Animation Third Week

Using what I have learned so far and having bought plasticine, I decided to do a ‘proper job’.

1. made three plasticine figures thinking of character and plot

2. made a ‘set’ – cardboard box, backdrop drawn in charcoal, photographed, edited on photoshop, printed, stuck in cardboard box. Background

3, Practise run – camera lens had too ‘wide’ a view so, bigger set needed next time, plasticine collapsing

4, put figures in fridge to ‘chill’ PLAN – use digitization, stop-go all in real 3D

5. applied LIGHTING, removed figures from fridge, still falling and bending, used wire as armature, made fat feet. This worked . . . just

6. MOVED CAMERA while filming set in DIGITIZATION, switched to STOP-GO for action changing camera POSITION twice.

7. Edited out several frames in Vimeo





POEMS on the WEB

To begin . . . ‘a killer’ poem, to quote my publisher, which isn’t on the web but printed in ‘Obsessed with Pipework’.


I nick the neck of a Fair Trade banana

strip the skin

peel the shrivel-my-tongue veins

slice it over my morning porridge

drown it in milk

IMG_0796and think of you.

AND ON THE WEB . . . South Bank Poetry Library

reflectCheck out: for your Book Cover Design and Illustration for writers with visual ideas

In Praise of FATNESS in Women



Sunday morning watching TV at breakfast. Football news is on with the sound off, a footballer is having a paddy on the grass, I’m waiting for to weather even though I can see it through the window, now – a fat woman with impressive hips, I saw one yesterday in town whose hips were amazing. Seems to be a big down on fat. I make a sudden resolution – no more news! There it’s done.


Here are two views on FAT which differ from TV news where opinions are bundled and dished up, ‘fat accumplee’.  One view of ABUNDANCE encapsulated in an iron age statue could be a woman today, seen clothed,  walking around, shopping, chatting, taking care of children, sculpting, painting, writing playing the cello, singing . . .

Venus of Willendorf

The Venus of Willendorf is a 4.25-inch (10.8 cm) high statuette of a fertile, female figure, estimated variously between 28,000 and 20,000 BC, or 30,00 – 27,000 BC. It is carved from oolitic limestone, and was covered with red ochre when found in Lower Austria, 1908.

 Another view of such MAGNIFICENCE is created in a fairy story, (keeper of the soul). 

The Butterfly Woman

La Mariposa  is old, very, very old. one of her shoulders is bare she is wrapped in cloth of red and black. Her body is heavy and she has tiny feet. She is the butterfly woman arrived to strengthen the weak. she is that which most of us think of as not strong; age, the butterfly, the feminine.

Butterfly woman’s hair reaches to the ground, thick and stone grey. Her hips are two baskets and the fleshy top of her buttocks is wide enough to ride two children. She dances and waves a fan of feathers, spreading the earth with the pollinating spirit of the butterfly.

Her shell bracelets rattle like snake, the bells on her garters tinkle like rain. In one breast is the thunderworld, the underworld in the other. her back is the curve of planet earth the back of her neck carries the sunrise and the sunset. Her belly holds all the babies that will ever be born.

Butterfly woman cross-fertilises, the soul with dreams, the mundane world, she takes a little here, puts a little there. She transforms. A little is enough.

‘Women Who Run with the Wolves’; Clarissa Pinkola Estes; (Rider Books)

‘There is no ‘supposed to be’ in bodies. Does it have happiness, joy, can it move in its own way? Dance, step, wiggle?’


When all this is Over

When all this is over

I’ll sit in the sun like the grey cat

and eat toast, dripping with butter

from that white china plate with a

deep pink print of cherry trees and water and two friends

(if I don’t drop it between now and then)

I’ll watch the fish flash through the fountain

as if they were swimming upstream

and I’ll ask you to visit

and see all you left behind.


CHECKOUT: my small press:

Bumpy Ride

Look-back at 2013.

I am very happy to have won the short murder story competition at the Winchester Writers Conference. And pleased that it takes pride of place in the 2013 anthology. Best-Of-2013-Cover

I shall take my prize, a place at the conference, next summer and look forward to it.
     Am I happy with my detective novel? No, I’ve not written enough. The detective agency is, at this moment, poised for the delicious ‘clashing together’ and final eruption.
     I blipped with marketeering.
    There was a bumpy end to my brief market career. Silverfinger publications are VERY particular about their venue and didn’t like being ignored or riffled through and abandoned. They learned to take with a pinch of salt, ‘positive venue thinking’, sooner than I did.

Netley Grange was my last actual market attendence. A supportive Writing Buddy took my stuff to both the Marlands and Mayfield Christmas markets, when I was unable to attend but had committed to, and did her best for me. Thank you!

The wet Winchester Sunday with a totally inadequate stall and poor position was the worse. I understand from other stall-holders that Winchester Guildhall was to be avoided at all costs.

