I grew up in a family that was all about Art, with a capital A, and it’s taken me a long time to allow myself to use the title “artist” for myself. My parents met at Middlesbrough Art College in the late 1950s (my father is the painter and printmaker William Tillyer), and the smell of home will always be paint, paper, turps and printing ink. It’s only as I’ve grown older that I’ve really appreciated how unusual my childhood was—avoiding the etching acid in the bathroom, attending exhibition openings, being allowed to play with all sorts of art materials and generally soaking it up by osmosis rather than actively taking an interest. I spent hours drawing horses and making up stories, but mostly because I was obsessed with wanting (or sometimes wanting to be) a pony, so the idea of being an artist when I grew up never really featured; I wanted to be a detective like Sherlock Holmes or a three-day event rider or the blonde one in ABBA—in fact I’m not sure I ever seriously considered the idea of being a grown-up!
Now aged 58, I’m surprised to find myself a published author, sitting in my small Lake District studio wondering how to describe my “journey” because, like many of the artists and makers featured in these pages, it has been and is still, a winding road with plenty of potholes along the way. I believe strongly that it is important to be honest about the ups and downs of this lifestyle—the fact that my dad supported (and still does at 86) a family of 4, purely through his painting is pretty unique and the reality for me and most of my creative friends is that art must be juggled with second jobs, side hustles and helpful patient family.
I often wonder where I’d be if I’d followed a straighter path, but instead, I returned to art college to get my degree when I was in my late 30s; with two children and several low paid jobs (bar work, gardening and childminding) I decided it was time to pull my creative and academic socks up. I’d spent the previous decade dropping in and out of various vocational courses, doing freelance work (I painted silk for Hugh Dunford Wood for a while) and making a naïve attempt to start a handmade greetings card business, with £40 a week from Thatcher’s Enterprise Allowance Scheme.
Getting a first-class degree in textiles and surface design at 40 felt like a fresh start. I was going to be a “proper” designer, my children even bought me a set of silver rings which said “I am an artist” on one and “not a waitress” on the other. Nobody tells you that a degree is just the start of a learning process, that learning never stops—or shouldn’t, and that employers want youth AND experience. I sold 3 embroidery designs and ended up back where I started, working in local galleries, pubs and cafes.
But I never stopped making things and crucially, during my degree studies I’d been told to start a WordPress blog; even today I think this is one of the best things that came out of my course. I’ve been writing my Witchmountain blog off and on now for over 15 years and it has remained a constant throughout the rise and fall of other online platforms. Initially documenting the run-up to New Designers and our degree show in London, it eventually morphed into reflections on the challenges of being self-employed, a celebration of place, home, the seasons and the repeating patterns of my creative and personal life.
Moving to Cumbria was a huge upheaval, which I’ve spoken about a lot, but it also marked the start of a decade when I really had to venture out of my personal and creative comfort zone. I took a stand at a few trade fairs, joined Cumbria Printmakers and started to concentrate on cyanotype as a medium, exhibiting more widely and being invited to teach workshops, including one at Wordsworth’s Dove Cottage which eventually led to a short feature on BBC’s Countryfile during the celebrations of Wordsworth’s 250th anniversary.
Cyanotype is an historic printing process invented in 1842 alongside other types of photography. Light-sensitive iron salts are used to coat a surface such as paper or fabric, a design (photo negative, paper stencils, plants or anything else that might cast a shadow) is placed on top and exposed to UV light (sunlight preferably although you can use UV lights as the Lake District weather is notoriously unpredictable) which oxidises the coated surface, turning it “Prussian Blue.” It’s where the word Blueprint originally came from.
I loved the fact that I could make acetate negatives with my own drawings and use these to print my illustrative pieces onto fabric, since I didn’t have access to digital or screen-printing facilities. Prints on paper could be stitched into as well, blurring the boundary between printmaking and textile art. Ultimately in my own work, I do hope that people are drawn
to the image rather than just the process, especially when using a medium where the colour palette is limited. It’s so hard to stand out in a sea of blue and white! This is part of the reason I use stitching in some of my pieces, it adds subtle texture and contrast as well as making a link with my textile background and love of traditional and contemporary hand embroidery. I always begin with sketchbook drawings, sometimes I use actual photographs as well, layering these acetates onto coated paper or fabric, along with found objects and natural forms.
Being commissioned to write a book gave me the opportunity to explore a process I’d been using—in a very intuitive and haphazard way—more methodically, and inevitably learn as well as teach. For example, using paper clay to create cyanotype “hag stones” and comparing print on various fabrics. I think my favourite project in the book is the Portraits in Sepia where I introduced “toning,” a way of changing the final image from blue and white to sepia using naturally occurring tannins from foraged plants such as acorns and alder cones as well as teabags and even red wine. I want to explore this more in the future as I began using natural dyes during my degree course and always regretted not taking it further as there is a huge interest in it now.
The beauty of cyanotype printing is its accessibility and versatility. The process has a simple alchemy which appeals to children and adults alike. I recently taught a workshop with a man who had absolutely no art or craft experience; he said he was only there to keep his wife company but in the end, his joy at making art was totally infectious.
After several years of total immersion in cyanotype during research for the book, I’m currently enjoying playing with different techniques such as collagraph and realizing that my sketchbook isn’t as full as it should be.
I feel a little rusty and sometimes it’s hard to keep all the plates of daily life spinning as well as find a space to develop new work. In an ideal world, I would love to write more books, make larger scale work and gain the confidence to apply for more challenging projects. For now, I’m nesting, working small, inspired on a micro level by the tiny barrel pond I made when we first rented this house. It has amazed me how much joy, not to mention biodiversity and seasonal interest, this tiny watery world has brought me. The first collagraph/cyanotype prints it inspired were part of a successful Cumbria Printmakers exhibition at Brantwood, home of John Ruskin, in 2023. Since then, the waterlily has flowered, and frogs have arrived, so the journey continues…
P.S. Nutmeg the cat is my unhelpful studio assistant, he likes to climb trees, eat jigsaw puzzles and take me for long walks around the fields after work to remind me that being outdoors for a bit always helps when navigating the creative doldrums.
