A 'painter's painter' returns to the capital after a decade away.

KIKKO, Fred Astaire, and Rosie made a grand entrance. Elizabeth

Blackadder's most-painted cats were returning from a cattery, home

during their owners' brief trip to Copenhagen. Blackadder and her artist

husband John Houston had arrived back at their South Edinburgh home the

night before. Cats duly welcomed, we resumed our conversation about her

year.

Comings and goings have been frequent occurrences -- the cattery has

done brisk business. In February she lunched with the Queen, sat next to

Tom Conti. The Duke of Edinburgh and Blackadder talked about painting,

his and hers. March saw the unveiling of a portrait of Sir David Smith,

outgoing Principal of Edinburgh University (''Lady Smith thought I'd

made him a bit solemn''). And in April, Blackadder added to existing

honours (OBE, the first woman academician of both English and Scottish

Academies, and other accolades too numerous to mention) an honorary

Fellowship bestowed by the Royal Society of Edinburgh.

With a book of her flower paintings due out in October, it's

surprising she found time to focus on the event which most delights her

admirers this year -- her first exhibition in the Scottish capital for a

decade.

But why such a gap? ''I've been showing in London's Mercury Gallery

every two years and I find that, even within that interval, the pressure

can be too great. I did show at the Glasgow Print Studio last May.''

The invitation to exhibit during the 1994 festival came from the

Scottish Gallery. ''Elizabeth is one of Britain's best-known

contemporary artists -- we're thrilled she agreed,'' says Scottish

Gallery manager Robin McLure. ''She's a painter's painter but with wide

popular appeal.''

Ninety per cent of the 70 paintings are new and include oils on a

larger scale than usual plus some landscapes, but there is no radical

change of direction. ''I'm not the kind of painter who goes in for

deliberate changes of approach. I just hope my work is developing

naturally, letting things happen. There's always some difference.''

Anyone coming for the first time to Blackadder's work could be

forgiven for thinking that her pictures represent two sides of her

nature. On one hand, there are the floral watercolours: the artist's

trade mark, chiffon-layered irises, her spiky Strelitzia and translucent

lilies; the voluptuous parrot tulips and fleshy orchids. Kikko (Japanese

for tortoise shell) and Co often end up in the frame. The impression is

one of a woman responding exuberantly and personally to inspirational

subjects.

The still-lines on hand-made Japanese paper, on the other hand --

those familiar, abstract ''tabletop'' arrangements of (increasingly

Japanese) objects drawn from memory rather than direct observation --

seem restrained, ordered, and almost clinical in comparion. But their

creator insists there is no distinction.

''I'm trying to do the same thing. I'm looking at the flowers very

closely, using the same kind of constrictions in all the paintings: one

object's relationship with another and to the paper's surface and edges.

If anything, I let myself go more in the clinical pictures because

they're more abstract.'' It's essential in the flower studies, she says,

to prevent subjectivity taking over.

So the first impression may be one of intimate domesticity --

ornaments, rugs, flowers, cats -- but the home setting is never

completely ''comfortable''. Blackadder is fascinated by the structure

and architecture of things. Similarly, in the decor of her spacious

Victorian home conservative tones are juxtaposed against riotous

bric-a-brac collected on her travels. In life, as in art, she enjoys

visual surprises.

From a personal point of view Blackadder prefers to give little of

herself away. There is no arty posturing; everyone notes her

down-to-earth quality, her reserve. Yet there is more than a twinkle in

the eye. ''Going to art college was slightly disappointing because the

lecturers didn't look like artists. The majority of us don't. Maybe in

London, people advertise themselves more.''

Her reputation adds, she acknowledges, to the build-up of pressure

before an exhibition. ''It doesn't get easier -- you become more

demanding, more critical. But any creative person enjoys a chance to

show what they've been doing.''

Upstairs in her studios (one for oils, one for watercolour) and

surrounded by cherished collections of Japanese fans, toys, and masks,

the artist produced her latest collection in a charactertistically

organic way. A keen reader, she reckons Saul Bellow strikes a chord: he

likens writing to holding a bucket under a tap -- it just comes. And for

Blackadder, painting begins as a vague notion, maybe not even in purely

visual terms. ''Then I begin to conceive it visually and see something

better coming out of it. You can only judge by the finished result what

the inspiration was.''

* Elizabeth Blackadder -- New Paintings is at the Scottish Gallery.