The Little Things We Forgot We Loved

Telling people that you spend your working hours painting little mice is one of those things that tends to raise an eyebrow. Especially when you add that it isn't simply a study of mice, but painting them doing things that mice don't actually do, like baking apple pies, pottering about sweeping the front of their pumpkin cottage, going for walks in the rain and generally getting on with their little mouse lives, the eyebrow usually goes a little higher.

Though, I'm fairly sure that somewhere underneath the sensible adult exterior, most of us understand it. There is something about these little imagined worlds that feels familiar, like a long forgotten tether pulling us back towards that childhood sense of wonder and amazement, when a story could feel every bit as real as the world outside the window.

A picture is said to tell a thousand words, and these little illustrations have certainly got a story to tell. Storytelling is such a huge part of our lives, and yet it is something I think we can easily forget about as we grow older. In fact, I would go as far as to argue, that some of the stories we read as children may be amongst the most important ones we ever encounter.

Of course they are filled with magic and often exist in realities very different from our own. Talking animals, mysterious forests, magical adventures and characters who somehow manage to make a rather ordinary afternoon feel like the beginning of an epic adventure. But there was always something more to them than the magic itself.

Inspiration, for one.

How many times did you finish a book as a child and, with sheer force and determination, decide that you were going to do exactly what the character had just done? Usually at the least convenient time, often bedtime becoming considerably harder to wind down after jumping out from under the warm duvet for the tenth time in sheer excitement.

Those stories gave us something to do, something to imagine and something to talk about. They were shared, passed down and returned to again and again. They connected us to other people, sometimes bonds formed while gathered around the fire or around the kitchen table with hot drinks. And, often without us realising it, gave us little lessons about friendship, courage, kindness, curiosity and the world around us. Yet as quickly as we wanted to grow up, I think we sometimes become rather good at abandoning the things we once loved as being silly or childish. And they became dusty memories forgotten on the shelves.

I'm not suggesting we should stay permanently tucked up in the pages of our childhood books. Growing up is, after all, part of life. But I quite like the idea of keeping little reminders of those things that shaped us around the home, even if they take a slightly different form. For me, some of that inspiration comes from those little worlds of animals that I loved as a child.

I remember reading books like Brambly Hedge and being completely captivated by their seasonal lives, particularly all the wonderful things they seemed to be making. There was something being gathered, baked, and always enjoying and celebrating the seasons. It was simple and yet those simple things can lead us somewhere.

Beatrix Potter has certainly never left me. I loved her stories and the depth of character she gave each animal. As an adult, I find myself in much greater admiration of her; her skill as an artist, her incredible observation of nature, and the life she created which inspired her stories. the things she loved all seem so beautifully connected.

One story can remind us and create a desire to go and pick blackberries from the hedgerow. Beyond a lovely dessert, you get so much more from that little inspiration. Forage requires going outside, maybe a gentle afternoon walk. It’s a slow process you can’t rush, so you have no choice but to take it steady. You start noticing the colours and shapes of the plants around you, the little rustle somewhere in the leaves and wondering what might be hiding there. You hear the birds as the cool air caresses your cheek and you realise that breath you’ve been holding onto has been released as you take your next deep and slow breath.

All from the idea of a little mouse going out to collect blackberries. That, to me, is part of the magic of these stories. They can take something very ordinary and make us curious enough to go and experience it for ourselves.

These stories and illustration are never just that. They are a way of seeing. And perhaps that is what the best stories do. They give us another way to see and connect to the world. These stories may be exaggerated but they help form a bond and care to the natural world and its creatures. These animals may not in actual fact be baking an apple pie but they do have lives and little personalities in their own way no matter how small. Such as this one particular squirrel who seems to enjoy throwing beech nuts at my children and me when we walk past.

A poult who loved to sleep in my pocket or on my neck

Perhaps we are also too quick to think of imagination as something belonging only to children. As adults, we still disappear into fantasy, they simply take a different form. I would dearly love Middle-earth to be real, but from these imagined worlds we take something very real; inspiration, lessons, friendship, courage and a sense of wonder.

And that is what I hope these little paintings can offer too. A little reminder of the stories we loved, a little inspiration to get outside and notice the changing seasons, the animals and the small things happening around us. Something to be enjoyed not only by children, but perhaps also a little window for us as adults into that sense of wonder we once had so naturally. To bring joy and light hearted moments that is very much needed in today’s world.

Because sometimes the stories we leave behind as we grow up are the very ones that shaped how we see the world.

These little mice are my way of keeping a little piece of that magic close; a reminder of the stories, the creatures and the natural world that quietly shaped us, and perhaps of the things we forgot we loved.

You can find the prints of the adventures of the mice here in a variety of sizes.

With warmth,

Halimah