Thole Man

CATHEDRA Completed

2012-01-27T19:46:00.001Z

Its been a long time in the making but this piece is completed at last. The box is edged with gold leaf and stands some 33 inches (83 cm) tall.

Here is a detail showing the figure sat upon the Cathedra, or throne. It is robed but not in the style of any particular religion. The torso hints at a female figure while the head is of neither gender. It is what you make of it. It is simply a figure occupying some ecclesiastical furniture.The pointed arches in the background suggest English perpendicular architecture.

A three-quarter sideways view of the piece on the studio wall to give some idea how it looks in the round. The enthroned figure to one side is the clay maquette sat on a cardboard mock-up of the throne which was the model for the finished piece.

Three Pieces

2011-12-27T21:06:00.000Z

These three pieces are now mounted in their boxes and on the studio wall It only remains to polish the actual figures and add a protective coating. Reading from left to right they are; Cruciform, Untitled Female Figure and Untitled Male Figure. The smaller box is ten inches (25 cm) tall and the other two are seventeen inches (42.5 cm) tall.

Cathedra update

2011-12-22T21:59:00.001Z

Painted some of the component parts today and set it up as a sub-assembly to see how its going to look. The black box it all fits into stands 33 inches tall. The figure that will sit on the throne is yet to be carved. A piece of limewood is sitting on the bench waiting. Meanwhile here is a clay maquette of the figure sitting on a corrugated cardboard mock-up of the throne.

I've painted the backgrounds for some of the other pieces, all of which are at various stages of construction. This is a sub-assembly of a so far untitled piece.

"Untitled Male" is its provisional name. A reaching figure holding an ovoid form (egg?) aloft. I plan on colouring the "egg" to appear as if glowing with some sort of energy but having seen it so far with only the white primer I wonder if white might be better. I'll have to have a think about that. The figure is made from obeche wood and is as yet unpolished. That will be the next job with this particular piece.

Cathedra

2011-12-21T23:06:00.000Z

At the moment I have six sculptures in various stages of completion. None of them actually are completed as I spend a little bit of time on each. They are to be carvings mounted in boxes and there is to be a painting or sometimes a construction forming a backdrop to set the theme for that particular piece. One of them is a reaching figure I featured earlier here.
Most of them have been fairly straightforward, carve the figure, design the backdrop and paint it fit it all in the box. But one in particular offers up a challenge at every stage. As each snag comes up I have to put the work to one side and let it stew for a while. The answer always seems to come up at three o'clock in the morning! But so far each obstacle has been overcome in this way. The piece is to be called "Cathedra" when its completed. Shown here is the working drawing I have up on the studio wall.

A cathedra is the bishop's throne in a cathedral which is why the building is so named. There are similar thrones in monasteries for the abbot or prior. As the drawing shows, I have a figure seated on a throne (cathedra) in front of a backdrop of Gothic arches.I got the idea from visits to several cathedrals, especially Exeter with its high ornate throne. Strangely the one at Canterbury is quite a plain affair. There is a very old example, the Frid Stool, at Hexham Abbey in Northumberland.

Making this should have been quite straightforward and probably would have been had I decided to simply make a painting as a backdrop. But this is a sculpture. I want to show this in 3D and am constructing the perpendicular style arches.Getting each component to fit properly has not been without its problems. It is all starting to come together now but has taken far longer than expected. I sometimes think it might have been easier to do a construction of a complete cathedral rather than just a component of it. The whole thing is to fit inside a box whose internal dimensions are 4" (10 cm) wide by 32" (80 cm) tall. The entire piece to be wall mounted. I'll post a picture of the completed work when its done.

The Guardians

2011-12-14T21:53:00.002Z

A commentary on someof my work with special reference to a sculptural group in 2009.

Myth, fairy-tale andlegend form the background of a series of works which also examines the body language of ritual.

“The Guardians” is a group of sculptural figures arranged ina circle. Currently only in model or maquette form but ideally should belife-size or even larger, possibly one and a half times this. I envisage thegroup placed in a relatively remote butnot inaccessible place such as a small clearing in a forest and the pieceapproached via a path taking an indirect route to it. See also this link.

The outer circle are a group of people with a sharedunderstanding, or knowledge. The six who make up the majority of the group arepresided over by a seventh whose hood signifies her as some form of priestess;she has the role of leader, messenger, servant and trustee of the group as needarises. She is also the collective voice or mouthpiece. Their purpose is to bea collective unity to protect a sacred truth. Hence the title, for guardiansthey indeed are. The kneeling figure is the strangerat the gate. The gate being the gap in the foreground of the circle asviewed here.

The Stranger at the Gate

One who approaches the circle. In a life-sized sculpturethis could well be the one who visits the sculpture. Who is this stranger whoapproaches the circle? An uninvited stranger could be on the one hand, achosen one for some ritual whether as prospective sacrificial victim or slaveof the group while on the other hand may be a supplicant requesting help oragain, may wish to become a part of the group.

The invited stranger adopts the same body languagebut in this case the group have need of the stranger’s services. An invitedstranger may well serve the group but not necessarily become a member.

The Numbers of the Group

Seven is a magic number as is five, three and nine. Anodd-numbered group has an even number of members plus one. The balance and itsfulcrum. Thus an addition would create an imbalance as there would be nofulcrum figure. Three, five, seven; but what of the nine?

Nine has the potential for imbalance, - it is three timesthree, or thee groups of which one is the fulcrum which would be a troika. Wholeads the troika? Nine is the larger number and should be the stronger with acube root of three. So what about three? Three has one fatal flaw. The saying“Two’s company and three’s a crowd carries some merit. Two strong figures andone weak. Two for a one-to-one unity, the third is rejected or at best,sidelined.

Tolkien took this further in The Lord of the Rings:-

“Threerings for the elven-kings under the sky,

Three rings for the dwarf-lords in their

halls of stone,

Three rings for all mortals doomèd to die

And one ring to find them and keep them as one.”

A tenth item to control the flawed thrice three. Thus wehave an even number, ten, which is fatally flawed for should the stranger bemalevolent, then control of the One will control the potentially unstable nine;and herein lies the irony. Darkness rising. The foundation of allgood-versus-evil stories.

A small digression from this little numbers game:-

The forces of evil are numerically strong while the forcesof good are numerically weak. The evil, or “dark” side soon gain the advantagebut for one fatal flaw. If that tenth particle is removed i.e.the dark side decimated, then the forces of good will prevail.

Now to look at the other numbers of five and seven.

A group of seven consists of two trios and a leader. Two’scompany, three’s a crowd? Set them in a circle. Three couplets where eachmember compliments its opposite. Each of the opposites find stability in thefulcrum. Look for example at the Seven Sisters or the Corona Borealis. Such energy passes through the fulcrum to focus onthe centre. Stone circles appear to work on this principle. This group of sevenhas not only a numerical stability but a sense of balance that appeals to theaesthetic felt at an instinctive level. However, such a septimal arrangementhas a more inviting aesthetic where a gateway exists opposite the fulcrum wherea visitor can either remain or go on to the centre.

Five is not so inviting. The five points of the pentaclehave no central focal point though entry may be less daunting than itssevenfold equivalent. It begs the question, - is the energy of a pentimalformation defensive/protective? That is, is its purpose to protect those withinand focus its energies on keeping malicious forces at bay while conversely, isthe focus of a septimal formation in the centre energising those within?

The Human Factor

So far the numerology and geometry has been discussed to setthe stage for a mythical drama. It takes the human aspect to shape events.There are those who wish to be left in peace to get on with their lives, thosewho will defend that right and act for the good of all and there are those whowish to have it all to themselves and control everything and everyone. Usuallyit is the one who seeks total control has turned away from his fellow beingsand alienated him/herself. As such a one becomes more powerful, that very powerhas to be used to bend other’s will to this end. A titanic struggle of opposingforces ensues and (usually) it takes an innocent or naïf to be the one to tipthe scales so that evil is vanquished and good prevails.

The Guardians? They stand still, and watch, and whileMiddle-Earth remains in harmony with itself there is no need for action.

The Healer

2011-12-02T19:46:00.001Z

Regular readers may recall seeing this image as part of the second picture posted here. This drawing is 40 x 50 cm. and is intended to be developed into a painting at some point. Actually I'm having to plan what I do and when, in the studio just now. At the moment I'm making a number of carvings. That generates a lot of dust. Not a good environment to make paintings in, so such work is on "hold" for the time being.

So, what about this image, The Healer?

I am in two minds whether to call it that or give it the Greek title Therapeia (Θεραπέια) or even The Comforter. The healer not only heals or helps to heal, physical wounds but also emotional and spiritual ones too. While physical damage may require the application of dressings, medication and nursing care, emotional healing and dare I say, spiritual healing responds at a much deeper level through contact, communication and compassion for ones fellow beings regardless of who they may be. Sometimes it is enough to just listen, and be seen to listen. Response is not always necessary. Indeed the healer may be quite unable to offer practical advice but the fact they have taken the trouble to care is often enough.

Of Angels...

2011-11-18T20:40:00.001Z

While I've been working on this.....

.....I had some Gregorian Chant from Prinknash Abbey playing on my old tape player. This particular recording has the plainsong in Latin on one side and English on the other. It was a particular chant about an angel kneeling at the altar praying alongside the singer. It conjured up an image of a religious at his/her devotions being joined by an angel, not as a superior being but an equal.The Roman Catholic Church has some beautifully worded liturgy involving angels from those guarding us as we sleep to conveying us to the heavenly grace after death.The French 19th century painter, William Adolphe Bourgereau illustrates this well.

It is a romantic image of its day but I like it none-the-less for that.
So what are these angels? They feature very strongly in the psyche. They can be manifested as winged beings or as in the Far East, Bodhisattvas.
The word "angel" stems from the Greek αγγελός, - angelo, meaning "messenger". Hermes was one such in Ancient Greek legend, he had winged feet and may be the forerunner of our current era image of a winged being. As an interesting aside Nike of Samothrake is a winged being but purports to being a deity rather than an angelos.

But angels are more than mere messengers. Some act as guardians as depicted in the story of Tobit and the Angel , while others serve as celestial musicians or even as warriors.
Some of us like to believe we have a personal guardian angel. This idea is given credence in Elgar's "Dream of Gerontius". The words of this great choral work are taken from a poem written by Cardinal John Henry Newman . In it he describes how an angel had been given personal charge over the soul's safety and was responsible for bringing it to meet God. The link is to a lengthy poem but worth taking the time to read.

Do we have personal guardian angels? Do they even exist?

I have known times when it seemed there was someone/thing watching over me. There have been times when I've done something that was not quite right and sensed a watching being overcome with sadness or disappointment. Things have happened where I should not have survived, yet did. There have been times when I felt vulnerable and somehow sensed a re-assuring presence. I'm sure I'm not alone in all this. Do we have personal angels? I don't know.
Do they exist? Science can now demonstrate that much of what we take to be holy manifestations are in fact mental constructs manufactured by our own brains. Perhaps it is a survival mechanism. Perhaps the scientists are right, but when we look deeper, after all the imagery has been reasoned away, there's still something.

"Photea, Angel of Light" from my sketchbook. An idea that may evolve into a painting as part of the myth and legend series.
A figment of my imagination. And yet, and yet.....

That "challenge" and other work

2011-11-16T21:14:00.001Z

"The Offering".
The carving stage of this challenging piece now complete and repairs to shrinkage cracks done. I've left it like this for the time being while I get on with other stuff. I want to be absolutely sure the wood has at last settled down before moving on to waxing and polishing. Before that, there's more work needed on the repair itself to make it a bit less visible. It has stood in this corner of the studio over a week now and so far its looking good.

Currently, I'm making a series of figures intended to sit in wall-mounted boxes like the one shown here and featured with other work on my website. This particular piece called "Introspection" was shown in a recent exhibition, Narrative Pieces. The box is about 16" tall.
One piece I'm making is a female figure standing as if leaning with her back to the wall, one foot resting against it and her arms extended upwards. The clay maquette will give some idea of what I have in mind.

Carving started in the middle of last week and has kept me busy for now.
At around 3-00 pm. today I stopped for a cup of tea. Actually I take several cups of tea during my time in the studio. I think its safe to say Luneside Studios runs on tea! I didn't merely stop to have a quick slurp, I needed to step back and assess how things are going. Much of the time this figure has been worked on lying down so I arranged it in a standing position by fixing it to an upright post. An anglepoise lamp served to provide some side-lighting.

She stands some 12" (30 cm) tall and her extended arms make the entire figure about 14" (35 cm) tall. In the context shown here she looks more like a martyr from Renaissance imagery than the more peaceful image I have in mind. There's a fair bit of work to be done yet.

A Journey to the Temple

2011-11-06T17:29:00.000Z

It is early Sunday morning and three of us make the car journey to Rochdale Zen Retreat, a temple within the OBC tradition. As the address on the link shows, Rochdale is something of a misnomer. It was originally sited there but subsequently moved to Horwich, just north of Manchester and is now at Little Hoole, just south of Preston.
My friend drove me from Lancaster down the M6 and we made a detour across the Fylde to pick up another friend at Lytham.
It was a lovely and clear if cold morning as we journeyed there. Lapwings gathered in the low-lying fields and overhead we saw two large skeins of swans making their almost casual flight inland in characteristic vee- formation. A low flying heron flapped lazily in the opposite direction only a few feet above the ground following the riverbank. The Fylde is relatively flat but one or two low lying hills that projected above the rising ground mist gave the impression of something much larger.
After picking up the third member our little trio headed for the Ribble estuary and skirting the outer edges of Preston entered another area of flatland, the Leyland Hundred. This is ancient flatland whose history stretches back to Saxon times and is indeed recorded in the Domesday Book. It extends almost as far south as Liverpool. Our destination at Little Hoole is in a delightful rural setting. Its hard to believe it sits right on Preston's urban doorstep.
After meditation, a Dharma talk and a cup of tea we headed back home in the afternoon sunshine stopping at a drive-in MacDonald's near a marina on the Ribble . Tea and sandwiches completed a pleasant and uplifting day out.

Of dogs and dreams

2011-11-04T20:56:00.001Z

When my daughter is working a full day, my wife and I take it in turns to walk her dog . My wife usually does the morning walk and I do the afternoon one. This happens a couple of times a week on average.

This is Tai, my canine companion who loves to catch sticks, run away with them then drop them at my feet obliging me to throw once again. He is a Staffie/Labrador cross who lives for play. But there are times when he's content to simply walk,sniffing around and leaving a scent mark here and there. One of his favourite routes (and mine) is a circuit from his home and taking in Fairfield Orchard where he meets other canine friends.

