Back from England, Part 2: Traveling with Makeshift, Limited, and Unexpectedly Good Art Supplies

Faversham: How could anyone not paint?

In today's post I want to talk about what I painted, why I painted, and how I managed with minimal art supplies during my recent multi-week trip to Faversham, Kent.

One of my main reasons for going to England was to experience what my daily life would be like if I chose to eventually live there, even if only part-time, and that would include maintaining my daily writing and painting routine. With that in mind, I made sure to bring a few supplies with me:

Limited, but enough to get me started.

1. One Bic mechanical pencil with replacement leads stored inside the barrel. While not the best pencils in the world, these cheap little Bics are great for travel. There's no need to bring a pencil sharpener and the removable eraser actually works.

2. My beloved Sailor Fude Pen. I can't go anywhere without this Japanese fountain pen originally designed for calligraphy. The unpredictable wackiness of the angled nib lends itself beautifully to what gives any sketch a strong sense of energy: the element of surprise. Together with the pen I also brought a box of black ink refill cartridges.

3. One white Gelly Roll pen. You never know when you need some highlights.

4. Three water brushes: one flat and two rounds. The beauty of water brushes is a) they're self-cleaning, and b) you never have to worry about bringing, or finding, water for painting when you're on location, inside or out. There's no need for jars or cups, and certainly no worries about spillage.

5. Two torchons: one large; one small. These rolled paper stumps are wonderful for blending pencil marks and creating shadows.

6. One Faber Castell kneadable eraser in a cute little box. I rarely use erasers for actual mark-removal, but they are super-useful in the same way the torchons come in handy.

7. Two binder clips. For holding down the pages of my sketchbook.

8. Viviva watercolor sheets. The absolute star of the show. I had never used these before, but so many people had recommended them so highly I thought they would be perfect for my trip. And they were. The "pamphlet-style" design took up no space whatsoever; the colors were intense and required only a tiny drop of water to activate; and they lasted for days--weeks! I didn't run out of paint until the very end of my trip, a full seven weeks.

Just add water!

9. My small but trusty I Love Cats zippered pouch. Super-lightweight, sturdy, and made from recycled plastic bottles, it held all of my travel art supplies with room to spare. It also let people know how much I love cats.

The only thing missing from this whole set-up was a sketchbook, a decision I made on purpose. Besides not wanting to carry the extra weight, I thought it would be fun to buy something in England to remember my trip. What I didn't know is I would end up buying five of them.

The first sketchbook I came across was a small mixed-media spiral-bound tablet made by a company in Dorset: Coffeenotes, named such because their products are manufactured from recycled coffee cups. I loved the size, the cream-colored paper, and especially the strength of the smooth-textured sheets that took watercolor without excessive buckling. I need more!

 

The next one I bought wasn't quite as unusual, but highly necessary: a Moleskine A4 landscape watercolor journal. I used it every day and night for the entire duration of my trip.

 

One small snafu I encountered in Faversham was the lack of dedicated art supply stores and I was lucky to find what I did at the local bookstore, Tales on Market St.

 

 

Despite the small amount of choice, I did manage to buy two more sketchbooks when I popped into a pop-up store at the 1697 gallery (really built in 1697). Handcrafted by a Faversham bookbinder, Bindfulness, there was no way I was going to pass up these unique and very special concertina books.

As if I didn't have enough paper already, I also unearthed a pad of the best, best kraft paper I have every found--in a discount general merchandise store of all places. Tucked away on a bottom shelf, I saw it while I was searching for dishwashing liquid. Finding art paper was much more exciting than the thought of doing dishes, and I couldn't believe the quality, or the low price of this incredible paper. Made in India, the thick, grainy texture has an old-world feel missing from much of the modern kraft or "bogus" paper sold here in the States, a texture I'm always in search of. After a few initial ink sketches, I used the bulk of the pad for black-and-white acrylic background studies, something I wasn't planning to do, but the paint was on a shelf above the paper and I thought, hmm, why not?

After I found paper and paint, I realized I could get all sorts of cheap but surprisingly good supplies at a variety of discount stores: children's gouache and oil pastels; a set of twenty-four watercolor brush pens; a package of three synthetic watercolor brushes; three house-painting brushes; and two throwaway fountain pens. The prices were excellent; I don't think I paid more than $20.00 for the whole bundle including the black and white acrylic paint, which meant that I used every purchase with reckless abandon--the exact way paint should always be used, regardless of price.

Added to my stash of store-bought supplies were the items I gathered on my daily walks and took home to use as impromptu art tools: sticks and stones, leaves and acorns, flower petals, tiny apples, and best of all: seagull feathers.

Not dinner.

Before leaving home I knew I wanted to take some kind of a drawing class during my stay, and the one I found, Mindful Drawing taught by Nicole Antras at Faversham's Creek Creative couldn't have been better.

