A new place can be a fresh inspiration in art. It’s easier to see what’s really there and feel curious and interested in a scene which you’ve never seen before – there’ll be fewer existing assumptions or pre-conceived ideas about it. You can enjoy that child-like experience of exploring and discovering, and it’s also an opportunity to find out what you’re interested in, so that you can consciously pay more attention to that.
How to find out what interests you? Start by wandering, and absorb. Let yourself relax, let what’s there flood in without judgment. Be curious and playful and notice where you want to look more closely.
Wandering around the gardens at Belton, I found interesting contrasts and effects of light, patterns of foliage, shadows, different shapes, colours and strange things. The iron architecture of the conservatory gives structure to the green lushness and contrasts of the planting within. Windows give a frames work and let in light creating patterns on the walls and floor. It’s a sheltered indoor contained world of rare things, full of interest fro tiny details to how all the parts relate.
We will be playing with this process of drawing inspiration on the in-person drawing weekend I’m running in July. This year it’s located at Belton estate in Grantham, Lincolnshire. We’ll be based in the spacious and quiet venue of the old School in Belton village, and have access to the grounds and house of the estate.
Particpants in previous years have valued the time, space and supportive atmosphere of this yearly drawing event. It’s flexible so that your csan pursue your own interests throught eh weekend, but we will start together and you can get guideance on your develop through the weekend. There are opportunities to socialise as well.
To find out more, and register your interest, follow the link below.
It’s been a busy few months; I’ve run two drawing summer schools this year, of very different sorts, and met some diverse and interesting people in each setting. One was more informal, the other more structured, but both about developing confidence and allowing people to grow their belief in themselves and their own creativity. I feel so lucky to spend time with my students, and their questions and conversations really stimulate and inspire my own thinking about art.
For the third year running, in July I hosted a small group in the lovely surroundings of Pucks Oak Barn in Compton, Surrey. It’s a beautiful green space surrounded by a woolly and wild community orchard, buzzing with insects and all sorts of plants; the weather was kind enough to allow us outside on Sunday, where particpants collected also sorts of interesting things from sensations to seedpods.
The focus was on creating space for each participant’s own practice, whatever they might need at this point – and we had a diverse group with varying levels of experience and wishes for what each wanted from the time. With such a small group I could work with each person and give individual guidance, so each could follow their path – and we had quite different results from the weekend: small folded books made of drawings, a giant collaged painting, colour charts and collaged concertina books.
It was a very relaxed time with lots of permission and encouragement to do whatever one felt like doing, including rest and chat!
For the first time this year I participated in the Royal School of Needlework’s International Summer School, the first to feature an art class. It was also my first time taching this back on site at Hampton Court since March 2020. A week later that year the country was locked down; the last session of that course was delivered on Zoom, and was the pioneer for live online classes for the RSN.
The classroom was beautifully prepared by Noleen, Education Manager, and I was very ably assisted by RSN graduate Future Tutor Sonia Lee. We had an intense week with eight students, looking at drawing principles from the beginning with lots to learn and lots of experimental processes amongst the more traditional artistic principles and processes. People are often surprised to discover that there are learnable structures and principles behind art, it’s not a magic process which you can do or not.
There’s always a lot going on at Hampton Court in the summer, with costumed intpreters and re-enactors doing their stuff in the kitchens, walking about the palace and jousting in the grounds. RSN staff and students had a special trip to Buckingham Palace to see the Coronation exhibition and the robes and screen on which RSN staff and students had worked. It was in all a super busy week with lots to learn, lots of complicated travelling arrangements and much to see and digest.
For me what tied both quite different teaching experiences together was the goal of enabling confidence and excitement for the students. I aim always to give encouragement to see more clearly, to experiment and to play, and permission, to follow wherever curiosity might lead, and believe in one’s own inner creative voice.
My greatest reward is when someone says: ‘I realise I can just do whatever I want with my art and try things, it doesn’t matter’. When they say ‘I believe now I can draw’. When they say ‘I see new things I didn’t notice before’.
