MANY things can be revealed to people when they go on silent retreat.
For Totnes-based artist Katheryn Trenshaw it was a moment of realisation that led to an art project which took her around the world – and which in turn led to the publication of a book and the making of a documentary film.
And now, many years after that initial moment of revelation, that film is about to have its premiere at Totnes Cinema on November 7.
Katheryn recalls the breakthrough moment: “I had become very interested in the research work of Brene Brown around happiness, which is about reducing shame. There was a moment on the retreat when I had dug deep, emotionally, and I was at my most open and raw – it was very much about being present and not about presentation.
“I recognised, not for the first time, just how powerful the release and celebration of our deeply hidden truths can be. But what made this occasion so special was that it occurred to me: what if we invited our darkly guarded secrets to rise to the surface, through our skin – a chance to unearth hidden treasure and reveal the concealed?”
Of course, coming up with an idea for a creative project is only the first stage. It’s then the work really begins.
And so Katheryn took off to harvest people’s stories from around the world. She spent hours talking to interesting people (“And all people are interesting”), gently encouraging them to share something about themselves that others wouldn’t realise, or would be surprised to learn.
She then distilled that newly revealed truth down to a single word or phrase, painted it on their skin and took a portrait photograph to preserve the revelation forever. These photographs were later to become an exhibition and ultimately a book. But, never knowingly unambitious, Katheryn also ensured she also always had a film camera operator with her and gradually accumulated hundreds of hours of footage.
Back in the UK, she called on the video editing skills of Emilio Mula, whose digital animation work we featured in Art Links in the last issue of Reconnect, and together they created an hour-long In Your Own Skin documentary. In fact, that last sentence belies the fact that completion of the movie was actually delayed for some years due to a dramatic event in Katheryn’s own life – an all-too real truth that has become the phrase subsequently written on her own skin. The full story of why the film was completed against all the odds is revealed in the film, but suffice to say here that Katheryn can still hardly believe it:
“That it’s finally being screened feels a bit like a miracle on so many levels,” she said. “Against what seemed impossible odds. It is with such great joy and with sweet salty tears in my eyes that I am sharing this.
“The screening night means we are at long last having a celebration of this documentary. It’s as much a party as a premiere – and it’s a big bonus that it’s at the charming and gorgeous Totnes Cinema.
“Please come and join the festivities: enjoy a cocktail and seriously good company…even get involved in this community event. It’s going to be fun, interactive, touching and possibly life-changing.”
Local poet and all-round lovely person Jackie Juno will also be there on the night to spice things up with some of her inimitable humour and presence.
Like all big art projects, In Your Own Skin was only made possible by the involvement of creative, inspiring and generous people at every stage of the production.
“So many people made this film possible,” says Katheryn. “Don’t get me wrong, it would not exist without my clear and sure belief in the beauty of this film, but it also came into being because we humans are so magnificent.
“So many people helped in subtle and not so subtle ways. And each and every person I interviewed touched me, taught me and was a mirror for me and you all at the same time. It’s easier to understand when you see the film.
“The In Your Own Skin project, and particularly the film, is a true community art project; a real celebration of the unity of diversity and deep resilience.”
The premiere screening/community celebration of In Your Own Skin will be at Totnes Cinema on November 7 at 7pm. As well as the seeing the film itself, you can also enjoy the festivities with a few cocktails and some great company, plus that Q&A with Katheryn and editor Emilio Mula. Reconnect’s very own Martin Foster will also be there, so if you’d like to see your own artwork featured here in the magazine, it will also be a chance to bend his ear.
To find out more about In Your Own Skin, and to book tickets, visit inyourownskin.org.
And look out too for another In Your Own Skin event at The Barn in Dartington in April next year – watch this space for more details.
And to have your artwork, project or gallery space featured here in Reconnect, email Martin at martinfoster4242@gmail.com.

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Email Martin at martinfoster4242@gmail.com.

THERE is a real sense of place in Exmouth-based artist Ray Balkwill’s work.
And even a brief chat with Ray soon reveals how and why: his feet are firmly planted in Devon soil and the water of the Exe runs through his veins.
He was born in Exeter and graduated from Exeter College of Art in the late 60s. He returned to Exeter in the late 70s to work in advertising but gave up his job as an art director in 1990 to follow his true love and paint professionally.
“Since then I have lived and worked in Exmouth for over 40 years, mainly capturing the many moods of the river,” says Ray.
You can share his passion for the river and the life it supports at an exhibition which opens in the café at RAMM in Exeter on December 7. The River’s Voice celebrates 40 years of painting the Exe, with work created in his Exmouth studio and en plein air on the banks of the estuary.
“The exhibition will also feature some of my mixed media assemblages from material washed up on its foreshore,” says Ray.
And that sense of place can be traced back still further.
Says Ray: “My love of the place runs as deep as the red earth itself. In fact, when we researched our family tree some years back we found that my ancestors were all farmers who farmed the land around Sheepwash, one small area in mid Devon, for well over 400 years. Not an artist among them, but it’s probably why my passion for the place is so deep-rooted.”
Ray has held numerous successful solo exhibitions, as well as showing in group and open exhibitions. These include the Royal Institute of Painters in Watercolour, Royal West of England Academy and South West Academy of Fine and Applied Arts. He also runs painting courses in Essex, Cornwall and from his studio in Devon. He is a regular contributor to art magazines and is also author of seven books: Travelling Light (Halsgrove), Watercolour Plus (David & Charles), Ray Balkwill’s Exe Estuary’ (Halsgrove), Learn to Paint Coastal Landscapes (Collins), Painting Landscapes with Atmosphere (David & Charles), A Picture of Devon (Halsgrove), and A Picture of Cornwall (Halsgrove). His work also features in a number of other books and magazines including International Artist, Australian Artist’ and ‘Pastel Artist International’.
Visit his exhibition at RAMM, from December 7 to June 26 next year, or tour his virtual galleries at raybalkwill.co.uk.

