It doesn't really matter because I'll get up in a minute and have a shower, then make breakfast, fruit and porridge. I'd sooner have white bread and Marmite or perhaps jam but the food police in my head complain.
Downstairs I let the cat out and check my phone. Nothing doing, nobody's bought a painting or print so I can get on with what's in my head. Chat with husband, share the day ahead, talk about food. Important.
I try to keep my head clear first thing. It's not always easy. You can get side tracked by the everyday and the domestic. Some days I still think I'm a 1950's housewife. Hang the washing out, dust something. It's silly really.
Garden sketch .
I used a gel pen and coloured pencils.
I take another cup of tea down to the studio. I'm wearing walking trousers and a smock, both covered in paint, and shoes I don't care about.
Sometimes I put the radio on in the studio, but, if I really want to think, it's quiet. And if there's the slightest hint of cold I put the blow heater on. For the next four hours I paint and try to ignore the outside world. I don't really like to talk to anyone then, not even my husband, apart from the occasional practicality.
|This is the view from the back bedroom in winter.|
The studio is sheltered from the winds by a large leylandii and catches the sun when it is low in the south
Oil on board 70 x 50 cm
But all the time my head is full of paintings, composition, colour, looking at the light, wondering why something looks good, admiring the mix of colours in a passer by's outfit.
My husband thinks of cars in the same way. "You know so and so, he drives a Skoda". I say "You know so and so, he paints in watercolour". We're on different planets!
In the evening I cook, and we watch the telly and in my head I'm planning the next painting.