Working as an artist means a lot of time spent not knowing. I get an idea, or I carry out some experiments, but often I don’t know where they’re going, and whether the result will be something I’m happy with. There’s a lot of taking the next steps forward and remembering to trust the process, usually working in isolation, without knowing if anything of worth will come out of it – or whether it will be of interest to anyone else. There are still times when it can all feel rather uncomfortable.
As an artist and a teacher, I’ve had to get used to not knowing – my own, and other people’s.
The most important part of my role as a teacher is to support others through their uncertainty, vulnerability, and fears. To do this it’s crucial that I support myself – by taking time regularly: time out, and to reflect, and to consider if I need to do anything differently. This has similarities with how I assess a piece of artwork as it’s coming along. I need to pause every now and then, step back from the active making, and look at it.
I get relaxed, -sit back on my chaise long (it’s the guest bed futon really, but dressed up with blankets and my special cushion), with my tea, and the piece propped up. I allow myself to pay attention, in a soft focus sort of way, to what’s going on – with the piece, and in myself. It’s a sort of attentive waiting, allowing the space to see what pops up in response – to find out what’s going on under the noisy surface of the cerebral mind.
I can reflect on formal elements: colour, composition, proportion, balance, harmony. It might become apparent what needs adding, altering or taking away. More than one relaxing and looking session might be needed to arrive at the insights needed to move forward. That could be solitary time, musing and journaling, or it could involve talking it through with another. I like a mixture. It’s about creating the right conditions for the insights to arrive.
When the moment is right and the ideas appear, I feel a little surge of energy to take the next step, because I’ve got some clarity and confidence about what that should be. Quite often not beyond that, but the next step is enough. If, eventually, I am happy with what has appeared on my paper, canvas or fabric, then there’s the next step of putting it out in the world and finding out what others think. Putting myself out there, which is often scary.
Being an artist or maker of any sort has valuable lessons for living: in dealing with uncertainty, finding authenticity, finding out out what one wants to envision. It also involves dealing with fears that might block, and finding the courage to be fully oneself. Finding ways to cope – and to thrive- for myself has gone hand in hand with finding ways to support my students in whatever it is they want to achieve. It’s not possible to talk about art and not talk about life. Creativity is not only for artists. Those ideas and strategies for creating a vision and removing the block towards it are useful whatever you’re wanting to move towards
Finding ways to cope – and to thrive- for myself has gone hand in hand with finding ways to support my students in whatever it is they want to acheive. It’s not possible to talk about art and not talk about life. Creativity is not only for artists. Those ideas and strategies for creating a vision and removing the block towards it are useful whatever you’re wanting to move towards.
As a result, I’m bringing my experiences to a new venture. Next April, my friend Laura and I will be running a retreat day designed to give space, away from the noise of everyday life. We’ve chosen to set our day in the tranquil surroundings of a beautiful retreat house in Surrey. There’ll be time to relax, and settle into the beautiful surroundings of the studio. We’ll take time to reflect: with each other, talking, listening and journalling. There will be space to dream, using paper and colours. You will leave with tools to help you make choices and move forwards with whatever you want to grow in your life, as Spring surges into growth.
It’s just £60 to attend for the day. See below for more details and to register for a place.
It’s a common experience: there’s something you love doing, but you struggle to find the time, or the motivation, and you can get discouraged and then feel disappointed. There are some ideas from study about how people change which might help.
I learned recently that to change things you need to be consistent in what you’re aiming for, flexible in how you get there, and persistent in your efforts. There will be lapses and changes of direction, but continual steps and trying different ways of doing things will keep you moving forward, however small your actions are.
Of course, learning a skill is going to involve changing a number of things in your life. You’ll need to review and make decisions about in how you spend your time, perhaps change your priorities a little to make room for your interests, and if the skill involves a physical element like learning a musical instrument or making something, spending time developing it will create changes how you use your body .