In the centre of this orchard is a semi-circle of tree stumps, a sort of installation which I suppose can be anything you want it to be.

For me its a source of inspiration. It reminds me of a sort of "court" where, apart from trials taking place, it could be a high court of kings or guardians of secret places or a tribal council seat. The list can be endless. Something along the lines of the guardians of the Grail come to mind as in Wagner's Parzifal.
However, such legends are not the exclusive realm of early European Christianity, consider Tolkein's Lord of the Rings trilogy, for example the Council of Elrond not to mention the Arthurian legends. I could go on.....

I first came across this semi-circle some years before on a (dog-less) walk. It inspired an idea that culminated in......

"The Guardians".
Seven figures standing 12 inches high and one kneeling figure, all on a base 18 inches square. I envisioned this as a life-size or larger-than-life-sized group located in a forest with an easy access path but sited in such a way that one would come across it by surprise. The passage of time would have it overgrown with moss giving a more fantasy-like aspect .

Its like Fairyland

2011-11-01T21:53:00.000Z

I took delivery of some boxes for an ongoing project today. The project is of small sculptures in wall-mounted boxes, rather like figures in recesses that you can see in some churches.

Here's some I made earlier. They featured in my exhibition, "Narrative Pieces" last June through July. There are more like this in the proverbial pipeline.
The current batch of boxes were made by a friend of mine who brought his two daughters along while delivering them. They walked into my studio space and the look of awe and wonder was really something to behold. I don't think they've ever seen a sculptor's studio before.

"Its like fairyland." one of them exclaimed.
I suppose it is, - even if it is a bit dusty.

"Offering" Drawings

2011-10-30T21:09:00.001Z

During 2009 while working in Larnaka I made a series of large drawings of individual "priestess" figures taking part in some imagined temple activity. They were shown at the college's gallery as was customary. Artists-in-residence are usually invited to stage an exhibition of their work, not only at CyCA but wherever that residency may be. Perhaps these drawings will all get another airing at some future venue.

Here are two of the fore-runners of the current sculpture project. The semi-transparent clothing follows the trend extant in ancient Greece around 450 to 300 BC as evident in the sculpture of that period.
However, I felt it might be better if the arms were covered like in the (photo-shop enhanced) image...

This is edited from another painting, "Meeting".
From this I did a charcoal and chalk drawing on textured grey paper...

.... by now the idea was beginning to take shape. She holds aloft a bowl containing some light or energy radiating substance as an offering to some deity. This piece is about A3 size and stands on its own as an individual work. On my return to England I started to work out how this could be made as a sculpture. I decided the upper arms should be horizontal and the figure kneeling. I may at some future time make a standing "Offering" but not just yet. Another practical consideration is keeping some strength in the limbs. These could break off all too readily so this is where the long sleeves come in.

The working sketch. This brings the whole thing full circle. Little did I realise that once the maquette was made, working this up into a full sculpture would present itself as a technical challenge.

Challenge (3)

2011-10-30T20:10:00.005Z

Spent a quiet Sunday afternoon at the studio making shims and wedges to fill the cracks. The wood seems to have settled down now. I'll shown the finished work in a week or so.

A visitor to the studio

2011-10-29T22:16:00.000+01:00

There were some friends of another studio member being shown round Luneside Studios and and one of them homed in on my space. It turned out she loved sculpture. She had a look at several pieces then commented, "They're all religious pieces, aren't they?"
"Fair comment," I said by way of reply and added, "but not of any particular religion. I am a religious person but prefer not to make a statement relative to any specific faith."
For a long time I have tried to avoid any religiosity in my work but it shows anyway so now I just make the work and if those who look at it see a religious message then so be it. But it is not deliberate.

Challenge (2)

2011-10-29T22:04:00.001+01:00

From behind, the crack that appeared in the sculpture doesn't look too bad. The image on the left is the maquette sans crack (naturally) and that on the right is the wood carving after I had cut through the line of that shrinkage crack. Needless to say this work is far from finished, much of the rough carving is still in progress. However if we take a look at the figure from the front ....

.....it can be seen the damage is much more obvious. This is after having made the cut and divided the sculpture into two halves then tidied up the jagged edges. The plan is to carry on carving the two separate halves until it has reached its semi-finished state and by then, hopefully, all shrinkage will have ceased. After that the two halves will be re-united and permanently fixed and traces of the cut removed. Having got this far I have no intention of giving up on it even if I am a bit disappointed at not having made a single-piece carving.
In the next few posts I'll show some of the drawings and other work that has led to this point.

This is becoming something of a challenge.(1)

2011-10-28T21:38:00.000+01:00

This is a maquette about 6" high for a sculpture of some sort of priestess making an offering. The idea grew from research done in Cyprus into early Hellenic civilizations when a matriarchal society was the norm. The priesthood played a central role and of course the temples were run by women. Fast forward to more modern times and we see that making offerings has always been an essential part of religious practice. Using the Minoan era as a starting point a series of drawings were made during the 2008/9 residencies both in Lempa and Larnaka. More of these anon.

From the drawings the idea of a sculpture, if not a series of sculptures, emerged and the above maquette was made.This was further developed to become a larger piece with a view to casting, probably plaster.

However I became dissatisfied with it. I decided a wood carving might be a better idea.The question now was, should it be carved from a single piece or should I make a construction laminating several pieces of wood and making the carving from that? The whole thing was shelved for a year or so.
Then I took delivery of an ash tree which had been felled some six months ago.
A section of the trunk was selected and cut. There were a few minor shrinkage cracks but nothing to worry about too much. Or so I thought.

Once the bark had been removed and I commenced carving the cracks widened dramatically as this example shows. This is another piece of the same tree which I'm leaving until it settles down. The carving I started, developed a wide crack right down the front which is exactly where I didn't want it. As time went by the crack continued to widen until the whole piece was quite distorted. The hands that are to hold the bowl have ended up not parallel but at 45 degrees with one hand as intended but the other rotated outwards.
This is what I mean by this particular project becoming something of a challenge.
However, after leaving it for a few days to see how far it will go, it seems to have "settled down" somewhat and today was spent rectifying the situation. I'll tell you more about that tomorrow.

Allow me to introduce.....

2011-10-26T21:32:00.000+01:00

Galateia.
She has been my model for some ten years now. She has never complained, stands perfectly still, never answers back, keeps her opinions to herself, never whinges wanting to be fed, in fact has never been fed and nor paid, for that matter. But she does have a bit of a glassy stare and is not flesh and blood, more fibreglass and metal really. She stands in a corner of my studio behind the door so that she doesn't give visitors too much of a fright as they walk in. With much of my work centrering around a Hellenic theme she is dressed for the most part in a chiton which I made myself, as I have all her clothes as shown here. Recently she has turned up at exhibitions when my work is being shown. But I must admit there is a bizarre side to this when transporting her. Her legs and arms go in the boot of a car while her torso travels in the passenger seat. Wearing a safety belt of course!

The current on-going project wall has a corner with words associated with my ideas. Not unlike the "brainstorming" so much in vogue at business conferences. I tend to write the keyword as it comes to mind and never look at it again once its on the wall. For some reason, once I have physically written and posted it, its there, in my brain. If you click on the picture below it should show large enough for the labels to be legible. Some words are in Greek. I'm trying to keep this newly learnt language alive.

Just to give an insight into the creative process.

Healers and Healed

2011-10-25T12:00:00.002+01:00

This last few months has shown me just how fragile health is. Gradual decline with advancing years can be an accepted norm and indeed was in my case until a spate of urine infections told me that there's more going on here. There's something wrong.
Once that "wrong" was diagnosed and treated many of the problems I associated with advancing years, such as constant tiredness, breathlessness, all resolved and I've got my life back. Sufficient to say there is an ongoing programme of treatment to reverse the condition. There is no evidence of cancer by the way.
This has all given me another area to explore artistically. There are preliminary drawings and ideas posted on my studio wall covering the theme of the fragility of health and the activity of healing. I have for a large part of my working life been involved in the latter and now I am experiencing being a patient. This gives a rounded picture of the whole idea as illustrated in the drawing above. This will be developed into a painting at some point.

This is a section of the ideas wall. You can see the "Healer" sketch at the bottom along with variants of this theme. The crucifixions at the top are not meant to portray any Christian message but are an attempt to look at how a healthy body can so readily be damaged. There's more work to be done in developing this idea. Its all a bit of a mixture really. Rather like emptying a box of jig-saw pieces onto a table then trying to put it all together into a coherent whole.

I like visiting other studios to see how work develops; in many ways it is more interesting than viewing the finished product in some art gallery where little hint is given as to how the artist's work got to that point. Similarly, rehearsals give a deeper insight into the play or concert than the actual performance.

What am I trying to say?

2011-10-24T10:33:00.001+01:00

Artists speak through their art as do poets, writers and musicians through their chosen medium. So with my art what am I trying to say?
For a long time my answer was, "I really don't know." I just know there are certain things I need to express through paintings and sculpture. But then do I know this? I'm not sure. It is relatively easy to portray what I think people want to see; a woodland scene, a placid sea, a glorious sunrise/sunset, or a gentle portrait. Pretty pictures that might look good on the wall.
But what of the darker stuff that lurks within? Goya wasn't afraid to portray this nor was Francis Bacon. We used to discuss this in the kafeneons of Larnaka far into the night. Then it was something that Andros, a tutor at CyCA said, "Make art about what you feel inside yourself. You don't have to show it. Don't give your gold to fools." Now where have I heard that last bit from? It was a 13 th century Zen master, Dogen.
That was a lightbulb moment (twing!). Its not just expressing the dark side but being coy about material that is right under my very nose. I have spent nearly a whole lifetime trying to express things through art when really it is art that expresses me.
Take for instance the "Enigma" series. All the figures look vaguely like nurses. I denied that is what they were at the time but lets face it, many of these pieces were painted when I actually was nursing. This type of uniform was just being phased out as I started my (nurse) training in1979. The Enigma pieces then, were stereotypical representations.

The picture above is from my recent exhibition, "Narrative Pieces", which was shown this last summer.It was conceived in 2009 whilst sitting on a beach in Larnaka and watching the sunrise. It is called "Contemplation" which is self explanatory, I think. The figure is nurse-like but while it is not a self-portrait, I reckon it is something of a character portrait.

Last week, the Storey Gallery in Lancaster hosted a lecture given by a ceramics sculptor, Christie Brown who along with her art very much spoke my language. We shared a lot of common ground though her (art) forms were quite different to mine.

Ressurection, - perhaps.

2011-10-23T22:25:00.002+01:00

Seven whole months have past since I last wrote here. A lot of water has gone down the Lune and into Morecambe bay since then. So a little bit of tidying up the profile and putting up a picture of what I look like rather than a section of my artwork as a cypher. But that may change. Thole Man has been resurrected. Let's hope I can keep it going.

This last summer has had me coping with illness, much of which has since been resolved but is still something of an on-going process. The price of growing old I guess. But, having said that, I still present as a young looking septuagenarian Leastways that's what people tell me. Certainly at my age, especially when then majority of my contemporaries have died, I am grateful to have lived long enough to "live the dream" and spend much of my time making art.

A lot of my friends never made it to retiring age, 65. I'm inclined to think the government statement that more of us are living longer is something of a propaganda myth.But let's not get political.

Thole Man will continue as varied ramblings covering art, life as I see it, and a little spiritual; input here and there.

Cyprus is becoming a distant memory. It was 2009 when I was last there having worked for three-month periods from 2005 sometimes visiting twice a year. However I have gathered enough material to keep me in project material for quite some time. Painting is a relatively fast process, I can produce a sizeable piece of work in 30 to 40 hours. Sculpture is quite another matter. It can take months to produce a finished object. Its not a case of making drawings then the piece, - if only. No, it sometimes if not always calls for the making of maquettes (models) out of clay. Drawing in 3D if you like. Then the process of carving requires time and patience.
Imagine if you will a figure enclosed in a box but with the packing material so tight it is the same density as the figure. You need mallet, chisel, file and finer tools to realise the object within.But when that figure finally emerges, it is like being a midwife at a birth.

Thole Man has been revived. Let's hope I can keep it going. I may not necessarily post daily. Please feel free to make your comments.

Not so placid sea

2011-03-08T21:28:00.002Z

Winslow Homer was an American water colourist around the turn of the 19 th to 20 th century and spent some time in my countryside at Tynemouth. He did several paintings of fishwives working the tideway at Cullercoats which lies on the coast midway twixt Tynemouth and Whitley Bay.

Girl in an apron, yes but not quite in the placid settings I placed my apron girls. Nor is the sea quite the Mediterranean depicted in the last posting. The North Sea is rarely thus. No lingering in the warm sun here. Its do what you came to do and get back in the warm, quick.

I like this work. It has caught the essence of a workaday life in an uncomfortable setting. Homer's subsequent work, on his return to the USA was a little more genteel.

Stranger gazing out to sea

2011-03-07T21:26:00.002Z

One of my latest pieces, a girl in Hellenic period dress gazing out over the sea. Figurative and seascape combined.

An Obsession (5)

2011-03-06T11:06:00.006Z

"Homage to Jawlensky" was painted about a month ago. About time, I reckoned, I did a version of the original that has taken me on this artistic journey.

I didn't really awaken to this until I was delivering a lecture in Larnaka, Cyprus, back in 2009 where I showed some slides of my work and this time showed a full retrospective rather than focussing on more recent stuff. To my surprise, the "Girls in Aprons" aroused much interest and it was one of the full-time teachers at CYCA who suggested that I explore this in more depth, especially at this stage in my career. There is an obvious underlying thread.

They could be right. These works have always been painted in a random off-and-on manner. I always kept the subject at arms length lest this obsession grow into a compulsion. But now I think the time has come to explore this a little more.

If there is anyone out there reading this, I welcome your comments.

An Obsession (4)

2011-03-05T22:28:00.006Z

Moving things along a little, here are two later examples. I have moved on from the blue dress/white apron image to shades of grey. Dark grey dress/light grey apron. These are post 2005 by which time I had retired from nursing and so no longer addicted, if that is the right word, to the traditional colours of nurses. Incidentally, I always denied these were images of nurses per se but clearly there is some relationship. Such is the nature of things.

I think that at the final analysis artists tend to make statements/comments through their art about their surroundings and the situations they find themselves in.

This particular example shows the model in a meditation pose with hands in lap with the thumbs touching lightly as prescribed in the Zen tradition. Another case of comment about the situation this particular artist regularly finds himself.

The model for these paintings is a life size mannequin in my studio. She is the perfect model. She never moves, never complains, very cheap to feed i.e. doesn't eat, so far as I know, and never answers back. I call her Galateia after the Cypriot Pygmalion legend. Well I would, wouldn't I?

