STITCHING TAILS ON TIGERS.

My winter whiskers are gone under the clean shaven razor of a longed for spring. Only a week ago we were in a cold spell more brutal than we had experienced all winter. What remain of the daffodils are now struggling to put on a show, but in parts of the garden the combination of freezing temperatures and gale force winds has left them ragged and shabby. The first leaves and shoots of cotoneaster, fuchsia, rhubarb, gooseberries and currents are now crisp and brown. Nature will now sulk in recovery for a week or so before attempting any regrowth.

It hardly seemed possible that during those arctic days of Easter week that the MacTV crew were filming. The timing seemed perfect for a disaster epic or survival film, but not really what was expected for a children’s fantasy. At the beginning of the week they put a brave face on it telling me that when filming in the Hebrides they were used to such conditions. They were to be using my kitchen and the bedroom over, and fortunately for them with the Rayburn lit these were the two warmest rooms in the house.  Meanwhile I retreated to the stove in the studio, and stitched away while trying to ignore the drifting snow and howling winds. It was not all grey skies and typical of these western isles the elements managed to chuck everything at us including sun during the course of the day. Continuity was going to be tricky with snow that arrived overnight lingering unusually for most of the day, while storm clouds circled between violent hail storms and sun.

 The view from the studio was in constant flux, but a brief few hours of sun allowed the crew to film a short scene in the shelter of the old byre below. And if the weather wasn’t challenging enough there was all the covid restrictions and regulation to respect. Mid-week I had my second vaccination and once again marvelled at the slick organisation involved. I could now get on with some serious antibody production, as well as stitching tails on tigers.  

It really isn’t as difficult, or dangerous as it might seem. The secret is pipe clearer, and what would we creative people do without those multi-coloured sturdy flexible friends. This is the only purchase that I require since over the years I’ve accumulated an extensive collection of Harris Tweed yarn in all there myriad of tones and colours. Since the decline in tobacconists and pipe smokers I imagine there must be more customers using them these days for craft work.

The starting point of any stump work embroidery always begins on a smaller round frame, with the stitching of all raised areas. For some unknown reason, and despite these images taking months to complete, I’d started work on two large cats, a tiger and a leopard. One ear of each large cat was completed, cut out and attached before the remainder of the head was embroidered. Although this work is for the moment in two dimensions, there is a need to think ahead of what the animal will look like once padded out. The same goes for the tails as they are stitched separately from the bodies. Once cut out they are then attached around the pipe cleaner and any uncovered areas overstitched to disguise the join. The wire of the pipe cleaner is then fed through and attached to the embroidered animal in the appropriate place.

 

Meanwhile the base fabric is stretched on the stand and a rough placement decided on. The animal is then sewn to this support starting with the head stuffing out with cotton wool as you go. To get a good sculptural quality this is done in small section to obtain muscular and limb form. After a week of stitching, I find this one of the most exciting points, seeing the two dimensional transformed into relief. Having done a very rough preparatory sketch, this is now transferred to the backing canvas and those foreground areas that require padding are now stitched as with the animals on a separate thinner support. This support fabric is thinner simply to make it easier to manipulate and obtain a good form when padding out. The leopard is destined to be high on a rock outcrop with distant views while the tiger will be in dense jungle. There has been progress on both images. Some may even recall I was working on a panther and lion two years ago, the result of which inspired me to continue the big cat collection.

There now follows a few months of embroidery to discover the full image. I often hear the comment that I must have tremendous patients, but this part is constantly fascinating as each small group of stitches begin to reveal another part of the picture that up to this point has not existed beyond that vague colourless sketch in my head.

It is important to me to hold no fixed idea of the end result, since this could only serve to dampen the sense of discovery. There are no mistakes to be made, when embroidering freestyle, rather than copying a kit form image. I don’t have the patience for that.           

I'M DREAMING OF A WHITE EASTER.

 

There’s a special light beyond the curtains, an impossible radiant light that from such a small aperture should not be filling the bedroom in such a way. And I know it’s been snowing. A childish excitement urging me to be up and out. There is no time for a sneak-peak, the room too cold and I pull on layer after haphazard layer of clothing, with total disregard as to what I might look like. With the curtains drawn I see that for once the forecast was not wrong. Easter Monday had been the start of filming and in blizzard conditions I had marveled at how they had managed to get all the interior shots they required and only eight minutes behind schedule. Timing is everything along with good planning, and they assured me they were used to this sort of thing when filming in the Outer Hebrides. But blizzards at Easter, surely not. When they’d been to do a reconnoiter of the house in mid-March it was fine, and I had imagined by early April with the daffodils out it would be looking perfect for a children’s fantasy film. When they came to do the set preparation the sun was out to the point that they sat outside for a picnic lunch. It seemed impossible that in three days there would be snow, surely not, the forecast must have got it wrong again. On Sunday the wind came belting in bitter from the north, north west snapping and I was thankful that spring in the form of tender new shoots had for the most part not yet arrived. My walk out onto the moor had been a determined stagger, headlong into the wind rather than the usual stroll up the quarry track.

After a morning of lashing horizontal rain the afternoon brought a change with clearing skies and the temptation of sun. I’d already been blown up to the top of the hill to post two letters and doubted if I’d manage to battle my way back, so instead I completed the New Tolsta loop on the lower road. Back in my studio I wondered if Donald and the dogs would be venturing out, and by three o’clock could wait no longer. This might turn out to be the only dry point of the day, and with that snow forecast it was now or never. So, fully waterproofed I headed of on the quarry track to the moor. I got no further than the quarry when a light shower stinging my face forced me to seek shelter behind Mackay’s digger. It passed quickly and I continued head down, resolutely determined, plodding my way up the track. At the first bend the blustering wind increased as I proceed my random staggering into the north westerly. There is nothing better than experiencing the full force head on, however I wasn’t prepared for the blast at the final bend that brings Loch Diridean and the distant high ground of Muirneag into view. It hit me sideways and nearly had me off the track into the adjacent peat bog. The end of the track, and my goal was in site and I wasn’t turning back till I’d reached it. At the end I sat watching the surface of the loch turn from ripples to waves, and far out across the moor towards Barbhas darker clouds approached. No lingering today, and so I turned to be unceremoniously nudged back along the track, feeling like a child being less than politely ushered from a room where his presence was not required. The forceful and random hand of nature encouraging me towards the door. As I staggered back down the track the wind abated until at the mill burn there was barely a breath of wind. How could there be such a difference, or was this the storm over. One glance at the scudding clouds told me otherwise and reaching home a final gust hurled me towards my front door. I could feel the air pressure from within as I pushed it open and it closed firmly behind me. Time for tea and toast well earned. Even then I doubted that snow would be here in 24 hours, maybe on the mainland, but not here.

The gritter was round early on Easter Monday, but today no sign of any vehicles. There would be no film crew today as they were scheduled to shoot within the comfort of Stornoway Arts Centre. Here those daffodils that showed above the snow looked as if they've had enough, defeated by the wind chill factor. I would have a calm days stitching with no need for chocolate eggs or any other light than that which came from the window. A whiter than white, blue bright snow light.