use the word in our daily lexicon, though our wood working is primarily played out in creating piles of firewood by the studio for seasoning through the year, and by the door where we can easily reach it for our daily fires. Even the triangle and round ends of the stacked woodpile are beautiful as the pieces show off their age rings and slowly crack as they dry.
These tools, cutting boards and decorations are handmade by Italian artist Andrea Brugi and Danish artist Samina Langholz in their Tuscan workshop and illustrate all that I love about rustic wood.
All photographs by Ditte Isager. See her magical photos of beds in trees here.
Found in Coté Sud, Dec 2011/Jan 2012.
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01 Oct 2011
by Sue Schlabach 129twigandvine
in Art Portfolios, Artists, England, Paintings, Places
Tags: Artist, England, Ernest Hemmingway Mustard, painting, Sam Toft, The Mustards, Violet Mustard, Writer
Oh Sam Toft. I do love your work.
When stories and artwork collide good things happen. Sam Toft writes stories to go with her artwork, though the artwork is story-filled in itself.
Macintosh raincoats, full-bellied teapots, dogs, geese, sheep, a goldfish, flowing scarves, and simple sea and landscapes accompany the characters in Sam Toft’s repertoire. You could move right in and try to catch up with the conversations. Is there a cat? There must be a cat.
Years ago when my friend Brenda lived far away she sent me a Sam Toft card. The card means a lot to me because of the friend who sent it, and for the wonderful Sam Toft depiction of a man and woman on a bicycle with their dog in the front basket, a duck sitting upon the head of the man, and the woman—dotted headscarf blowing in the wind—holding a goldfish in its bowl.
The story on the back of the card is quirky (with a capital Q)—really imaginative and clever writing to go with the imaginative and clever artistry. The painting is called “Grand Day Out.” The story on the back of the card is called “Meet the Mustards” and reads as follows:
Ernest Hemmingway Mustard lives with his dear wife Violet, and Doris (Her Majesty) their rather grumpy, portly Jack Russell. They have a goldfish named Rover and can often be seen out with Horace Duck who lives down the way. Doris loves to stay in by the fire eating custard with slices of Spam, but ventures out when the Mustards’ pockets are filled with humbugs. Mr Mustard is a kind, simple soul who specialises in tuneless humming and predicting hurricanes. Mrs Mustard puts up with her daft husband and dreams of Mr D’Arcy.
So please, Sam Toft, write some books.
I’d love a novel of yours by my bedside.
But while I’ll wait, I’ll imagine Violet at the sink washing the teapot, while Doris snoozes by the fire. We could have used Ernest and his hurricane predictions here in Vermont when Irene struck us. I imagine he’d have come down to the bridge with all of us to watch the raging river and mumble, “just as I thought.” There would—of course—be a duck on his head.
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