An Obsession (3)

2011-03-04T22:20:00.003Z

This was painted around 1995. At the time I was starting to look at chiaroscuro works such as those by Carravaggio but at the time of painting this I was also influenced by NASA images from their space programmes where stark differences twixt light and shade were sharpened to an extreme degree. This figure looks as if she is sitting out in space. But that is what I was doing at the time. I made several versions using the exaggerated play of light and shadow. I think another influence at that time was in seeing nursing colleagues moving through the shadowy world of the ward at night. Their white dresses contrasted starkly with the gloom of the background. The main light source at night on a hospital ward is anglepoise lamps directed down on to a table surface or the floor.

This particular piece is painted in acrylic on Fabriano paper. I used Frabriano quite a lot at the time, I liked its rough, canvas-like texture.

An Obsession (2)

2011-03-03T21:07:00.004Z

Busy time at Luneside yesterday. The print room is being refurbished and heavy printing machines being moved about though thankfully I was spared helping with that, my days of heavy lifting are long gone. I made the tea, - things like that. Well somebody has to do it! In the evening we had our monthly business meeting. Suffice it to say I never got the chance to get to a PC let alone write up a blog. By the time I got home I was only fit for bed.

Follow on from Jawlensky's picture of a couple of days ago, Girl in a Blue Apron, back in the earlier 1990s I picked up this theme and drew my Girl in a White Apron. It is a pastel drawing on

brown paper, about A5 size give or take a few millimetres.

An Obsession (1)

2011-03-01T21:07:00.002Z

About 50 years ago I came across this painting by Alexei Jawlensky, "Girl in a Blue Apron" painted in 1909. I can't say I have become an avid follower of his style of painting though his contemporaries were members of the Blaue Reiter movement, an exciting time in German art of the period. However this particular work struck an emotional chord. Interest has waxed and waned through the decades but never-the-less has remained something of an obsession. I have made versions of this from time to time.

However, for today I thought I'd just show the "cause of it all" and in subsequent posts show a couple of examples of what I made of it.

Refuge

2010-03-23T10:41:00.003Z

“Guided by the red fox, the girl arrived back at the cottage ahead of and unaware of the impending storm. She had carried out January’s instructions to the letter. When she left her basket with the Guardian Cat she tore a strip of cloth from her petticoat and gave it to him. Now she set to shuttering all the windows and setting the bar across the door. But before barring the door she took the extra precaution of getting in a plentiful supply of logs for the fire. She had realised by now that a storm was impending. The forest had gone unusually quiet.
Night seemed to come early and the storm suddenly descended . Never before had she known a storm quite like it. But she knew she was safe. She settled to sleep in front of a glowing fire that burnt brighter because of the wind.
She was awakened just before dawn by a crash of thunder and the ground shaking with the force of it. Then she sensed the storm starting to abate. She dozed.
When she awoke the storm had gone and shafts of bright sunlight slanted through the shutters. She arose and opened the shutters to let in more light. It was flat calm outside. She undid the bar and opened the door. There she saw midway between the cottage and the forest edge two gate stooks which had not been there before. Traces of smoke rose from the bases of these two standing stones. She stepped outside into the cold morning air. Behind the cottage the single pine had been cloven down the middle by the lightning strike. The forest itself remained as it always had been, dense and forbidding.
But where were the two sisters? The girl took a closer look at the two gate stooks. They had something of the sisters’ countenance about them. They had indeed been turned to stone and could hurt her no more.
Later, in the early spring she left the cottage and it eventually fell into a ruin.”

His tale now told, the old man said he reckoned the mist was starting to lift which indeed it was. I could make out the forest edge looming out of the dispersing wisps. A westering sun burned away the last remaining shreds. The old man hand back the flask top, “Nice coffee, thanks.”
I asked him, “What happened to the girl in the end?” He looked down at the ground in front of him for a minute.

“You know the forest, - and it knows you,” he said by way of answer.

Then I saw it, a doe. It nonchalantly grazed at the edge of the clearing close by a gap in the curtain of trees. She stopped and looked straight at me before wandering into the tree cover.

“You’ll find your way back if you keep the sun on your right,” the old man told me. I turned to thank him, but he was gone.

I started to screw the cap back on my flask when I realised it was half full. Hadn’t I given that old man the last of my lukewarm coffee? I opened it to check and saw it was half full of hot steaming coffee. I put the flask in my rucksack and shouldered it to set off.

“Karrkk!”
I caught a glimpse of a raven rising into the clear blue sky of a late summer's afternoon.

End of story.

January’s Anger

2010-03-22T11:06:00.004Z

“The two sisters watched the raven fly away along the avenue. They viewed this bird with rather mixed feelings. If it was the girl’s familiar, that she had turned herself into a raven to play tricks on them, then whether she came back to the cottage with an autumn harvest or not, they were going beat her to death anyway. They would have their revenge. But their thoughts of retribution suddenly turned to fear. At their feet they heard the sound and felt the very ground shake with the ferocity of it.

“Mmrrowwwlll!!”
There, barring their way was a very angry looking wildcat. With its ears pressed even flatter against its head, its yellow eyes fixed them with a malevolent stare. Their blood ran cold.
A wildcat appears about twice the size of a common domestic cat. Its fur is much thicker and its tail is bushier though shorter. The paws are about the size of a large dog’s and have claws to match. Normally wildcats are very shy of human contact. Shy or not, they are not creatures to confront lightly.
“She is a witch,” said one sister, “Witches always have cat familiars.” It was the other sister who noticed the fresh bloodied carcass beside the cat and the shredded remains of a basket.
“Mmrrowwwlll!!”
That drew their attention to the fragment of bloodstained clothing hanging from the feline’s jaws. “This cat is not her,” she almost sounded relieved, “look, I think it has killed her.”
“Then good riddance I say!”
The cat backed away a little but only just enough to let the two sisters edge past. They were terrified and once past they moved much more quickly along the avenue and with many a backward glance.
The two sisters emerged into the clearing at a near run. Then stopped, bewildered. The clearing, like the one where their cottage stood was surrounded with a seeming impenetrable wall of dense forest. The avenue by which they had arrived was the only visible opening. In the centre was a fire that was all but extinguished. Around it sat twelve cowled and robed figures. All were asleep except one who sat holding a staff with a jewel mounted on one end. Summoning up her courage one of the sisters asked who these people were. The one holding the staff replied.
“We are the Watchers of the Months of the Year. Each of us takes turns to keep watch according to out time. As it is mid-winter I, January, am keeper of the watch. It is the time when the world sleeps awaiting the coming of spring brought by Brother March.” January gestured to the second figure on his left. “If you go around the circle you will find each as the month of the year each in their proper order. Now, good ladies, what is it that brings you here?”
They told January of the girl who was their servant at the cottage and how, to gain their favour she used her wicked wiles to bring flowers and fruit out of their proper season. “She told us she could find more and has come even today to try and curry our favour. But on our way here we have seen that a wild cat has killed her. So perish all who try to upset the natural order of things.”
January replied, “All things are freely given in their due season. The flowers of summer, the fruit of harvest time, all are gifts. Sister April brings the rain, Sister June the healing sun and Brother December the dark sleep of winter. But now it is the thirty-first day of my month. Tomorrow I pass the staff the Brother February. Now I shall I bring forth the final harvest of my season”
January’s visage went hard and cold like the deep green ice of a frozen lake. He rose to his feet and waved the staff three times around his head. Above him the clouds gathered, darkened and thickened. The already dying fire cooled until only the merest spark remained. It began to snow. It became very, very cold. The snow fell ever thicker and settled ever deeper. January turned his back to the centre of the circle and reaching out a claw-like hand summoned the wind from the north. Its icy breath blew the fallen snow into flurries and ever deepening drifts. The other brethren pulled their cowls ever closer, even in their sleep, as the wind’s howling voice rose to an ear-splitting crescendo. It clawed at January’s hood and snatched it back, his silver hair streamed out behind him. January turned to face the two sisters. His countenance was terrible to behold. He stuck the ground with the staff and released an enormous peel of thunder. Lightning split the sky and the brightness of cast January into sharp silhouette.
The sisters fled in terror from this wrathful apparition and rushed headlong into the avenue and blindly onwards. Flashes of lightning frequently but briefly illuminated their way. They were spared the blinding snow but the gale brought showers of broken branches and other debris crashing to the forest floor. They ran through this malestrom not know where they went. Their flight lasted on throughout the night. The storm never relented. In the pale light of February’s first dawn they had a lucky break.
They discerned the gap leading into their own clearing. They went through it and entered into a total whiteout. February had awakened and was playing with the elements, blowing the snows hither and thither. Not for nothing is he also known as “Filldyke”. The sisters were exhausted by the energy sapping winds and life stilling cold. In the whiteout could not see where the cottage was for all it may only be a few yards away. A final savage bolt of lightning struck the clearing.

to be continued...

The Guardian at the Gate

2010-03-21T20:50:00.003Z

“She awoke with a start. Dawn was just breaking. She had slept all night by the hearth. The two sisters stood over her. She sat up. One sister put the now empty basket down beside the girl. “We want you to bring back some autumn things,” they told her, “it would be nice to have nuts, - I like hazelnuts especially, - and some blackberries.”
“And mushrooms.” put in the other, “some bilberries would be nice as well.” The girl did not bother to argue. It would only earn her another beating. Thus resigned she rose to her feet, wrapped the threadbare cloak around herself, picket up the basket and left without a word. She was only too aware of how unreasonable the request (if it could be called that) was but she left anyway.
After closing the door behind her she did not go directly to the gap in the dense wall of trees. Instead, she walked to the back of the cottage to a solitary pine and from there struck into the forest. There was fresh snow and her footprints were plainly obvious, hence the detour. She stepped deep enough into the trees to be beyond any snow on the ground and walked through the trees to the point where the gap lay. When she found a recognisable area she set off deeper into the forest proper. Several of the features were by now familiar to her so she could reasonably pick her route, even though it was very overgrown and there remained little trace of her previous passage. The tree cover was so dense she soon found herself unable to tell which way she should be or was travelling. She was always advised to keep the sun on her right and this had always worked for her journeys back to the cottage. But for outwards? She reasoned that as her return trips were in the latter part of the day then this particular journey in the opposite direction during the early morning required she still keep the sun on her right. However, deep tree cover lets through little sunlight let alone a sighting of the sun. But shafts of light do slant through between the stems and sometimes the side of the occasional tree trunk is a glorious golden red when caught by the sun. Thus the sun’s position can be determined.
There was no raven fluttering overhead with its harsh yet comforting call to guide her this time. Perhaps this time she would fail and return empty handed? She was sure in her own mind that the two sisters would happily beat her to death were this to happen. It would be all the excuse they needed. Just as these thoughts began to trouble her she saw a brief flash of russet-red in the undergrowth. She stopped. A few yards further away a fox revealed itself and silently trotted along its way. After a few yards it stopped and looked back over its shoulder and straight at the girl. “Does it want me to follow?” she wondered. She walked on, the fox a few yards ahead and stopping to check the girl was still with him from time to time. The route soon became plainly obvious with her red-coated guide showing the way. It seemed no time at all, though in fact it took up most of the morning, to arrive at the final avenue leading to the clearing where the month-watchers sat. The fox left her here to go about its own business elsewhere. She was greeted with the now familiar growling mew of the wildcat. As usual it backed from her to allow her to pass. But this time she noticed bloodstains around the cat and to one side the carcass of a recent kill. But that is what wildcats do. She stepped into the avenue and made her way to the clearing.

“Unbeknown to her, the girl had been followed. The sisters traced her footprints in the snow and also realised it was a cunning ploy and eventually found the gap in the tree wall. But they had not gone far before they realised there was no obvious path and now no realistic way to decide which way to go. The pair stood in what is to all intents and purposes total virgin forest. They blundered around searching for some obvious path and created so much disturbance just about the entire forest knew where they were. Flocks of alarmed birds flew into the air above the tree canopy. Below, small mammals scurried here and there screeching their alarms. They were hopelessly lost. They found footprints. At last a path. But it wasn’t the footprints of their servant girl. She went barefoot and these prints were of shoed feet. They were their own. They had gone round in a circle.
“The forest is enchanted,” said one.
“Of course it is,” reasoned the other, “I told you she is witch. She has lured us to our deaths, wicked slattern that she is.”
“Karrkk! Karrkk – KARRKK!!”
Terrified, the two sisters clutched each other. “She has turned into an avenging angel,” whimpered one.
The other looked up to the source of the harsh call, “Pull yourself together,” she spat scornfully, not so much to belittle her sister but to re-assure herself, “Its only a bird, look!” She pointed to a branch high up in the cathedral-like vault of tall tree trunks. The raven lifted off soundlessly and glided to another tree. “Karrkk!!”
“I think it wants us to follow it.” They couldn’t come up with any better idea so they decided to do just that.
And guide them it did, all the way to the tree avenue. But not without giving them a tour of the forest first. They had to negotiate huge fallen tree-trunks, thick brambles with some unbelievable large and sharp thorns and to add insult to injury led them through a foul stinking mire. The raven flew on along the avenue to the clearing leaving to walk the avenue themselves.

* * *

“The girl stepped into the clearing. January sat before the damped down fire. The raven was perched on his shoulder. As she made her way towards January the raven rose lazily into the air and nonchalantly flew over the high treetops and was gone. She sat beside January on the frozen ground and placed her basket in front of her. She was about to speak. January cut her short. “I know why you are here. They sent you,”, he gestured to some point in the distance. “I also know you have been followed. But you have nothing to fear. They have become hopelessly lost and I have sent the raven to guide them. They will get here, - eventually.” The girl saw January’s eyes give an icy glint from deep within his hood. January went on to say, “ You must do exactly as I say.” The girl nodded but didn’t quite understand though she trusted January and would do whatever he said without question. As far as she was concerned she owed him her life. She nodded assent.
“You must set off back to the cottage. Leave this basket with the Guardian at the Gate, - the wildcat who guards the sacred avenue. You must also leave a piece of your clothing. Tear it from you and give it to him. Then the red fox will show you the way. When you have returned, you must shutter all the windows and bar the door. You must wait for the sisters who will return the next morning. Now go.”
She could not understand these strange instructions but the implicit trust she placed in him meant that these things would be done. She made her farewell, picked up the basket and headed into the avenue.

to be continued.....

Is she a witch?

2010-03-17T20:09:00.005Z

The girl slept through to mid afternoon and awoke refreshed. Her wounds had miraculously healed though there was little this community of the month-watchers could do about her torn and bloodstained clothes. But she was healed and was grateful for that. She also knew she must return to the cottage where the two sisters lived, she could not stay here, much as she might like to. January saw her to the arcade at the edge of the clearing.

