Friends

The new Sew Somerset arrived today and I was thrilled to see my friend Rachel's work in it. I've known Rachel for some years now and affectionately call her Melted Rachel (she melts fabrics). I love her work and earlier this year, I recommended her to Amanda Belle Nolan, one of the FabEds (fabulous editors) at Stampington.,which has resulted in this article.

I'm also in this issue in a small way, but this is Rachel's moment. I'm so proud of her!

Tender mercies

This is why I love tags. In my imaginary atelier, I have  a whole wall of decorated tags hanging from "laundry lines."

This is also why I love wings. If you've ever held a wounded bird in the palm of your hand, you'll know exactly what I mean.

Edinburgh

[This article was published in Family Practice sometime in the late 1990s]

EDINBURGH
By Colette Copeland

The first time I saw Edinburgh I was smitten. I was a university student, and until then, it had been the same old story: a view of Scotland put about by foreigners of draughty castles, wild men in kilts, a wee beastie called Haggis, and other calumnies.

Scotland, as I discovered on that first visit, was more of a land of undulating, heather-clad landscapes, serene lochs fringed with purple foxgloves, and a wonderful sense of humour behind the dour reputation.

I first laid eyes on Edinburgh while standing at one end of Prince’s Street, a grand boulevard that sweeps through the city centre, looking towards Waverley Station and the majestic North British Hotel. The buildings of the Royal Mile loomed to my right, the suddenness of Edinburgh Castle at one end and the jolting Arthur’s Seat, an extinct volcano, at the other. It was small for a city, highly negotiable but overwhelming in its architectural grandeur, and we parted on affectionate terms.

Years later, fuzzy images but affection undiluted, I found myself in the North British Hotel, now The Balmoral. I drew the curtains and caught my breath. There, outside my window, was Arthur’s Seat, so close that I thought if I reached out I’d be able to touch it. The Royal Mile rose before me like a Medieval Manhattan. I could almost hear the horses’ hooves clattering down the cobblestones and a faraway voice warning “Gardy loo!” (from the French gardez l’eau, or “watch out, I’m about to throw out the slop”).

Instead I heard voices more like Sean Connery’s, himself a native of Edinburgh. It was fall, the weather crisp, perfect for tweeds, woollens, and a wee dram. And so priorities were set, and I found myself in a knitwear wonderland, from a myriad small shops to the majestic Jenner’s department store, of sweaters, scarves, wraps, cashmere coast, tweeds, and kilted skirts. This is where I learned that women wear “kilted skirts”. The kilt proper is worn only by men; it takes up far more material, has countless pleats folded exactly so, and is cut so that it needs no hemming. As for the wee dram, Edinburgh’s pubs and restaurants (this city has more restaurants per capita than any other city in Britain) all offer single malt lists in the same manner as wines. Forget the haggis jokes and know that when you eat here, you eat extremely well. Fresh fare in the hands of great chefs makes for a fine cuisine. There are no pubs on Prince’s street, but just behind it, Rose Street has more than its share, with the famous Café royal in the vicinity.

If Edinburgh’s Old Town is Medieval, its New Town is Georgian. The Royal Mile especially so. Starting at Edinburgh Castle, you can wind your way downhill to Holyrood Palace to meet up with the ghosts of Mary Queen of Scots, her hapless young husband, Lord Darnley, and her secretary, Rizzio, both of them dispatched by murder. Holyrood Palace enchanted me; it’s no Versailles, but I wanted to move in and live there.

Historical landmarks dot your progress, like the 19th-century High Kirk of St. Giles, Parliament House (now the law courts), the 15th-century Mowbray House, 16-th-century John Knox house.

Of course, I had to take the Witchery Tour that began at the foot of Edinburgh Castle. It took place at night and was guided by Adam Lyal, deceased. Lyal, himself executed in 1811 for dastardly deeds, escorted us in and out of dark closes and alleyways to sites of erstwhile tortures, murders and supernatural happenings (a hint: Drs. Jekyll and Hyde were created here). Best to go with a friend. Despite the highly entertaining Lyal, the sudden apparition of a mad monk or a shuffling figure screaming “gardy loo” can make you jump out of your skin. And there was the ominous physician’s bag he carried around. To my utter shame, as he prepared to reveal its contents, I hid behind one of my friends, face buried in his coat and trying not to scream.

The next day, I recovered my calm, and my dignity, at the Scottish National Gallery, the finest of its size in the world, housing European and Scottish masters, followed by the neo-classic Royal Scottish Academy, the National Portrait Gallery and the magnificent Royal Scottish Museum.

In this country you’re never very far from the nearest golf course and Edinburgh is no exception. A number of those are municipal, costing very little: that’s so your everyday schoolboy, toting his granddad’s saw-down clubs, can also afford it. Democracy in the green. And fitting for one of Europe’s great cities.

Wedding quiltie

We had two weddings in my Irish family this year. I made a paper collage for the first couple, and this fabric one for the second couple seen here. The wedding took place in August, so it's high time this piece found its way to Wexford!

Long life and happiness to Roy and Wendy.

The way I read art and craft books is this: I leaf through them, open them randomly at random moments, and absorb the contents. I look at patterns but I don't actually use them. I use them as an optical guide (posh way of saying "eye-balling"). Some might say I'm impatient; I say I'm prone to free-style (tomato, tomahto!) Anyway, this little bag was inspired by Esprit de famille, the book pictured in a post below. It was cut from a tea towel from Ikea. There was a whole bin of them at 49 cents each.