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OUR featured artist this time is Josie Gould, a contemporary landscape painter based in Abbotskerswell, Near Newton Abbot. You can see more of Josie’s work at www.josiegould.com and at the actual, in-the-real-world-with-real-peopleand- everything exhibitions listed at the end.

SO how does a Devon girl, who grew up on a dairy farm in East Devon, find herself on an adventure as a curious, contemporary landscape painter?

Josie’s early career took here through various parts of the world, including Bermuda, North America, Canada, Croatia, Turkey, and a range of occupations, from yacht chef and scuba diver to documentary photographer. She eventually returned to Devon in 2000 to care for her parents who were seriously ill and she continued to care for her disabled mum for nearly 20 years. But she was also able to continue the creative adventure during that time, and completed a BA (Hons) and then MA in Fine Art at Plymouth University.
“During that time, I still continued exploring photography and video,” says Josie. “My final project and MA Fine Arts exhibition was a video installation about the farm I grew up in on the edge of Broadclyst in East Devon. Sadly, the farm has now been redeveloped into the new town Cranbrook, with 8000 new houses, and the lovely listed, thatched farmhouse was a victim of arson. At the time I was exploring loss and the feeling of not knowing what was happening.”
But what came out of that project really surprised her.
“Nature, the farm, the animals and the land kept showing me how one thing in the world can effect another, rather like the butterfly effect, without any immediately obvious link. And the beautiful, ephemeral qualities that I was experiencing reminded me of what I was so sad to be losing. By the end of the project, although still sad about those losses, I also felt very grateful for the childhood experiences I had with my family on the farm. And eventually I saw all those much needed 8,000 new homes come into being and some of the occupants of the new town also embrace what I had loved about the history, the people and the stories of the land. Life changes and evolves.”
After the MA, Josie decided to concentrate on painting, which she had continued alongside her studies. But how to translate her processes using video into paint?
“In a Vipassana meditation practice, some years earlier, I’d had an experience of being immersed in an all-encompassing joy; like being inside an explosion of particles in a beautiful dance – no thoughts, simply experiencing what is occurring as it unfolds. It was totally joyous.
“Eventually I took that meditation practise into my painting process, which unsurprisingly also combined with my having fallen in love with painting outdoors. And as I approach my midsixties, adventure and curiosity are still what call me out to explore every day with a sense of enthusiasm and excitement.
“The qualities that enthralled me on a sailing trip – the ephemeral changes of light, colour, mood and atmosphere – are the same that move me now. Whether I am in my home studio or roaming over the coast, river or Moor, I am looking for opportunities to catch moments that take my attention and affect me.”

Pictures (left to right): ‘Across the crystal sea’ oil on canvas. ‘Dappled Devon lane – summer’ oil on board. ‘Salcombe sunrise’ oil on canvas, ‘Sea sparkle’ oil on canvas. ‘Dimpsy Dart’ oil on canvas. ‘Turquoise seas’, oil on canvas.