So what is it you want to learn? How do you make space for it, and encourage it? And how do you keep motivated after the initial burst of enthusiasm or effort?
I’ve been learning to play the harp over the last 18 months. I had a burst of enthusiasm when I acquired it, and was less busy at the time (April 2021) so I did lots of research, found different teachers and resources online, and spent time getting to know it. I found a place to keep my harp to hand, so that I could just pick it up and play whenever I had a few minutes. Although I’m enjoying playing it by myself and experimenting, I wanted to check I was getting the basics right – you can hurt yourself playing an instrument if you dont take care about how you’re doing the repetitive actions. I decided to go on a weekend course. It was amazing to be in a great big room full of harps, talk to the owners, and hear very different styles of playing. That really opened up my eyes to the potential of this instrument. I came away with renewed enthusiasm and curiosity, still mostly playing by myself but now looking for ways to connect with other harp players.
I’ve realised more and more since the pandemic just how important it is to mix energy with other people, in positive, fun, friendly and supportive environments. It’s very important to me in my work too, and why I like to teach groups. We’re usually learning drawing and aspects of art together; the ‘together’ bit is really important. In a recent class for the Royal School of Needlework, we had a wonderful difference of interests and experiences, not to mention different cultural knowledge as well.
At the end of these classes I try to persuade people to think realistically about how to carry on with their learning. Set realistic goals: choose two or three short times a week to practise, keep your materials to hand and then review what happened after a few weeks. Have some intention about what you’re practising, which means think about it occasionally and choose what to practise baed on what you are most interested in and want to develop. Be prepared to change the timing, frequency and circumstances of when you practise. Accept that in busy times you may have to reduce or let go of your practice temporarily, and that’s ok. Return and renew the commitment when the time allows. Just don’t stop. Keep taking little steps. Consistent, flexible, persistent.
I run a regular drawing class online each week, for just this sort of encouragement. Short courses in drawing are also available, directly through me or oriented towards stitchers via the Royal School of Needlework. Click here to find out more: https://carolinehomfray.co.uk/drawing/
On 5th May 2022 it will be two years since I ran the first pilot Zoom session for the Royal School of Needlework – it was the last of a three-day drawing course, of which the first two days were delivered in person at Hampton Court.
Learning to mix and choose coloursThe Zoom classroomTonal study drawingTwo years on… my Zoom classroom in May 2022.
The virus moved fast. By 23rd March we were in lockdown, a word I had not been aware of before the arrival of Coronavirus. I had one final drawing session to run of that three day course, as well as a ragular class of my own and a monthly ukulele group session I was responsible for- so lots of things which I wanted to keep going if I could find a way. I ran the first ukulele group session on 24th March 2020, with quite a bit of anxiety and finding the lack of feedback strange – I remember it felt very one way, me projecting outward. But it was better than not meeting at all.
As I remember, I’d spent April getting used to Zoom and training my various students and ukulele group members how to work it. I got my own local drawing class going online on 30th March. I’d run a few sessions for the ukers and my own class weekly so I was in a good position to respond when Noleen, responsible for organising day classes at the Royal School of Needlework, asked me to try the remaining drawing session online on 5th May. I had an old webcam strapped onto an overhead lamp with a bit of masking tape, which I used to show my paper and the exercises during the session, and I used my facilitation skills to help everyone feel engaged and get them all interacting, which can be a challenge in Zoom. Students were so appreciative of the chance to go on learning online. Noleen was very enthusiastic and encouraging about trying it out, and very positive about the results.
The 5th May 2020 final drawing class session worked well enough on Zoom for the RSN to go forward with advertising and running online classes.
Using frames to choose a viewStudy of dandelionColour wheel experiments
Over the next few months I upgraded my tech to a visualiser with high quality definition, organised my space at home more carefully for teaching and redesigned the RSN drawing classes in the summer of 2020 into the current series of 4, which offer a drawing pathway right from the beginning. We ran a massive number of them through 2020. I think I ran the series twice in August, 8 classes in all, and about 4 of the RSN Drawing Flowers classes through May and June in 2020… I’ve lost count of how many classes I have run for the RSN since, and how many people have completed them.
