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26/09/2014 / jenniferrobsonartist

Drawings…2009 – present

Looking over my sketchbook drawing from the last few years and I have hundreds of horses, and a few wolves, women and hares. ripped them all out and put them up together, a herd of magical creatures.

22/05/2014 / jenniferrobsonartist

Available works for sale, exhibition and limited edition prints.

Red Wolves pencil on paper 30cms x 25cms  £350 print A4 £60 - A3 £100

Red Wolves pencil on paper 30cms x 25cms
print A4 £60 – A3 £100

Little Blue Riding Hood oil and pencil on canvas 50 x 70cms Original SOLD print available £60-£100

Little Blue Riding Hood oil and pencil on canvas 50 x 70cms
Original SOLD
print available £60-£100

Horse Gaurdian Photograph unframed print £25

Horse Gaurdian
unframed print

The Blue Hare original held in Angus council collections SOLD Print available  £60 -£100

The Blue Hare
original held in Angus council collections SOLD
Print available
£60 -£100

Horse Toy £800 oil on canvas framed

Horse Toy
oil on canvas

The Blue Door oil on canvas unframed box canvas £110

The Blue Door
oil on canvas
unframed box canvas

Cup and saucer with Victorian gold taps box canvas unframed £200

Cup and saucer with Victorian gold taps
box canvas unframed

The Plate Oil on canvas box canvas unframed £250

The Plate
Oil on canvas
box canvas unframed

The Blue Chair oil on canvas £170

The Blue Chair
oil on canvas

Note to self oil and button on canvas unframed box canvas £250

Note to self
oil and button on canvas
unframed box canvas

Auchmithie oils, jewellery gems and glitter on canvas framed £1000 Auchmithie
oils, jewellery gems and glitter on canvas

The Book  oil on canvas £350

The Book
oil on canvas


Hydrangea pencil on paper framed £300 Hydrangea
pencil on paper

The Locket pencil on paper framed £165 print avaialble £40

The Locket
pencil on paper
print avaialble £40

The Bow pencil on paper framed £ 165

The Bow
pencil on paper
£ 165

Wolf with Glitter Tongue pencil and glitter on paper framed £300 print avaialable £60-£100

Wolf with Glitter Tongue
pencil and glitter on paper
print avaialable £60-£100

'Horse kings' 2011 Graphite and collage of the artists drawings £250

‘Horse kings’ 2011
Graphite and collage of the artists drawings

'The Leap' 2010 mixed media £180

‘The Leap’ 2010
mixed media

'The Blue Braid' Pencil and inks £SOLD print avaialble £60- £100

‘The Blue Braid’
Pencil and inks
print avaialble £60- £100

'Horse King' 2012 oils on board £900

‘Horse King’ 2012
oils on board

'Horse King' 2012 oils on board £900

‘Horse King’ 2012
oils on board

'Harbinger'-detail-graphite on paper £800

‘Harbinger’-detail-graphite on paper

'Harbinger' 2010 graphite on paper £800

‘Harbinger’ 2010
graphite on paper

'Faiytale Shoe '  Graphite and acrylics irridescent paint  £70

‘Faiytale Shoe ‘
Graphite and acrylics irridescent paint

Working Horse Collage unframed £90

Working Horse

Inverted horse with Breasts print only  £100

Inverted horse with Breasts
print only

Glitter horse on the moon - Storybox detail original SOLD Print avaialble unframed £25

Glitter horse on the moon – Storybox detail
original SOLD
Print avaialble unframed £25