When Josie’s practice changed from photography to painting she was reading a book by Byron Katie called ‘A thousand names for joy’, a name which “really resonated” with her, and her solo exhibitions have been called ‘A Thousand names for joy’, featuring contemporary landscapes and seascape paintings with a special focus on the light – as she often did when sailing across oceans.
Her paintings of the sea and the coastline include some of her favourite local places, like Hope Cove and Lees Foot beach in the South Hams, and she returns every year to Sennen Cove, Polzeath, and the North Cornwall coast generally.
“There’s such a wonderful combination of beautiful light, drama and atmosphere, which acts like a magnet for us artists,” explains Josie. “Dartmoor, which I love, also calls me to it, although I sometimes find it scary, as I occasionally did the farm as a child and of course the ocean too. During lockdown, of course, I’ve also stayed close to home and painted the lanes in my home village of Abbotskerswell – the light is so beautiful coming through the trees along the lanes. It’s very evocative for me of a simple, quiet, peaceful but very alive joy.”
Lockdown, the constant news streams, the restrictions, and the deaths has been another scary time, for Josie, as it has for many of us. But she was already preparing for an exhibition so she stuck with painting “almost like a meditation process”.
“I was already teaching myself new ways to paint using oil paints and I couldn’t paint outside so had to find new ways to work. I dug out photographs, most of which were, unsurprisingly, of the sea, coast and rivers and filled with light and colour.
“By the end of lockdown, the paintings and my process, like the farm, had taught me a lot. I noticed that something paradoxical happens when you’re painting into the light. You really actually need the darkest darks to reveal the strongest contrast and the brightest light, or in other words perhaps, to reveal the greatest joy. Also the less dramatic colours, the greys and the seemingly duller colours have their own subtle beauty and can act as foils for the gems of colour. They make them glow. I found that a whole range of feelings and intensities can reveal different qualities of joy.
“Again, I experienced a very real mix of the sadness of lockdown, combined with huge gratitude for everything else; relationships, community, generosity, compassion, people doing their best. Truly bitter-sweet. The darkness that breaks your heart open I again found can reveal beauty and kindness so that even the tiniest thing can be moving and bring joy. In the simplest way, for me, that means yes there must be at least a thousand ways to experience joy every day.

“So, for now I’m keeping on painting and being open to all the mysterious ways in which joy can show up around me.”

For further information and to see more of Josie’s work, visit www.josiegould.com.

Forthcoming exhibitions
July 31-August 7, 10am05pm
Creative Collaborations: Contemporary landscapes by Josie Gould and
Jane Ellis. Birdwood House Gallery, 48 High Street, Totnes.
May 28-September 11, 11am-5pm
Salcombe Art Club – group exhibition,
The Loft Studio, Victoria Quay, Salcombe.
September 5-11, 11am-5pm
Salcombe ‘This week’ – solo exhibition space
The Loft Studio, Victoria Quay, Salcombe
For large paintings, Josie is represented by: Annie Bowie at The Bowie
Gallery, 54B Totnes High St, Totnes. Call 01803 863054.

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IT has become something of a cliché that ‘we’re all photographers now’… But while the fact that most of us have a decent digital camera on our ever-present phones, that doesn’t mean we have all become, or are even becoming, great photographers. In fact, some point to our image-driven society – from that first check of the mobile screen in the morning to the last frame of the Netflix boxset at night – as yet another sign that new media and technology is eating us all alive. One thing is certain, though. It does mean we are all becoming increasingly image literate; we are developing a feel for identifying images that have greater impact, more depth, something else to say. And that is good news for the real masters of the photographic art – our appetite for all forms of art, and particularly super-accessible photography, is greater now than ever before. Recent months have been particularly rewarding for Vicki Gardner, a Devon photographer who specialises in garden and nature images. Vicki reached the finals of the International Garden Photographer of the Year Awards with a series of images entered into the Royal Photographic Society’s Portfolio category. She was one of just six finalists in her category in this huge international competition that attracts tens of thousands of extremely high standard entries. Vicki also received an Honourable Mention in the International Black and White Photography Awards at the end of last year. Both achievements were in response to her images of the Italian Garden at Great Ambrook, near Ipplepen, between Newton Abbot and Totnes, where she is garden photographer. The garden features an unusual Italianate design with stunning architecture. Vicki’s entry for IGPOTY was a series of black and white images focusing on the juxtaposition of the architecture and the encroaching untamed nature. The Italian Garden pictures were all shot using Canon gear, but in a radical departure from the digital world, her Honourable Mention image was shot using a pinhole camera and infrared film. Vicki’s work also concentrates on macro and botanical imagery as well as general garden photography. But these are not her first awards. She was awarded first and third prizes in the prestigious Royal Horticultural Society’s photographic competition in 2001, and during the past year she has also been awarded Qualified status with the Guild of Professional Photographers and Licentiate with the Royal Photographic Society.

Vicki exhibits regularly, including as part of Devon Open Studios and can enjoy her work through Facebook with Vicki Gardner Photography – Devon and on Instagram, Twitter & Pinterest with vickigphoto.

