Reclaiming our Individual Creativity - the disaster that is Creative Scotland.

Tanya and Stefan from my play Wormwood, about Chernobyl

It came like a bolt from the blue last week, while I was on a Zoom meeting with three fellow arts practitioners. Creative Scotland announced that they were closing the Open Fund, with almost immediate effect. That's the fund to which individual artists, writers etc can apply for a modicum of funding to support new and often experimental projects. Creative Scotland is the body set up to administer funds for the arts in Scotland, replacing the old Scottish Arts Council (a classic case of 'if it ain't broke, why are you fixing it?') The old Arts Council was smallish, responsive and largely responsible. It was also mostly run by arts practitioners, rather than highly paid arts administrators. 

Whether or not the closure of the Open Fund is aimed at prompting the government to come up with more cash, it is just one more example of the way in which support for the arts in Scotland (and to a great extent in England as well) has become focussed on larger groups, production companies, or those facilitating participation, rather than individual creators: artists, writers and other practitioners. There seems to be no acknowledgment that the creative arts are worth supporting for their own sake, and not as some hypothetical means to a fashionable end: wellbeing, community cohesion, inclusion and all the other buzz words and phrases demanded of applicants. Laudable aims for sure, but the fact that CS saw fit to cancel the only fund open to individual practitioners should tell us how little we’re valued.

Under the old SAC I was the recipient of a couple of awards as a young writer – small but very welcome sums that allowed me to work on particular writing projects. Before applying, I could and did contact the Literature Officer, a serious, mature writer who was incredibly helpful in allowing me to assess the focus and aims of my own work. Later, I sat on the literature committee myself, and saw just how effectively that committee – composed entirely of fellow practitioners - made what was essentially a small sum of money go a very long way in supporting individuals to develop their careers, without ever feeling that something extraneous to their creative practice was demanded of them in return. In short, they were never expected to be unqualified but cheap therapists. Committee members like myself did come cheap, because we felt that we were giving something back to an organisation that had supported us. We were paid expenses and had a great spread of interests from popular to literary, from urban to rural.  I sometimes saw myself as the 'rugged populist', willing to defend applicants from the less esoteric end of the arts spectrum.

Creativity was valued in and of itself. Not as a means to an end. 

The Literature Officer could also interact with applicants as a bridge between committee and applicant, telling them why a proposal might have been rejected, advising them about possible future applications.The sums of money were tiny in the grand scheme of things, but a struggling writer, probably doing another job or two to keep the wolf from the door, can make a little money go a very long way. I know I did. In fact I still do.

All that changed with CS and in the process we lost something precious. Badly done, Scottish government. The old SAC wasn’t perfect, and some wrong decisions were made. I remember them well. But it was a damn sight better than what we’re stuck with now. I applied to CS for one small grant to assist with a complicated book project over the ensuing years, at the request of my publisher. The whole process was a nightmare of unanswerable questions about timescales and budgets for a research and writing process that simply doesn’t work like that. I almost gave up, would certainly have done so if my then publisher hadn’t prompted me to keep going. 

I would never do it again. 

The Open Fund has had other problems. Earlier this year, it emerged that a huge sum of £84,555 had been awarded to a theatre director from the Open Fund for development of a show called Rein which - as it turned out - involved not just 'simulated sex' but the real thing. In her statement, the director said that the project was going to be an artistic film exploring themes of sexuality set in the Scottish landscape. 'The sexual elements were an integral part of the project's artistic vision. They would have challenged regressive and exploitative attitudes towards women and queer people.'All of which makes the addition of the Scottish landscape to the proposal seem like a particularly cynical box ticking exercise. 

Following public outcry, most of the money was taken back, but the subsequent stooshie, to use a good Scots word, involved mind boggling discussions about genital contact (presumably and uncomfortably in a Scottish landscape) and whether STI tests were 'industry standard'. Just what industry were they talking about? And if it's the one that instantly springs to mind, why the hell were they applying for public money? 

Call me a curmudgeon but I can't see any of my professional writer colleagues on any of those old Scottish Arts Council committees touching any such project with the proverbial bargepole. And frankly, they would have been right. I don't hold with censorship, but if you want to embark on such a project, why not find other sources of funding. It shouldn't be too difficult. 