Looking at colourFlower study: developing toneWorking towards a design
It’s interesting to look back on it from this perspective; to remember that time and how strange it was, and what has become normal as a result. People have joined from many countries and continue to do so. I’ve counted students from the US, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Spain, France, Belgium, Russia, and of course all over the UK and Wales, including a remote student in the Isle of Mull in Scotland.
Now, two years later, we are trying to find our way back towards normal life – but of course, some things have changed for ever. We can’t go back to the world we had before, but it turns out that the pandemic provided an opportunity as well as a crisis. One of those unforeseeable changes is that the RSN now has a permanent programme of online learning -for those who would never have come to Hampton Court in the UK, for those who can’t leave home very easily, and for those who are still shielding ‘online’ has opened up a new world.
For myself, my local class going online resulted in a community of students, who met in person at my Drawing weekend summer school in August 2021. I have another drawing weekend planned for this August, and it’s been great to come full circle – to finally meet in person those whom we’ve met and got to know online. More details about that here: https://carolinehomfray.co.uk/
It’s chilly out this morning. Across the river, the grass is a very pale blue-ish green with its coating of frost. The bare treetrunks are dark umber browns, with a surprising cast of purple around the haze of twigs at the ends of their branches. The deep browny purple is lifted by the golden ochre colour of the grasses nearby. Behind, the soft, indistinct masses of hedgerows and trees are the stubtlest hues of blues and purples.
I’m surveying my selection of coloured pencils, tuning in to find the ones which will enable me to create the right hues for the landscape I’m in, how they look to me at this point in the day, in these conditions of light and cold. This red-violet, this ochre, this turqouise blue… how will they work together? I’m absorbed, and even though I’ve seen this view many times a week over the last ten years, I haven’t seen this version of it before.
That’s one of the things drawing does for me; gives me a way to be present, to really look, and look again. It stops me assuming I know what things are, prevents me from getting stale and becoming bored by my surroundings – and how important has that been, since our lives have been circumscribed by the pandemic and kept close to home? What a gift, to have a way to see the familiar afresh.
It’s also a tactile process. I love to focus on the feel of soft, creamy pencils or paint sticks; the sudden burst of colour as water brings a solid paint block to life; the feel of a paint-loaded brush moving across the sandy texture of a heavy watercolour paper. Do I like how the paint sits on this paper, or that paper? Do I prefer the feel of this pencil, as it leaves a trace of pigment from the stroke I make, or that one? Finding materials which feel right is part of the process, grounding and comforting, connecting me with my own tastes in a small but crucial way.
Since March 2020 drawing has become a mainstay, and I am lucky to have been able to share it with my students. Real-life classes which I taught before the lockdowns became virtual, and instead of constricting my world, running them live online has enabled me to connect with others across the country and the world. I’ve had students from the US, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Spain, Brussels, Germany, and Russia join me and share their drawing journey together, many through the classes I teach at the Royal School of Needlework, and some from classes I run. I learn as much from students as they from me, and we have had moments of realisation, empowerment, joy, and laughter as we try things out, explore basic principles, find out what we like and don’t like, discover what we want to express, and how to encourage ourselves in the cradle of a supportive group.
I love to share what drawing gives to me, and to hear what it does for others, so I’m running another class for total beginners live online, starting on Janury 19th. It runs over three weeks on a Wednesday evening, via Zoom, and will be a small and supportive group. There will be plenty of opportunity to share and ask questions, but also no requirement to share if you don’t want to – after all, participants are at home and one of the benefits of that is that you can control your privacy. There wil be some suggestions of things to try between the sessions, and the chance to join one free Thursday evening or Monday morning drop-in session for free after the course, should you wish to. More information is available below on the learning page, and a link to book.