OUR second photographer is Totnesbased Phil Hemsley, who also sent this account of his “voyages of discover” in the South Devon countryside. WANDERING through the local holloways, woodlands and quiet country lanes during the lockdown has been one of the joys of these strange times. One of my favourite things is to wake early enough to watch the sun rise and hear the joyful dawn chorus in the countryside that sits just beyond my estate at the edge of Totnes. Watching the pastel hues of first light evolve into neon pinks and, on some mornings, then rich gold is a delight. On misty mornings I see spiders’ webs bejewelled in dew, glinting in the sunshine, and hear dainty little Wrens belting out a tune, mingling with Song Thrush, Blackbird, Long -Tailed Tit… and Robins, ever-present and telling me so. I travel up through the ancient sunken lanes – the sun percolating through gnarled trees and layers of deeptime, then onwards across ridgeways and quiet lanes in the plateaus and hanging-valleys. I see Buzzards effortlessly soar in the thermal up-draughts, occasionally mobbed by a few bouncers from the local Jackdaw colonies when their air space has been ‘invaded’. On walks further from home, I see Kestrels hovering and hunting for shrews over the rewilded species-rich Sharpham Meadows. On my last visit there, a Peregrine flew over twice at a staggering speed – the fastest animal on earth blasting along the Dart valley. Other times I have sat there watching Linnets, Goldfinches, Fieldfares and Chaffinches. The Grey Seals wandering up the tidal Dart are a joy to watch on the early morning walks. Watching one catch, peel and gorge on a massive salmon was just awesome. I have sat in my back garden in my camouflage gear and had the joy of watching dunnocks and goldfinches less than two metres away, while butterflies and bees enjoyed harvesting the nectar of our buddleia. Whether wandering beside the Queen’s Marsh watching the elegant fish assassin catching their lunch; listening to blue tits while picking some wild garlic leaves; or watching a roe deer wander along the treeline of a tidal creek as it plucks oak leaves – there’s a wealth of nature to be noticed and appreciated close to home.

OVER TO YOU
So this is what Artlinks does – provides some rare printed (and online)
space where local artists can give readers a taste of their work and ways
in which they can see more.
If you’re an artist working within the Reconnect (Exeter/South Devon/
Plymouth) patch, get in touch. We need at least three or four hi-res JPEG
images, plus as many words as you need to tell the story of the what and
why and where you do your work.
Likewise, if you run or promote a gallery in the area, get in touch.
l Email Martin at martinfoster4242@gmail.com.

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THIS is the last of my Living Made Simple columns. Over the past couple of years or so I’ve looked at the practicalities of living a low-impact, more sustainable life, suggesting ways we can shift our emphasis from consumerism and instant gratification towards something more enriching and less harmful to family, community and planet.
Column-by-column, issue-by-issue, I’ve covered the primary elements of living, from shelter, work and food to clothing, relationships and creativity. I’ve deconstructed my own life, and the way I live it – an audit of a simpler way of living, if you will – in the hope that it might inspire you to do the same.
I know from the feedback I’ve had that it has encouraged some of you to at least make conscious decisions about your priorities, so maybe my work here is done.
My own low-impact lifestyle continues: I’m still living completely off-grid, keeping chickens and growing a little food too.
But there’s a new element to my life. After years of dabbling with creative ideas around producing magazines, I have decided to give them priority and I am currently a couple of months into a Fine Arts degree at Plymouth Uni as a (very) mature student.
Given the Covid restrictions, I have not perhaps chosen the best year in which to become a student but I’m gradually getting my head around the world of Zoom and as I write this we are still allowed a little socially distanced studio time.
Most importantly, though, the course is giving me a structure within which to explore ideas and learn new skills.
My first year modules include three main themes: ‘narrative’, which is already inspiring my interest in text- based art (so I don’t have to leave my love of words behind); ecology, which allows me to explore and express my love of the land on which I live; and the critical review of contemporary practice, for which I visited Being in the Moment, an exhibition of work by the landscape artists Richard Long at the Thelma Hulbert Gallery in Honiton.
I have admired Long’s work for some time, combining as it does an exploration of the elements of the natural world with the use of simple text to ‘map’ his experiences. It seemed like fate that his exhibition had been postponed due to the shutdown and that I was able to visit it, albeit under controlled conditions, right at the start of my course.
Blatantly commercial break: as soul-enriching as producing artwork is, it does not (and I suspect never will) pay the bills, so I am still producing words (press releases, websites, brochures, anything really) for therapists, artists, makers and any other small business owners across Reconnectland and beyond. Email me for more info or call for a chat: martinfoster4242@gmail.com, or 07837 003962.

Now, back to the main feature…
So that’s what I’m up to – how about you?

Despite my Living on Less series coming to a natural end, I was keen to continue contributing to Reconnect, which I believe continues to play a vital role in the life of the region. Talking to Scott (who, bizarrely, was also keen for me to stay involved), we came up with the idea of ARTLINKS, a column devoted to local artists who, particularly during this strange Covid times, might be finding it difficult to get the word out about their work.
So, artists across Reconnectland, please consider this an official invitation to get in touch. Email me a short artist’s statement and a few samples of your work (JPEGs, please). Send me a link to your website, or any other online presence you have. And, Covid restrictions allowing, tell me about any exhibitions or gallery space you have lined up (and please remember Reconnect is published every other month, so I need plenty of notice of events).
I’d love to hear from galleries too – tell me what you’ve got planned and how you’re coping with the restrictions.
You can email Scott at Reconnect (editor@reconnectonline.co.uk), who will forward it to me, or send it direct to me at martinfoster4242@ gmail.com.
Thanks for all the Living on Less feedback over the past couple of years – and I look forward to hearing from you with words and images for ARTLINKS. Spread the art!