Finally, I can see just how much practitioners at the start of their careers are let down by CS. But later career artists and writers like myself are also unsupported and I don't mean financially. I’ve had many conversations with fellow artists and writers about this. You hit a certain age and you suddenly become the unwilling recipient of patronising ‘wellbeing’ projects aimed at fending off your ‘loneliness’, even though you’re still a seasoned professional who might be looking for useful discussion about your work as much as, or even more than, financial support. 

Certainly, in its current incarnation, CS isn’t fit for purpose. It spends a vast amount of money on  salaries such as the Head of Equality, Diversity and Inclusion, earning £48 - £52K, with the Literature Officer considerably less at £25,000 per year. This again should tell you something about the value Scotland puts on its literature.* Not a lot. Perhaps our government should start again, and build something where the practitioners themselves are central to the system. And where people who seem to have a modicum of understanding and experience are in charge of steering through our current choppy creative waters, without falling over so far backwards in an effort to be seen as inclusive that their brains fall out. Not holding my breath, though. Are you?

* Just checked online. The Lit Officer is a part time position. (Why?) So yet again, salaries of which full time practitioners could only dream. 

End of Shift: Summer - another amazing picture by my artist husband!

 

End of Shift: Summer

I'm not sure what else I can say about this new piece of work, except that I think it's amazing. It's big, as well - 3ft by 3ft in acrylics on a stretched canvas. 

It is a companion picture to Alan's earlier painting: End of Shift,Winter. We sold the original of that one some time ago, but prints are still available. This new work is for sale in our Etsy store: the 200 Year Old House. You'll find more images of it there, as well as a few close-ups. The detail is extraordinary. 

For anyone who doesn't have deep pockets, you can still buy very reasonably priced giclee prints of the first End of Shift on Etsy, and prints of this new image will be coming soon.

Do browse through our shop as well - you'll find all kinds of interesting things! 

My Other Half's Art: End of Shift

 I'm going to spend a bit of time this week showcasing some of my artist husband's beautiful work. Alan Lees is, if we want to categorise, an 'outsider artist' although sometimes he's labelled a 'folk artist'. He has had more than one snobby comment over the years, but lots of admiration too. Some of his work, including some of his extraordinary woodcarving, is available for sale in our Etsy Store, the 200 Year Old House

I won't waste too much time talking about this, or attempting the usual analysis of his intentions, but will just show you some pictures so that you can make up your own minds. He's currently working on a new, enormous and wonderful canvas, which is pretty much a companion picture to this one, titled End of Shift, one of his most popular images. The original of this sold long ago, but good prints are still available. 

End of Shift

And here's a detail:

I can't show you the new one yet, since he's downstairs working on it, even as I type this!  If you want to see more of his work, go to his website Alan Lees Artist. 

Artwork: Free to a Good Home. (Or Else ...)

 

My husband, Alan Lees, painted this extraordinary crucifixion scene a few years ago. It's huge and heavy and the frame is hand made of Scottish driftwood. He titled it 'the Execution' and by any standards, it is an amazing piece of work.

He is now talking about chopping it up for firewood. He means it. 

It has been in his studio for so long, and is simply taking up too much space. Dear reader, we have tried to find a good home for it, and so far, we have been unsuccessful. 

The truth is that it took some six months to paint, but now, he would either be willing to accept any reasonable offer for it, or simply to give it away to a good home, a church, a religious foundation or similar. The only proviso is that the recipient has to be able to pick it up themselves. It is large and heavy, but it would fit into the back of a biggish hatchback, the kind of vehicle where you can tip the back seats down. Or a small van. By the same token, we can't parcel it up for sending overseas. If you or your organisation wants to do that, then it's down to you to arrange it. 

But if you'd like to save the picture, it would surely be a small price to pay. 

A couple of years ago we offered it to Christian Aid. They said they would look into it - but they can't have looked very hard, since nobody got back to us. 

Now, Alan has given it till Christmas. Then he'll get the axe out. He is, I have to say, perfectly capable of destroying this. More likely (if we twist his arm because it seems such a shame) is that he may just paint over it. Either way, a somewhat stunning piece of art will be gone, through sheer lack of interest. 

