Author: andy

It was so sad to make the final visit to my shop. All those memories like ghosts lurking beneath the layers of paint. It was my dream and I did it. I should be proud of that. But I could not bear to close it up myself… I am ever so grateful to Amber who organised it all. And with her help we are creating a Little Mustard Club to take flight in March. It could be exciting …

I’ve just finished reading The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman and I feel much better thank you. It was an easy and compelling read, which is good as I don’t have the hugest concentration span. I found it inspiring, grounding and comforting at a time when I’ve felt lost and adrift. And I was delighted to find that there were so many extra gifts in the acknowledgements, where the writer shares how hard it is to write a novel and how many people helped him knowingly or unknowingly along the way. I absolutely love my job but I find it hard to do what I do. It’s sometimes so hard that I need to find new ways of doing it. And at times like these I really am grateful for all the love that surrounds me. The kindness, help, support and good fortune that snuggles me up like a favourite blanket.

So, there are changes afoot. And Oooooh I don’t like changes! There’s so much comfort in the familiar, and shaking things up makes me feel quite wobbly. But I really do need this and if I had a superpower I think it would be my way of finding different ways of doing the same thing… 

It’s nearly Christmas again. These are strange times and sometimes it can be hard. I am always glad to hear when my work brings a smile (or a few tears when they are needed). We are all coping in our own ways, being as brave and hopeful as we can. One thing is certain: we are all in this together. And my main reflection on another strange year is how kind people can be. The people who really matter. You know the ones.

I am sorry this is not as bubbly a missive as is my custom. Like many other families, ours has had a sad bereavement.

Two videos from my sold out art exhibition Keep On Keeping On at Panter & Hall, London. 23 November-3 December 2021.

Hallo Lovelies!

Greetings from a busy busy studio by the sea!

How’ve you been keeping?

Well, I hope?

Me? I’m feeling healthy, strong, and very grateful for that.

I’ve been working away, keeping my head down, focussing on making things rather than the social media, so I’m sorry for the lack of postings.

My newest newest News is that I have just (2 weeks ago) decided to make a new book… self publishing some of the quick little pen and ink drawings from this year’s sketch book diary for the first time. It’s a bit mad because I have so much else going on, but I couldn’t resist. Available from late November. And at the Show of course, more of that later.

I always find it a strange, sad and exciting time, this change of Seasons. Is it just me? I’m never ready to move on, but I know I’ll love it when I get in the swing…

Every day I walk with my dogs down to the studio. A short walk with the sea at the bottom of the hill. It’s a bit lovely. But every day I witness the plaintive cries of the almost-grown baby seagulls as they pester their parents to give them food. I know it’s nature but I always find it heartbreakingly sad. It has not yet occurred to them that a change is coming. They are only asking for food as they always have done, and it’s always worked before. But it’s time to move on. Things will never be the same for them again, and that jump from babyhood to adulthood can be a brutal one. It reminds me of the changes we have all been through over the last 18 months. It’s been shocking and awful and we’ve had little control over it. We’ve all been through it. And I’m hoping in time we will soar again. I feel it coming. But in the meantime I offer you a big virtual hug. It’s a time for finding pleasure in personal treasures. And I hope looking through some new pictures may brighten up your day too.

I feel I should add a fanfare here as I am DELIGHTED to be back at Panter and Hall again this November. This solo show (cancelled once for cancer, once for Covid) feels like a comeback even though we’ve never really been away. Do you know what I mean?

And as I have had to cancel my Little Mustard Shop show, this is the only opportunity to view original work in a gallery this year. Paintings Drawings Bronzes. And I’m planning a little book of drawings, sketching my life and times in the run up to the show. I’ll know more in a few weeks when I’ve finished the drawings. Neither have I finished the paintings. But three brand new bronzes are on the way. Blummin exciting.

The London show runs from 23rd November to 3rd December. The work will be so fresh and new! I will be in the gallery two of the days and I really hope you can make it for the Private View on Tuesday 23rd and/or for the Grand Day Out on Saturday 27th. But if you can’t, there will also be a short film and an ecatalogue… Contact Panter and Hall direct if you are interested in buying and you’d like to receive the ecatalogue in advance. Or if you’d like to attend one of the open days. Once I have finished the paintings in a few weeks I will have some time and space to dream up some fun things for the Saturday event and I’ll send another email with all the details.

I’ll leave you now and get on with my sketchings. I have Milo coming to make a short film Thursday and Innis coming to take some pictures Friday so obviously the most important thing is deciding which frock to wear and giving the dogs a good brush,

All the very best,

Sam x

Hallo friends!

Thanks so much for signing up to my email list.

Maybe you’ve just joined us? Maybe you’re one of my old favourites? Or perhaps you have no idea why you’re receiving this at all?   But I’m grateful that you’re here and I’m sending out a big warm Mustard WELCOME to one and all. 

As has become customary I have a little story to tell you, but please scroll forward to the details about my forthcoming show if it gets a bit silly. I’ll be in touch again in a week or so with details of the competition, giveaways and prizes.