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I N an ironic twist of fate, I am writing this column about living off-grid from an oh-so-on-grid flat in London. The deadline just happens to coincide with me visiting my daughter in Lambeth and the (now more widely experienced) joys of working from home – or from someone else’s – mean I’m sat on her sofa, surrounded by technology and looking down on a busy London street. I’m hoping it will give me a heightened level of objectivity. I’m also hoping I won’t be too distracted by a planned trip to Tate Modern this afternoon.

I thought I’d say a little about why I live off-grid and then briefly explore the practicalities of everyday life unplugged. The reasons why are best explained by a short list of its merits: low-impact and sustainable; simple and inexpensive; self-sufficient and consciousness-raising. Okay, so that last one might sound a little too deep and cosmic for some tastes, but actually it’s a very grounded consequence – simply, I no longer take for granted the provision of light, heat or refrigeration at the flick of a switch. And when you don’t take something for granted, when you do something more consciously, you are also more aware of the consequences of its creation and use. The low-impact bit is self-evident, I think; its simplicity will become evident in a moment (and, as is often the case with simpler living, should not be confused with ease or convenience); the cost is determined mainly by the sophistication of the system you install (mine is very simple); and the level of self-sufficiency clearly depends on how many individual services (electricity, water, gas…) you are able to provide for yourself.

My electricity is generated by four solar panels, mounted on the roof of my heavily insulated wooden cabin, which feed, via an inverter, into two meaty lead/acid batteries. The system is simple, high quality and effective. The four secondhand panels I originally fitted as a cost-saving exercise have now been replaced with new, more efficient ones, and I have adequate power for all I need: low-watt lights, phone and laptop recharging and running a small fridge. Whether the system will sustain the latter over the winter remains to be seen and while there will certainly be a calculation to work it out, it is beyond me so I’ll wait and see. And that makes a relevant point (apart from proving my ineptitude at arithmetic and physics) – if you get the right system installed in the first place, you aren’t tempted to plug in some energy- hungry equipment and you keep an eye on things (ie, checking the battery condition meter when we have a few dull days), it really is easy to live with. In the event of any problems, I contact Chris Rudge (rudgeenergy.co.uk), who specialises in off-grid solar systems and always has the answers (although he didn’t do the original installation – that company went bust).

I am also off the water grid. The freshwater supply for the whole smallholding comes from a borehole, created by a specialist company when the owners first moved onto the land. It’s worth saying here, though, that the pump which brings the water up out of the ground and into the tank, where it is filtered and UV-treated before supplying our homes and outside taps (for poultry, animals and crops) is very, very power-hungry and consumes a disproportionate amount of the electricity generated by even their much bigger solar panel array. I also have a compost toilet, which separates wee and poo – the former into a simple, underground soakaway, the latter into a large receptacle, where you cover it with a sprinkling of sawdust. Unlike conventional mains loos, it does not use gallons of drinking-quality water to wash it away, and the composted ‘humanure’ is returned to the land.

Heating is courtesy of a small (it’s a one-room cabin, remember) wood- burning stove and we buy firewood collectively in unsawn, unsplit chunks (probably not the correct, industry- recognised term), and then come together to cut, split and stack them in late-summer sessions.

A brief sidebar here regarding the importance of properly seasoned logs: if you buy or cut wood which is not seasoned (ie, which has not been left out for a long period of time to allow its moisture to evaporate), you will literally be trying to burn water and sap, which even my limited knowledge of physics rings alarm bells. It will create less heat, of course, but also more emissions and messy, and potentially dangerous, tar deposits in the chimney. Depending on the wood, seasoning can take one, two, or even more, years, so either buy it ready seasoned, or be prepared, and have space, to stack it for a good while. Kiln-dried logs are one answer but have a larger carbon footprint because of the heat required – and carry a higher price as a consequence.

My strongest link with mainstream energy supplies is the propane gas I have delivered in large (47kg) bottles and which I use for hot water and cooking. There is, however, something about the fact that when one bottle is empty, you need to switch it over to the spare and then order a replacement, that keeps one aware of consumption.

On-grid life here at my daughter’s is easy and convenient. But my conscience will sit more comfortably when I return home to my cabin – even if it is a seriously long walk from the Tate… The lost cord… unplugged IN his latest instalment of Living Made Simple, MARTIN FOSTER plugs us into his off-grid life – but from a very on-grid perspective. Living made simple… Martin