Is there anyone out there who can help?

My Husband's Extraordinary Hand Carved Chess Set - and the insect bite that nearly cost him his life.

                          

My husband, artist Alan Lees, used to be one of Scotland's foremost woodcarvers, making everything from huge outdoor carvings to gorgeous sculptural rocking horses. Then along came serious arthritis, and even more serious mobility problems. He turned his hand to painting in acrylics, which he could do while he was sitting down, and he has had some success with his work in his unique 'outsider art' style. In fact his work has been described as a cross between Lowry and Bruegel.

But that wasn't the only problem. 

Somewhere in the middle of his arthritis treatment, he was in the garden, when he was bitten on the finger by a horsefly, or cleg as they are called in Scotland. At first we thought it was just an insect bite, but within an hour or two, his finger had swollen and he was in excruciating pain. Not only that, but by bed-time he was running a temperature, shivering and shaking. An on-call doctor came out, looked scathingly at his finger and said 'I don't think you're going to die from an insect bite.'

He almost did. 

By the following morning, it was clear that he was very ill indeed. Another doctor arrived and - fortunately - called for an ambulance immediately. That small bite had turned into full blown sepsis. The speed with which all this happened was horrific. 

There followed a nightmare few months. First of all the wound was drained and he was pumped full of antibiotics. By Friday of that week, though, a consultant breezed into the ward and told him he could go home, before breezing out again. I glanced at the finger and thought that it certainly didn't look too good to me. Alan was still in a lot of pain. The junior doctor who came along to do the discharge paperwork also looked at the finger, pursed his lips, looked embarrassed but was clearly much too scared of summoning the consultant from whatever he was doing on a Friday evening. With hindsight, of course, I should have insisted. 

There followed another horrible night of pain and fever. In the morning, I contacted a friend along the road who had trained as a midwife. She came in, took one look at finger and patient and said 'A & E, right now.' You could actually see the infection tracking through his system from the finger. 

Back at the hospital, he was triaged by a hugely competent and sympathetic senior nurse, whisked through almost immediately and again attached to mega antibiotics. 

Mid chess project 

There followed six operations on the offending finger. A very fine surgeon, a specialist in hand surgery, was determined to save it, although even she almost gave up and suggested amputation. The problem was that the cleg had injected something particularly nasty into him. The hospital had to do some kind of culture to find out which antibiotics might work. Eventually, there had to be skin grafts to try to restore the finger that had been practically eaten away by the bug and really didn't want to heal. For a time, there were daily visits to the surgeon's clinic so that the special dressing could be changed and eventually, weeks and weeks later, it began to heal.

The finger is intact, and still works, albeit it's thinner than it was, and less capable. And it responds painfully to anything but the hottest temperatures, so he has to wear a modified glove, covering it most of the time. For a while, he thought he would never carve again. 

But over lockdown, he set up a small workbench at a slight angle, so that he could sit down to carve and work for a few hours each day at smaller, and less stressful items. He mostly worked indoors, until with the warmer weather he could take it outside for a little while. First of all he completed a spectacular high relief carving of the Last Supper. It took many months, but he finished it.

Last Supper, in lime.

Then he designed and made this chess set: the Hapsburgs and the Ottomans, focusing on the battle at the gates of Vienna, in which the Polish Winged Hussars played a key role in the defeat of the Ottoman army. 

Six months later, you can see the finished item. 

It is stunningly beautiful, intricate, detailed - amazing. The Ottoman side is carved in American black walnut - a lovely hardwood. Alan  found a piece in his workshop that he had been hoarding for almost 30 years! The Hapsburg side is in lime. 

The board is hand painted, and the reverse of the board is also decorated. 

It's a wonderful piece (or many pieces) of highly original work and although we're a bit reluctant to let it go, if you have a passion for chess and deep pockets, do contact us. One or two people have questioned whether you could play with such intricate pieces - but because it's made of wood, it is actually pretty robust. Nevertheless - I reckon it's as much a precious, one off artwork as an everyday set. 

