To be in England in the Spring
Spring finally feels as though it has arrived and wildflowers are shooting up everywhere. Nothing quite says Spring in England than native bluebells in a shadowed wood.
I am delighted that one of my Laceweeds and a couple of other pieces sold and helped to raise funds for Canine Partners at the Oxmarket last month.
Art Textiles Made in Britain opened Concealed at the Minerva Gallery, Llanidloes, Wales
the exhibition continues until June 3 I am also taking part in the National Open Textile Exhibition, Funky Aardvark, Chester.(Rosie James from ATMIB is also exhibiting.)
the exhibition continues until June 3 I am also taking part in the National Open Textile Exhibition, Funky Aardvark, Chester.(Rosie James from ATMIB is also exhibiting.)
A wide view pic of the exhibition feature below.
You can see some more images and examples of work in progress by the participants on the course on this link on Youtube
My Summer School at West Dean College is full as are many of my other summer courses. You can see all my forthcoming courses on this link including a workshop in the French Alps with Alpine Experience in August and at Logie Steading in September with Diva Design Studios.
I can also announce I am back to Australia March-April 2018 with Fibre Arts Australia. Amazingly my course at Ballarat sold out overnight so more are being offered. Check the site FAA for further information. I will update with details of other venues in Queensland and New South Wales as they are confirmed.
Time for a cuppa I think and dwell on a poem by Anne Bronte about the glory of the glimpses of bluebells:
A fine and subtle spirit dwells
In every little flower,
Each one its own sweet feeling breathes
With more or less of power.
There is a silent eloquence
In every wild bluebell
That fills my softened heart with bliss
That words could never tell.
Yet I recall not long ago
A bright and sunny day,
'Twas when I led a toilsome life
So many leagues away;
That day along a sunny road
All carelessly I strayed,
Between two banks where smiling flowers
Their varied hues displayed.
Before me rose a lofty hill,
Behind me lay the sea,
My heart was not so heavy then
As it was wont to be.
Less harassed than at other times
I saw the scene was fair,
And spoke and laughed to those around,
As if I knew no care.
But when I looked upon the bank
My wandering glances fell
Upon a little trembling flower,
A single sweet bluebell.
Whence came that rising in my throat,
That dimness in my eye?
Why did those burning drops distil --
Those bitter feelings rise?
O, that lone flower recalled to me
My happy childhood's hours
When bluebells seemed like fairy gifts
A prize among the flowers,
Those sunny days of merriment
When heart and soul were free,
And when I dwelt with kindred hearts
That loved and cared for me.
I had not then mid heartless crowds
To spend a thankless life
In seeking after others' weal
With anxious toil and strife.
'Sad wanderer, weep those blissful times
That never may return!'
The lovely floweret seemed to say,
And thus it made me mourn.
In every little flower,
Each one its own sweet feeling breathes
With more or less of power.
There is a silent eloquence
In every wild bluebell
That fills my softened heart with bliss
That words could never tell.
Yet I recall not long ago
A bright and sunny day,
'Twas when I led a toilsome life
So many leagues away;
That day along a sunny road
All carelessly I strayed,
Between two banks where smiling flowers
Their varied hues displayed.
Before me rose a lofty hill,
Behind me lay the sea,
My heart was not so heavy then
As it was wont to be.
Less harassed than at other times
I saw the scene was fair,
And spoke and laughed to those around,
As if I knew no care.
But when I looked upon the bank
My wandering glances fell
Upon a little trembling flower,
A single sweet bluebell.
Whence came that rising in my throat,
That dimness in my eye?
Why did those burning drops distil --
Those bitter feelings rise?
O, that lone flower recalled to me
My happy childhood's hours
When bluebells seemed like fairy gifts
A prize among the flowers,
Those sunny days of merriment
When heart and soul were free,
And when I dwelt with kindred hearts
That loved and cared for me.
I had not then mid heartless crowds
To spend a thankless life
In seeking after others' weal
With anxious toil and strife.
'Sad wanderer, weep those blissful times
That never may return!'
The lovely floweret seemed to say,
And thus it made me mourn.
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