The Blue Cloak oil on board £700

The Blue Cloak
oil on board

Underbelly oil on board original SOLD Print avaialble £60- £100

oil on board
original SOLD
Print avaialble
£60- £100

The Bather photograph print £25

The Bather

Open Blue Doll's House Door photograph print £25

Open Blue Doll’s House Door

Dancing Horse pencil on paper Print only avaialble £60

Dancing Horse
pencil on paper
Print only avaialble

The blue hare detail print £60- £100

The blue hare
detail print
£60- £100

The Bolt pencil on paper orgiinal SOLD pritn avaialble £100

The Bolt
pencil on paper
orgiinal SOLD
pritn avaialble £100

Blue braid print £ 40 -£100

Blue braid
£ 40 -£100

Grey Braid print £40 - £100

Grey Braid
£40 – £100

Pink braid

Pink braid

Braid repeat pattern prints form £25 depending on size

Braid repeat pattern prints form £25 depending on size

braid template

braid template

braid template


Presence mixed media
Original SOLD
print available £60/£100

26/07/2013 / jenniferrobsonartist

The Girl who had a Tail – courier article 19th July 2013 by Jennifer McLaren

The Girl who had a Tail by Jennifer McLaren
Dundee courier 19th july 2013
The Meffan Institute, Forfar Until August 3

DUNDEE-BASED artist Jennifer Robson has blended personal stories with myth and fairy tale to create her new exhibition at The Meffan Institute in Forfar. The Girl who had a Tail demonstrates an evolution in her work, with media ranging from painting and drawing to large-scale sculpture, poetry and short stories she has composed.
the girl who had a tail - Jennifer Robson

Pictures: Steve Macdougall Jennifer alongside the head section of The Horse, below The Hare King.

It is arguably Jennifer’s most revealing body of work yet as she creates a narrative using her own experiences as inspiration. Dealing with stories from the universal to the personal she has reinterpreted the tale of Little Red Riding Hood by casting herself as the main character, Little Blue Riding Hood.

Jennifer explains: “I realised that story is such an important part of human life. We live by story and we all love a good story – even in its simplest form. Children learn from stories and, as adults, we continue to learn from stories, it just gets a bit more complex!

“I wanted to tell a story, perhaps my story, but also a universal story. And if I was going to tell a story then I needed to start collecting my own language and researching and learning the language of story that has gone before me. That’s what I’ve been doing for the last three years.”


Jennifer, 31, was born in Dundee and continues to live and work in the city. She graduated from Duncan of Jordanstone College of Art and Design in 2004 with a degree in drawing and painting. After art school, she managed The White Gallery in Dundee until 2009. She now works full time in her studio at Meadow Mill inWest Henderson’s Wynd.

She was invited to exhibit at The Meffan after her work The Blue Hare won the galby lery’s winter exhibition purchase prize. It is now owned by Angus Museum Collections and features in the show.

Jennifer is pleased to be at the Forfar gallery: “It feels wonderful, The Meffan is a fantastic space and has a great exhibition programme, which celebrates local east coast artists and provides a home for new emerging artists.”

After years of working with portraiture, Jennifer has come into her own, developing her style and expanding her practices: “This last year I’ve spent working on my show, completing commissions and teaching oneto-one and small group classes to people who want to build confidence in their art from my studio. I love teaching my classes. It has been great fun to see people really flourish in their art and enjoy it, rather than being scared of the paper.”

Jennifer has also taught at McManus Galleries in Dundee, the University of Dundee, Toutie Studios in Alyth and run workshops for local art societies.

In 2011 she worked as the lead artist on a production by Scottish theatre company Poorboy entitled Blood and Roses. It featured specially-commissioned works by upand-coming Scottish artists, and she created around 20 pieces for the production. It was during this time she realised her creativity flowed when she was responding to a story that inspired her.

Drawn to fairytales as a child, Jennifer continues to be inspired by themes such as allegory, mystery, lessons, heroes, magical creatures and other worlds. Her interest in words developed a few years ago when she began writing poetry. Since then she has attended a number of creative writing classes in Dundee.

She explains: “I’ve always liked fantastical and macabre stories and when I started writing I was really inspired by female writers such Margaret Atwood and Angela Carter.”

Jennifer adds she was also influenced by Swiss psychologist Carl Jung’s idea that fairy tales provide a metaphor for the unconscious and the inner psyche.