Market Oct (9)

     blog5I created the Silverfinger Press as a result of marketeering, which is good and shows promise for the future. I published five Silverfinger books, four of them fully illustrated and twelfve sets of Christmas cards.
The ‘Didi’ books are a success with small children, mums and grandmothers. Positive feedback. The little book of Nursery Rhymes is also popular. 

And, I did quite enjoy ‘being out there’ for a while. It was an experience, observing people not interested in books, or riffling through the pages, even reading a whole book of poems, commenting, ‘so true’, about ‘Poems for a State of Grace’, before dropping the carefully made Silverfinger publication and walking off. 
     I was so surprised at my first sale of Christmas cards that I mislaid the money, or perhaps even gave it back.
I have painted, mostly blue and gold, sea, sky. silver 004.
And I have made a friend and lost one, finally drew the line at posting my neighbour a Christmas card and tore up the one from a distant relative I have nothing to do with. I enjoyed both acts.

I also drove through a storm, visited London and cooked a Christmas meal.



Sunday Heatwave

Sunday morning, after weeks of blinds down, fan on, cornflakes instead of food and lots of water, there is a breeze. With dog in boot, pad, pencil and oil pastels in bag with cushion, I drive to Westen Shore and park myself on a flat stone. The tide is just going out, the water, close to my feet. I look South, past Netley towards the Isle of Wight , put on my green cap and look . . .
heatwavejuly 032

Then West . . . towards the New Forest and Fawley. Two ferries, one heading South, one North.

The dog, a poodle, is supposed to be a ‘water dog’ but just about gets her feet wet above the ankle while labradors (most popular) and other canines cavort and splash about along the shore.

The two ferries’ wakes have reached Weston Shore and I could almost be beside the sea side. I look at the water as it breaks in front of my feet. A complication of surface wind, waves, undulations from the south, transparency of water and the gold of wet shingle with reflections of light. With a tight discipline of one blue, one yellow brown and green oil pastel I look down.

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Once home, and after tea, scone and half an hour of Karin Slaughter (a first for me) I head upstairs to my studio with my pad and a need to paint.

heatwavejuly 039

I choose not to include the trees of Hythe on the horizon, they cause the Solent to lose its watery endlessness.

Time for lunch – appropriately, shrimps with Cornish sea salt.

Murder Revisited


I am thoroughly engaged in planning and executing mouth watering comeuppances via my literary detective agency. I am not deterred that the first assignment went awry, was a disaster in fact but the Boss is determined not to loose heart, she will stick to her original plans and try again.
      The six women sleuth books I took from the library, to see if one matched mine in pace, tension or touches of humour and to which I may refer in my letter to an agent – don’t. I shall have to look further. (Does that mean I’m a one-off?)
      P.D.James, erratic pace, sometimes dead boring, writes of wisteria in a hot summer sun, (wisteria blossoms in spring), BUT I do connect to the protagonist and wonder if mine is also accessible? Time to call upon my ‘reader’.
      D.L.Sayers – NO, Susan Hill – no – M.C.Beaton, can’t face it.

However, two unexpected bonuses –

Antonello_St_Jerome_in_his_Study_14601. P.D.James describes a painting by Antonello, to which I was attracted. I found the painting on the internet, ‘St Jerome in his Study’, 1480.


The author has changed St Jerome to a ‘young, tonsured monk’, and there are no frivolities or oxen seen in the tiny but delightful landscape through the window, but P.D.James captures the feeling, perfectly.

The feeling of the painting, one of a man ‘in the spirit’, alone, in a mood of contemplation, connects me with my own, unfinished ‘murder’ painting of an author whose imaginative images come to life in her sitting room.

about 1475    

2. Susan Hill’s ‘Shadow in the Street’, names a book, ‘Learning to Dance’, by Michael Mayne. For some reason, I liked the title and looked it up on Amazon. Michael Mayne was Dean of Westminster Abbey and head of BBC radio religious programmes.
      On browsing further, I discovered that Michael Mayne suffered with ME. A condition which I live with. I have ordered the book in which he describes himself and ME, ‘A Year Lost and Found’.
      I also like the painting on the book’s cover which uses complementary colours – ie mauve/yellow – turquoise/gold, colours which make each other sing out loud.
      The post-script to Michael Mayne’s last book, ‘The Enduring Melody’, written when he had terminal cancer, seems to me to be important –

‘However mixed our motives in writing (or reading) books, in the end they are about the desire to share (or learn more) what it means to be human and what matters to us most, to speak what we feel not what we ought to say. For those who write such books and launch them into a critical world, they aim to be, in short, a small – and sometimes quite risky – act of love.’                                                      Michael Mayne, ‘The Enduring Melody’.

And this quote, used by Michael Mayne, expands and speaks to thoughts contained in my post ‘Positive Thinking’, January 2013, though spoken in a quite different way –

‘All is well. Not by facile optimism, not in blinkered evasions, but in the richest and most active dimensions of our humanity. It is the illumination we must and ever seek on the other side of the dark.’ Dennis Potter.