Entrance to Creek Creative studios and art space. Cake and hot chocolate, too.

 

The class was only for a single Sunday morning, but I learned so much in a few short hours that I continued to use Nicole's techniques and advice for weeks after.

My Faversham mini-studio with a sample of my classwork.

Switching to drawing from painting sent me once again to the discount store (they were beginning to know me by now) for more supplies (yes, I have a problem): this time a spiral-bound pad of heavy-weight white drawing paper (technically the fifth sketchbook I bought) and a generic set of both graphite and color pencils that turned out to be as good, if not better, than fancy-brand pencils I've paid a fortune for in the past. Unfortunately I then had to buy a rather bulky pencil sharpener; so much for bringing my "convenient" Bic pencil from home.

Sketching, and especially painting, in the English climate definitely had its challenges, starting with the constant cold and damp preventing me from doing anything on site. Worse yet was trying to get my paint to dry, even when indoors. It was the same with my brushes; always wet and soggy no matter what I did.

I overcame the "can't draw outside" dilemma by doing my best to memorize colors and abstracted landscape features every time I went out walking, which was every day, and usually twice. As I walked I would also try to give what I was seeing an emotional context that I could explore once I got home. As soon as I got out of my coat, cardigan, scarf and gloves, I would immediately set to work in a sketchbook.

Watercolor brush pens in my Coffeenotes book.

Dark and gloomy. Sheer gothic joy!

At the end of the day I think I did pretty well with minimal supplies and a lot of improvisation; discovering that "makeshift" doesn't always mean "inferior," and in fact can be a high road into a myriad of creative possibilities. Every time I came across new and unexpected supplies I asked myself, "What if . . . ?" the same question I ask whenever I sit down to write, and my answers never disappointed me. Especially when those answers then turned me toward an entirely new direction: a brand new book manuscript inspired by my dark and stormy sketches.

And that's what I'll be covering in Post #3: Writing the Book I Wasn't Supposed to Write. (I tell you, I was busy in Faversham!) Until next time--

Tip of the Day: After buying all those pens and pencils I needed some extra storage and Faversham's numerous thrift stores were the perfect place to buy mugs, jugs, cups and trays for everything from mixing paint to holding brushes. I got what I needed within minutes of entering the stores, but there was one thing I totally overlooked and didn't think of until I was back in Albuquerque: buying art supplies in those same stores. It never occurred to me that thrift stores have art and craft sections and I bypassed what could have been some genuine opportunities. Next time that's precisely where I'll start first.

 

Back from England! Part 1

 

Faversham! Grey skies and all.

Hello, Everyone! The last time I posted it was about my art retreat journey to France and the artwork I did (and didn't do) there. Several months later I'm now back in Albuquerque after a seven-week visit to England where I stayed in Faversham on the southeast coast. 

 

 

Although I confined my stay to a town the size of a bread box, I managed to do so much that a single post won't cover it all. With that in mind, I'll be writing some future posts about not only what I painted during my visit, but also about starting a brand new manuscript inspired by my surroundings. So please consider this current entry as a general overview of what got me motivated to "stay creative every day" and how much fun I had discovering that same motivation.

 

Returning to Albuquerque during the holiday season gave me plenty of time to regroup and go through the pages and pages of manuscript and sketchbook studies I brought back along with three new sweaters and a set of the best drawing pencils I've ever owned (roughly the equivalent of $5.00 from the discount store. Go figure.). It also gave me some time to think about how on earth I had the fortitude to make such a lengthy and productive trip.

The only explanation I can come up with is that in the three years since my husband died I've encountered so many challenges related to loss and grief I've become much braver than I ever could have imagined. Going to France only weeks before leaving for the UK was another confidence-builder. Admittedly, staying in a French art retreat was hardly a grueling test of will-power and determination (other than surviving for nine days without my luggage). Instead, I traveled with a group, many of whom were friends I already knew, and our days were exquisitely pre-planned with food, transport, sightseeing, and art instruction served on a plate, usually with a glass of wine.

This latest trip to England, on the other hand, couldn't have been more different, and that was exactly how I wanted it. Apart from the freezing cold and having to constantly boil kettle after kettle whether for filling the hot water bottle I carried close to my chest like a beloved pet, or for making endless cups of tea just to wrap my hands around the cup for the warmth alone (drove me nuts, people. Drove me nuts.) I learned I could, well, cope and even be happy about. Good thing, too, because it wasn't the weather alone or never quite understanding the recycling system that forced me into a learning curve. I had to learn to not leave the house without an umbrella or my own shopping bag. 

 

My Halloween-themed bag I wanted to use every day! Boo!