A life-size sculpture of a leaping horse hangs in the centre of the gallery, constructed from aluminium wire. Other sculptures inspired by Victorian mourning jewellery are made from synthetic human hair. The exhibition features drawings and small objects made by Jennifer alongside selected museum objects, including a horse skull on loan from the University of Dundee’s D’Arcy Thompson Museum.

She adds: “This exhibition is really a chance for me to bring all the threads of my work form the last four years together in one show. It is also a platform which has allowed me to push my work to the next level, to challenge myself to not only make large-scale work but to pull together all the various skills I have gained in a coherent body of work that ultimately tells a story.”

11/07/2013 / jenniferrobsonartist

The Girl who had a Tail – a fairytale by Jennifer Robson

The Girl who had a Tail.

There is a girl who lives her life with a burden; she has a tail. You may have seen this girl. You may love her, or envy her, even hate her. Under her feminine tresses (that following tail) she hides her affliction well.

There once was a girl who had a tail
and she cared for it lovingly every day.
Bathing and binding, combing its frays,
braiding and curling sweet-neat little plaits.
Everyone loved her and her clever tail tuft-
how sweet and unusual, that girl with the tail!
She’d curl it around you, coorie your heart,
she’d show off and flick it, this way and that.
Her beautiful tail in her love grew and grew
under her tresses, her sacred hair pew.
Then came a time at a certain ripe age,
down grew from her body soft fur between legs.
She felt so afraid when she found the first threads.
This is what happens to girls when they age.
But quickly they said ‘Girl, hide that away!
For people should never see such display!’

In her sadness, she groomed and bathed the tail in secret, stole moments to swim in her dark silken curls until one day they caught her playing with the tail and they beat and beat her until she gave in. Those other girls – see they didn’t have tails, and soon she began to feel so ashamed. So she tied it in knots, twisted it tight, caked it in mud and hid it away….but still those snaking sneaky tendrils escaped. So finally, with tears, she cut at it, shaved it to the bone then cried into her wretched hands. But it came back longer and curlier and hairier than ever before. So this time in anger, frustration and shame she braided the tail and braided the braids, until, bound and tied with ribbons and lace, she strapped it tight to her spine. And she spoke of it no more, for pretending is easy when done for so long.

Time passed and the girl who had a tail grew into a young woman and her once fine tail was now a wicked and winding hair corset; its intricate braids had grown in and out and as the years passed the knots and purls serrated her fleshy folds. Her skin enveloped it as it grew over and through her pretty meat so her breasts and her cunt, they no longer spoke.

Then one day, many years later, the girl who had a tail left her haven to visit her Grandmother. To the forest she went, dressed in her mother’s beautiful cornflower blue cloak, treading the same path she did every day. But on this particular day she wandered a little too far (as young ladies in need of lessons do.) Her eyes became wide as she saw what she saw. There in the meadow stood a great silver wolf, all matted fur, tail sighing high. There in the gloom, amidst bluebells and tears, he reared up on hind legs and said:

‘Dear lady, your bosom and curves are bewitching
but what are you hiding beneath your hair corset?’
‘Excuse me dear wolf, do mind who you talk to!
I am trying to breathe and your words are not helpful.’
So she turned on her tail, but a memory irked her
for that beautiful tail had flicked itself at her.
And Silvery Wolf, he saw something in her.
‘Dear lady please stay, you have only just got here.
I will allow you to breathe – let my teeth at that corset.’
And let him she did for she now could not move –
those braids of the corset were tight in her grooves.
She could not remember what the corset was for
but she liked how he talked and the free way he moved.
And as he undid her with his red-felted tongue,
he crooned to her quietly, read her a song.
His paws found her ribbons, unravelled them down
’til he found deep within there the most foetid wound.
He unbound her sad tail, all twisted and pussy,
cut all her bindings and licked clean her sores.
As his sharp pearly teeth sliced through matted hair,
he welcomed her home to his sweet rosy lair.
They lay there together on a sun-dappled floor,
her in her pink skin and him in his fur.

