24 hours painting at Glebe House

A near-sleepless night of luxury inspiration in the East Devon hills

I’d been dreaming of a night away at Glebe House for months, if not years.

As is all too often the way, I’d been chatting to co-owner Olive on Instagram for ages, and we’d planned to meet either at my studio or with a visit to East Devon, but poorly children had made us both postpone plans.

In the end I opted to leave Bea in the care of Jack for 24 hours and pack my paint brushes instead, knowing that what lay ahead was likely to be unbearable unless I could get it all down on canvas.

I met my studio manager Katherine at my Dartmoor barn studio at the normal time, but today held a greater adventure than our usual two days a week. We loaded up the car with as many canvases as we could manage, levered in a paint-splattered easel and crammed in my big red box of paints and oil pastels.

It’s only a 45 minute drive to Glebe House from the barn, but crossing over into East Devon couldn’t have felt more different. The hills were more gentle now, rolling and bright green in their first flush of spring growth.

The last few roads on the approach narrow to hedge-lined country lanes, pheasants scooting across in a squawk of panic and calves taking their mid-morning feed (brunch?) in the barn. Small, unassuming signs mark the way to Glebe, as we turn steeply up the daffodil-lined driveway up past the tall oaks to the white house.

It was at that moment that I knew this was going to be good. My hands were already itching to get into the paints, eyes darting around from hedge to tree to valley below.

The only thing that’ll stop me from painting (momentarily) is tea. I took a deep breath and decided that we should start with a big pot of tea in the glass-panelled entrance room before really digging out the paints and starting proper.

Oak tree drive

It was the tall oaks that lined the drive that caught my eye first. They were like the welcoming committee, with bare branches only just coming into bud contrasted by the bright golden yellows of the daffodils below.

I stood just outside guest house’s main entrance, on the lawn in front of the ha-ha, a sort of sunken wall that gives the illusion that the grass extends beyond into the field below. Spring lambs grazed and played boisterously, occasionally running back to their mothers bleating as if they’d almost got lost.

After putting in the tall oaks and the timber fence, I added in the daffodils below. I’d need to let this dry before adding in the next layer, as some of the yellows were mixing with the darker colours.

The light breeze would make light work of drying the work, though it was a little overcast, so I set the painting down on the grass and we set up the next canvas further along the garden with a view towards the nearest hill, Great Pen.

Great Pen and the Southleigh hills

In a matter of minutes, the sun burst through the clouds and started beating down on us. We hadn’t experienced this level of warmth since last summer, and let me tell you, it was very gratefully received indeed.

I absolutely adore my barn studio, but with the exception of the log burning stove, it’s deathly cold through the winter. I (just about) keep warm by donning our thermals and opting for short, energetic bursts of painting and moving canvases about. We may be adjusted to it more than most, but it really does make the warmth of the spring sunshine all the sweeter.

Pooh corner

As the midday sun made painting outside a little too hot to handle, we moved inside to start studying some of the house’s gorgeous interiors. I was absolutely in love with the downstairs bathroom (think leafy patterned wallpaper, a rich ochre skirt around the broad ceramic sink and vintage prints of geese), but for fear of blocking off the loo to the other guests, we started with Pooh Corner instead.

This dining area is so called as it was where co-owner Hugo and his brothers used to play as children, when the guest house was run by his parents. The cosy corner is styled around a floor-length window that shares the same impressive view down over the village of Southleigh in the valley and the hillside beyond.

One of the most glorious things about Glebe is the art, curated by Olive from numerous artists, including works in oil by Olive herself. It was so inspiring to be surrounded by them as I painted too.

I loved the mismatched chairs around the dining table, all gorgeous old designs, with a few highlighted in a glossy lipstick red. Perfection. A small vase of daffodils sat atop the table, bringing the outside in.

The dining room

Next up was the formal dining room, after placing down the canvas from Pooh Corner on the lawn with the others to dry. A mini exhibition was forming, which captured the eye of some of the other guests who had joined for a wild garlic cookery course.

Thick, bold stripes lined the room, with shelves either side of the fireplace set up as an incredible still life of ceramics, paintings, glasses and trinkets.

The tall window bridged the gap between inside and outside, with terracotta potted narcissi standing tall on the table in the foreground. I loved the opulent curtains in here, framing the window perfectly.