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IF you’re a regular Reconnect reader, you’ll have come across a range of my rantings and ramblings over the years: originally under the title ‘Living on Less’ during my time as editor; and then, since I sold the business to Scott two years back, under the more general monika of ‘More Follows’. The subject matter of my columns has meandered issue to issue, ranging from the trivial to the profound (I’ll leave you to decide which end of the spectrum I frequented most), but running through much of it has been one theme: the ideas behind, and practicalities of, living a simpler, less material, but more fulfilling life. For me, the practical side of things have come to the fore since leaving Reconnect. My wife Jenn and I had already simplified our lives quite dramatically, downsizing from a big farmhouse, when we had five kids living at home, to a small house just big enough for us two. After selling the Reconnect business, our minds were clear to reimagine the way we wanted to live – and less than a year later, we found ourselves in a small (5Mx7M) wooden cabin on a smallholding, completely off-grid with solar power, woodburning stove and compost loo. Our consumption (and, consequently, our expenditure) is now super-low: energy bills kept to a minimum; food shops supplemented by homegrown fruit and veg and home-produced meat; almost everything we use and wear bought secondhand – or, if bought new, sourced carefully to ensure it really lasts. So that, very briefly, is where we are. But why write about it? Well, for a number of reasons: because it’s what I know (I’ve walked the walk in my muddy boots); because I believe it matters (we can’t continue to live at our current rate of consumption); and, most importantly of all, because people seem to want to know more (and to contribute to the conversation themselves). Yes, I’m aware the last paragraph raises far more questions than it answers – and that’s why I want to explore the subject in more detail over the coming months. And while I’m coming over all existential, there are a couple of other things I’d like to say up-front. Call them disclaimers if you like. 1 This is about simple living. That’s simple – not easy. Just deciding you want to make some big changes in your life is not easy. Making them is even tougher. And living with them can be pretty testing at times too (just like every other way of living). If it’s right for you, though, I promise you the whole process will be endlessly rewarding and at times quite blissful. And that brings me to point 2… 2 I really don’t mean to come on all self-righteous about this stuff. It’s tricky, though, because when you care passionately about something, it’s all too easy to get a bit preachy. I truly do not mean to be judgemental about anyone else’s life – I’ve considered long and hard how I want to live and I’ve made changes accordingly. Obviously, it’s not for everyone – although I hope there’s something there everyone will at least find interesting. I would ask one simple question: do you live your life consciously? If you are content with your lot, satisfied that your choices have created the life you truly want to live, move right along, there’s nothing to see here. If, however, you sense you’re missing out on an elusive something; if you’re looking for a more fundamental contentment you can’t find in materialism and consumption; if you’re concerned that some aspects of your lifestyle might be impacting negatively on your family, community or wider world; read on… Still with us? You are sincerely welcome. And you are not alone. Feedback to my ‘Living on less’ columns, and conversations I’ve had with people from all walks of life, have provided me with anecdotal evidence of an underlying dissatisfaction with the consumerist ‘do-a-crap-job-to-buy- crap-to-stop-feeling-crap’ way of life. But if you need more concrete (or at least virtually concrete) evidence, let your search engine of choice guide you through the many thousands of words already written on the subject. Try searching: ‘simple living’, ‘conscious living’, ‘intentional living’, or ‘decluttering’. So, given there’s so much out there already, why does anyone need any more? Well, I’ve read many of those words throughout my own journey of analysis, decisions and change, and I found they simply didn’t speak to me. What they said made good sense, but somehow it didn’t inspire. And my (all too many) years of experience as an editor suggested there was a more accessible, effective and enjoyable way to tell the story. If you stay with me over the coming issues, I guess you’ll be the judge of that. As I reach the end of this first introductory column, I come ironically to the crucial part – I want to hear from you… I’m planning a Facebook page and blog soon, both of which will invite feedback and input, but ever the traditionalist (oh, all right, old git), I’ve started with print, which is notoriously one-way. Still, I do want to hear from you. Love the idea, or hate it?. What aspects of simpler living would you like me to explore? And, most important of all, tell me your experiences. I want to pass on tips, warnings, advice and anything else relevant – so do, please, get in touch. Until I’ve created the aforementioned other options, please email me at martinfoster4242@gmail.com.