Once, many years ago, I was very interested in making a marionette and was lucky enough to attend a course with the BRILLIANT John Roberts. I took inspiration from a young storyteller I’d seen taking part in a show a few months before. Tall and delightfully gangly with a shock of bright ginger hair and small glasses, he looked rather like a teenage Mr Mustard. So I drew his slim white figure from my mind’s eye, and carved out his calves and thighs, feet, hips, arms and head with a wickedly sharp Chinese chisel. It was a miraculous tool. So smooth and easy to use. It cut through the wood like butter. Carving his face was like preparing Brussels Sprouts at Christmas. It was just THAT easy. It sent shivers down my spine every second it was in my hand. One moment’s daydream and there would be a spare finger on the floor I felt sure of it. The very thought gave me nightmares. I was determined to get over myself but the chisel, once wrapped carefully in many sheets of oiled rags, remained unvisited. And the half-finished puppet rests to this day in an old tin box on a shelf at my studio. Complete with all his accoutrements and my extravagant plans. The marionette was to be the star of his own show. The show was to be called Simon Smith and He’s Dancing Bare.

Hallo Friends,

I felt like writing even though I have nothing in particular to say. I wanted to share just three short random paragraphs, and a hope to uplift with words and pictures without any clear knowledge of where any of it is going, or whether any of it is connected or makes sense at all. I’m sure you’ll let me know.

I’ve been sitting with a mug of hot coffee listening to the crackles of sunlight sparkling on the waves at my local sea front café. Watching an adolescent herring gull as he desperately tries to coax a tasty morsel from his mother’s mouth. She flies away. He pecks at beach pebbles, fluffs his feathers and awaits her return. But again she moves away and pretends not to care. His cries are plaintive. She stands firm. The time has come for him to live or die by his own efforts. It’s a hard lesson that he does not want to learn. It’s painful to watch. And the natural world keeps on turning as if there were no huge crisis happening at all.

It’s been a strange year, hasn’t it? There has been so much hardship, loss and suffering. And worse still there’s so little many of us can do about it. But I am naively optimistic as ever. And I’ve been trying to find space in my heart and mind to send out loving thoughts and wishes to those who don’t quite deserve it. You know the ones.

I’m so grateful to have the companionship of my little budgie Almondine. This tiny bird has so much presence and spirit. He lives and plays, enjoying each moment without overthinking it, going about his daily business without seeming to worry what others may think. So small and powerless, fragile and fearless, his boldness is inspiring.

I have lots of dreams for 2021 and hope you do too.

See you on the other side,

Stay safe,

Sam Toft

What have I got to say?

Well, I popped into a Turkish Barber on impulse last week. I noticed they were open as I was passing with my weekly shop in the wheelie trolley, and so I walked in. In general, I’m a bit scared of new hairdressers, but I suddenly felt an urgent need for a post lockdown tidy up. I sat in the unfamiliar chair with the proffered disposable mask and tried to look at ease. My barber had kind eyes and alarming eyebrows that were made all the more prominent by his huge white mask. The eyebrows were hairless and looked as if they’d been coloured-in with a thick stick of charcoal. Far too high on his head. And immovable. I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

He didn’t have much English, and what he had was muffled behind the mask. He seemed eager to get started though, clippers in hand, even before I’d had chance to discuss the intricacies of my New Look. Somewhere between a Rosemary’s Baby Mia Farrow and a Jean Seberg in A Bout de Souffle. I hadn’t got a lot to work with but I was definitely hopeful of something more sophisticated than a 1970’s skinhead. My eyes scanned the price list. A dry cut would set me back nine pounds, cash only. The barber was busy plugging in the clippers. I looked at the back of his head which was nut brown, mercifully devoid of eyebrows and instead shaved dangerously close. Was I in the right place?

Sitting here now, safe in my little garden haven writing this, let’s just say I can definitely feel the wind around my trossachs. I’m starting to wonder whether I should’ve splashed out on the £10.99 Deluxe Service.

I’m sorry, I felt I just had to share that experience. Especially as I’m bothering you with another email so soon after the last. But I see quite a few have joined the list since last time and I wanted to remind you of what’s coming up, and a little new news besides.

First off, I’m DELIGHTED that our Anything is Possible Collection was so well received. The wooden crates for the ten large pots are being stenciled as we speak at Pottery Gagliano, and the entire collection – a collaboration between myself and master potter Roberto Gagliano – will soon be shipped out. The Pottery Studio is open once more at limited times with new precautions, so soon I will be there again starting work on a fresh collection of small dogs for our October Show at Little Mustard Shop Brighton.

I have donated two from the Doris Fruit Salad Collection to a Pottery Gagliano Crowd Funder which (unlike the ceramics at the October show) can be sent straight to your door by Roberto. Keep your eyes peeled on social media to find out when that goes live. Or contact them direct to ask about details of all the amazing pots donated by the Pottery Gagliano family at www.potterygagliano.co.uk

Big Love,

Sam Toft x

We had our first show. It went incredibly well. Everything sold. Even some things that weren’t for sale sold. I felt inspired to make a few extra new drawings so at least there would be something there if people had set their hearts on buying. They went too. It was like the Marie Celeste on the Sunday in the Little Shop.

So many came to the Opening Reception. Dogs as well as people. It was amazing. We had a tombola and drinks served over at The Crescent pub opposite. We had half-hourly tickets so everyone would get a viewing. It sounds a bit strange doesn’t it, but it all went so smoothly. Team Mustard had it worked out to a tee. Everybody was so kind, patient, understanding, generous.

When I thought I’d lost my little shop it felt like a death. An inevitable expected death like that of an old dog, but still a cruel shock. One of those deaths where people say, Ah well, she had a good innings, and all you can think is, No no NO, I’m not ready, I want MORE innings. And when people looked at me and tilted their heads in sympathy it was because somehow they knew that this was the way it must be. And all I could do was wish I felt stronger so I could scream and rant and stamp my feet at the very least.

I was not ready to lose my little shop.

So instead I decided to put it on ice. Freeze it over the Winter and look again in the Spring.