The sitting room

We’d saved the best for last with the Sitting Room at Glebe. This room was a Fauve’s dream; Picasso, Hockney and Matisse would have loved it here. I had to pause for another round of tea to just take it all in before putting paintbrush to canvas.

While you can see that the hearth would be the centrepiece by night, by day the bay window stole all the attention. I admired the books stacked high on the table, the striking pink walls and the oversized armchairs which invited me to rest.

With the harshest light of the day now behind us, it was time to head back outside again and put the finishing touches on the drying works. The soft afternoon light cast a warm glow across the garden, with the occasional sound of machinery from the farms echoing up from the valley below.

I reached for my box of oil pastels - a seemingly random assortment of thinner Sennelier pastels and much chunkier oils. They’ve certainly seen some action, paper wrappers discoloured and torn, piled high, but I know exactly what I’m reaching for in the chaos.

It was dry enough to work on the grass, reaching out across my largest 1x1 metre canvas to get the colour down.

I had one blue oil pastel that was really on its last legs; a sliver of the creamy blue oil between the raggedy bits of paper. Katherine had naively tried to throw it out in her tidy up, but I’d saved it in the nick of time, joking about how much that little sliver was worth when it comes to the very best art materials.

Savoured between my fingers and applied to the canvas, turns out that sliver of blue was just what the old oaks had needed.

A collection of sorts was starting to take shape now; with scenes from both inside and outside Glebe House. I gave a mini exhibition to Olive, who’d also spent the afternoon painting in her kitchen. There were streaks of paint across her arms and on her apron, and I knew she’d been lost in the same trance that I had.

It was nearing dinner time now and my stomach started to rumble in eager anticipation of our three-course dinner. Katherine had stayed at Glebe before and hadn’t stopped going on about the food, so I had high expectations.

The Old Kitchen

I checked into my room, The Old Kitchen. Unlike the other rooms, the Old Kitchen is an annexe on the end of the house, comprising of the oldest features; a large fireplace stood next to an old wash basin.

The Old Kitchen felt so soft. The light was anchoring and warm, and it felt like being in a painting, but it also ticked off everything you might need; the cosy log burning stove, a deep bath, the deepest pillows I’ve ever met and more teabags than you or I could ever need.

As anticipated, the dinner was divine. We started with bay and juniper cordial, served with tonic, and a wild garlic soup with soft cheese on toasted sourdough.

The chicken pie that followed looked enormous but was quickly snaffled up with a light puff pastry, delicious potatoes and salad. To finish, a sharp lemon tart ticked all the boxes.

Satisfyingly full, I retreated to The Old Kitchen for the night. I knew I ought to make the most of the luxury roll top bath, but I couldn’t relax until I’d captured this scene. Back up went the easel, and I carried on painting the soft tones of the room until it was much too late.

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The morning after the night before

Katherine knocked on the door at 8am and I was already back at the easel (and had been for some hours). I suppose having a toddler conditions you for sleep deprivation, but nothing prepared me for how overwhelmingly inspired I had been.

Don’t get me wrong - I’d slept very well in those hours that I’d had - but I could’t simply lie there enveloped in my pillows and not get up to paint.

With a small spare canvas I captured the textiles of The Old Kitchen, pairing the headboard, bed linen and side table. My (very heavily pregnant) sister Sarah was joining from Exeter for breakfast too, so we walked around to the garden room to meet her.

Sarah has been with me all through my painting journey; from painting huge murals together to co-authoring a book to being my number one assistant on painting expeditions.

I didn’t want her to feel like she was missing out now, so having her come to enjoy breakfast with us and do some sketching felt so lovely.

It wasn’t too long before Sarah had run out of energy, which reminded me that I was nearing exhaustion too. Regretfully, after one last pot of tea, we packed up the paintings and said our goodbyes to our wonderful hosts, Hugo and Olive.

What a whirlwind 24 hours at Glebe House – a huge, huge thank you to the team for having us, and providing such unbelievable inspiration.

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The Glebe House Collection is available online at www.emilypowellstudio.com/glebe-house-collection. Please enquire through WhatsApp or email us at info@emilypowellstudio.com for pricing and availability.

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