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T HE change of seasons (and after a sun-drenched summer, it really does feel like a defined shift of season this year, as we enter Autumn) brings with it here at Tigley Tump the return of one of the smallholder’s life decisions: which coat to wear. Sartorial decisions have slipped still further down my list of priorities (they were never very high) since we moved our lives here, and for the last few months what I wear has mainly been determined by which T-shirt/ shorts combo was on top and/or least grubby. But as I write this in mid- September, temperatures are dropping along with the rain and I’ve had to delve deeper into my wardrobe (aka The Coathooks Behind the Door in the Porch) to select something a little more weatherproof. The nature of the work here also evolves with the seasons, of course. I’ve mentioned before that no two weeks, months or years are ever the same when you’re working on the land because dear old Mother Nature likes nothing more than to drop a new surprise ingredient in the mix to keep the recipe interesting. This year she added that rarest and sweetest thing of all – a new human life, in the perfect shape of a baby boy called Jessie. Parents Cat and Paul are also the natural force behind the horticultural side of things here so the growing of produce was stepped down to make room and time for introducing and welcoming Jessie into the Tigley way of things. There is a very tiny pair of wellies on the doorstep though and bedtime reading does often include plant books, so it’s only a matter of time before the workforce is one man (or toddler) up. Contrary to what a friend suggested recently, winter at The Tump isn’t all about some semi-hibernational state in front of a roaring log-burner, fuelled by hearty mugs of warming mead (although come to think of it, that could soon be a major constituent of the evenings at least). Paul and Cat have still been busy between nappies and nursery rhymes and, after the last of the harvesting, we will be laying the Mypex (weed-proof sheeting) foundations for next season’s crops, creating drying and storage areas for the spoils of this year’s harvest and much more. The long, dry summer was tough on the livestock – or rather, tough on those of us for whom it created extra work keeping them healthy and happy. Our borehole water supply kept up with increased demand most of the time (see my column in the last issue) and hard work and a range of non-heavy chemical solutions saw us defeat the legions of sun-basking bugs (if you questioned wasps’ role in life’s rich pageant, check out red mites). The heat did little to inhibit the passion of our cockerels, though, and many of their off-spring are now happily scratching around in the gardens and smallholdings of South Devon and far beyond – that we post fertile eggs to all corners of the country often surprises people, and is all to the credit of Jenny, who so tirelessly promotes our high-welfare animal and poultry husbandry online. We also now have two very active hives of bees which should provide the basis of Tigley Tump honey supplies (and sales) next year and we still have available pork joints, bacon and sausages from our rare-breed Welsh pigs. Search for Tigley Tump on Facebook or call/text me on 07837 003962 to find out more. We can deliver free in the Totnes area, or you can collect from us. Also keeping us busy as I write this are preparations for the Forking Local Food Festival. It’s all happening (or will have happened by the time you read this) on Vere Island in Totnes on September 22 – it’s too late to encourage you all along, I realise (ah, the joys of magazine production deadlines and lead- times – I remember them well) but retrospective thanks to those of you who came along to say hello. You can find out more about this annual event, and other local food activities, on Facebook by searching ‘Forking Local Food Festival’, ‘Totnes10’, ‘Transition Town Totnes’ and, of course, ‘Tigley Tump’. A busy, productive and creative summer for us all at Tigley Tump, then – with more exciting plans in place for all local land lovers over the months ahead. Now, where did I store those wellies?

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T HE super-dry, super-hot summer might have done wonders for our tans and our enjoyment of outdoor social events, but it has also turned up the heat on an urgent environmental issue – our excessive use and mindless abuse of water supplies. The facts are frightening. Back in May, even before the UK became a desert, the Environment Agency issued a warning that people need to use less water to prevent future water shortages and damage to rivers and wildlife. Many sources of water supplies are already overstretched, they say, and, with climate change and a growing population, much of England could see “significant supply shortages” by the 2050s – particularly in the south-east. And this is a long-term issue – not just the result of this freakish summer. In 2016, almost 9,500bn litres of freshwater were abstracted in England – and that, stat fans, is enough to cover the whole of Greater London in nearly 6m (20ft) of water. While some of us complain about not being able to water our lawns, and the tabloids are having fun suggesting we need to share showers, the effect on the environment is serious and longlasting. Between 6% and 15% of our rivers are judged to be in a poor environmental condition, including more than three-quarters of chalk streams – a unique and globally important habitat. Taking too much water out of the environment can harm wildlife such as fish, birds and aquatic plants, and damage wetlands which are important habitats for a host of animals and plants. Climate change is predicted to cause increased river flows in the winter and decreased flows in the summer, which – along with drier conditions because of warmer temperatures – could have a still greater effect on wildlife. The amount of water taken out of the environment for households, industry and agriculture was already unsustainable for more than a quarter (28%) of groundwater resources in 2017, and almost a fifth (18%) of surface water, such as rivers, have also seen unsustainable levels of abstraction. So the situation is already dire and all the experts say it will only get worse – and soon. But what to do? Our levels of consumption seem a good place to start. The average household uses 140 litres per person per day. If your home has an older toilet, you’re tipping around 13.5 litres of drinking- quality water down the drain every time you flush the loo. That accounts for around half of that total daily consumption. Even if you have an ultra-low-flow loo, the average flush is six litres. But there are still greater examples of waste in the system. It’s always satisfying to point the finger of blame at big companies, and around three billion litres of water are lost every DAY through leaky pipes – equivalent to the amount of water used by more than 20 million people in an average day. They’ve been told to stem their flood of leaks but things seem slow to improve – hefty fines might sharpen their attention. We are, after all, paying for all that wastage through our bills. Surely, though, the most criminal waste of all is the water that simply falls from the sky… and washes straight down our drains. Rainwater harvesting, in a country that usually has all the rainfall it can handle (and sometimes considerably more), makes such obvious sense. Yes, it would require a little broader thinking but if building regs required all new homes to have a rainwater capture system (tanks could be buried under the house or garden), new home owners would be sitting on thousands of gallons that could be pumped up and used to flush loos, fill washing machines and yes, even water the garden. Although preferably veg, rather than lawns. If the tanks, pumps and plumbing all went in at the time of the build, the additional cost would be minimal. And if it were compulsory, sales of materials would rocket (creating some jobs along the way) and the cost per unit would soon be reduced. Retro-fitting would be a more complicated and expensive job but as water becomes a rarer and more expensive commodity, it could also become cost-effective. And what about simpler systems, capturing grey water from washing machines and the like to flush loos? Even a basic water butt, or a few linked butts, is worth considering, particularly if you use lots of water in the garden or for watering stock, etc. Here at Tigley Tump (our off-grid smallholding) we have IBCs (International Bulk Containers – those big, metre-square water tanks wrapped in a heavy metal frame) plumbed into every downpipe on every shed and greenhouse roof. So during times of drought, when even the supply from our borehole is faltering a little, we can take away bucket after bucket of water for poultry, pigs and produce. Although carrying them has made my arms several inches longer over the past few weeks…