"The way back is simple," January advised, "just keep the sun to your right." She was about thank him when she felt January's icy fingers touch her lips, "Sister June left you these to take back. I have no doubt it was those two who beat you made you come here for this." He handed her a basket full of summer blossom. "Like the spring flowers, these too shall smooth your path. Live well!"

"Thank you kind sir, thank you!" Her heart was so full of gratitude she felt it was going to burst. She turned and walked into the forest. True to January's word the effect of the basket of flowers not only made summer appear where she walked, (and winter reclaim its own ere she had passed), but she felt summers warmth was with her too. She walked in her own private cocoon of summer.

It was turning dusk by the time she emerged from the forest into the clearing where the cottage is and the instant she stepped into that clearing the warmth of summer vanished. She still had the basket of summer blossoms but the chill of winter was ever present. Not only that but her reception was even icier. The two sisters watched as she came out through the almost invisible gap in the curtain of trees.

These two sisters were so eaten up with hate that they felt sure the girl had bought the flowers to mock them. How had she managed to find summer flowers in the depth of winter? They reasoned that it was possible by a flook to get spring flowers but to manage perfect summer blooms? And where did she get that basket? Of course they asked her, demanded it of her, threatened to beat her, then carried out the threat. It was then that they realised her scars from the last beating had healed completely. It was barely twenty-four hours since they had laid about her with so much vigour they were sure she had run away to die. Nobody could survive such treatment, surely? They could only come to one conclusion. They stood towering over her. She cringed and knelt on the ground and placed the basket of flowers in front of her. Already they were beginning to wilt in the intense cold and frost. One sister hissed the words with as much venom as her anger-blinded heart could muster, "You're a.... WITCH!"

The other sister repeated the phrase and kicked the girl hard in the ribs. They paced round and around her, kicking, pushing and shouting "Witch! witch!" Their hatred was mixed with fear. What if she was a witch?

The girl's own fear gave way to anger. She sprang to her feet and ran to the cottage and turned to face them. The light streaming out of the open door-way framed her form perfectly as she shouted back, "I am no witch! Were I one, you would both have been turned into standing stones by now!" The outburst spent her and she turned and went into the cottage. She went to her usual place in the scullery and curled up in the corner by the fire and buried her head in her arms.

The girl's temerity had taken the two sisters by surprise and they just stood there momentarily dumbfounded. When they realised they had not been turned to stone they wondered about what to do next.

If she isn't a witch, then how come she manages to bring forth these flowers at a time when nothing is growing? She must have found someone with a secret garden. "No," reasoned the other, "its more than that, how did those marks on her back heal so quickly? When we had finished with her she was almost dead. I think, if she isn't a witch, - and she can't be, otherwise she would have done us instead, - if she isn't one then she knows one in the forest. That's why she won't tell us."

"Yes, that's probably it," said the other. "And I've just got an idea. If we play this right, we could get this witch to help us too. We'll follow her next time and then when we find the witch we will tell her what a wicked scheming thing this little girl is and when we have persuaded her she'll banish the little vixen and gladly give us whatever we ask." They debated this between themselves for some little time beforethey realised it really was too cold to be standing outside. They went in but decided to leave the girl alone. Yes they could beat her into submission again but now a little fear began to gnaw at them. They would hatch their plan in the morning. It could not fail.

Later that evening; a vertical plume of smoke rose lazily from the cottage chimney. Lights glowed orange in the windows. The two sisters enjoyed a warm repast cooked by the girl who in turn shared her meal with a red squirrel by the scullery fire. Outside a raven circled the clearing before heading out over the treetops.

"Karrkk!"

to be continued....

The Healing

2010-03-16T10:07:00.009Z

"Karrkk!" the raven called again from overhead in the dark recesses of the tree cover. She looked up but could not make out the shape of her black guardian angel, for gaurdian angel is what this bird had become. She somehow sensed which way it had flown and she followed. Every few yards the bird settled and waited for her. On she went guided by the the harsh yet friendly voice, "Karrkk - karrkk!" Come on, this way! it seemed to say. It wasn't absolutely pitch black. Some starlight filtered through the overhead canopy and the forest interior had a faint phosphorescent glow which gave a vision of sorts. But she still had to pick her way through undergrowth. Tangled bramble thorns are a bit less forgiving to bare feet than soft moss. But on she went in blind faith. "Karrkk - karrkk, KARRKK!!" her guide insisted. Weakened, beaten and bloodied she had nothing left to lose. Only death remained and right now that wasn't an unattractive option. She began to believe this was to be her fate. Being led by a raven, traditionally the harbinger of death itself but is also a guardian of the wildnerness. She could only go on, following the insisted call, "Karrkk - karrkk!"

Then she found herself at the avenue of trees, the far end of which could be seen the faint glow of the fire where January sat. The raven's call this time was answered by a low, "Mmrrowwwlll!" she look down. The wildcat she saw last time she passed this way. It backed into the undergrowth and let her pass. She walked, or rather, staggered, exhausted along the avenue. A grey light filtered through, the precursor of dawn. She could now see the raven flying ahead of her. Its very flapping of its wings seemed to beckon her forward. She emerged into the clearing as a bright copper dawn coloured the sky to her right.

She stumbled into the circle of sleeping forms and collapsed at January's feet and sobbed fitfully as she rested her head in his lap. There was little need for him to ask what had happened. Her blood-stained clothing said it all. She was frozen and near to death. Indeed he could sense she was on the verge of giving up.

"She must not die," he said aloud to himself. The raven flew off with a loud flapping of wings, "Karrkk!"

"Thank you", January faintly whispered but his voice sounded more like the echo of the raven. He stood up gathering the frozen bundle in his arms and laid her beside the fire. Then taking his staff poked a small hole in the ashes on the edge near the girl. At once a gentle heat radiated into her frozen form. The girl moved and curled up as if going to sleep. January stood over her, she needs help, he thought to himself then called across the fire to the crouched figure on the opposite side of the circle, "Sister June, I need your help."

June stirred herself and looked around a little bemused. Why had she been summoned? It is full winter. It is not yet her time. January would not have called if the need was not urgent. She rose and gathered her cloak tightly about her. She may be the queen of warm summer but now it was frosty winter. She walked round to where January stood. She saw the girl.

"She needs help," June agreed.

"Take the staff," January offered, "you know what to do."

Without a word, she took the staff and walked over to the edge of the clearing and there stroked the grass with the staff. She knelt down and breathed on the grass. Instantly the frost melted under her breath and a variety of herbs sprang up. She lowered her cowl and let her golden hair fall down her back as she gathered the herbs. Bright summer radiated from her very being. She returned to the sleeping girl.

The ground where the herbs had grown was once again frozen like a stone.

But now June knelt down and started to gently peel back the girls clothing. Her touch melted the snow and was thus was she able to bathe the girl's wounds and wash away the caked and dried blood. She applied the herbs as only the queen of summer knew. She could feel the girl relax into a gentle sleep. June's work was done. She handed the staff back to January and returned to her place, there to sleep out the rest of winter and spring.

January wept. His tears made the grip of winter relent a little and the snow gave way to a gentle rain. He held his cloak over the girl to protect her.

She slept and dreamt of warmer days to come.

to be continued....

A little "kindness"

2010-03-15T11:07:00.004Z

"You'd have thought that would be the end of the story," the old man said casting me a sidelong knowing look, "but surprised as these two sisters were that the girl had managed to not only bring back some flowers but so many, they were so eaten up with hate and jealousy they took them from her without a word and banished her to her corner of the kitchen with more than a warning of more ill treatment to come.
"But things bought out of season never last long. Within a few days these flowers all wilted and died. All they were good for was the little heat they afforded on the fire. The two sisters told each other how nice it was to have a house made cheerful with so many flowers during these dark winter days. "We should have more," said one. The other agreed. Would the girl manage to do it again? "I doubt it."
"Let's see if she can bring summer flowers this time."
"That would be nice, roses, May blossom, lupins, perhaps a few bluebells..."
"That's settled then. We'll send her out but I bet she doesn't manage it this time," the sister said with a wicked grin on her face. "Even if there is a place in this forest where she got the spring flowers there's no way summer flowers can grow in January."
"And if she fails," added the other one," and returns empty -handed, then we can keep ourselves warm by giving her a thorough beating."
"And if she dies in the attempt," the first sister shrugged, "it'll be one less mouth to feed."
At that the two sisters, canes in hand walked into the scullery where the girl sat curled up in front of the fire and stood over her. "We want some more flowers." They smiled malevolently at the whimpering bundle on the floor. It was clear to the girl she was in for another beating, probably because they blamed her for the flowers wilting. But they spared her that.
One sister crouched down beside her. "Why are you cowering like that?" she asked, her voice almost tender, " no-one is going to hurt you. We just want you to go into the forest and pick us some lovely flowers. Roses, bluebells, lupins... all the blooms of a fine summers day. It will brighten our home on this dreary winter's day."
"B-but its night time now and freezing hard outside. Nothing will be growing." The two sisters at once flew into a fury, "You will do as we say! Now get out and don't come back without anything or you will get more of this." They set to beating her with their canes until blood oozed her thin dress. Blindly the hapless girl grabbed her threadbare blanket and fled into the night.

"At the edge of the clearing she paused and looked up into the night sky studded with a myriad stars like diamonds set in a sheet of dark velvet. There was no wind but it was bitterly cold. A raven called a harsh "karkk-karkk!" from somewhere overhead. She shivered and gathered her makeshift cloak about her. She could feel her blood soaked dress clinging to her skin. Then she saw the raven alight from its perch and fly through a small gap in the curtain of trees.
She followed.

to be continued.......

Lost. Then a finding of sorts

2010-03-14T11:13:00.003Z

The old man sitting by me had paused in the telling of his tale. He absently swilled the last of the now cold coffee around the bottom of the thermos cup. I thought it best not to interrupt his reverie.
The man himself was a fit looking elderly gentleman but nothing remarkable in that. He had the radiance of one whom spends his entire time in the wild places and exuded a wisdom that mere city-dwellers can not even begin to comprehend. He was clad in an ancient Barbour jacket whose colour had long since become rather nonedescript. Come to think of it, my Barbour is stating to look a bit like that. But it is much better that way. Natural camouflage. He had his hood up partially hiding his face, not for that purpose but more likely as protection from the thickening damp mist that had descended.
I looked across the clearing. The two gate stooks were all but totally enveloped in the grey shrouding made more palpable by the darkness of the surrounding trees. He raised his head and looked at me. I could see the twinkle of those ageless eyes deep in the recesses of his hood. "It was very kind of you to share the last of your sandwiches, " he said by way of breaking his reverie. He reached into his pocket and handed me an apple, "Here, have this. There's plenty more where that one came from." I accepted it without question. I know this forest district pretty well and am certain there is no orchard within several miles of here. I took a bite. It was really fresh as if just plucked from the tree. "Now, to continue the story.

"That poor lass ran out of the cottage to begin her impossible errand. If she failed or simply didn't do as the two sisters had told her she would probably be beaten until there was no life left in her . She knew only too well the storm would eventually kill her anyway. She ran blindly into the trees picking her way. The forest became denser the further she went. There was one compensation; the trees are so closely packed and the canopy is almost complete. The wind and snow hardly reaches the forest floor. But it was still intensely cold. She walked and stumbled on, not knowing where she was. Then, as she peered along a defile of tall tree-trunks she could just about discern a faint glow. "It might be I've gone full circle," she mused, "but whatever, I'll have to get warm somewhere. But if I return empty handed..." She shivered, and not simply because of the cold. Gingerly she made her way towards the distant light. She was not alone. There were other creatures watching. At one point a flash of red briefly betrayed a fox's presence. At another, a wildcat crouched. Its ears permanently flattened against its head as it watched the young girl go by. Somewhere an owl hooted. She saw these things. They were passers by in this world.
"The distant glimmer became more or a glade as she neared it and eventually she found herself in a clearing. Overhead the sky was a leaden grey carrying the promise of more snow to come. Strangely the was no wind. What was more startling was the smouldering fire in the centre of the clearing surrounded by twelve robed men who sat curled up asleep except one. The one who sat awake held a staff with what appeared to be some jewel at its top end. He saw her enter the clearing and asked, "What are you doing here so far from home? And why so thinly dressed here in the depths of icy winter?" The girl looked at him. His ice-cold eyes flashed from within his cowl. Yet his his was not an unkind countenance. "I live in the cottage about a day's walk from here. Indeed it has taken me that long to get this place. I live with two sisters who keep me as a servant and they have sent me out into the storm to gather the flowers of Spring."
"But it is the deepest depth of Winter and not the time for Spring flowers," the man chided.
"This I know Sir," she replied, "but if I return empty handed they will beat me so hard I may not live. Better I died of the cold here in the forest." The man's ice look melted as they filled with tears. "You must know," he began to explain, "that you are in the oldest part of this great forest and we here are the Guardians of the Seasons. My name is January. It is my turn to keep watch and see that all is well. In winter all life sleeps until Spring's awakening. It is the Law. The Natural Order. You must wait until then." The girl knew she could not change things. She sank to her knees, resigned. "Then I will surely die." Her words were barely audible. She listed her tear soaked face to January, "May I at least warm myself by your fire? Then I shall go to meet my end in the forest where the trees themselves can gain sustenance from me wherever I lay."
This touched January to his very heart. "There are times in winter when Spring is allowed to waken for a little while but only enough to let the world see the promise of things to come. I will speak to Brother March.
January walked over to the second sleeping monk-like figure on his left and touched him with his staff. March awoke. January explained the dilemma. "Then I must help her," said March as he rose to his feet. January handed him the staff.

March poked the fire with the staff then withdrew it. He whirled the staff about him and all around the snow melted and the green grass revealed itself. Snowdrops, crocuses, daffodils, narcissi, all grew in abundance. The birds sang even a red squirrel broke its hibernation to scamper along a tree branch. The stood in open-mouthed wonder. March called out, "Now child you must hurry. Gather what you may for it is Spring, but soon I must return to sleep for it is not yet my time."

She wasted no time filling her apron with all the flowers she could gather. By the time she had finished, March had already returned to his place and sank into slumber. January alone stood there with his staff. "Go back to the cottage with this. Lets hope those two sisters are grateful. The way back is easy to find keep the sun to your right side and you will get back. These flowers of Spring will clear you path before you." He touched the flowers with the staff. "Now go, and go quickly!"
"Oh thank you, thank you!" she cried hardly containing her joy. She turned and left.
True to his word, January's touch of the flowers did indeed light her way. The forest was no less dense and the steely grey clouds persisted. But there was a magic in those out of season flowers. As she stepped through the forest a path of green grass opened up before her and it was with a light heart that she re-entered the cottage to present the two sisters with her wondrous bouquet.
The door closed behind her as she entered and outside the Winter once more reasserted its iron grip.

to be continued......

