Her Craft or Sullen Art:

(Apologies to Dylan Thomas). We are (as you may have gathered) long since empty nesters, though our kids do still visit (at least one of them on average) practically every day. We recommend this. If you are nice to your kids they may just grow up to not hate you. Ours are unlikely however to use their bedrooms ever again as they have houses of their own nearby, though I expect their children might!

Della has long since longed for their bedrooms to be transformed into her Craft Room. You may also have gathered that we made this house ourselves. Every saw cut, every nail driven…even the bricks we made and laid ourselves. You can save a lot of money this way, and you learn a lot, skills which can be applied to many things. However, this may be why it is never ever quite finished.

Here are some snaps of the current metamorphosis of two of the kids’ adjoining rooms into Della’s new work area. We have taken out a wall and closed the gap with concertina Victorian four panel doors (the same as we have throughout the house). When she needs the extra space she can open them up. If people need to stay there is still sleeping accommodation and the rooms can be closed up again. It would probably have been better is we had made the rooms this way in the first place. I would if I had my time over again. Well, there are probably many things I would have done differently, but even more I would not have!

2016-06-21 14.50.17 comp 2016-06-22 15.37.28 comp 2016-08-01 15.03.20 comp

In My Craft or Sullen Art

In my craft or sullen art

Exercised in the still night

When only the moon rages

And the lovers lie abed

With all their griefs in their arms,

I labour by singing light

Not for ambition or bread

Or the strut and trade of charms

On the ivory stages

But for the common wages

Of their most secret heart.

 

Not for the proud man apart

From the raging moon I write

On these spindrift pages

Nor for the towering dead

With their nightingales and psalms

But for the lovers, their arms

Round the griefs of the ages,

Who pay no praise or wages

Nor heed my craft or art.

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