Could the remote little town of Appleby be the answer?

Oxford had been a chapter of brilliance adorned with the strokes of friendships and the vivid colours of artistic expression. Yet, something was missing an elusive element frustrated her, leaving a void that whispered the yearning for a life immersed in the colours she so passionately loved.

"I want to earn a living being a full time artist, but I don't know how!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing in the solitude of her car as she faced her reflection in the rear-view mirror. The ghostly resonance of her father's disapproving words haunted her like a shadow. "You've got your BA; now get yourself a proper job. Stop dreaming; you will never earn a living as an artist." The weight of those last words from her father clung to her like an anchor, threatening to pull her dreams beneath the surface.

Would she be able to find him?

Was he still alive?

Would he help her?

The motorway had been arduous, the slow journey marred by sluggish traffic and the relentless presence of mammoth lorries. It wasn't until she passed the Lancaster with its castle atop a hill overlooking the sea with distant hazy mountains beyond, that she started to unwind. 

The long drive across the wide-open moors under big skies had provided a much-needed respite after hours spent battling the motorway, offering occasional glimpses of sheep and distant fells. The sudden noise jolted her from her reverie as she crossed a cattle grid. Down the long hill flanked by mossy, dry stone walls and silver birch trees, she continued her journey.

Alice traversed more hills and picturesque hamlets, leading her to a distant vista of Appleby. Here, the castle keep peering over the trees, an old church nestled beneath the dramatic fells. 

Exploring Appleby

The road, flanked by grassy verges, was a tunnel through an avenue of mature lime trees. Their leaves whispered secrets of the past, timeworn cottages and houses peeking out, leading her gaze downward towards the bustling market square. The castle, perched atop the hill, loomed like a benevolent guardian amidst the treetops.

Drawn to explore, she wandered towards the cobbled square, marked by a cross with its painted sundial at its head, its old-world charm enveloping her. The stone cloisters on one side housed intriguing little shops, beckoning her towards the ancient church beyond.

Clutching her sketchbook, her auburn hair cascading down her back, she cut a striking figure. Her loose, blousy top fluttered as she meandered between stalls, her black jeans and boots a sharp contrast to many of older locals. The aroma of fresh produce, the allure of hand-crafted goods, and the promise of local delicacies captivated her senses. Yielding to temptation, she savoured a slice of homemade apple pie and a cup of coffee on a sunlit bench. There, with her back against the old Moot Hall, she gazed up towards the castle, immersed in the lively dance of locals weaving in and out of shops, the heartbeat of the town pulsing around her.

As she wandered further, an old-fashioned greengrocer’s shop caught her eye. Its window was a kaleidoscope of colors: red and yellow peppers nestled alongside shallots and onions, while bunches of yellow bananas and a medley of oranges, in various sizes and types, created a vivid contrast against the lush greens of sprouts, firm cabbages, and dark kale. She paused, the vibrant display reminiscent of an artist’s palette.

Standing there, she couldn't help but be transported back to her childhood kitchen, where her mother's laughter was a constant melody. Each vegetable seemed to hold a memory, a shared moment. Her fingers brushed over a bunch of bananas, and a lump formed in her throat. "God, she would have loved this," Alice murmured, her voice catching. The scenes of this town would have been a painter's paradise for her mother. But that was a world tucked away in the past, a tapestry of memories she could only revisit in her mind. A solitary tear traced its way down her cheek, an unspoken tribute to the vibrant spirit that had once coloured her life.

Alice sighed, tucking away the tender ache of missing her mother.

Now, it was just her and her father, whose presence loomed large and often overbearing in her life. Despite his bossy demeanour, a part of her longed to share even this simple moment with him, to bridge the gap that grief had widened. She could almost hear her mother’s laughter, see her deft hands painting similar scenes. A single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek. "God, how she would have loved this," Alice murmured to herself, her voice barely a whisper. Her mother had always found beauty in the mundane, turning it into art.

Shaking off the nostalgia, she took a deep breath, the aroma of fresh produce grounding her back to the present.

With a final glance at the shop that had unwittingly opened the floodgates of her emotions, Alice forced herself to move on, the echo of her mother's artistic spirit lingering in her heart.

Alice, with her striking auburn hair flowing in gentle waves down her back, loved peering through the narrow passages into the courtyards of buildings hidden beyond the street facade.

Pre-orders  for "The Colour Makers of Appleby" are now open!

Release Date: End of May 2024

By pre-ordering your copy today, you don't just get a book – you become part of an exclusive circle of readers who will embark on an artistic odyssey before its grand unveiling in May.

To order your copy today

Finding the Colour Makers House

It was down High Wiend; she discovered the old Colour Makers House and knew she would return tomorrow. It was just as her friends had described it. She peered through the mullioned windows and saw shelves of jars full of vivid colour as a sweet little lady closed the shutters, marking the end of the day's business.

It was said to be one of the oldest and most famous colour-making houses in the world, and Alice, a young artist with a passion for colour, couldn't wait to see it for herself.



An Old Worlde Shop

Alice pushed open the ancient creaking door to the Colour Makers House, her heart pounding in her chest. She had dreamed of visiting this place for a couple of years ever since her friends had mentioned it.

As she stepped inside, she was immediately struck by the smell of paint. A rich, intoxicating aroma filled her senses and made her heart race. The rich, heady aroma filled her senses with the sharp tang of turpentine, the sweet scent of linseed oil, and the earthy notes of pigments from all over the world, mingling with wood smoke from the big old-fashioned fireplace at the far end of the shop.

Alice wandered through the room with the low beams, marvelling at the vast array of colours surrounding her. There were pots and jars of every hue imaginable, from vibrant reds and vibrant yellows to rich, deep blues almost as dark as night. Powerful greens to muted distant lichen greens. There were even pigments that shimmered and glowed in the sunlight, similar to Mother of Pearl, with dozens of shades of gold fit for kings, all of these captured in glass bottles, reminding her of an ancient apothecary shop.

Lost in thought, she heard a voice behind her as she stood there.

"Can I help you, dear?"

Alice turned to see a little old lady smiling at her, the same lady who had closed the shutters yesterday. The old lady had kind eyes and a gentle face as she peered through her spectacles and wore a long apron, almost down to her feet, covered in paint splotches.

"Oh, I'm just browsing," said Alice. "This place is amazing. I've never seen so many colours before."

"We're delighted you like it," said the old lady. "We've been making colours here for over three centuries for all sorts of artists, those just starting out on their journey and as well as illustrious figures like Turner, illustrators like Potter and even John Ruskin."

"That's incredible," said Alice. "I'm an artist, and I'm fascinated by colour, and my friends who studied with me at the Ruskin in Oxford told me about your shop."

By the end of the day, Alice was exhausted but exhilarated. She had learned so much about colour and the art of colour-making. But more importantly, she had found a place where she felt that she truly belonged.

As Alice left the Colour Maker's House, she gazed back at the old building, bathed in the soft light of the setting sun, and smiled. Tomorrow, she would return. She hoped the master colour maker, whom her friends had spoken so highly of, would be there to guide her on her colourful journey.

Next > Chapter 2: The Colour Maker

Pre-orders  for "The Colour Makers of Appleby" are now open!

Release Date: End of May 2024

By pre-ordering your copy today, you don't just get a book – you become part of an exclusive circle of readers who will embark on an artistic odyssey before its grand unveiling in May.

To order your copy today