She returned to the village whenever she could.
She’d find him in meadows and remove her blue hood.
He told her to dance. Who was she to refuse?
To her he was king and she was his muse.
So she danced with a smile and gave in to the ‘Please’
and she let him suck soft on her empty girl teat.
He lived by story. She lived by heart.
Yet nothing (she thought) could keep them apart.
He showed her the world through a knowing new eye.
Now up above was a cotton wool sky,
soft on a backdrop of a heavy blue sigh.

He called her his woman; he was her great love.
He pulled on her soul, she opened his heart.
Soon her tail grew; she allowed it to quiver.
Down in the long grass, she groomed his fine fur.
She bathed him and held him, drunk back his tears,
soothed balm in his sores, whispered love in his ears.
They kindled up stories only she and he knew
of horses with humans and swallows with hares.
He gave her a new name, she poured out her words.
They lay curled together, safe, asleep and in love.

She made new braids of feathers and whittled white bone,
of lamb’s wool and hare-skin; her hand was her comb.
She made locks of love and surrounded them both
and, twining, she bound them together in love.
She cried through her fingers, as threads made her bleed.
Blue was her blood, the pencil her seed.
She opened her hands and revered all she made,
but soon her new bindings, her precious blue braids
failed to soothe.

In the beginning he’d told her she sang like a bell and promised to teach her to sing higher than the birds. But something had changed – while her tail had flourished, his had wilted like a shadowed flower. He was quiet and sorrowed, aggrieved that she had taken his love, eaten from his plate and, in his sight, misled him.

Soon it became harder to come and to go – they would not let her leave them; he punished her for going. Neither with them nor with him could she feel truly home. Still she always returned. Paths melted together, their laced fingers and toes calmed the stormy nights yet their pain and sorrow was too much to bear. He took all she gave him – withheld his love so she began again to bind the tail. The blood of their pain seeped from weeping sores. Their love became a shrivelled hairy mass of broken braids and twisted wet words. Their love left wicked stains tattooed on her sweet-neat skin. Her eyes were empty of tears. All she could do was lie and lie and lie… him, to them and to herself.
Yet still she felt his pull. He called to her fibre, body and breast but she could no longer go to him -something lower told her ‘No!’ Instead, she held a lock of his fur – a talisman – and said aloud:

‘I release you lover.
I set you free.
Let me be, let me be, let me be.
You have no power over me. I am SHE.’

Then she burned everything he ever gave, twisted his logic, threw all of his magic in the fire. She blamed her broken soul on his. In terror, she cursed his bloody sky and with his own silver knife cut off his head and got to the sewing. And out of his fur she made a coat with two tails; one was her own- the other was his. Then she chewed on his bones till he was good and dead (for to stand on her own two feet, it must be this way.) She met with the road, limping and soaked; shivering and dirty. She cast her eyes up to the slavering Scottish sky, threw back her head and howled. The heralding wind pulled at her naked torso. She could feel the hairs on her body rise. Bones shifted. She pulled the bloody fur around her….she was safe.

Here then was the crux: her heart was hers alone and so to let it grow, she let him go.

The End

27/05/2013 / jenniferrobsonartist

The Girl who had a Tail by Jennifer Robson

Little Blue Riding Hood oil and pencil on canvas 50 x 70cms

Little Blue Riding Hood oil and pencil on canvas 50 x 70cms


Back again and in an effort to be even busier I’ll be on here, writing to you, whilst eating chocolate raisins.

So its finally happened, I have my first large-scale show in July this year. I also have ten minutes to make it!!! Ah! I should really put the raisins down and get cracking!

I have been working towards this show, before I even had a place to show it. I asked the universe for a space and boy did it deliver. In December 2012 I had a phone call to tell me that my drawing ‘The Blue Hare’ had won a prize at the Meffan in Forfar. I had never won a prize for my art (not since primary 7 anyway) and I was so overjoyed that when I hung up, I ran through my house whooping and jumping like a kid, and whacked my knee off a door in the process. So there were tears of joy and tears of pain in equal measure. Hoorah!