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ARE you a Rolling Stones fan? Fancy a Stones cricket bat? A ‘tongue and lips’ logo- adorned rugby ball? These and many more items of ‘genuine merchandise’ are available in a special four-window display of Stones goodies in the Oxford branch of Selfridges to mark the launch of their latest tour – and to celebrate the fact that they can make a shed-load of cash simply by sticking their logo on all manner of random stuff. A velvet armchair emblazoned with the surely ironic slogan ‘It’s only rock an’ roll’ for just 10 grand, anyone? Or a pool table for a mere £8,200? Surely your three-year- old would LOVE a Stones logo’d leather biker jacket? I just listened to a radio interview with the member of their entourage responsible for their merch – the words ‘band’ and ‘brand’ were virtually inter-changeable. Muso fans have been wearing the names of their fave bands across their chests since Jagger was a boy, of course, but when did the excesses of rock and roll stop referring to good ol’ healthy drug abuse and hotel room trashing and start to reflect the branding of anything big enough to carry a decent logo? The game-changing growth in online music streaming has meant a big re-think for musicians right across the fame spectrum. Revenue from sales of recordings have plummeted and artists are instead having to get out there and perform live to keep the dosh rolling in. Not in itself a bad thing – gigs and festivals are thriving as a result. The last Stones tour, A Bigger Bang in 2005-7, grossed over $500,000,000 – including merch sales, but probably more T-shirts than velvet armchairs. Many of the larger festivals have themselves succumbed to the same temptations, their fields emblazed with brand names, making them look more like shopping malls than temples of rock. And all hail the events that have deliberately turned their rebellious backs on the corporate dollar – Beautiful Days, or The Green Man Festival in the Brecon Beacons, for example. But is there anything wrong with a bit of fancy badgery? Surely it helps to guide the consumer – when they see the Stones logo, they know that this way comes a little riotous rockin’ rebellion? Albeit from aged gentlemen with a taste for velvet armchairs… The big corporations attach so much importance to logos and the image behind it that they spend a great deal of time and money to get it just right. In 2000, the nature-loving BP corporation spent a little over $200,000,000 on rebranding to include a flower in their logo. Although the Stones tongue and lips classic was actually created in a few evenings by RCA student Jon Pasche in 1970 after Jagger visited his degree show. Jon got 50 quid for the “logo or symbol which may be used on note paper, as a programme cover and as a cover for the press book”. So, contrary to that famous line in Sierra Madre – ‘We don’t need no stickin’ badges!’ – maybe we do. Reconnect just wouldn’t be the same without it’s instantly recognisible masthead across the top of each cover. And (prepare that hypocrisy alert), we at Tigley Tump worked closely with the wonderful designer Robert Doets to create a logo that would reflect what we represent here: practical considerations of space, aesthetics and world supplies of ink and paper mean that while we could explain, every time that we mention Tigley Tump, that we’re an off-grid small-holding just outside Totnes run by family and friends who believe in sustainable living and producing food without destroying the earth, our hope is that our name and logo is becoming associated with those ideals. So when we launch a new product (our wonderful compost, for example – check out Facebook/TigleyTump), people hopefully recognising it as coming from a good place. Literally. As a form of graphic shorthand, then, the logo works a treat. Unfortunately, like everything else it gets its grubby hands on, things have become a little messy in the commercial mess of consumerism. How did it become cool to wear logos like Nike, Hugo Boss and the like that do nothing but celebrate the manufacturer? They do, of course, also tell people that you can afford super-expensive items of clothing – a good chunk of the price of which goes back into advertising the brand; the studio-created glamour of which we all want to be associated with all the more. Is there a more pointless cycle in modern life? It even puts me off buying heavily branded items of clothing from charity shops. Another pointless old-man- rant? Possibly, but while the big corporations continue to pump millions and millions into fuelling the brutally destructive consumerism machine, I feel obliged to sometimes use my little voice, no matter how quiet and humble, to suggest perhaps we could sometimes consider where and how we spend our cash – and just what ethos that cash is helping to support. Must dash – I need to start work on our new range of Tigley Tump golf clubs…

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