The Old Cottage

2010-03-13T11:54:00.003Z

I had wandered into the forest far deeper than I intended. The familiar track had long gone from under my feet. A mist had descended cloaking each individual tree in its ghostly shroud. Usually I can pick out the individual characteristics of separate trees and form a mental map of where I am but these reference points were much obscured. One tree began to look much the same as another. A large forest is not a good place to get lost.
I wandered on. Surely I would find a track, then follow it and it would lead somewhere? I tripped over fallen trees hidden in the undergrowth. I made detours around bogs and mires, groped though dense patches of ground mist and arrived in a small clearing. In the centre stood two forlorn looking stone gate stooks and beyond them the remains of a long since abandoned cottage. The roof had caved in decades if not centuries ago and the walls were clad in a thick covering of lichen and green moss. Curious, I made my way over to the ruined building and passed between the gate stooks.
Strange, isn't it, when just as you're looking for a comfy place to sit down, - in this case a convenient large stone, - you find there are two. I sat on one then fished around in my bag for my last remaining sandwiches and flask which now being half empty at least afforded some lukewarm coffee. I needed to get my bearings.
A jam and peanut butter sandwich in the middle of a forest miles away from anywhere. A moment of bliss. Just me and nature. I was in the forest on its own terms. I wasn't all that surprised to find this old guy sitting on the other improvised stone seat beside me. I offered him a sandwich and a swig of rapidly cooling coffee which he gratefully accepted.
"D'you know this area?" I asked.
"Should do," he replied, "I live here". I looked at the cottage and dismissed the idea he meant exactly here. But he went on to say, "I have always been here. There was a time when this old house had people in it but it wasn't always a such happy place.

"There were two sisters who lived here once, quite some time ago. In a way, they're still here." He nodded over towards the gate stooks. I shivered. The man kept his silence for a few minutes then when he reckoned I was ready to hear his story, he related the rest of the tale.

"These two sisters lived together reasonably happy for a number of years. Then one summer's afternoon a young girl strayed into this clearing. She was obviously lost and nobody really knew how she found herself so deep in this forest in the first place. But she needed somewhere to stay and was grateful for the hospitality of the two sisters. Her overnight stay became two nights then a week and soon she was watching the leaves turn to gold. She was only too happy to help with the household chores. However, as time passed the two sisters got a little too used to having a willing servant and took her a little bit too much for granted. They made demands on her and before long she was doing all the work in and around the cottage. She had to ask permission to do anything of her own. She was often beaten if things were not done either well or quickly enough. She was not quite so well fed as the two sisters and soon got weaker which is not a good way to be at the onset of winter. But these two sisters seemed not to care. This young girl had become little more than a slave.
"Autumn gave way to winter and by December the entire forest lay frozen in winter's icy grip. Christmas and Yuletide came and went. But there was no seasonal cheer for our young friend. The two sisters had a good time of it though. They ate and drank and laughed and played. But if the young girl asked for only a little food and warmth it was grudgingly given and she was given a beating for being so presumptuous. Even when tired and exhausted from overwork and lack of food and sleep she had to serve every their whim. The beatings got worse. She could barely remember the coming of the new year. She had been beaten to near unconsciousness. It was all of two weeks before her bruises subsided.
"By now it was mid January. The whole forest lay under a muffling blanket of snow Blizzards continued to rage. It was no time to venture out. Even to reach an outbuilding became something of an expedition. The two sisters sat each side of the window watching the snowflakes make their frenzied dance in the howling storm. All three of them had been confined to the cottage for several days now. "I'll be glad when it's spring," said one sister.
"It'll be nice to have some flowers in the house," mused the other. "I know," she said," she can go and gather some for us." The sister tuned in her chair and pointed her finger at the shivering bundle by the fireplace, "YOU! Go and get us some spring flowers, now!" she demanded.
"But its deepest winter." the girl bleated. The sisters jumped to their feet in unison and raised their sticks ready to strike. "Go!"
The girl knew by now better than to refuse no matter how unreasonable the demand was. She grabbed a threadbare blanket and fled out of the cottage and into the howling blizzard.

To be continued......

Let's see now...

2010-03-13T11:41:00.002Z

The first story that comes to mind is one I remember from my childhood. There was a certain Miss Baker, a schoolteacher who, when I was around nine or ten, on the Friday afternoons at school, used to read us stories from a large book. Was it Grimm's fairy tales? I don't know. But many of them have stayed in my memory all my life and I have enjoyed relaying these stories in my own way to my children and subsequently my grand-children.
I would usually take them to our local park which would become the forest setting for these stories. Sometimes we would be in the Lakes or back in my native Northumberland where there is real forest.
But now for this first story. The names of the characters have become lost with time so I shall tell it in the first person so the forest may not be quite so, "in a land far, far away". (Cue spine chilling laugh.)
Now. Are you all sitting comfortably?

Then I'll begin.....

I'm Back!! - for now.

2010-03-11T11:45:00.003Z

Is it reallyfour months since the last time? I think It its this blogging has settled into the mundane, today I did this and yesterday that, blah, blah blah. In short it was getting a bit repetitive and boring. For me at any rate.
But lately, my art has been exploring the woirld of myth and legend, not only the Greek Myths but some of the more home grown Northern European ones. So I've decide to populate these pages with some of the findings. Some will be versions of well-known stories and others dreamed up as pure entertainment.
I have over the years done some writing. All the "writings" are really fragments of stories and intended books that got so far and then run out of steam.

One thing I have noticed is how many of our best loved fairy stories share common themes, Snow White, Cinderella two name but two. What I have also discovered is that many of these stories which usually end up in pantomime have been "sanitised" by the Victorians to fit in with the political correctness of their day. So there you have it, PC is nothing new.

So over these next few pages, lets hope I can entertain those of you who take the trouble to read these pages. Please feel free to comment. At least I'll know there's somebody out there.

A Couple of Pieces of Work

2009-11-25T21:42:00.004Z

Here are some of the sculptures I made in Cyprus. The standing figures are about 30 cm tall. This is how they were shown at the Cyprus College of Art's gallery.

Mediterranean Dawn

2009-11-19T21:54:00.002Z

As Homer would have put it,
Rosy fingered Dawn drove the darkness from the night as Selene's brilliance waned and Helios harnessed his bright steeds to his chariot to rise from the wine-dark sea into the brightness of a new day.

Or words to that effect.

One morning I decided to make the two-hundred metre journey down to the east facing beach to watch the dawn. At the edge of the beach stands an open air theatre. I sit on the steps of the stage and look out to sea.....

Pre-dawn darkness.
A crescent moon hangs over the eastern horizon.
The sea is as flat as a millpond.
Then the red flush of false dawn, it quickly fades to grey.
I wait.
Then finally, -
The bright orb of the sun peers over the offing
Rising verticall to clear the horizon in five short minutes,
Its strength perceptibly increasing.
Still low in the sky
The heat is in the day already.

All very Homeric. I get up and turn to leave. Time for a coffee.

Magnificat

2009-11-17T22:26:00.003Z

Much of my time in Cyprus was spent in Larnaka, a small town about the size of Lancaster but with much narrower streets and just as much traffic.
However there were moments when I got out of town. People were kind enough to take me for car rides and visiting and one Cypriot sculptor in particular, Gigis Patsalis entertained me at his very rural studio in Vavla, high up in the hills near Lefkara, a place famous for its lacemaking. It was after one such day that I composed this little poem:

Magnificat Anima Mea

The song of my soul
Is the running of the deer,
The howl of the wolf,
The ocean's swell
And the whispering trees
When no wind stirs.

Well, I'm back.

2009-11-16T23:11:00.002Z

Spent a lot of time making sculpture. Many of the pieces have been left there and are being considered by a local gallery in Larnaka.

There are a number of ideas buzzing around in my head, ideas that have matured in the time I've been out there.

Apert from my own work I've been kept pretty busy in the School of Art itself organising workshops and tutorials. And in case some of you are wondering, I got to the beach about three times in the entire three-month stint. It was no holiday but admittedly it was work under very pleasant circumstances with all that lovely sunshine. Well it got more pleasant after mid September when things cooled off a bit to a bearable 35 degrees C.

Actually if anyone is ever thinking of going to Cyprus for a holiday, about now is probably the best time to go. Its about the same as an English high summer in June. There is the possibility of rain but otherwise pretty fine. Temps about 25 - 30 throught the day dropping to about 15-18 at night.

I haven't post much 'cos computer time was rather limited. But now I'm back, I may well post a few memories. I did take notes, write a few (bad) haiku and other poems summing up my feelings at the time.

A Borrowed Bell

2009-10-08T09:54:00.003+01:00

This last week end I stayed at a friend's farmhouse high up in the hills above Aphrodite's Rock, some 20 km from Pafos.

Sitting alone
Warm sun on my face
A Greek Angelus
Concludes meditation.

Eventide

2009-09-14T13:41:00.002+01:00

The end of a hot day. I walk across town as the sun starts its rapid sunset. It inspired a poem.

Sunset
Low murmur
Of chanting
Heard across Lazaros Square.

Peace to all beings.

It ain't 'alf 'ot Mum

2009-09-01T15:12:00.002+01:00

Anybody remember the old TV series?
First full day in Cyprus and the temperature 42 deg. Celsius at mid-day. Had to take a siesta. Even the Cypriots find this a bit hot. Its now around five pm and its dropped a bit into the upper thirties. Strewth!

Short Break

2009-08-30T12:21:00.002+01:00

Just got a few minutes before we go out for a meal.
Getting my stuff together. Not taking a magic sword but I do have the pencils.
Yes I'm in a silly mood.

Before the Quest

2009-08-29T21:23:00.003+01:00

Getting ready for this Cyprus trip is not unlike preparing for the quests we read about in epic stories; - Lord of the rings, King Arthur and the Holy Grail, Eric Brighteyes, Siegfried.... the list goes on. Seeing its a trip to Cyprus, Perseus and the rescue of Andromeda came to mind.

All these quest stories (and the computer games they engender) have the same thing; namely collecting a number of vital items before setting off. They always have a magic sword and some other things like special mirrors, a goddess' blessing which usually involves armour or some level of invincibility oh, and of course, the magic sword. Mustn't forget that.

Well Perseus had to get the All Seeing Eye, a Mirror, the Head of Medusa, a Helmet to make himself invisible, a goddess' Blessing, I think it was Aphrodite, a pair of Special Flying Sandals borrowed from Hermes no less and of course he could not go without a MAGIC SWORD.
And off he went To a far off land to find Andromeda. Mind you, three thousand or so years ago when he did this, all he had to put up with was gorgons, dragons, harpies, the occasional man-eating sphinx, a big time god who didn't like him, not to mention sirens, Scylla and Charybdis. But he managed.
Imagine trying to go to a far off land today. Well, there's airport security for a start.
"Now Sir, you can carry your goddess' blessing and helmet and that mirror with your cabin luggage but not that eyeball thing, its' classified as a liquid container. And I'm afraid that big shiny knife (the magic sword?) must travel in the hold.
"Now if you would be so kind as to remove those sandals and put them through the scanner and while your waiting I want to see what you have in that box."
Well, Perseus being a law abiding chap did as the security guard asked and opened the box.
Security looked on, - stonily.

Now where's my Magic Sword gone?
Oh here it is, a mallet and set of chisels.

Clear the decks...

2009-08-25T20:26:00.004+01:00

Clear the decks, not so much for action, but to make room for the artist who is going to use my space while I'm away in Cyprus. He'll have use of half my space once I've got the stuff shown here stashed on the other side . The space is a room 9 feet square so it'll have to be stacked in a pretty neat and compact way.
That's what I've spent a large part of today doing. The carving tools you can see on the table are coming to Cyprus with me along with a stock of paper and paints. Its all packed into a suitcase now so that's a big-ish job out the way.
The new incumbent is a glass ceramicist who tells me he doesn't need a particularly large space to work in and my half space will be perfect. His paying rent on half a space cuts down the amount I have to pay for it while I'm away.
I leave for Larnaka on Monday and won't be back in Blighty until mid-November.
I may get chance to post a little using the Larnaka studio computer but my slots will be a bit limited.

Ongoing project

2009-08-21T19:56:00.006+01:00

This project, started from "A Germ of an Idea" has developed quite a few little side avenues. I was thinking initially in terms of two semi-circular set ups; in one, the centre figure would be a leader and in the other, a rejected person. Both are the centre of the attention of the peripheral figures. A series of drawings has ensued thus far plus a couple of sculptures.

Here is one idea. I have set out some drawings in this diagrammatic form to give some idea of what I'm getting at. The central figure is at the receiving end of a judicial decision. The red figures are the judges or prosecutors, the yellow are intercessors on the subjects behalf and the one in blue, the indifferent bystanders. I haven't really arrived at the final form but it is the "germ of an idea".

This is one of the "side avenue" figures. Here she is looking up at the overhead light.

An overhead artificial light?
The Sun?

Divine inspiration?

I love presenting puzzles. You can decide for yourself. I haven't arrived at any conclusions yet.

One thing I can tell you, - I've got plenty to work on while in Cyprus. The whole thing has, after all, something a Hellenic feel about it.

Starting Countdown...

2009-08-20T22:00:00.002+01:00

Ten days to Cyprus. And counting. Got a phone call from Larnaka today confirming I am expected at the time I said I would arrive. It has been a busy few days making final arrangements.
Its not like pacage holidays. As this is a three month stay I have to make my own arrangements and set up my own contacts. Its cheaper that way anyway. It does help having been there several times before; I now have a reasonable network of contacts.
Now its all coming together at last. must admit I'm starting to get excited.
But its not a holiday. I am there to help out at the college. My main job is to take students on field trips. Open air painting/drawing sessions, mostly on the beach. Well, someone's gotta do it!!! Oh yes, and one lecture a week, mainly about my own work and to provide practical backup to the syllabus.
To be honest though, its a galaxy away from the British (art school) scene. Take a peek at the website.

Getting a new Roof

2009-08-11T20:53:00.003+01:00

We have the roofing men working overhead replacing the worn out slates. The roof was built when Queen Victoria was little more than a teenager. Our house is easy to spot right no, its the one with all the scaffolding.
I've got to give it to those roofing guys, they really get on with the job. We had a couple of really fine days and they took advantage of the dry weather and worked with hardly a break. Yesterday the gods were grossly incontinent, it rained all day, but undismayed the men turned up and did what they could between raindrops. Then a lorryload of new slates arrived and the lorry needed unloading and slates stacked up top. They worked through atrocious weather to complete that particular task. By lunchtime they were soaked through and once the stuff was stacked safely they called it a day.
But this morning, wall-to-wall blue skies and they were up aloft before I got out of bed, and I was up at 7-30!
These guys don't waste time.