 

I had to learn to accept and not go on and on and on about the weather (or at least no more than anyone else), or about never seeing the sun or never being warm enough to sketch outdoors. I had to learn to cross roads without pedestrian markings and never being certain which direction the British "wrong side of the road" traffic would be coming from (impossible for someone who when told to turn left turns right).

I had to get used to near-daily food shopping because my very-typical under-the-counter refrigerator couldn't hold more than six eggs and a cauliflower, and I particularly had to get used to not having access to a clothes dryer because there weren't any. In the end and more than anything else, I simply learned to be resourceful--the most British trait of all! Even on the rare occasions when I was consumed by homesickness: "England is such hard work! It's so cold! My clothes won't dry! Why is the sky so dark? I wanna go home!" had me laughing at the absurdity of my situation and looking for a solution, e.g., wear more clothes! That, and speed dry them with my hair dryer.

And once my fingers thawed out enough to hold a pen, I filled notebook after notebook with what felt like a wealth of material: the perpetual sound of inland seagulls crying overhead; the unexpected rumble of passing trains; the melancholy non-stop patter of rain hitting my windows; a cat slipping through its own swing door fitted into a gothic archway. Over the weeks most everything I did or saw turned into a story-line and I couldn't stop painting or writing about every piece of it, including:

1. The town being so pretty, especially at twilight (which by November arrived very early). Little medieval or Tudor shops and inns, narrow winding streets, green spaces and water in-between made every exploration memorable.  

2. Pops of color. Often I'd be walking along thinking the world couldn't get any grayer than an English afternoon when suddenly I would see a surprise burst of color. The combination of bright oranges or pinks against a moody sky gave me some interesting sketchbook ideas I'm still experimenting with.

Yes, I know the sun is out . . . lasted only a minute or two . . .

 

Quick ink and gouache sketch using a twig. (Brought indoors, of course!)

3. Coffee shops. It took me longer than I thought it would to find the English equivalent of the type of coffee shop I'm used to here in Albuquerque, one where I can sit and write without feeling I'm taking up space or staying too long. Eventually I discovered the cozy, brick-lined basement at The Refinery where I was able to get coffee AND toasted crumpets (we don't have that in the Duke City). I'll be discussing the manuscript I wrote there in another post, but I will always remember writing, writing, writing by hand and with a fountain pen in that little basement. 

 

This ISN'T The Refinery, but I like the bricks!

4. Speaking of little . . . The attic flat I rented was worthy of a novel of its own. Up several flights of stairs in a lovely Georgian home, despite its miniature size and sloped ceilings it turned out to be the perfect creative space for when I wasn't exploring coffee shops. In all honesty I was a bit tall for rooms I'm assuming once housed a much-shorter serving class, and I was in constant danger of splitting my head open like a melon. What made up for having to remember to always duck if I wanted to go through a doorway was the fact the rooms had recently been painted and refurbished and the abundance of light that came through the windows provided much-needed morale. Another benefit was being so well-situated, smack in the middle of where I wanted to be and I could go absolutely anywhere within minutes. 

The view from my bedroom.

 

5. If you look closely at the photo above you will see the unintentional inclusion of a dog, and my goodness, but there were a lot of dogs. Before I go any further, let me say that most people know I'm not what you'd call a "dog person," being a committed member of Team Cat, but after seeing the huge variety of beautifully groomed, well-behaved silky, fluffy, and sleek breeds parading through the streets (Whippets! Collies! Chows! Terriers! Poodles!), even I started to see the charm in owning a little oodle-doodle of some sort. Never in my life have I seen so many sophisticated animals in one square mile. 

 

Stole this off the Internet. No idea who to attribute copyright to, but thank you! Also note summer clothes: not my experience at all.

Besides mistaking the town for the Westminster Dog Show, I basically spent the vast majority of my time as I've already mentioned: writing and painting, plus visiting wonderful people (probably shaking their heads in disbelief now that I've gone: "Yes, she was very strange. Obsessed with laundry!") and walking. I did a lot of walking.

Walking, wherever I am, has been my most reliable grief "go-to" and by now I'm sure I've circumnavigated the entire globe no less than twice, all the while thinking about my husband with every step. This time as I walked through quaint and bustling streets filled with as many prams as pups, or out toward the marshes where all I could hear was the wind, I thought about how much he would have liked being there with me. I thought about how much he, being English himself, would have laughed at all the silly and surreal moments only life in Britain can provide. I thought about how many of the same places I loved he would have also enjoyed stopping in to have a drink, a conversation, a piece of cake (he loved cake!). At the same time I felt confident that going it alone was exactly what he would have wanted me to do at this point in my life, and how very proud he would have been of me for doing so.  

(OK. Not crying. It's a stuffy nose from all that cold weather. Right.)

Next post: What I painted, how I painted, and why: 

Traveling with Makeshift, Limited, and Unexpectedly Good Art Supplies. 

Here's a glimpse of what's to come. See you soon!