Inspired by this chess set, and how much he loved making it, I think Alan is going to carve more chess sets in the future but realistically, he can only make one or two in a year, these will be very rare items, and will be priced accordingly. 

If you'd like to see more pictures, and discover more of Alan's work for sale, including the Last Supper carving, you can go to our Etsy store, the 200 Year Old House. 

My Husband's Amazing Pandemic Woodcarving

Early on in the Covid 19 lockdown, we decided to seize the opportunity of clearing out our garden sheds and - more importantly - Alan's woodcarving workshop at the bottom of the garden. Because Alan suffers with severe and debilitating forms of arthritis, he had spent some years painting, and had hardly used the workshop at all, except as a place to store tools, and occasionally to cut up a piece of wood for framing his pictures. The result was that it had become extremely cluttered. We took our time, and I did most of the heavy lifting and all of the trundling up and down the garden. Good exercise for me. I don't think we had realised just how miserably neglected the place had become. 

If you'd like to see more of Alan's artwork and carving, you'll find his website here.

Buried under a large pile of miscellaneous stuff, we found a huge and beautiful block of lime wood. Many years ago, Alan had been asked by an American customer to carve him a depiction of the Last Supper, and Alan had drawn out the design and started to carve it, before the customer decided that he didn't want it after all. So he had shelved it and got on with other things. Back then, he was making sculptural rocking horses, and doing all kinds of huge outdoor carvings so he wasn't short of work. 

Cue forward all these years - it was early summer, and we gazed at the solid piece of wood - some 30 by 15 inches by 4 inches deep. 'Why don't you finish it?' I asked. So he did. 

Halfway through.

 It has taken him many months but yesterday, he completed it. It was very difficult, because the arthritis affects his hands too, so he could only work for a limited time each day. The other problem is that he can't stand for more than a few moments at a time, so he had to find a way of working that meant he could sit down to do it.   

Fortunately, our clear-out had also uncovered a useful folding workbench, with a tilting facility, that was exactly the right size   for the carving, and that could be set at the right angle. This meant   that he could sit in his comfortable lightweight folding wheelchair, and work away, getting a little fresh air as he did so.

The year and the carving moved on. It took a whole lot longer than he thought it would. This is a highly detailed high relief carving.

Autumn came and with it the usual, west of Scotland wet, chilly   weather. I suggested that he move indoors, so he commandeered  the conservatory, where he could work in warmth and light. And now, in early November, he has just sealed and finished it with some layers of good shellac. 

It is a thing of great beauty. The disciples look as though they are having quite a good time! People keep asking us what we are going to do with it next. Of course, we are hoping to sell it - we need the money - but the price will have to be right. No crafter is ever fully reimbursed for the hours spent on a piece of work, but I'd rather keep this than let it go without Alan being suitably rewarded, especially given his health challenges. And if I'm honest, perhaps because of the subject matter, I for one would rather it went to somewhere like a church, or a museum or a collection where it could be appreciated by lots of people for the minor miracle of craftsmanship that it so obviously is. A friend suggested that it would be good to find an Italian home for it, and I can see what she means. They love and appreciate woodcarving in Italy as perhaps it's never quite valued here.

Meanwhile, we're enjoying it. But all suggestions for its future home, as well as for a woodcarving aficionado with reasonably deep pockets gratefully received! 

If you'd like to see more pictures, you can have a look at it on the Love Antiques site. 

For My Husband, Alan Lees: Ayrshire, Art and Opportunities

End of Shift

For a part of Scotland that is the birthplace of Scotland's greatest poet, as well as the other 'two Roberts' - artists Colquhoun and MacBryde - we do seem to treat our contemporary artists pretty carelessly, here in Ayrshire. If a career as a visual artist is a struggle in most of the UK right now, it sometimes seems to be beyond difficult in this beautiful, historic and generally fascinating part of the world. Mind you, all three Roberts left. So, much as we love this place, I often find myself wondering if we should have done the same.

Tam O' Shanter

Scotland's finest woodcarver.
For some years, my husband, Alan Lees, made a reasonable living as a full time woodcarver. In fact he has been called 'Scotland's finest woodcarver.'

