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Hurray a weekend!

We really should have stayed home today, cleaned the house, sorted the garden and other similar chores sadly overdue.  But the weather forecast was hopeful, and the tides were right, so we abandoned our dusty house and overgrown garden and ran away in the canoe instead.

Still haven't quite got this tide thing down.  We set off up the Tamar on a rising tide, but it turned before we would ideally have liked, and we ended up paddling very slowly upriver,  against the current, the wind and the tide starting to go out again.  

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Elf princess Rosie Roo



Because of Rosie's long aristocratic nose, and tendency to look down it disdainfully, her elegant form, her pointed ears and ability to float lightly over muddy ground,  I said that Rosie must be an Elf Princess.  After some discussion with Pp, we agreed that if Rosie was a Middle Earth Elf Princess, she would be Aredhel, White Lady of the Noldor.   Because Aredhel is the princess notable for not staying where she is told to, but instead unwisely bogging off and doing her own thing, with unpredictable results.

So here is Rosie, imagining herself as Aredhel. 

Wah, drattit!

Why is it that buying a particular art supply instantly guarantees that I don't want to make that sort of art??

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Aya Findekano!


Embiggen
!

Illustration for hhimring's Song made by Rian to welcome Fingon on his visit to Hurin at Nen Lalaith.
I loved the idea of the setting: a domestic frame for Fingon, High King of the Noldor, given an edge by being placed at the very end of the years of hope before the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.

Rian is singing her song to welcome Fingon to Nen Lalaith.  Morwen is stepping forward, ready to greet the visiting Elves. Until a minute ago, Hurin was down by the stream, showing his little son Turin how to hunt for freshwater crayfish, but when they saw Fingon approaching in the distance, Morwen sent him inside to put a clean shirt on.   Huor is sitting on the steps out of shot, looking admiringly at Rian: they are not married yet.  Morwen is pregnant with her daughter Lalaith, but the bump isn't showing much yet.  

Developed from my previous pastel sketch: I decided that the amount of detail needed ruled out pastels, so this is a painting in acrylics.  The bridge is based on Chiselcombe bridge near Watersmeet in the Lyn Valley: a bridge built strangely high and airy among steep woods, because it was constructed soon after the Lynmouth floods of 1952.  I thought the Lalaith might have similar flooding issues. 
I spent two hours yesterday walking, and then running through increasingly darkening woodland in woeful pursuit of Rosie Roo, who had somehow lost me.

In the woods, where black shapes of trees stood starkly against the darkening sky, strange noises came out of the dark: most notably a vast grumbling hissing rumble which I cannot explain except by introducing a dragon.
I became convinced Rosie had somehow got into a field and had been trompled by cows, for the cows were wild and frisky and kept gallopping about madly in the manner of cows that have seen a dog and trompled it.   But Brythen assured me that all would be well.  I was covered in mud, soaking wet and well scratched by this time so it was all very hurt/comfort.

At last, we heard a terrible unearthly wailing upon the mire, which turned out to be the missing hound, who had finally looked around and realised I was no longer behind her, and therefore believed I had abandoned her.  She was very pleased to see me, when Brythen and I finally staggered out of the bushes (well, I staggered.  Brythen pranced, strong, elegant and not even muddy).
If there is a next time, I am just going straight back to the car, since clearly she has no difficulty finding her way back there on her own, and she, too, was not even particularly muddy. She stood there glowing in the moonlight like a unicorn, only prettier.

Whoever is scripting this stuff seems to have absolutely no concern for realism or indeed my dignity.

Drawings of the Day

So I recently decided I was going to try to do a drawing a day.  Not necessarily a complicated drawing, but just a drawing of some kind.  The first day, I did a quick sketch inspired by a post by topum, about having to run to escape attack by geese.  I have no idea what topum looks like so this is very much a quick artistic representation of the whole geese problem.

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Sssssshhhh. Floopy dog is snoozy.

This morning, Foster Mr Ruggie was excited by the wind in the grass and did his level best to run with the lurchers.  They ran in huge fleet-footed elegant circles, and he bounced madly in the middle like an over-excited hearthrug, flollopping happily and yipping.

And then this evening he sniffed All the Things, went for a paddle in a stream, and met a flatcoat and a cocker spaniel.  And now...



He's still waking up at 5am, for some mysterious reason, and barks madly until I come down and sleep on the sofa, at which point he happily goes back to sleep (but he won't let me get away with sneaking back to bed: I've tried).   His back legs feel a lot better, particularly the right one, which actually feels like a proper leg with muscles in it now.  The left back leg is a bit less solid, but it still feels less like a hairy bag with a bone inside it, which has to be a good thing.

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Random Mine of the Day: Wheal Sheba

I thought I'd run out of the most conveniently located Random Mines of the Day near my house, but I'd managed to completely miss Wheal Sheba, near Luckett.



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A disgruntled horse & Robin of Sherwood

I just ran a reference search for a man riding bareback on a horse, and got this naked man. The naked man is not particularly the funny part.  That is the horse's expression.  That is what made me cackle.

In unrelated news, I had forgotten the ending of Robin of Sherwood, and my initial reaction on rewatch is that it is just awful.[Spoiler (click to open)]Marion decides life as an outlaw is all too stressful and goes into a nunnery after finding Robin dead, only he isn't really dead and turns up within hours for a dramatic parting scene, in which she reiterates that the whole Dead Robin thing is just too much.

On reflection though, I'm coming around to it.  I was never quite comfortable with Marion transferring her affections so automatically from Robin I to Robin II (I'm fine with the idea of Two Robins: I like the idea of reflecting both origin-stories) .  Maybe Marion never really fell for Robin II, perhaps she just found herself being pushed by the story into a relationship with him?  In which case, perhaps it does work that she should decide to look for something else to do elsewhere, and I suppose 'nun' is really the only other career available to a medieval gentlewoman that isn't 'wife'.

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The evenings are drawing in

And it turns out that if you canoe upstream when the tide is coming in, you can travel a surprising distance before the light goes, and then, if the tide is still coming in, it can be rather hard work to make your way back down to the slipway where you launched.  And putting the canoe back on top of the car in darkness is a bit of a fiddle.

On the other hand, you get to see the sunset, the twilight, the moon-reflections and the bats, and hear the owls calling across the river.

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