Tag Archives: morning

Walking to Whitstable

Saxon Shore Way, Faversham Creek

Walking to Whitstable

Faversham, 18 June 2014

Dear ____________

I hope this finds you well.

Almost a week ago (how does this happen!?) I walked to Whitstable. I had arranged to take part in the Whitstable Satellite exhibition organised by Rod Lupton in his Summer house along with other artists who have been regularly involved with what has become known as Assembly, which was first organised by Rod in 2011 in Faversham’s Assembly Room in Preston St. The name has stuck, moving since to the Horsebridge in Whitstable, Beach Creative in Herne Bay, and finally the current Summer House. Another instalment is planned for July in Whitstable at the Horsebridge.

When Rod sent out an email about the Summer House idea, I was in the midst of imagining and planning for my upcoming Ideas Test funded Walk Swale Medway project, in which I will be walking across Swale and Medway for around 3 weeks, led largely by suggestions from social media connections and the people I meet. Walking to Whitstable and seeing how a longer walk might go in the lead up to the project seemed like a good idea. I suggested it, and planned to walk on the last weekend of the Biennale.

Although I walk everyday in Faversham, I felt a bit daunted by the thought of walking a longer than usual distance.  I wander, sometimes for shorter times, sometimes longer, noticing stuff, following the next interesting path I find, and stopping to chat to people. I have walked to date within a range I am physically comfortable with, so I worried that a longer walk might be difficult.

Physically, on arrival to Whitstable, I was ok. My expectations were that the walking would be difficult, but it wasn’t bad. I was tired by the end, and my knees ached a bit, but I walked steadily and my timing was my own. I sat on the sea wall for a bit, looking out at the incredibly low, low tide of the North Kent coast, and then I walked again. All very simple and straightforward.

What I didn’t expect was the mild jolt of arriving, the adjustment to talking with people after several hours of time and headspace that were completely my own.   I am naturally conversational, so finding it difficult to form a sentence was a surprise! It felt like a very odd displacement, and reminded me of an earlier time in my life when I returned to Cambridge, outside Boston, and thought how strange and unfamiliar very familiar things could be.

Rod was hospitality personified and patiently guided me to the Summerhouse after making sure I was fed and watered. It was a wonderful walk and I would encourage anyone considering it to go. And if you have already been – I get it now.  Amazing.

Vipers bugloss near the Sportsman, Seasalter

Vipers bugloss

Sunset at Whitstable

Whitstable Sunset

Sun and shadow

Sun between the beach huts

Whitstable Biennale satellite

Summerhouse morning

I woke in the Summerhouse next morning very early due to the daylight and went in search of the sunrise. I was feeling very smug about Faversham Creek and its sunrises, but Whitstable came up with the a beauty. There were a couple of surprises on the beach, too, in the form of late night/early morning swimmers, au natural, shall we say!

Sunrise Whitstable

Sunrise Whitstable

Early morning dip

Early morning dip

I’ll be keeping in touch more regularly through Walk Swale Medway over the next few weeks, so  pop over there if you’d like to keep in touch, and please do take part! I’ll be back in Faversham mid July, so write when you can!

Hope :)

Keeping Going and the difference a day makes


Two days, same place

Faversham, 24 February 2014

Dear ____________

I hope this finds you well.

This morning’s walk was full of vim and vigour. Up with the sun, with a light step. Ideas buzzing, looking forward to the day. Vitality.

Yesterday, however, was fuelled by the words ‘Keep Going’ in metronomic time with my steps.


I even just sat for a bit  when the metronome got monotonous.


Sitting, listening, reframing for a spell

Grim. It’s not the first time it’s happened, and I have often wondered about sharing this kind of experience – mostly in the interest of honesty. It’s part of the experience of my walking and my life. There is, for me, something suspect about the perpetual unending positivity of the things we (I) share on social media – I know for a fact that I don’t have endless days of joy and gratefulness, nor do my friends or many of the other people I talk to, and I’m a very chatty person! ;)

Yesterday, out in the real world of conversation, a friend asked me, simply – ‘How are you?’ So I told her. ‘I’ve had a really awful morning.’  We talked. What a joy this is! Rarely, when I answer this question in such a blunt fashion, the response is a blank look and I know to start chatting about the weather. But more often than not, I find empathy. I find that people are grateful for the chance to say how familiar what I feel is or might have been to them at one time. I find comfort, and sometimes, giving comfort in return is the remedy for my own discomfort.