Now available to register your interest for. This is another drop-in drawing session like my Monday morning class, but timed for evening to suit workers and my American friends. Get your drawing gear, whatever you have – a biro and printer paper will get you started. Graphite pencils and some good quality coloured pencils will give you lots to explore. Check out the Drawing Page of my website for more information about materials, and use the contact form there to sign up.
These drop-in sessions are a chance to practise your skills, train your eye and also have a bit of fun. No outcome is required, you can choose the subject matter and what media you want to play with. We share the work of artists we like, think about how their work could influence us, experiment and doodle.
Just some things we’ve played with: ways of framing a composition, mark making experiments, measuring, perspective, colour theory, watery media, pens, doodling, choosing subjects, even drawing with our feet and mouth!
Drawing practice has always been sustaining for me, but in recent months it has often felt like the most grounded, steadying and real thing I’ve been doing.
The reduction of stimulation which happened straight away on the implementation of lockdown restrictions made those things which were left feel very important. My sense of time changed, and what mattered to be done changed. It became easier to spend time scrutinising the structure of a flower, or watch the flight of an insect, and it also felt important in a way it hasn’t before. It has become very clear to me that people have relied on the arts and culture to occupy them and give their lives meaning, and as a teacher of arts it has re-affirmed my commitment to that. The value of culture and art to our society beyond simply the amount of money it brings in as a industry has become much clearer.
I know for some this time has been perceived as a reduction in opportunities. I’m very aware of having been lucky so far, having blessedly stayed well, and those around me have stayed well, and their jobs have been safe. People’s desire for the arts, for learning and for finding meaning has brought me new students, through online teaching. I’m really enjoying having students from Canada, America, Australia and elsewhere in the UK in my classes now. I can think and prepare demonstrations, make video recordings and have found ways to help me share their own images with me and each other for comment.
There’s a real sense in each class of choosing to focus on something with meaning and find ways to keep doing it, keep looking, keep seeing the beauty and keep sharing, no matter what obstacles lie in the way.
THis is a big subject, and I’m realising the foolishness of trying to write a blog post about it, but here’s my initial thoughts anyway.
I and my partner have just returned from a stay at Monkton Wyld in Dorset, a sustainable community. I was really interested in the discussions about community we had while we were staying there, and it gave us much food for thought during the journey home. I particularly wondered what happens to people when they’re ill, or whether people with long term conditions such as ME (chronic fatigue – a few of my friends are afflicted by it) could ever have a place in such a community. At Monkton Wyld there are currently only about 12 resident members, plus short-term volunteers. It would have to be much bigger to accommodate the weak or less physically able, and also to provide outlets for the more specialised forms of human activity, like some skilled crafts such as musical instrument making for instance.
There was an interesting series of programmes on R4 about the history of friendships; apparently the maximum number of meaningful connections a person can have on average is about 100 (it might have been 150, can’t quite remember). Apparently until the industrial revolution that was the average size of the English village. Within a community of this size, certain occupations would be widely called for, others less so. One would need lots of people involved in food production, fewer involved in more skilled tasks (perhaps fruit tree training, or certain sorts of plant propagation) and very few – the musical instrument makers, scientists, thinkers etc. In fact, thinking historically, there have always been some rarefied or highly specialised areas of human activity which have needed a larger population base to make them viable. Musical instrument makers have always been based in larger communities, for example, or been itinerant, perhaps, if their trade allowed – the same principle applies. In modern communities, we need scientists and thinkers, and surely one of the benefits of a larger community is that some people can be freed up to do these less every day tasks, but ones which are have long term benefit.
An impromptu musical evening was initiated by one of the volunteers at Monkton Wyld; she had a considerable talent on the the piano and I contributed a song, teaching the chorus to the others. We had a motley collection of instruments and created an enjoyable evening, but I was left wondering where someone like myself would fit in to a community of that sort. I can garden and could probably learn to cook, but I’m not up to lots of heavy work and my particular skills lie outside the every day and the practical. I felt though that the forming of social ties was greatly enhanced by the evening, and that perhaps this is the true significance of music.
Caroline Homfray 