They offered me a show and that was pretty amazing. I’d spent 3 years working in an art gallery, watching the artists exhibiting with longing as they won prizes,were having shows, and were just being artists. The Meffan is a big deal. It’s a great space and has shown a host of brilliant Scottish Artists. And it’s one of the few places on the East Coast that supports new emerging artists, on such a scale.

So there you have it. I’m having a show. Come and see  🙂

The Girl who had a Tail

The Meffan Institute


6th July – 3rd August 2013

06/09/2011 / jenniferrobsonartist


I feel grass tickling me underneath my toes. The sky spitters light onto us, I blur my eyes and watch luminous flecks of luscious green, where the sunlight breathes, through leafy veins. We are underneath this tree, you and I and we are calm.

You are asleep in that vanilla way, your cheeks pouty, as your face is relaxed. You are so still and feathery, I have to check you are breathing, as I have done so many times, when you are away from me, in this sleepy cocoon. I feel the faintest float of your exhalation on my fingertips, as your dreams sweetly escape you.

You are so precious. You smiled like her today and my love almost broke in on itself, I was so enthralled.

Your eyes see the world as I do, amazing and to be delved into, with your whole self. You saved me in so many ways when you came. I thought you would be a girl. I didn’t know what to do with you. We were all terrified of you, at first. So small, yet so vast was your presence, that we all stopped in our days and were suspended by you, waiting in your wake, to hold you, love you, for you to love us. Our new King, a gift to be worshipped.

I find myself in awe of you constantly, its like you are a crystallisation of beauty made of all that is honest and good about Us, our histories, and the world, refined into this precious tiny grain of magical being, that is you.

I never understood it before, but I understand it now more than ever, with a fullness that healed me and changed us all.

You are so lucky I think sometimes, you are so loved. My sister, who has been the other half of me my whole life (her words not mine) gave us you. My sister and I are so close, and because of this you are also mine. You are all of ours.

I sang to you when you were in her belly, my sister, so raw, so fragile, so strong, so precious. I was scared of you, I couldn’t see you, but I felt you in my sister’s body, my sister I had grown up with, my sister who was still my big sister.

I loved you before you were here. We all did.

I pick you up after your bath and my hands can wrap around your tiny ribcage, I can feel your warmth, breath and body rising, your tiny heart beating, your swollen belly full. You climb onto me now and rest yourself in my arms, and I inhale your sweet candyfloss curls into me.

You have started to talk and we all think, who is this tiny person in our lives now, telling us where to ‘sit’ and what you want? You absent mindedly twiddle with my favourite necklace, a horse on a gold locket, when you sit with me. You curl and cup it with your tiny hand, and you grace it as I do. You coorie in, and I think one day my heart will break with your touch.

My sister wants me to paint you, I want to paint you, but you are so beautiful in so many ways how could I even begin?
Your eyes are so blue, so deeply blue, raw sapphires, passed down yet paler as if diluted from mine, my dad’s, my granddad’s. Your eyelashes, are downy curls sweeping up broken hearts, your lips are fleshy sweet pink cherries. The back if your head is a swirling of curls topped of with a kiss curl, you have had since birth. Your teeth are so white and new, like tiny polished cut polo mints. You have the best cheeks, they are bulging peaches, set aside a curving button ended nose, that is divine.
The way you look, the way you move, the way you sneak, the way you teeter, the way you dance and flow.

You make me laugh.

28/06/2011 / jenniferrobsonartist

D’Arcy’s Tortoise Cabinet

The D’Arcy Thomson Museum is one room at the bottom of a staircase, hidden from the world, no windows peak in. Dissected frogs hang in jars, a sleep infinite, baby-face monkey twists serenely in his glass grave. Kept, recorded, remembered. Specimen.

