Just spent two thoroughly enjoyable days at the Brewery Arts Centre in Kendal, grasping the basics of japanese wood block printmaking in the congenial company of similarly minded people and tutored by the lovely Laura Boswell.  We all got somewhere and were all well aware that we still have a long way to go, and it was great.

I've been here before - trying out japanese wood block printing, I mean.  Last time, some years ago, nothing clicked anywhere and I really thought I'd abandoned it forever.  But I saw Laura's work at her open studio last year and again at the printfest in Ulverston this year, so when I discovered that she was going to run a (reasonably) local course, I thought I'd have another go.  For whatever reason - and obviously excellent teaching was a very large part of it - this time I had no problem at all taking everything in and I really enjoyed the whole process.  It managed to be very similar to and at the same time very different from my previous experience, and although I doubt my levels of perseverance in the long term (I have form), I shall definitely set off into the future with good intentions. 

Colour junky as ever, of couse.  Unusually for me, I wasn't entirely disappointed with initial results (I never expect to produce anything I remotely like during an actual course), though the usual course problem of too much in too short a time did kick in before the end.  Something like a bell curve distribution?  And much more care both with clearing away unnecessary wood and with applying paint more accurately is required - but come on, very early days.  Also more space, more time, more brushes, more colours (not necessarily all in the same pic!), though I am fully aware that, given a warehouse all to myself, I could still use up every surface and need more.  But look - even blotting off massively excess ink on to a scrap of newsprint produced something I liked.  As I so often say - entirely sincerely, I should point out, whatever the actual evidence might imply -  I must try this again, and soon.

I seem to have allowed myself to be talked into helping out on the Hot Bed Press stall at the Northern Art Carbooty this coming Sunday - who knows what that'll be like?  Excitingly busy, I like to think.  Our table will be full of all sorts of printmaking goodies looking for appreciative homes (and remember, there's never a wrong time of year to stock up on presents - they don't have to be for other people).

Honestly, I go away for a week's holiday (fantastic, thanks) and when I come back summer seems to have nipped off for a holiday of its own, leaving autumn in its place to get in some practice for later - well, I'm assuming it's for later.  Right now it's breezy (as the bird-planted rose bush batters itself repeatedly against the house), distinctly nippy, and I'm assuming there was abundant rain during my absence - the already flamboyantly overgrown garden looks denser, and greener, than ever.  Thank goodness it's only small. 

Not that I mind - autumn has always been the season I look forward to most, with its gentler light and fading colours, and a pleasantly self-indulgent melancholy as everything starts to shut up shop in readiness for winter.  It rarely lives up to all those picturebook images - sunny but brisk days, the sort of weather for venturing out in chunky jerseys and cheerful scarves; trees dressed in a vast range of colours, from soft, buttery yellows to deep mahogany; rare counterpoint days of gusty winds and driving rain, with armies of ragged, bedraggled umbrellas abandoned across town centres.  But although I know that what we're most likely going to get is constant, warmish drizzle, in which rainwear is ever-present and the leaves turn blackly mottled and drop off the trees with a splat, every once in a while the season does match up to its publicity images. 

Whatever, another thing I like about autumn is that new term feeling of a fresh start.  It's the same after a holiday - just now I have dozens of half-formed ideas jostling for position (they need some scaffolding, soon, or in a few weeks' time I'll be lamenting that I have no ideas at all).  Holidays don't have to make ideas happen, but they do seem to give them space to germinate.  Must firm up some projects and get to work.

Enjoyed Tessa Farmer's tiny, destructive Unwelcome Visitors careering their way through the Holburne, Bath.  I didn't really have enough time, but I wasn't sure if I'd have another opportunity before the show ends in September, so I decided a short trip was better than none.  I hope I do go back, though - reading about it afterwards (as is my contrary wont), I discovered that I'd missed quite a lot - the 'visitors' were so well integrated into the displays that quite often I assumed things were part of the original and moved on too quickly, without enough attention to what was there.

For me, the whole thing was finely balanced between delight at such a  brilliant conceit, jaw-dropped awe at some of the miniscule craftsmanship and (I confess) a touch of squeamishness in the face of some of the exhibits - intimidatingly large ants, for instance (not desperately keen on ants at the best of times), and a generously sized caterpillar, squashily skewered on a stick.  I had occasional difficulties with what appeared to be varying scales, too, but I think more attention to the work might solve those.     

On to the Hot Bed Press Wayzgoose this last Friday and Saturday - essentially one of their occasional 'under-the-bed' print sales, with much added letterpress this time as well as a handful of printmaking demos.  When I looked through my planchest drawers a couple of weeks previously for old prints to put in the sale, I discovered not a lot, so I decided to complete a small edition of a tiger print (I started it three, four years ago and then abandoned it at the time so that I could do the same image rather bigger for the 20:20 print exchange).

I know that people do turn up, look round and leave again empty-handed, because I saw a couple at the very start, but it's rare - most of us end up leaving with something new to put on the wall, and many with lots of somethings.  I was unusually restrained, but I did acquire just a few things, including a lovely inky blue lithograph of a crow by Katy Hollinshead (the charcoal-coloured version is in the picture below right).

And finally 'Around the World in Eighty Days' at the Royal Exchange.  It was just fantastic, inventive fun from start to finish.  I suppose some of the more slapstick elements could have been too much if I'd been in a different mood, but as it was, I just thought it was all great, from Phileas Fogg's beautifully timed daily routine at the beginning to his wedding with Aouda at the triumphant finish.  The train carriages!  The ship scenes!  The elephant!  The slo-mo fights!  So many brilliant, ingenious things.