In Sculptor's Heaven

2009-08-08T21:35:00.003+01:00

Yesterday I took a train ride 40 -odd miles to the north, to Penrith for the Cumbrian Potfest, an international gathering of ceramics artists. Not only were there many displays from all over the UK and Europe plus one from Australia, there were trade stands selling a wide variety of ceramic tools all reasonably priced. Some were just amazingly cheap.

This torso is an entry from Japan. I love that metallic glaze and the almost gossamer thickness of the actual ceramic. The exhibitor invited me to pick it up. After all, sculpture is a tactile medium. In my hands it felt so delicate and exquisite.

Figures from myth and legend, very much on my wavelength, faeries, goblins, wizards/witches, dragons etcetera ad infinitum.

..... and horses. This one made up of fragments held together with slip and glaze. This particular one is about 18 inches (45 cm) long.

There was plenty of opportunity to chat with other art-makers and learn from each other. I even had a go at throwing a pot, i.e., making a pot on a potter's wheel. Its the first time I've done it. I made three pots in all, and thereby hangs a tale...

For the first one I was guided stage by stage and made a reasonable though not perfect bowl. The second one I was left on my own to get on with it. To say it was total disaster would be an understatement. But I had ten minutes of my one hour slot left so was given another ball of clay. Time was not on my side so I just had to get on with it without thinking about it too much. Actually, it turned out to be my best effort. I threw the pot in three minutes flat. Not quite up to exhibition standard but better than I dared hope.

Mustn't forget the jazz quartet that provided music at lunch time. It consisted of saxophone, banjo, trombone and sousaphone. A bit of an eclectic mix but they were good.

The sun shone too. It has been a good day.

Despite the wind and rain

2009-08-02T18:54:00.002+01:00

Our "yarden" isn't looking too bad. A bit saturated but its managed to make a show none-the-less. Mind you, its my other half who looks after it these days. She's much more green fingered.

One corner of the yarden

Some free standing plant pots

The kitchen window box from outside. The hanging basket on the left has tomato plants that don't like our Northern Climate one little bit.

Opposite wall.

From the kitchen window, a an abundance in the window-box.

Today the sun has shone all day. A rare event. But at least we don't have a water shortage.

Another Image.

2009-07-28T20:48:00.002+01:00

Another image of the same ilk. This time the light is coming from above and she leans back with her hands resting on her ankles.

Not quite sure where this is going........

2009-07-26T21:26:00.002+01:00

Gave myself a rest from carving today and produced this drawing on a sheet of paper, 50 x 35 cms. It is a layout of how the figures might be but the focus of the ideas seem to be undergoing a subtle change. The central figure is not so much a supplicant here as a centre of stillness. I didn't deliberately set out with this in mind. It seems to have simply gone that way.

More germinating

2009-07-19T19:40:00.002+01:00

A drawing of the supplicant on her own. This too is the same size as the one posted yesterday. About 14 x 20 inches in English measure.

There are about another four planned. When I did the overall design, shown a couple of days back, I had made tracings of some of the images and projected them onto larger pieces of paper with the idea of developing the images to see how they might look. They are developing into works in their own right. From the projected image on the paper I draw the contour pieces and then work them up into full drawings or paintings.

The use of projectors or optics, at any rate has been around for centuries. If you would like to learn more, get hold of a copy of David Hockney's book, "Secret Knowledge".

Germinating

2009-07-18T23:36:00.003+01:00

Did this painting today in gouache on a sheet of 300gsm 35 cm wide by 50 cm tall. It is the goddess and supplicant juxtaposed. It went rather better than I hoped. I might make a canvas of this image.

A Germ of an Idea

2009-07-16T21:05:00.003+01:00

Fairfield Orchard is a public space developed at the turn of the Millennium. Some waste ground near the Fairfield private estate in one of the more salubrious parts of Lancaster was converted into a public park and orchard. It has developed well and the wonder of it is just how little vandalism has been inflicted on it. The people of this part of Lancaster are a pretty public spirited bunch and have made sure vandalism is swiftly dealt with. It is well policed.
I sometimes take a detour through this orchard on my daily walk to the studio. It is a bit of a long way round but it makes for a pleasant stroll along the Lancaster Canal then through fields and finally here before re-entering the built-up area.
In the middle of the orchard there is a quiet picnic area.

In the picnic area there is this semi-circular arrangement of tree stumps. I'm not sure if they are an installation or a novel form of picnic seating. A couple of days ago I sat on the centre stump. It struck me how the formation reminded me of either a set of seats for some imaginary guardians of the place or the setting for a gathering in the style of a crow court.

I have seen crow courts when I lived in the countryside back in Northumberland. The crows/rooks stand in a circle on the ground and one crow stands in the centre. Sometimes the central bird is quite clearly the flock leader and seems to be making some deliberations. At other times the central bird is one who has failed the flock in some way. On these occasions avian justice can be swift and final.

A germ of an idea formed.
Why not make a collection of sculptures to form two semi-circles, one to show a condemnation and the other to portray leadership?

When I got back to the studio I put a large sheet of paper on my main drawing board and made a series of drawings exploring the idea.

This is a layout of designs for the characters. The top row I have called "Supplicant." The central kneeling figure in grey is the supplicant being judged by her peers.

The bottom row I have called "Goddess". The standing central figure is the deity standing amidst her acolytes. The figures are coloured according to their roles. I'll explain in more detail in subsequent postings when I shall show some individual images.
It's becoming an interesting project. What started out as an idea for a woodland installation is becoming an exploration of the human condition, - social roles we all adopt at different stages of our lives.

More culture

2009-07-12T20:11:00.003+01:00

Theatre in the Park last Tuesday, exhibition private views including one in which Luneside Studios participated, and then to round all off, a performance in the Cathedral of Monteverdi's Vespers. With my passion for sacred music this had to be the high point.
....and it was!
A baroque orchestra complete with authentic period instruments circa 1610, consisting two violins, cello, bass, chamber organ continuo, baroque cornet, crumhorn and three saxbuts(trombones sans valves); couple that with a first class choir and four soloists,(two sopranos and two tenors), it made for a really memorable performance to a capacity audience. The strains of it are still ringing in my ears.

Theatre in the Park

2009-07-08T09:49:00.006+01:00

Despite the rain, we had a good evening at the Duke's presentation of the Greek play Jason and the Argonauts. The play was a blend of ancient Greek high drama and old fashioned British pantomime in that audience participation was encouraged. It was done in English of course.
To give an example; when it was time for the interval, Hera comes onto the stage and annouces that the the gods will return to high Olympus for their Nectar and ambrosia while we mortals go to the cafe for tea.
Or another, in the final act Jason returns to king Pelias with the golden fleece, Jason gives the "long voyage across the wine dark sea" speech. The king repies, "Like a cup of coffee then?"
We laughed, we were moved. Brilliant.

More Hidden Lancaster

2009-07-04T21:30:00.003+01:00

Still enjoying the lovely weather, between showers, and it seems such a waste to go straight to the studio. So I went via a circuitous route and discovered this little gem of a street behind the Castle. It is privately owned and still retains its mediaeval cobbles. The only snag, it is an exclusive address as the number of expensive cars parked there will testify. I had to do quite a bit of manoeuvring to get a shot of this street sans cars. Without the cars you feel as though you have stepped back in time. It hasn't been developed, it is off the tourist trail so it remains pretty much the way it always was. A little gem of street.

Mediaeval cobbles with puddle. Can't resist puddles. Photographing them, that is.

Happiness is...

2009-06-30T22:53:00.004+01:00

...glorious sunshine, a heatwave that feels more Cypriot than British, making a lump of clay into a sculptural form while listening to a Bach cantata blasting in my ears via the headphones of my MP3 player, oh, and a bottomless pot of tea.

Making sculpture, whether it is as a carving or modelled from clay, involves the whole spectrum of activity. At the beginning it is quite brutal and aggressive. The rough form is made. When I've made large pieces in the past it has not been unknown to start by taking an axe to the piece of wood. Then there is the carving out of the rough shape, done with a 2kg mallet and large gouge and sending schrapnel flying in all directions. That then gives way to more detailed carving with a lighter touch, then to delicate tap-tapping and finally hand chiseling, just shaving away fine flakes. Then the sanding and polishing and little adjustments here and there.

Modelling in clay has a similar pattern; first the clay is thumped and squeezed to expel air pockets, then roughly moulded into a semblance of shape, then cut and modelled with tools using a technique not dis-similar to carving then smooth with fingers, brush, shaper and a little slip applied here and there. Slip is sloppy clay, rather like slurry which is used either as a sort of glue for to put two pieces of clay together or to smooth the finished surface.

The whole process can be quite absorbing and exciting as the piece finally comes into being. Such is the joy of making art. The picture shows a piece I did today. It stands about 20 cm (8") tall. It now needs to dry out, - slowly. In this heat, no mean task. It has been sprayed with a fine mist of water and covered in a plastic bag to slow the evaporation/drying. If it dries to quickly the whole thing will start to crack. It may be some time before it gets cast. Ideally as a bronze but more likely finish up as a plaster cast. Its much cheaper as plaster, I can probably do it myself whereas bronze casting will involve taking it to a foundry and I could end up paying the wrong side of £200 to have it done.

But... if someone out there would like a bronze of it then let me know.

Cowled Head - completed

2009-06-28T21:48:00.003+01:00

Finished at last. I beeswaxed the sculpture yesterday evening and gave it a final polish today.

Voila!

Self Portrait

2009-06-26T23:07:00.002+01:00

Making a self-portrait is something that most artists do from time to time. I have usually done one every year or so by drawing "from the life" with the aid of a mirror. This time I worked from a recent photo.
As you may have noticed, I have included it in my profile. It's time I updated it anyway. That last one was done in Larnaka three years ago. Doesn't time fly?

Not just sculpture

2009-06-25T20:07:00.003+01:00

I have been drawing/painting as well. It is a sculptural concept but 2D work none-the-less. These are two separate works each on 300 gsm. paper and 35 x 50 cm., slightly bigger than A3. I did the one one the left first. It is primarily a graphite drawing but with a little colour added. On completion I wasn't entirely satisfied with it so re-did it as a monochrome drawing. In both cases I aimed to have the centre of the picture in sharp focus and fusing out towards the periphery. It is a style I have developed of late; I do this to focus the viewer on the central theme of the subject.
The work is titled "Libation". Of course there is Cypriot influence here. On the one hand the quasi-Hellenic figures and the other the reference to an ancient culture.

Latest Project

2009-06-23T20:11:00.004+01:00

Cowled Head is the name I've given to this piece of sculpture that I've been working on over the last three weeks or so. It stands about 14" (35 cm) high, not counting the base. I should point out the rough looking plank it sits on in the picture is not the intended base but simply an anchor piece to hold it on to the bench. The carving stage is pretty well completed here. Some filing has been done. There only remains some sanding to do then more sanding, then polishing and so on. It looks a bit white and stone-like at the moment after rough sanding. The grain will show more when it is finished.

Today has been a lovely warm one so I spent most of the day sitting on the studio steps sanding this sculpture. Just like in Cyprus. I noticed in the bathroom mirror this evening I have darkened my tan a bit.

Here's a close-up detail of Cowled Head. The eyes need some fine carving but not yet. The main sculpture needs more work doing on it first. If you look closely you will see either a dividing line or the abrupt change in grain running down the face. This is because I have not carved from a solid piece of wood but built up a block by laminating lengths of 44 mm square timber, rather in the way pine furniture is made. Hopefully, by this method I have avoided shrinkage cracks forming in the years to come.

Ginormous Moth

2009-06-17T20:32:00.007+01:00

Saw this moth as I went into the studio. There it was, sleeping at the bottom of the ground floor window. When I first saw it I thought it was a pipstrele bat it was so big but when I took a closer look I could see it was clearly a moth.

I've never seen one quite like it outside of nature books. All of us at the studio had a look but none of us could identify it. Is it a rare British visitor? Is it from the south brought here by fabled global warming? None of knew but I said I know someone who might.

One of my three daughters is interested in this sort of thing. She told me it is a Poplar Hawk

Moth and is usually found in broadleaf wodland and is fairly common.

Well the broadleaf woodland is easily located. Lancaster Castle, across the road from the studio, is surrounded by broadleaf trees., so much so that in summer only John o' Gaunt's Gateway is visible through the foliage.

A Lazy Summer Day

2009-06-14T21:35:00.004+01:00

Glasson Dock is a small seaport village some five miles or so south of Lancaster. On Sundays it is a regular venue for bikers, - motor cyclists to the un-initiated. It used to be a regular spot for me in my biking days.

The weather these last few days has been a bit more summer-like and this morning I thought it might be a good idea to have a day away from the studio. We are in the throes of decorating and generally preparing the studios for its official open/open day so we are rather busy with that as well as trying to make art. So a day away sounds a good idea, - while this nice weather lasts.

So, taking advantage of my bus pass I took the bus to Glasson Dock. I sat on benches being something of a sleepy old man, I walked round the marina eating a huge ice-cream. I sat at the biking venue drinking tea, having a chip butty and viewing the machinery.

I haven't ridden a [motor] bike for eight years now but the bike scene never really leaves you. You are part of that subculture for life. It is a bit like having been to sea, as any old sea-dog will tell tell you, it never really leaves you either.

Then it was high tide and the waiting boats and ships could now enter the docks. These docks retain their water at low tide by means of a canal lock system. The road through the village passes over one of the lock gates into the marina. For a good half hour or so the swing bridge was set to one side and all motor traffic ceased. Only marine traffic moved, and at a more sedate pace too. It was a very leisurely wait for the bus back to Lancaster, it wasn't going anywhere just yet.

After a bus ride through little lanes surrounding the city I was back home. The sun still shone brightly. I sat in the back yard drawing until the sun went down.

A lovely day. Sitting quietly, doing nothing. Should do it more often methinks.

Like a Turner painting

2009-06-12T20:58:00.003+01:00

The view from my bedroom window looks out across the rooftops of Lancaster and out across Morecambe Bay to the Lakeland hills. More often than not the good Lancashire climate prevents this. But there are times when it has its compensations. The setting sun dips out from the raincloud to flood the sodden landscape with light.

Just like a painting by J.M.W.Turner.

Not so silent...