Rocking horses were one of his specialities - big, beautiful, sculptural rocking horses. He must have made dozens of them over the years, all of them with star names like Arcturus and Zuben'ubi, all of them with a time capsule which the client filled with a little parcel of personal documents.

These originals were supplemented by some fine restoration work of antique horses made by companies such as Ayres, the 'Rolls Royce' of rocking horse manufacturers. He would never over-restore, but often a horse had been so badly damaged that only full restoration could save it.

Gorgeous restored antique horse.

Sad old horses.
Sometimes a sad old horse would arrive quite literally as a bundle of sticks in a box.
Occasionally, we would have to pick up hideously damaged and even more badly restored horses (no ears, broken jaws, legs replaced by broom handles, gloss paint, string tails) from inaccessible places.

I remember two of us struggling to carry one large beast down a narrow spiral staircase in a castle. Another owner burst into tears when he saw his old rocking horse miraculously restored to him, as a birthday gift, recreated from the box of charred sticks that had been brought to Alan's studio. Somebody had put it on a bonfire and it had only just been rescued in time.

Outdoor carving.
Alan also used to make huge, monumental outdoor carvings, sometimes from fallen trees that were still rooted in the ground. Examples of his work can still be seen here and there throughout Scotland.

Alan in more active days, with one of his smaller outdoor carvings :
an otter waymarker outside Straiton.

Arthritis strikes
All of this may help to explain why a number of years ago, he fell victim to severe and chronic arthritis, both osteo and inflammatory. So he had to find something else to do, something that didn't involve lifting and walking and hauling large lumps of wood about.

St Patrick and The Snakes

He painted.

He had always done sketches for his carvings, and had attended life drawing classes among other things, so it wasn't too big a leap.  But he was never going to want to paint your average small, safe, rule-obeying local landscapes. He loved colour and he has a vivid imagination.

His art is, I think, extraordinary. Of course I'm biased but I've never seen anything quite like it. There are names for his style of painting - folk or naive art - but real popularity of this kind of work usually comes out of left field, whereupon the critics will jump on the bandwagon and talk about bold colours and child-like vision and so on.

Pictures telling stories.
Alan's work is narrative art too. Many of his pictures tell a story. The colours are vivid, luminous, striking, while the detail is often precise and fascinating. These canvases, some of them quite big, are full of movement and emotion and atmosphere. Sometimes they are nostalgic, sometimes that nostalgia is mingled with an element of hard hitting social observation as in 'Hope' below, which sold almost immediately to an elderly man who told us it reminded him of his own childhood. The same interesting combination can be seen in Alan's paintings of fishing boats, farming and village life.

Hope

I love them and many people who see them seem to love them too. He has sold a surprising number of pictures, when he can show them, when he can get the footfall, when the kind of people who might appreciate them are able to see them. But most of them, alas, don't seem to live here in Ayrshire.

Tattie Howkers

Extending the range.
Of course his physical health means that big city fairs are beyond him. And sadly, we're forced to the conclusion that Ayrshire is just not ready for this sort of thing yet, even though it has provided him with so much of his inspiration.

In an effort to extend his appeal, last year, he painted a range of paperweights and doorstops on Scottish cobbles. I think they are very appealing too, although they don't have the huge 'statement' effect of the big canvases. But then again, they don't have the same price tag either. He has also tried his hand at a bit of 'upcycling' going back to his first love of wood, and painting scenes on small wooden items such as trays and boxes.

Paperweights and doorstops.

Fairs and shows.
We used to do numerous fairs and shows with the woodcarvings, and although Alan sold very little on the day, he did get a great many subsequent enquiries and commissions from people who had seen his work, or even seen him demonstrating, so it was well worth the effort and expense. But craft fairs in this part of the world are not what they once were, and artists definitely struggle. We took part in the very worthwhile Open Studios events here in Ayrshire for a few years, but as exhibitors started to drift away from their own houses and studios, concentrating instead on a series of mini art fairs, it become more and more difficult - and less worthwhile - for Alan to participate.

