I’ve been pondering where my penchant for painting my two passions Rural Lives and the sassy Owd Lasses came from and a common link – but really it’s easy – they’re all about heritage and humour. I grew up on the edge of a Northern town with a whippet called Sam. We spent our free time playing ‘down the fields’ a wonderful new world of freedom for me, after a bridge was built over the railway. It allowed us access to farmland, a pig farm, playing fields full of annoying model aeroplane enthusiasts on a Sunday and eventually meandered to the crematorium – a particular favourite hang out of mine. I was an odd child and looking at this photo the writing was on the wall from an early age I was the epitome of an Owd Lass already…memories of the chafing from that knitted swimsuit still gives me nightmares.
We holidayed on Anglesey, hot, Summer days mucking around in rock pools, spending my pocket money on the first day, in the first souvenir shop I could find, then pestering all week for donkey rides and ice creams. I spent a lot of time during school holidays with my maternal grandparents, both retired psychiatric nurses. They taught me a valuable lesson – how to observe anyone and read their body language, you’re never bored if you have an over active imagination and the ability to find out what people are about, just by simply looking. This new Super Power meant I could be entertained in Post Office queues, on long bus journeys or at boring family parties just by watching…okay some might say staring. I noted everything and found humour in the darkest of places.
My Grandad was also a musician and taught me to play the guitar and my Granny was Irish and taught me to listen out for the cry of the Banshee, that all boys were just after one thing and that it was possible to grow potatoes in the muck from the back of my neck- I never did take to gardening.
I’ve been pondering where my penchant for painting my two passions Rural Lives and the sassy Owd Lasses came from and a common link – but really it’s easy – they’re all about heritage and humour. I grew up on the edge of a Northern town with a whippet called Sam.
We spent our free time playing ‘down the fields’ a wonderful new world of freedom for me, after a bridge was built over the railway. It allowed us access to farmland, a pig farm, playing fields full of annoying model aeroplane enthusiasts on a Sunday and eventually meandered to the crematorium – a particular favourite hang out of mine. I was an odd child and looking at this photo the writing was on the wall from an early age I was the epitome of an Owd Lass already…memories of the chafing from that knitted swimsuit still gives me nightmares.
We holidayed on Anglesey, hot, Summer days mucking around in rock pools, spending my pocket money on the first day, in the first souvenir shop I could find, then pestering all week for donkey rides and ice creams. I spent a lot of time during school holidays with my maternal grandparents, both retired psychiatric nurses. They taught me a valuable lesson – how to observe anyone and read their body language, you’re never bored if you have an over active imagination and the ability to find out what people are about, just by simply looking. This new Super Power meant I could be entertained in Post Office queues, on long bus journeys or at boring family parties just by watching…okay some might say staring. I noted everything and found humour in the darkest of places.