It may be holding some little hearts. *wink*

Authentically smitten

I used to say that Jenny Doh discovered me. People thought I was joking, but I wasn't. She did discover me and gave me a chance that's changed my artistic life. I could go on about Jenny but that would take a whole other post.

Recently I had a play date with Jenny's new clear stamp collection, CRESCENDOh DOOhDLES, and what a time I had. Pure fun. These are some of the pieces I made. Note the word passion in the accordeon card below: on its own, it's well, passion; underlining it several times, it becomes PASSION!!! The true meaning jumps up at you.
Click on the photos to see the details.

Pet Peeve No. 28

Belgium is a country.
Belgian is an adjective.

Therefore, if you're describing endive or ribbons or whatever, you call them Belgian, not Belgium. For example, Jean-ClaudeVan Dam is not a Belgium actor; he is a Belgian actor.

(My aunt, an educator, who lived in Belgium as a young woman and later in retirement, approved this message)

Marabout

When I first saw this book on amazon.ca, my eye went straight to the middle: Marabout. It brought back many memories of my "French life" when I had any number of books by Marabout. The cover sucked me in and I gave it to myself for my birthday. This is one book that delivers. Page after page of gorgeous photography and things I would actually make -- not your usual cushion/toy/hankie-holder that seem to fill other sewing books. Complete with clear instructions (but you have to know French) and patterns.

Bravo, Marabout! Je t'aime!

The sun never sets over Somer

For all my years working in magazines, some of them top of the line, I still get amazed at the spreads in the Stampington publications. I love this spread of mine in Take Ten. [Click on the photo.]

Thank you so much to the artists who put this together: both editorial and art direction.

Catching up

It may be Sunday, but I've never missed a deadline in my 25-year journalistic career and I'm not about to start now, so I'm at work on two articles. I take a break every so often and make new items. See them here.

I've had some old keys forever. When I want to make something new, I rummage in my stuff for inspiration. I came across the keys and made something new (for me).

Be well.

Back home

She didn't jump on my bed this morning.
She wasn't barking at the door when I came home from work this afternoon.

She's still in McKinney. I miss her.











Photo: Marie-Claire Hill

My break is nearly over. I return home tomorrow.

The highlight of my mini-vacation, after seeing my family, was the fish tacos at Petra, Essence of Mexico, in McKinney (North Texas). Unbelievably good, as is their whole menu. And if you're ever in Downtown (the old part of McKinney), go to a store called Smitten. They stock Somerset Life for good reason: they have very Somerset Life-style products. I was smitten.


Cheers!

Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart -- [author unknown]

I'm working on it!

Barometric tales

The mild weather continues. Yesterday it had me fooled for a moment. I went into the St. Clair Market and noticed a huge display of pan d'oro. Odd, I thought, it must be left over from Christmas and they're selling them off. The it hit me that, no, Christmas hadn't come and gone -- the display was new, Christmas was next month. It was a truly confusing moment.

Today I woke up with a barometric headache... there's rain on the way.

Most of my work is finished. To relax here and there, I started another visual journal, letting myself do anything that comes to mind. I have to admit it's a lot of fun.

 I haven't had much time to post because I'm finishing up a large translation project.One of my roles is as a translator from French into English. I've translated two books, but mostly I translate articles, these days mostly medical. I thought the well had dried up so I was very happy to get the three articles that I've been working on for the last couple of day. When that's done, I have two article to write. Meanwhile I'm looking forward to a break. I'll be going to Dallas to spend a few days with my sister. Frankly I cannot wait. I need a change. I need to recharge my batteries and seeing family after almost two years will be blissful.

I won't be leaving until Sunday, so I'll be posting again.

Be well, be safe, be happy.

A freelancer's life

They say that a freelancer's life is feast or famine, and it is true. I got through the famine, and now, it's a feast. Which means I have a lot to do in a short period of time. That's how it works: it all comes at once. But freelancers don't complain; we put our heads down and work. With gratitude.

When the work dries up and you're in the middle of famine, you do not panic. You tighten your belt and keep going, doing whatever you can. Putting your work out there, looking for part-time work, keeping the faith.

I am blessed because I have a support system, my sister and a handful of friends who encourage me and who, should I ever need it, would help me out. I'm grateful for them, too. They know that I also give back.

The End

The last page is finished. Now it's your turn. Get your paints and clippings and go!

Teesha Moore's tutorials are here.

Art journal part 2

It's coming along...

It took a long time coming, but I got bitten by the TM bug. Teesha Moore, that is. I spent a half-hour with her tutorials where she demystified a few things for me and had me raring to go.

I did.

These are unfinished pages. But you get the idea. Teesha is one generous lady, and I cannot thank her enough!

A bit of Teesha and a bit of me.

The littlest angel

In sorting out some supplies, I can across these tiny baby dollies. I don't even remember where I got them. Or why.

Or maybe subconsciously I did know why.














[This and two others are available HERE]

November

November begins in blinding sunlight, a welcome sight after three days of rain.

Having finished my current list of projects and assignments, I made this on a piece of antique pillowcase, purposely crumpled, which I may frame on black mat board. I am a minimalist to the core; I like white spaces and a simply made statement. It's like taking three sentences to say what someone else would take two pages to say. It is an art. Behind the "simple" experior is complexity, a lot of thought, and allowing the self to express itself, no censoring. If you get the urge to add something more, it's because it's needed. There is no urge to fill in blank spaces for the sake of filling them, because those spaces are also saying something.