Hunting midwinter magic

A very optimistic tree lives outside my studio window. Every winter, at about this time of year, I'll look up one day and find that it has suddenly burst into blossom, like a shower of giggling popcorn rolling about in the gusts of wind and rain.

At the foot of the tree, snowdrops, crocus and daffodil shoots are bravely peeping out from the cold, dark, water-logged earth.

But February can catch you off-guard. Just when you think the first fresh lungfuls of spring might be creeping upon us, this last snatch of winter can throw thundering storms at us, lash us with rain and breathe biting frost across the fields.

So, yeah. It's still winter.

However, in recent years, I've come to relish the gift of introspection, the gentle nourishment of rest, and the magical dream-time that winter brings. As an artist – in fact, I'm sure for anyone – it's very important to restock the well of inspiration, and winter is the perfect time to do this.

Here are some things you could try...

Burn candles and incense

Make your favourite hot drinks, add spices

Invest in a cosy throw blanket

Meet with friends to sit around a crackling fireplace and tell stories

Watch nostalgic movies

Listen to beautiful music that uplifts you

Give yourself permission to rest

Mashed potatoes

Listen to the robins who sing at night this time of year

Hot baths with essential oils

Going for walks during the brightest time of the day

Appreciate winter sunrises on sunny days

Spend more time in your PJs

Take time with your journal to record your dreams, ideas or notions of inspiration

Practice gratitude and generosity to remind you that magic is real… and let me know how you get on.

Pearl

Prints are available here

The magic of practice

'If I don't practice one day, I know it; two days, the critics know it; three days, the public knows it.'

The famous violinist Jascha Heifetz apparently once said this to a reporter, and it's something that I keep in mind.

During the summer I have been focussing on a writing project (- will it ever see the light of day? Only time will tell -) and so my painting has been a little neglected.

But the gift of a box of paintbrushes seemed like a good enough sign to pull out a blank page and unscrew a pot of ink.

I braced myself for some terrible work and yes, there it was. But the thing is, to not tale terrible work personally and just keep going.

'It takes discipline. Discipline to work at it every day, like a ballet dancer,' I said to a friend the other night.

'Well, maybe not,' he said. 'I think it's more about mindfulness. Find the joy and wonder in it, like you did as a kid, so that you don't turn the practice of your work into some heavy kind of fight.' I had to admit, I liked the sound of this. 'And then, if you do practice every day, it will be more about habit than discipline, and you'll be taken to the easel in just the same way that you brush your teeth every morning – almost without thinking.'

So there we go. This is my new intention – to reconnect with the joy of practicing, and to allow it to become a daily part of my life.

Pearl

The magic of finding treasure

'The job of the artist is to find treasure in the trash,' says mentor Jamie Catto - or words to that effect.

This really struck a chord with me. I am always interested in the discarded, the lost and the overlooked.

As such, I am often unconsciously scanning the ground for little nuggets of inspiration. Foil hearts, missing earrings, foreign coins, pretty feathers, crushed flowers – these sorts of things turn up often. I'll have a little ponder about the stories behind these objects, and sometimes, this will lead to new ideas for creative projects. 

Recently, a small card blew across my path. In the sunlight, I saw a tiny painting of a luminous figure. So I stooped and picked it up. I turned the card over and was intrigued to find that this was the business card of an artist who is based in Los Angeles. Later that night, I looked her up on the internet, and I felt an affinity with the work – as if it came from a similar world to the creatures that inhabit my own imagination.

So I fired off an email, to see if this artist happened to be visiting my town.

A day or so later, I received a reply:

Hello Pearl,
What a lovely email to receive! I am not certain how my card ended up in your town, but am tickled that it did. I myself have not made it out to the UK just yet, but I like that a piece of my art has.
It's lovely to "meet" you. I looked at your website - what charming, delightful and strange work (strange in the best kind of way...). Glad our paths crossed, after looking through your website, I feel as if we are kindred spirits. I've signed up for your email list, and would like to stay in touch. One can never have too many artist or magic friends!

All the best,
Liz

This is the first time a found object has led me to 'meeting' a new person, and I think this is rather wonderful! 

Pearl 

Picasso and the gangster

'You can't call yourself an artist and not f**king like Picasso!'

He had contacted me on the pretext of wanting a commission, which may or may not have been true.

He was a successful businessman, but the scars on his face and the flinty fire in his eyes belied a tough background. He had the bullet holes in his leg to prove it.

He'd left school with one O'level (in art) but took the opportunity of a stint in prison to catch up with his education before forging ahead with his own businesses. And developing an unnerving habit of dancing and driving at the same time while flying women around in his screaming black Ferrari.

'How did you do it?' I asked.

'I put myself in situations where there is no option of failing,' he replied. 'There is no Plan B.'

He also opened my mind to a whole new level of reality that I didn't know was there – a reality of big ideas, no limits and the magic of humankind. He gave me a copy of Don Quixote, printed in 1861. 'Keep believing in your dreams.'

The day after I admitted that I didn't really 'get' Picasso, I found myself on a plane heading to Barcelona, where we visited the Picasso Museum.

Of course, the liaison didn't last, but my appreciation of Picasso has.

Pearl

'Le Rêve' (The Dream), Pablo Picasso