2009-06-09T21:34:00.003+01:00

At the bottom of my street there stands the Roman Catholic Cathedral of Lancaster. Three times a day the Angelus rings out to the faithful. Three groups of three chimes followed by nine chimes, all done on the large bell. It is rung at eight in the morning, at mid-day and at six in the evening. It is quite a peaceful sound. One those "Sounds of Silence".

But we live in a noisy world, do we not? There have been times when I have walked right past the belfry and not been able to hear the Angelus because of traffic noise. Several cars pulling away simultaneously from the traffic lights can make quite a racket.
And yet, this traffic noise registers as little more than background.

Silent Thoughts

2009-06-04T19:41:00.003+01:00

I'm back in the Northlands.

The bride's house during the final countdown to her wedding is not the most conducive place for quiet contemplation, but Wales has it's compensations. It has mountains where you can quickly find somewhere (relatively) quiet, even in an urbanised valley containing Bargoed. So my mornings were spent in such a place.

There is a disused railway which has been made into a cycle path as part of the Parc Cwm Daran, a thin stretch of National Park extending northwards from the town of Bargoed towards Brecon. It was along this stretch that I would sit on one of the park benches provided.

Sitting in the Eternal moment

Where time is "no-time".

No beginning;

No end.

Yet this body ages a little more with time's passage.

Down in Welsh Wales bach.

2009-05-19T08:33:00.002+01:00

I'll be off-line for the next few days. I'll be at a wedding in Wales.

Devon Rex

2009-05-10T20:55:00.002+01:00

While I was dahn Sahf in London, one of my Cypriot friends there got herself a couple of Devon Rex kittens. Thought I'd post a piccy of them. All together now....

Aaaaw!

Restoration Job

2009-05-09T20:11:00.003+01:00

Our Meditation Group statue has been showing signs of wear and tear lately; the odd chip here the hairline crack there, scratches in the gilding and so on. It had been mooted for some time about getting some restoration work done on it. I was asked if I could do it.

Could I? I wasn't entirely sure. I rather suspected it had been finished in gold leaf. The whole statue is actually a plaster cast, hand made and when we acquired it several years ago it wasn't exactly cheap. It was purpose made for the group. But could I do it? I took a deep breath and said "Yes."

Actually I took the statue to the studio and next day some of our more expert studio members gave the job a look-over. Tests soon revealed it was not covered in gold leaf but gilded. That is painted with gold paint. Much relieved, gold leaf is very expensive I set about repairs. The plasterwork was made good before going to London for a week. On my return I set about applying the gilding and several days later, today in fact, the job was completed. The seal coating applied and now the statue is in a protective coat of polythene ready for transfer back to the Lancaster Group Meditation Hall.

The Lancaster Buddha

Almost like Japan.

2009-05-07T19:23:00.003+01:00

Lancaster's answer to the Japanese "Blossom Wave" that sweeps from Okinawa in the south to Hokkaido in the north. Note t' wondrous town 'all clock.

Ee by 'eck, s' just like Tokyo (not).

Actually the Japanese wave comes in early April, in North-West England, a bit later, if at all. Still, it is nice to look at. The warm weather can't be too far away.

Out of circulation

2009-04-28T20:00:00.002+01:00

I'll be off the blogosphere for a week while I'm in London with some of my Cypriot friends. Καλό! Yeah!

2009-04-24T21:21:00.002+01:00

I've written a few quick notes in my sketchbook. They look a bit like a haiku but there the similarity ends. It rather sums up what I'm doing artistically right now. I have written in more detail in The Draughtsman.

Ghosts from a distant past
Civilisations long gone
Speak to us today.
Ancient forms
Emerging from darkness
Emerging from light;
Forms and colours
Distorted by time.

Not such a big drawing

2009-04-23T20:33:00.002+01:00

This is the torso, all that remains of the statue of a running girl in the Parthenon. The British Museaum inform me it is of a lesser deity called Iris.

Today I did a drawing working from the photo I'd taken at the British Museum. I was impressed by the way her chiton flows to accenuate the running action.

Pencil drawing on paper, 25 x 35 cm.

Big Drawings (2)

2009-04-16T20:21:00.003+01:00

Just finished this one today, one metre tall by one metre fifty wide. That's a tad bigger than A0.

It is a drawing of a relief of pantheatic figures in Parthenon. The original is no longer in Athens, its in the Louvre. The Parthenon in Athens has a faithful copy made of concrete.

Many of the Greek sculptures have been extensively damaged which at first is hardly surprising seeing that the Parthenon was built around 1000 BCE. However, it survived the Persian Wars, The Peloponesian Wars, Roman invasion, Christian Iconoclasm and mediaeval Islamic incursion. According to what I learned at the British Museum, the destruction took place under the Ottoman Turks and was the result of an accident. The Parthenon building was used as an ammunition store. Sooner or later it would blow up. It did, and nearly three thousand years of intact archeology went with it.

But from an artist point of view, this mutilated sculpture presents an interesting perspective. The line used to delineate the form is now incomplete leaving the eye to contemplate what remains. In trying to see what it may have looked like we need to let our imagination do the rest. It is as with line drawing, some absent lines can be "read" as if already there.

It has taken the best part of a week to do. I don't know if it is finished but it seems to have reached a point where there isn't anything more to add.

Now to put another large sheet of paper on the wall....

Big Drawings

2009-04-15T20:38:00.003+01:00

At the moment I am giving my carving tools a little rest for a week or so.
Luneside Studios can be a strange place at times. Let me explain.
When a prospective artist comes to us applying for space to work in we explain that we don't have an "in-house" style. Well we don't. Each one of us is different But...
When we were at St. George's Quay, we each did our own thing and that was that. Everyone was on with something different. But now we are at the new place up by the Castle, we seem to be all doing the same thing at the same time. Not the same subject matter but the same things.
A few weeks ago I was doing small work; small drawings/paintings not much bigger than A4. Some were even postcard size. Lo and behold, so was everybody else. It all happened spontaneously. Now, I am doing very large scale drawings, partly to work out sculptural ideas. Four more of us are doing very big six feet by four feet drawings. They aren't following my lead, there was one other who has been doing big stuff for a while now. But it is really curious that a number of us end up doing similar things.
The exception to the rule is that I am the only sculptor, (for now). There is one other that makes 3D work from time to time but not at the moment. He's doing big drawings too, on huge sheets of brown paper.

Me and my Bicycle

2009-04-13T23:07:00.002+01:00

It been such lovely weather this last couple of days I've got back on my bike and cycled to the studio. Usually by a fairly circuitous route. Yesterday I went down to the Lune Estuary and today rode out to the nearby village of Halton. First time in ages I've ridden beyond the city limits.
At my age I have become very much a fair weather cyclist so lets hope this nice weather continues. If it does, who knows? I might even get to ride a bit further.
How times change. It doesn't seem all that long ago when I would have considered a ride to Kirkby Lonsdale or Slaidburn, villages about twenty miles from Lancaster, to be a fairly moderate affair. Now I content myself with rides much closer to home or alternatively taking the bike on the train up into the Dales.
Now that's an idea.....

Hooverbird

2009-04-11T21:53:00.004+01:00

Among the visitors to our bird-table is this cheeky chappie, a solitary feral pigeon. It was not entirely welcome at first, partly as a consequence of local by-laws outlawing feral pigeons as vermin and feeding them to be discouraged.

However, after having at the beginning tried to get to the bird-table before the others and clearing it of everything put out for the birds, it now takes its place in the pecking order. He got mobbed by Zeus and his friends so now it waits. Actually it seems that scavenging is in a feral pigeon's nature because I'll grant he/she/it cleans up very efficiently. That pigeon diligently pecks away until the table is absolutely clear. That's why we've re-named him/her, "Hooverbird" the avian vacuum cleaner.

Good Friday

2009-04-10T22:56:00.002+01:00

I have never been quite sure as to why the Christians, - those in the Western Catholic tradition at any rate, - refer to the commemoration day of their Saviours crucfixion and subsequent death as Good Friday. I tend to think the Greek Orthodox naming of this day as Μεγάλη Παρασκέυη, or Great Friday more appropriate. There is little doubt this is a major part of the Christian calendar. Incidentally, the Greeks won't be commemorating theirs for another week yet.
However, as I walked into town, there, at Dalton Square, Lancaster's City centre, all traffic had been brought to a stop while the local combined churches held their "Way of the Cross" march which stopped at various key places in the city. At each point a part of the crucifixion story was relayed and a hymn sung. Pictured here is the final hymn "station".

The procession now ended, the crowd dispersed and it is left to two people to carry the cross back to Priory Church up by the Castle. In the story, a certain Simon of Cyrene was called upon to help Jesus carry His cross. Er, surely that Cyrenian is a woman? Well why not?

After a Weekend at Throssel

2009-04-07T22:14:00.003+01:00

Spent this last week-end up at Throssel Hole Buddhist Abbey. It was a non-retreat week-end which meant only the normal monastic schedule was going on. It was just what I needed. Simply the space to be quiet in the quiet. There were no set "things" or events that were set to happen except the Smanthabhadra Ceremony on Sunday morning. The room I was allocated was a haven of deep peace in an already peaceful place.

Not that I am particularly stressed out. Rather the opposite at the moment. It was just I needed a bit bit of space to reflect. We did a lot of meditation and much of the work period was spent in the kitchen. Not even there was it anything like frenetic. I was given a task, dicing vegetables into half centimetre cubes, and just left to get on with it. Wonderful. No deadline. No rush. No fuss. Just do it. It has been a good week-end.

Now back in Lancaster and back in the world. My studio space is starting to fill up with quite a few sculptures.

None of them particularly big but they do take a bit of room. Actually, last week much of the work was on the shelf on the right while the shelf with the ghetto-blaster on it had pictures stacked there as well. So there has been a bit of re-organising.

The latest piece,

stands about 25 cms tall and modelled (as opposed to carved) in green clay. I've been working on this for the last couple of days. The Hellenic influence is still there but I have given it a more modern slant.Side view of the same piece. The plan is to make two more versions of this. I'd like to make another clay about three times the size of this one. I've also identified a piece of wood, - pitch pine, - 75 mm square section with which to make a carving that will stand around 35 cm tall.

Daphnis and Chloë

2009-03-31T19:36:00.003+01:00

We have a bird-table in our backyard. But being in deepest urban Lancaster we don't get so many small birds. But we do get the larger ones; magpies, jackdaws, collared doves, the occasional blackbird and even rarer song thrush. Oh and one feral pigeon we nicknamed "Wallace" as it reminds us of a Wallace and Grommit character. The main visitors by far are the jackdaws. Like all of the genus Corvus they are social creatures and they come in large groups but each take their turn at the table. Having watched them for some time now, it is plain to see they have a pecking order in the real sense of the word.

The most timid visitors are the collared doves. they usually come as a pair and I rather suspect there is more than one pair. Today at lunchtime a pair of real love-birds dropped in and stayed for a couple of hours. They billed and cooed and mated and then just sat there like any loving couple. One or two jackdaws came by but left them alone.

I've nicknamed them "Daphnis and Chloë".

Daphnis and Chloë (Δαφνίς ου Χλωέ) is a Greek legend of two lovers. Both were shepherds who lived an idyllic life together. Daphnis was a son of Hermes and enjoyed the protection of Artemis. When he and Chloë came together the gods could not grant them immortality but instead decreed that when they died they would die peacfully together. When they died they continued their idyllic existence tending the sheep in the Elysian Fields of the Underworld.

Much later, the largest of the jackdaws put in an appearance. Not that it disturbed the two love-birds. But this big black bird is the boss of the jackdaw flock.

Perhaps I should call him Zeus (Ζεύς)?

Er, not QUITE so big...

2009-03-27T20:20:00.004Z

This picture I posted t'other day is not the size I said it was. Just for curiosity, I picked up my tape in the studio and measured it. It sure doesn't look to be half a metre by three-quarters. Sure enough, once I'd measured it, it turns out to be half that size. 35 x 50 cms. Just a tad bigger than A3.
Not that I did too much at the studio today. Sanded a sculpture, sketched a few ideas and that's about it. I am feeling a little bit fragile today after last night's wedding anniversary celebration, and before you all ask....
No! I didn't get drunk!
We had a lovely evening at Quite Simply French, a rather more up-market restaurant than I usually go to. It is on St. George's Quay in Lancaster. We both really pushed the proverbial boat out and had full blown a-la-carte. The only trouble was that really the food was rather rich and something of an assault on our digestive systems that are more used to simpler fare. But it was a lovely meal and a nice romantic evening.
We were much kinder to our stomachs this evening, Greek Salad with feta and olives and an olive oil/lemon dressing. All washed down with a nice cup of (Tetley's) tea.

Seem to be getting fitter

2009-03-25T19:11:00.003Z

The sculpture shelf in my studio

Just this last few days I've noticed there is more of a spring in my step. I don't get short of breath any more. I can walk up the (steep) hills in Lancaster without too much hassle, and most notable of all I can get around without relying in my walking pole. That pole has been with me every time I went out for over two years now. It has become my "comfort blanket", my Linus syndrome signifier. Yeah, I know, once a nurse, always a nurse.
Why this sudden change in health for the better? I really don't know. Well, I don't think I know. It can't be the onset of warmer weather, 'cos there hasn't been any. Well, last week it got rather spring-like for a few days but now, although the sun is shining between showers that wind still prefers to go through you rather than round you. Lazy wind.
No. I rather think its been the switch to making sculpture, - making wood carvings. It is much more physical than drawing and painting. There's the continuous swinging of a mallet at a chisel, the filing, sanding and polishing. The work is clamped in bench vice. There is a lot of crouching and bending and general moving about.
Whatever it is, I'm a lot stronger now.

Tomorrow its our wedding anniversary. Forty-five years. Am I boasting? You betcha!

The Lady of Banbury Cross

2009-03-24T21:21:00.004Z

I was in Banbury in Oxfordshire last summer. At the crossroads in the centre of town there is an equestrian statue of the "Fine Lady upon a fine horse" as the nursery rhyme says. The statue is life-size. I took a few photos of it along with making a few sketches in my sketchbook.

In the midst of my present pre-occupation with sculpture I was asked to do an equestrian drawing. Unfortunately they have not returned to collect the work so it currently adorns my studio wall, It is on a sheet of paper 50 x 70 cm. Graphite and watercolour with some water soluble pencil.

The statue is not coloured. It is a metallic silver grey colour. Bronze? I'm not sure. It may be having been subsequently patinated or it could be cast in some alloy. Unfortunately I have been unable to track down who made this. There's plenty on Wikipedia about how it was funded and so on, but nothing about the sculptor.

I thought I'd show it here. I am doing some drawing between carvings but most are of sculptural ideas at the moment.