Tattered winged bats lie like a discarded newspaper – the items look like something you would discover yourself in an old disused cupboard or a locked drawer. Everything is set out like evidence of a particularly peculiar crime. Who would collect such things? Take any exhibit and imagine it found out of the context of ‘museum’ and it could and has made for a juicy elaborate tale, all on its own.

And the best possession for me? An object, a creature? A construction or contraption which in itself holds an enormous presence, yet could be easily missed. A chilling, yet heart achingly beautiful specimen. A tortoise, cut open, internal parts removed long ago, except for hip and shoulder bones and a head. The shell has been re-attached with a hinge and a hooked latch. A hinge and a latch! I fancy it is a book without words, a thousand stories wide.

I mean, who hasn’t wondered if there really is blood and bone underneath those shells? If actually inside, is a complicated clockwork mechanism or has fancied that a tiny man is in there peddling the tortoise, pressing buttons, pulling strings? Who hasn’t thought of the tortoise, sitting inside his shell (at home) with a cup of tea sitting, skinny and wrinkly on his sofa reading the tortoise news?

Look closer and a more foreboding and sinister tale reveals itself. It is far more unsettling to take it – As it is. There is nothing inside the shell. We can open and close it at will. It is empty. Nothing but shell and bone, heavy with the space of the missing tortoise.

13/06/2016 / jenniferrobsonartist

Limited Edition Prints


Editions of 25





The Blue Hare



The Stag

inverted deertintturquoise





07/12/2015 / jenniferrobsonartist

Christmas Cards

Special edition Christmas card turquoise on black and white 2015 now available online on my Folksy account.

Coloured prints soon to be available.

01/12/2015 / jenniferrobsonartist

25/05/2015 / jenniferrobsonartist

Pablo Neruda, a Doll’s House and My Granda

So much in this, could’ve been six blogs! But I was just beginning.

Jennifer Robson - Artist

What a beautiful blue sky with white cloud sunny day! It just makes me feel so hopeful and like anything is possible. Sunlight is streaming through my studio window alighting on my work, casting incredible shadows on my horses and hares in my little sets. I love how my new work interacts with its surroundings like this, that’s the beauty of sculpture! The whole feel of a piece can change when you literally – see it in a different light. The sunlight sparkles and twinkles little glitter spots all over my studio. Just fabulous! I worked on my Doll’s House yesterday and have made lots of headway as to where it is going and what it is all about. It came from an original sketchbook idea I had 3years ago, after I read in a symbolism book that the house is often used as a representative symbol of the psyche…

View original post 797 more words

25/05/2015 / jenniferrobsonartist

500 new fairytales! You may have noticed

500 new fairytales!

You may have noticed I love fairytales…Well look here! 500 new fairytales discovered jeezo! Read The girl and the Turnip (?) here…

22/05/2015 / jenniferrobsonartist

Artist at work…. A few images of me wi

Artist at work….

A few images of me with my work or teaching from over the years. 🙂 7 ges of me an md

21/05/2015 / jenniferrobsonartist

Horses Horses Horses A few mock ups of m

Horses Horses Horses

A few mock ups of my horses in homes. 🙂 Prints now available large size here. 🙂

17/05/2015 / jenniferrobsonartist

:ooking over my first show, a really dif

:ooking over my first show, a really different atmosphere to The Girl who had a Tail. Polar opposite feelings. Dark and light. Interesting, obvious where my head was in each show. Art reflects life reflects Art. Now I need balance. Telling Tales (Tails) 2011

16/05/2015 / jenniferrobsonartist

aaaw this is just beautiful. I love natu

aaaw this is just beautiful. I love nature inspired art that interacts with its surroundings. Collosal why you so amazing?

16/05/2015 / jenniferrobsonartist

Has anybody seen these documentaries? Th

Has anybody seen these documentaries? They are amazing, if your looking for summit to do this avo watch these. i want a rummage in Polly Morgan’s freezer. I want to have a team to work for me like Gormley…yes please thank you!