The Slip

In the teeth of adversity
It has to be said, too, that we have had some challenging experiences while attempting to place his far -from-conventional work in shops and galleries in this part of the world. These include the grumpy gallery owner who when Alan, unable to bend and propped up on crutches, dropped some of the work, stood back with arms folded and watched him struggle. Few were as nasty as that, fortunately, but there are a great many proprietors who shake their heads and say 'Lowry' in slightly patronising 'if you like that kind of thing, that's the kind of thing you like,' tones.

Lowry? Fred Yates maybe. Grandma Moses too. A touch of Bruegel perhaps. Or the brilliant Bill Brownridge in Canada. But Alan's pictures are not really 'Lowryesque'.

Dawn Watch

Damned with faint praise.
We've been sent packing because a gift shop (in Scotland) didn't 'do' Scottish things. We've been told, when attempting to display a couple of pictures locally, that it would cause jealousy among other local artists. We've been asked for exclusivity by businesses that have no intention of placing reasonable orders that would make that exclusivity worthwhile. We have been tutted at, and frowned at, and smiled pityingly at, and damned with faint praise.



Novel inspiration.
I personally have also been put very firmly in my place by an ultra posh young 'expert' at an auction house (not our lovely local one, I hasten to add. They couldn't be nicer.) who rejected Alan's work as 'unsuitable' even though it had been recommended by a very well regarded Scottish artist. 'We get so many requests' he told me. 'We can't take just anyone you know!' I've filed that encounter away under the heading 'inspiration for novels' and since I'm working on a new series of books involving art and antique dealers, it will probably come in very handy at some point.

Alan keeps reminding me of how little Van Gogh sold in his lifetime. He isn't comparing himself with the master, of course, but just pointing out that attempting to sell any kind of art or craft can be a wearisome business and his experience is nothing new.

Coo Tray

I know that a single word in the right ear, a single purchase from the right 'celebrity' would change everything. But I'm also frustrated. Alan can sit and paint, is still bursting with ideas and inspirations. What he can't do is trek about the country to fairs and shows, hauling pictures in and out of cars. And with the best will in the world, I can't do it for him. I have books to write - a new novel before the end of summer, and another project to finish in draft form before the end of the year - as well as book events to attend, proofs to read, Etsy shops to keep up to and blog posts like this one to write.

Teasles

Arts on Etsy
I have, however, set up an Etsy Shop for him, called Arts of Scotland. At the moment, it's mostly stocked with prints, a selection of his paperweights and some of his upcycling, but when I have a bit of time, I will add the full range, plus all the original art we have here at home. We're very happy for prospective purchasers to make an appointment and come here to view his art. Most of his originals are available as very high quality digital prints too.

One thing we no longer do is 'sale or return' although Alan would be happy to mount an exhibition in a gallery. We used to lend out one of the rocking horses until one came back with a coffee cup ring on the polished wooden stand, while another big, valuable horse was almost spirited away by a shop owner, and would have disappeared for good if we hadn't mounted a complicated 'sting' operation to get it back.

Other than that, though, I don't know what else to do apart from pray for a sudden miraculous 'discovery' with Alan as the discoveree. Stranger things have happened!

Meanwhile, if you know of anyone who you think might appreciate Alan's weird but very wonderful pictures, do send them the link to this blog, or to Alan's own website also to the Arts of Scotland Etsy shop where you can browse a few more images and where a lot more will be coming in due course.

The Lighthouse and the Netmender

Cover Art for eBooks.

 There have been some interesting discussions lately, on Facebook and on various writing blogs, about covers for eBooks  - so here's my take on it. I thought it might be informative to make a comparison between a few of my own covers. To the left is the cover image which was commissioned by Polygon for the print version of The Curiosity Cabinet. It was done by James Hutcheson and I think it's a fine piece of work, in rich reds and browns. Central to the story of The Curiosity Cabinet is a Jacobean casket in 'raised work' embroidery. You can see an image from something similar here.  I know that a real cabinet of curiosities was quite different, but the casket in the novel has been on display in the island's hotel for many years, along with its intriguing contents, and this is what the hoteliers have nicknamed it. There's a scene, early in the book, where one of the characters gazes at the casket and its contents and makes the connection that they are all women's things. She finds herself wondering about the person who once owned them. I think it is this scene which is reflected in the cover. I never met James, although I was certainly asked for cover suggestions, during the publication process, and I think my ideas were taken into account.  I know this doesn't always - or perhaps even often - happen. I've heard tales of wildly unsuitable covers inflicted on writers in the name of 'marketing' - covers which would probably mislead readers about the nature of the novel -  and it would be true to say that there are fashions in cover design, like everything else. For a while, it seemed as though every historical novel seemed to display a nearly headless female in fancy dress, a fashion which seems fortunately to have faded!