Writing about having grim days is risky, however. I am not depressed, but I do have days in which vitality is distinctly lacking and that thankfully lift in a relatively short time. They are days in which getting out of bed is a chore and the light seems to have drained from everything. Days when I am sure that this me (lethargic, lazy, unlovable, angry) is the real me and that ‘nice’ Hope is a made up character in a story with my name on the cover.  As Andrew Solomon says in his brilliant TED talk You think that the veil has been taken away, and I am certain that this negative self-perception is reality while my vitality is a well maintained fiction. Maybe it’s hormones, or my age, or my disposition (one friend maintains it’s an ‘arty’ thing, hmm? Discuss!) – I don’t know.  I couldn’t decide if it was relevant to write about, or important enough, or whether it would be, frankly, a bit of a turn off.  I know that walking has helped me personally to manage these days, but I was wary of setting out on a ‘Walking will help with everything’ crusade. And mostly, I have good days, so why bother?

Reading the transcript of Andrew Solomon’s brilliant and positive TED talk on depression this morning moved me to write though, because  the description of depression is familiar to me, either because the feelings are familiar or I know someone who has felt them, or who are affected by a loved one, suffering. Having that short conversation yesterday, too, reminded me that comfort can be in the most unexpected places, and that keeping going is the best way to find a comfortable place. I think that’s worth sharing. That, and he mentioned drumming as a remedy for depression, and I can wholeheartedly endorse that! ;)

It occurred to me yesterday, when my feet, my heart, and my mind felt heavy, that sometimes it’s not me that is keeping the habit of walking going, but the habit of walking that is keeping me going.

Write when you can!




Pictures of Faversham

Faversham, 16 February 2014

Dear ____________

I hope this finds you well.  200% average rainfall and the wettest January since 1910 has made walking around Faversham invigorating over the past month or so. It’s been bracing, muddy, cold, peppered with sideways rain, gusts of wind, and cloudbursts of hail. Something I hadn’t expected about walking in the winter is that I don’t much mind going out in any weather these days, as long as I’m in the right clothes – or not, actually, as in these pre-Christmas pictures. :)  I’m sure Mr F. was pleased with himself when he saw these on the 22nd of December.

IMG_20131222_090917wet pathIMG_20131222_091042 wet legs

His genius Christmas gift of waterproof trousers (and warm socks) have been a consistent source of delight since!

Waterproof trousers for Christmas - Thanks Mr F!

Sometimes, I wonder why I bother trying to take pictures in such saturated conditions.  As I’m ducking under the relative dry of a dripping hedge, wiping the face of my phone with a spare sock drawn from a soggy pocket, and trying to input text with damp fingers, I think – why take pictures at all? Is this really necessary? I’m walking every day, which was my objective when I started out almost 8 months ago.  Why obsess with the picture taking?

Well, here’s how the walking thing grew into a walking and picture taking thing.

I decided to keep track of each day by making note of the time and length of my walk on my smartphone’s calendar. On one of the mornings of that first week, something caught my eye, and taking a picture seemed to be a good way to make note, too. After all, I am a visual person.   I use photography in my artwork as a tool, like I might use a brush or a pencil.  I use it in my work as a photographer to record the details of special moments and days.  Until I started walking and taking pictures of Faversham on my phone using Instagram everyday, all of my photography was for something else.

A few months before I started walking, I revisited and used slide photographs from travelling across America 25 years ago for a project called Medium Memory. Working on this reminded me of an engagement I had once had with photography that was more about looking and seeing – about being in a place, really noticing my surroundings, and trying to catch a memory with an image. Instagram allowed me to rediscover the immediacy of photography as a way of seeing. I love it, and I think of my walking photography as a kind of visual sketching exercise with Instagram as my sketchbook – keeping my eye in, making me really look at where I live like I am a visitor, seeing it for the first time. After living in Faversham for nearly 14 years, that’s pretty magical!

The magic is set to expand into Swale and Medway this summer, thanks to funding for a Small Experiment from Ideas Test. Looking forward to seeing even more of where we live!

Here’s to some drier days – write when you can!

Hope :)







On walking

First morning walk in Faversham

Faversham, 14 January 2014

Dear __________

I hope this finds you well.