The nursery rhyme if I can remember it from my childhood days of BBC's "Listen with Mother" runs;

Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross

To see a fine lady upon a fine horse

With rings on her fingers

And bells on her toes

She shall have music

Wherever she goes.

A Book of Silence

2009-03-18T21:15:00.002Z

It was my birthday last Monday. One of the pleasant surprises was to be given a copy of Sarah Maitland's "Book of Silence". It is from what I can gather somewhat autobiographical and is as the title suggests a look into the world and nature of silence. Certainly of silence in a spiritual sense.

So far I have read the first chapter. It reminds me of another book written some time ago, "A Tide that Sings" by SR. Agnes, a modern anchoress who took her eremetic life to an isolated island near Shetland.

Of Feral Cats

2009-03-05T00:31:00.006Z

A link here mentions someone who looks after a colony of feral cats in the USA. This put me in mind of the "Cat Man of Limassol" for which I re-post the blog from a few years back. Click on the 2007 title to see the original entry with picture.

The Man Who Loves Cats (2005)
Not far from Lemesos there is a monastery dedicated to St. Nikolas of the Cats. Access is very limited on two counts. The nuns are part of an enclosed order and it lies right in the middle of the Sovereign Base which is a restricted zone.But...This morning I saw a man carrying a large carrier back walking towards the pier in the Old Harbour. He was followed by what appeared to be the entire feline poulation of Limassol. And, more and more cats rin to join him. When he got to the pier, he stopped, opened his carrier bags and handed pieces of cat food to each individual cat. There was no hurry. No scrabbling among the cats and the man himself made sure the weaker ones and the kittens each got their fair share. The entire process took some time. He patiently fed these cats untill all the cat food was gone and the cats all fed. Then he turned and left the cats and went his way.There are many feral cats on the island. Cyprus is said to be famous for them. Its nice to know there is at least one guy who cares about them.

The Man Who Loves Cats (2006)
Followers of my Blog may remember me talking about the Man Who Loves Cats last year while here in Limassol. He has looked after the feral cats of Limassol for years. At 10-00 am every morning he arrives at the end of Limassol Old Port pier and puts food out and a bowl of water. These cats just know when he's coming. They appear from all the nooks and crannies around and follow him in a great furry mass.Interestingly enough, there is a monastery not far from here dedicated to St. Nicholas of the Cats.

Solitary Ceremony

2009-03-03T10:36:00.004Z

I was hoping to get to Throssel for the Festival of Avelokiteswara (Kwan-Yin) last Sunday. Alas there was no-one going there with a car so a lift was not possible and the the journey by public transport can be quite a protracted affair and I would still have a walk-in of a few miles at the end. This latter would have done my aging bones little good.

However, all was not lost.

My personal shrine is to Kwan-Yin so, I lit a few candles, and did my own solo version. No uplifting choir of monks here, only my rather croaky voice singing into the emptiness.

Solitary, yes. Lonely, no.

Wherever we meditate we are not alone. Somewhere, someone is doing it at the same time. I did my solo ceremony at what I reckoned would be the same time as the Throssel one. As I say...

Solitary, yes. Lonely, no.

Completed Figure

2009-02-26T22:29:00.002Z

This is the completed figure that you saw half carved in the last but one posting, "Work in Progress". It was carved from a piece of 4" x 2" off-cut. The development work next door in the Storey is in its closing stages and they are throwing out a lot of redundant timber which they have said I can make use of.
The sharp eyed among you will notice she has a hole in her skirt. If you take a look at the previous image you will see there was a knot in the wood there and when I started carving that area the knot broke up in an unpredictable way so I carefully drilled the knot out. It has added a random factor to the work.

It is not quite finished. There are quite a few pieces like this one that are waiting for final polishing and waxing. This will bring out the grain of the wood more and (hopefully) remove the last vestiges of tooling marks.

New Toys

2009-02-25T22:17:00.003Z

My order from Tiranti has arrived. A brand new 1 kg. mallet and some beautifully made chisels. I've spent a small fortune.
Now I'm really making the wooden shrapnel fly.
Will post more pictures later.

Work in Progress

2009-02-19T22:13:00.003Z

Making sculpture, especially carving, can be quite a slow process. But then again, I'm in no hurry. I have no upcoming exhibitions in the near future so i can take my time and diversify to use the modern word.

This is what is on the go at the moment. She stands about half a metre high. Not a Grecian figure but one influenced by Greek art. If truth be known there is probably some influence from Cypriot ceramic sculpture. Examples can be seen at Vassos in Larnaka and the Lemba pottery near Pafos.

I have been working on this piece for this last week. It will probably be finished in a few days. By "finished" I mean the carving and some polishing will have been done. After that the wood will need to be waxed and finely polished. Then there's the plinth to make... its a never ending process. Its getting quite addictive, this sculpting.

Watch out for the shrapnel!

2009-02-12T21:58:00.002Z

I've been making wooden sculptures this last week or so. Most of them are made from offcuts and are really quite small at 2" or so but the one shown here is 35 cm tall, or 14" in old money.

This Grecian figure is based on one of the Karyatids of which I have done several drawings lately. She is carved from a piece of four by two timber. An offcut from a length of floor joisting/rafter.

Today I started on another figure, slightly larger. I've been doing the rough carving all day. Big mallet, big (20 mm) gouge and giving it some welly. Shrapnel ricocheting round the studio in all directions! Very good activity for a cold day, also very therapeutic.

Carving is a very physical form of art making. I've had a good day. More of the same tomorrow.

Sabbat

2009-02-09T22:45:00.002Z

That is the title of the play currently running at the Dukes Theatre in Lancaster. I saw the play on Saturday night. My wife and I made an evening out of it. We went ofor a meal out before going on to the theatre.
The play is a high drama is about the Pendle witch trials that took place in August 1612. There are only four actors in the play but what a powerful performance. The round theatre was ideal for this as you could see the performers close up and really feel the emotive energy of the whole piece.

I have posted in the past a series about the Pendle witches and their final journey from Lancaster Castle to the scaffold. You can see this and follow the postings in chronological order in the series Lancaster Curiosity

Now for something different....

2009-02-08T19:58:00.004Z

A whole week has passed since the last posting. Dun'time fly?

So what things of great moment have I done? Two things I s'pose, started sculpting a again for a change and went to the theatre last night. More about the theatre anon.

The last time I did any carving was last spring in Lemba, Cyprus. But I fancied getting back into it. Now the studio space at Luneside doesn't really lend itself to stone carving, but wood carving, yes we can manage that. So this last week I made a couple of small, two inch high pieces and at the moment am working on a piece about 15" high. It is being carved out of offcuts from a length of floor joist, 4" x 2". I've been at it for the best part of this last week and am now about three quarters done. It is a Karyatid figure so is part of the current project. I like making sculpture. I like the way the form grows out of the material as I carve. But it is a slow process. I'll post a picture when it is complete.

Meanwhile...

.... here's something I made much earlier. Probably about nine years ago. It stands only 4" high and is made of Plasticine. The surprise is just how tenacious this stuff is. It is easily moulded and re-shaped yet this figure has stood on my studio shelf all this time. It has endured being moved to new locations a couple of times including our move from St. George's Works to our current site and yet it has survived unscathed. I would like to make a bronze casting from it sometime but I fear the cost will be a bit prohibitive.

The figure is part of a series of nurse-like figures I started way back in the mid 1990s which recurs in my work from time to time. They are part of what I call the "Enigma" series. The enigma is that I don't really know what they are about, let alone the viewer. They are "nurse" figures but are not nurses. Others have said they can see a religious element in them but that could be because I use Renaissance sources for the ideas. Personally I prefer to leave it as it is, "Enigma". Below is a recent painting from the series. It is done in acrylic on canvas and about 15 cm x 21 cm.

The model I use is very good. She never moves, never complains and poses exactly the way I put her. She is in fact a fibreglass mannequin in my studio. At the moment she is modelling in a Hellenic shift for the current series of Karyatids.

May I introduce....

....Galateia, but I'm no Pygmalion!

Be careful what you wish for

2009-02-01T21:01:00.002Z

...and be careful what you promise to get that wish fulfilled. It is a bit of sage advice that I come across from time to time. Last night I learned a story that illustrates this only too well.

At my wife's church in nearby Carnforth I listened to a performance/act of worship of Jephte by Giacomo Carissmi. It is a setting from the Italian Renaissance period and the music did remind me of Palestrina in some ways. It was a by and large a beautiful performance but I think musically it is a difficult piece to sing. A subsequent look at the score did confirm this. It is written in the key of C major with several accidentals and quite a few tone and half tone intervals. Tricky. The choir did quite well considering it was and amateur choir and they didn't get the vocal score until the day of the performance so it was pretty well site read. Those of you with musical experience will know exactly what I mean. But they got the emotion of the piece across very well indeed. It was very moving.

The story of Jephte is in the Old Testament of the Judeo-Christian Bible and found in the book of Judges, Chapter 11. Jephte was a leader of an Israelite army taking on the Ammonites. Before the battle he prayed that God would give him the day and in return he would offer the first living thing he met after the battle as a sacrifice. It turned out to be his only daughter. The cantata plays on the anguish of the situation.

There are one or two similar stories but not of Biblical origin. One is of Agamemnon on his way to the Trojan war where he had perforce to sacrifice his eldest daughter Ifigenia. That did little to endear him to his wife Clytemnestra, but a least in that story, Artemis, to whom Ifigenia was to be sacrificed saved the day.

There are two Northumbrian legends of similar ilk.
At Brunton Bank top, some six miles north of Hexham there is a cross marking the site of a battle in which Oswy, king of Northumbria promised to give his firstborn son to the Church should he win the day. He did win and his son, Oswald was sent to Iona to train as a monk under Columba. It was later that Columba released Oswald from his vows and he returned to Northumbria as king to succeed Oswy and thereby facilitate the establishment of Lindisfarne.

The other story is of the Lambton Worm, a dragon-like creature terrorising the Wearside area. Lord Lambton returned from the crusades to deal with this. A local witch offered him protection provided he sacrifice the first living thing he sees after killing the Worm.
On his way back to his castle his daughter ran out to meet him. Horrified, he shouted for her to turn back and send his favourite greyhound out to meet him. This she did and so Lord Lambton killed the dog. But that wasn't the first living thing he saw, was it? Consequently a curse has lain on that household ever since.

There are other stories but I don't know enough about them to elaborate here, but the moral is much the same.

Be careful what you wish for and be careful what you promise.

In Little Limassol

2009-01-27T20:42:00.002Z

Just got back from a wonderful week-end in London staying with some of my Cypriot friends who live in an area of "Nawf Lahndin" known locally as "Little Limassol. Loadsa Greek cafes and plenty of chance to try out my newly-learnt Greek. It's improving. I can just about string a sentence together now rather than simply quote the phrase book, though I still need to keep it handy(!)
I said in the last posting I need to get out more. Well, I guess this counts, Friday the bus ride with National Express.
Now there's a surprise! They've thrown some money at the Digbeth Road bus station. It doesn't have that "Soviet" look about it any more. But to have the bus stands and queueing in the open air!??! Er, haven't the architects taken the Brummie climate into account. Its only marginally drier than Lancashire. Anyway, back to my tale...
Saturday saw me at the British Museum looking at the real Greek sculptures. If you go to the Parthenon in Athens you'll find the statues are still there but are made of concrete. The originals were shipped to Blighty during Queen Victoria's time.
Sunday it was a car drive to Cambridge and a look at the Fitzwilliam collection. That was a pleasant surprise. The place is chock full of good Renaissance art; Rubens, Titian, Carravagio, Anabale Carrachi.... I could go on. We had tea at a lovely old fashioned tea room. I half expected Miss Marple to walk in at any time.
Monday, the National Gallery in London where I got totally "arted out" then the next day, today, the bus ride home.
In the evenings we just ate and drank and ate and drank and.... Proper Cypriot evenings with old Cypriot friends.
Now I am home, tired, bus lagged and happy.
Its been plain bl***y marvellous!!!!!!!!!!!1

I need to get out more

2009-01-20T22:35:00.002Z

Went visiting in-laws today at their house near Keswick in the Lakes. After the last posting moaning about the dirty grey skies etc., here I was sat in the passenger seat of my wife's car heading up the M6. It has been a day of blustery showers of rain sleet and snow. But what a show! Shafts if sunlight poked through the ragged clouds and illuminated patches of pristine white Howgill Fells. As we went over Shap summit the moorland skies were subtly shades of grey, some dark, some light. A large canvas with abstract patterns of Payne's grey mixed with titanium white would have expressed it well. I started to mentally paint this large canvas until I was told to stop waving my arms about. Oops, sorry! Then again, after we left the M6 at Penrith and headed west along the A66 I could see cloud capped Blencathra swathed in veils of pale grey merging with white and making boundaries indistinct. Then a weak sun shone the a hole in the clouds and briefly picked out a jagged snow plastered ridge, it looked like a gigantic piece of royal icing.

I definitely should get out (of the city) more.

Abroad Thoughts from Home

2009-01-18T19:34:00.003Z

England has settled into its regular cold and wet winter routine. A bit like last summer but colder. It seems, as I make my way across town to the studio that there has always been a deep puddle at the traffic lights on Dalton Square through which the traffic goes spreading its bow wave of grimy water over waiting pedestrians. It seems, there has always been a horizontal sheet of rain blowing in directly from Morecambe Bay. Always it seems the lights from passing vehicles are reflected on the shiny wet road. Always it seems, the sky is grey.

But it cannot always be so.

Beyond that thick blanket of grey sky the sun is constantly shining. There have been days, indeed many days, when the skies have been clear, the roads dry and that ubiquitous puddle at the traffic lights has gone. But of course at this time of the year that means it is freezing hard.

At this time of the year I catch myself looking forward to a long hot summer. I don't mean two warm days and a thunderstorm, or if there is no thunderstorm, a hosepipe ban. ("It hasn't rained for two whole days"). But this looking forward is really just wishing your life away. The summer will come. It will get warmer. Lets just get through this winter.

I must admit all this wingeing is a bit tongue in cheek. Yes it is raining a lot here. But when I think of Cyprus, - that's the abroad thought from home, - they are having the most acute water shortage since the time of Constantine the Great, that's the Roman one I mean, circa 350 AD. Cypriot resevoirs are running at 3% full at the moment. They have not had a decent bit of rainfall for the last three years. They would give for our rainfall what we would give for their sunshine.
I remember sitting in a kafenion last time I was was there, a Cypriot I was talking to said something along the lines of, "Eh, Kyrie, if we Cypriots all move to England and you English all move to Cyprus then maybe it make everybody happy, huh? You get the sun and we get the rain!"

Never mind, next week-end I wil be in London meeting up with some ex-pat Cypriots and we plan the next trip or two.