When it came to deciding on a cover for the eBook version of the Curiosity Cabinet (now in Amazon's Kindle Store) I was delighted when my friend, distinguished textile and digital artist Alison Bell offered to design a cover for me. She's an 'island' person herself, having lived and worked on the Isle of Arran for many years, and she made the cover (below) as an artwork in response to the book itself. She says 'The narrative works on many layers of memory and time, some hazy, some forgotten, but the island's presence is constant, a refuge and a place to grow and start afresh. I wanted the colours to be soft, subtle, muted, with hints of turquoise, like the sea up there. It is a gentle book which drifts into the mind's eye as each chapter unfolds.'
It was a real pleasure to me to have the artist read and respond to my book - yet another of the serendipitious pleasures of Kindle publishing, tricky as the process may be!

I first started thinking about cover art some years ago, when I published a small poetry collection called The Scent of Blue - mostly poems that had been published elsewhere, in literary magazines and anthologies. I used my own photograph for the cover: a closeup of an antique Chinese embroidery. The designer incorporated that image into the overall design. It was very effective and attractive and I've been complimented on it ever since but it certainly made me think hard about cover image reflecting and in some way interpreting contents. I know how complicated is the connection between design and marketing and how many other factors must be taken into account, such as an overall 'house style' or an image that means that a reader will recognise you as a brand . However I do think that in this brave new world of eBook publishing, we should be just a little wary of succumbing to the same pressures that beset conventional publishing.

We need to acknowledge the expertise of artists and designers, and we will need to buy that in. But I think we also need to reserve the right to take some decisions for ourselves. If we are going to become empowered as writers, then we need to take charge of our covers too. And that may mean taking a 'horses for courses' approach. It may mean working with - and giving free rein to - artists who want to read and respond to a text or it may mean giving an artist a definite brief and I suspect the same writer may want to take different approaches for different books.

When the 'artist response' approach works well - as I think it has for the new Curiosity Cabinet cover - it results in the creation of a companion piece of art with a life of its own. There is much  that can be done with this as an image for an individual book, for an individual writer, rather than a branding exercise for a  publisher. I've had postcards made of The Curiosity Cabinet eBook cover, for instance, and they are a promotional tool not just for me and my book but for the artist as well.
 
But I'd be the first to admit that this is only one of a number of possible approaches, for an eBook 'cover' is at once more and less than a conventional book cover. The thumbnail hooks the potential reader in, the larger picture reinforces the purchase. I think we have to examine each project individually. I'm currently working on covers for three of my professionally produced plays which I intend to release onto Kindle, and these covers will have a certain similarity of theme, so that they are recognisable as part of a little series. The same goes for stories. But I'm already planning the publication of my next Kindle novel, and I can 'see' in my mind's eye the way I want the cover to look, the way that I want it to represent what is quite a dark, Gothic, Wuthering Heights-ish sort of tale - albeit with a Scottish setting.
 
All of which leads me to another point - and perhaps a subject for my next post. There is a lot of advice out there. Almost too much. And - of course - I'm only adding to it! When I started out on my writing career, many years ago, there was too little advice. We soldiered on, made mistakes, begged for help where we could find it, and wished that we had learned some things earlier. Now, however, a person with only a tiny amount of experience can represent themselves as an expert. We all need advice, all need to learn, all the time. But when following advice about writing and publishing, do it with your own critical faculties well tuned. If the person giving the advice is an experienced writer or editor, somebody whose work you respect, then by all means take them seriously.  But just be aware that sometimes we have to make our own mistakes and find out what works for us. On the whole, the more experienced the advice giver, the less prescriptive they will be about telling you exactly what you need to do!