24 June 2013. 6:30am. Memory is a slippery thing, and on reflection I’m not even sure this really WAS the first walk. It was a pretty one in any case – warm and sunny, and at this point my sweatshirt would already have been tied round my waist with my shoulders getting their full dose of Vitamin D. Ah, Summer! A great time to start walking. Here’s how it started for me…

I went to visit my new recently converted from twitter acquaintance to real life colleague and artist  Rod McIntosh for a cuppa, a chat and to see his studio space. We somehow got to talking about habits, and the need to have an awareness of helpful and not so helpful ones. Rod shared a book he had on his ‘to read’ pile called The Power of Habit.  It was relevant to our conversation, I made a mental note of it and that was that. I’d love to say that Mr Duhigg changed my life, but I’d be fibbing, because I didn’t read the book.

The title stayed in my head, though, and that evening, perched on the sofa with yet another cuppa, I read the blurb. And a teeny bit of the prologue that is available on Amazon. That’s it. I’m as impatient as the next person for sweeping change through minimal effort! I can be a bit lazy that way. I had probably run out of tea by then, too.

Anyway, one story in the prologue did make an impression.  It was about a woman who made one decision (to cross a desert) which led to a series of a whole bunch of other decisions (quitting smoking, running marathons – you know, the usual) – I’m paraphrasing, but you can read what I read here, if you like.

‘One thing, huh?’ I thought. I can do at least ONE thing. ‘Right?’ (A marathon is not on the cards. DO NOT watch this space.)

Over the years, I have had fits and starts of exercise, fitness, and ‘eating right’. It always makes me feel great. Improved mood, better sleep, more energy, the lot.  Years ago I ran in the Faversham 10K with a friend – far enough, thanks very much. It was brilliant to finish but it took 18 months for my knee to function normally again. Running was out, then.

Once my knee was back to normal, I was able to celebrate by dancing  all night in heels. Who can resist a bass line and drumbeat? Not me, apparently.  Cue another year of rubbish knee action. Now, dancing is a thing I will never give up, (DO watch this space!) but didn’t strike me as a realistic everyday pursuit.

I’m not sure how but I decided to go for a walk in the morning. In spite of the dodgy knee, I can walk. Slowly. I told myself that if I went everyday for 2 weeks, I’d buy myself some new trainers as a reward to replace my sagging and toe revealing six-years-old Asics.

‘I am going to walk everyday for two weeks!’ I told my friends. I told my family. I told myself. I told anyone who would listen. (This is my usual pattern!)

On the final day of two weeks, I took these pictures.

Ticklebelly AlleyFish & Chips IMG_20130707_064756 IMG_20130707_063552

29 weeks and a day later, I’m quicker, slimmer, happier, dancing and still hooked on walking. Lots has changed since 24 June 2013 but I’ll save that for another time. Write when you can!

Hope :)

Please excuse the mess


Faversham,  24 December 2013

Dear ________

I hope this finds you well.  I hope you’ll indulge this first Letter from Faversham. For now, it’s a bit like moving into a new house, I’m afraid. The moving van has just pulled away, the diesel fumes are lingering in the chill air outside, I’ve shut the door and I’m faced with a room full of boxes, rolled up rugs, unhung curtains and baskets brimming spikily with the things that didn’t make it into respectable containers. The surfaces are all woodchip and stucco, the carpet is all kinds of wrong.

But I’m in. I’ve started this epistolary journey. It’s bare at the moment, and  I’m not sure where everything is going to go, or what this new home will look like, but I’m looking forward to finding out. I was going to wait to get going until I had a swish new logo from Miss Jemma Elf or until I’d organised some fabulously gorgeous WP functionality from Beam Twenty3, until I remembered the first visit Mr F and I had from friends when we moved to Faversham nearly 14 years ago.

It was in that first few hours of inhabiting our new house, and there were boxes everywhere.  I dug out a stash of teabags that I had set aside in the cab of the moving van. We all sat, amidst the chaos and disorganisation, drinking tea, and I imagined our new home as I would like it to be. A good moment, really. So, in the spirit of savouring the beginning of something new, please excuse the mess. I will get it sorted, eventually.

Why write a Letter from Faversham? It started with walking.  I’ve been walking nearly every day for the past six months. Six months today, in fact.  How on earth did that happen? More on that in another letter, I think. Safe to say though, there is nowhere better for spending time with thoughts, meandering in and out of them, than walking.  I miss writing letters, and find that voice in my head as I walk, so I thought I’d try and share it.  Like I said, I don’t know what this new home will look like, but you’re welcome to join me for a cuppa.

Until then, I’m off for a rainy walk. Write when you can!

Hope :)