Mulled wine, I really want some mulled wine...having returned to the shire from
another epic journey, my mind has started its November cravings fairly early.
The six day pout is now wearing off, having missed my two best friend's
Wiccan blessing at the Cleave (all gothic faeries and steampunk I am to believe)
but the coming winter solstice should rectify that with another wonderful
get together of mooky individuals.
Another strange and re-emerging obsession is my winter wardrobe. A previous post
concentrated on the average Dartmoor based girl's leg and the seemingly impossible
task to find boots that agree with the dimensions of the calf....well, my calf.
It has taken several more trips to Exeter where we found the most incredible retro
shop that was packed to the ceiling with so many wonderful things that boot
purchase was immediately struck from the menu. "Oooo, a rack of PVC
goodies, gothic dresses, corsets, burlesque retro rockabilly.....aaarrggh my head's
going to implode" I shouted, actually my head didn't but purse did as the money
simply shot out of it and into the shop's cash register.
Yet another strange thing was the "what am I going to paint the next series of
paintings on" question that kept cropping up, right up to the point of me walking
into a shop that had a HUGE SAIL (they spelt it wrong) on art supplies.
There, at the back of the shop was a 'buy one canvas, get another free' deal. Well
what can I say to that, so then proceeded to pull all of the largest ones out of the rack
to check them for flaws and wonky stretchers. Unfortunately (and there is always
an 'unfortunately' when Amelia Vanstone goes shopping) one of the canvasses
clipped a rather impressive display of cook books that were stacked (a tad excessively
I should add) right next to me and set forth a series of events in the from
of a book based chain reaction. Ainsley Harriot head butted Jamie Oliver and in a
manner that the leaning tower of Pisa will eventually take, went crashing over
the rest of the art supplies. A stand of marker pens was the next victim
of the carnage as they ended up spinning across the shiny floor and under tables,
customer's feet and more book cases. One of the assistants suddenly materialised
and tried to stop the onslaught but accidentally caught another huge
pile of books with his arm, this went crashing over a stand of cards knocking
them all over the floor. Eventually, the chaos stopped and I stood there still
holding the perpetrator of the destruction, namely the inanimate canvas.
With a slightly embarrassed and cheesy grin, I feebly announced "I'll take these
two please" to the assistant who between huffing and puffing as he picked
various items up, was giving me an extremely hard stare.
The two canvasses are now safely back in my studio as I reflect on the very
strange month which passed before me. Next week I am going to make a point
of avoiding over-stuffed bookshops, over stuffed retro shops, over stuffed Costa
coffee shops (that deserves an entry all of it's own) and make it a mission, no,
a crusade, to restore order to my chakras in the form of lower legwear in
leather, where the zip actually goes up and down and I become a happy bunny
for the winter months without resorting to turning art supply vendors into
a place that resembles a Beirut war zone.
another epic journey, my mind has started its November cravings fairly early.
The six day pout is now wearing off, having missed my two best friend's
Wiccan blessing at the Cleave (all gothic faeries and steampunk I am to believe)
but the coming winter solstice should rectify that with another wonderful
get together of mooky individuals.
Another strange and re-emerging obsession is my winter wardrobe. A previous post
concentrated on the average Dartmoor based girl's leg and the seemingly impossible
task to find boots that agree with the dimensions of the calf....well, my calf.
It has taken several more trips to Exeter where we found the most incredible retro
shop that was packed to the ceiling with so many wonderful things that boot
purchase was immediately struck from the menu. "Oooo, a rack of PVC
goodies, gothic dresses, corsets, burlesque retro rockabilly.....aaarrggh my head's
going to implode" I shouted, actually my head didn't but purse did as the money
simply shot out of it and into the shop's cash register.
Yet another strange thing was the "what am I going to paint the next series of
paintings on" question that kept cropping up, right up to the point of me walking
into a shop that had a HUGE SAIL (they spelt it wrong) on art supplies.
There, at the back of the shop was a 'buy one canvas, get another free' deal. Well
what can I say to that, so then proceeded to pull all of the largest ones out of the rack
to check them for flaws and wonky stretchers. Unfortunately (and there is always
an 'unfortunately' when Amelia Vanstone goes shopping) one of the canvasses
clipped a rather impressive display of cook books that were stacked (a tad excessively
I should add) right next to me and set forth a series of events in the from
of a book based chain reaction. Ainsley Harriot head butted Jamie Oliver and in a
manner that the leaning tower of Pisa will eventually take, went crashing over
the rest of the art supplies. A stand of marker pens was the next victim
of the carnage as they ended up spinning across the shiny floor and under tables,
customer's feet and more book cases. One of the assistants suddenly materialised
and tried to stop the onslaught but accidentally caught another huge
pile of books with his arm, this went crashing over a stand of cards knocking
them all over the floor. Eventually, the chaos stopped and I stood there still
holding the perpetrator of the destruction, namely the inanimate canvas.
With a slightly embarrassed and cheesy grin, I feebly announced "I'll take these
two please" to the assistant who between huffing and puffing as he picked
various items up, was giving me an extremely hard stare.
The two canvasses are now safely back in my studio as I reflect on the very
strange month which passed before me. Next week I am going to make a point
of avoiding over-stuffed bookshops, over stuffed retro shops, over stuffed Costa
coffee shops (that deserves an entry all of it's own) and make it a mission, no,
a crusade, to restore order to my chakras in the form of lower legwear in
leather, where the zip actually goes up and down and I become a happy bunny
for the winter months without resorting to turning art supply vendors into
a place that resembles a Beirut war zone.
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