Nouveau Bells And Willows, A Flowery Tale.

May 15, 2018

Nouveau Bells And Willows, A Flowery Tale.

It's been the time of year when walking through my local woodland, I really start to feel the change of season. I just love the way the morning sun light glistens through the trees and gets defused by a gentle morning mist as it floats off up from the woodland floor. Finding inspiration comes naturally at such times, to come across a blanket of emerging Blue Bells is the charm of charms and Bees rely heavily on the flowers’ nectar in the spring, when there is not much nectar to be had, but sometimes they ‘steal’ it by biting a hole in the bottom of the bell. Half of the total bluebell population is found in the United Kingdom. so if you can go and enjoy this inspirational display before the tree canopy forms and blocks out the light sending them back to their bulbous state to wait quietly for another year.


Blue Bells and Willows was designed at least ten years ago but I remember it well, I was sitting in my small studio in a craft center I used to rent at the time, starring out the window begging for inspiration, I eventually focused on a single stem of blue bells struggling for space amongst it’s bullying weed neighbors, growing next to a wall. I spent the rest of the day and probably night sketching and doodling ideas, struggling to think of a pretty and balanced way to put the design together and wanting a design with symmetry, I started to think about Art Nouveau Jewellery. And Nouveau Bells and Willows was born. I wanted to create a simple kit for the beginner to Crewel Embroidery but with a timeless but not to sentimental design, which could work anywhere once finished.

I love this melancholy poem by Emily Bront'e, which for me sums up the meaning of nature within are human condition.
The Bluebell by Emily Bront'e 1818-1848
The Bluebell is the sweetest flower
That waves in summer air:
Its blossoms have the mightiest power
To soothe my spirit's care.

There is a spell in purple heath
Too wildly, sadly dear;
The violet has a fragrant breath,
But fragrance will not cheer,

The trees are bare, the sun is cold,
And seldom, seldom seen;
The heavens have lost their zone of gold,
And earth her robe of green.

And ice upon the glancing stream
Has cast its sombre shade;
And distant hills and valleys seem
In frozen mist arrayed.

The Bluebell cannot charm me now,
The heath has lost its bloom;
The violets in the glen below,
They yield no sweet perfume.

But, though I mourn the sweet Bluebell,
'Tis better far away;
I know how fast my tears would swell
To see it smile to-day.

For, oh! when chill the sunbeams fall
Adown that dreary sky,
And gild yon dank and darkened wall
With transient brilliancy;

How do I weep, how do I pine
For the time of flowers to come,
And turn me from that fading shine,
To mourn the fields of home!

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