I learnt an important life lesson today. 'Does a bell make a sound if no-one is there to hear it?' Well the riddle is unravelled...
Should you find yourself cycling up a long and steep hill, lycra-clad, lobster-pink and not a little sweaty, then you really are going to look like a total plank if you reach the top of that slope to be greeted by two young ladies (when I say greeted, what I really mean is gawped at with disdain), to then find yourself accidentally ringing your bell, rather than changing gear. Honestly, the two levers are right next to each other!
It highlights quite clearly how one thing can be interpreted in vastly different ways: on the one hand "who does he think he is? Riding up that hill and announcing what a stellar athlete he is with a 'bing'! What a fat, sweaty, idiot!" and the other "gah, why did I ring my bell, right then? What a fat, sweaty idiot!" Oh hang on, those are actually quite similar...
I've also learnt that my cat has no idea what work is, of course she's not particularly employable (unless there's a vacancy for someone who likes lying around on a cushion having their tummy tickled, whilst being fed scraps of smoked salmon) but she also has no idea about my work either. I work from home sometimes and she believes that this is for her benefit. I regularly take part in important conference calls and she thinks it's quite apt to leap up and miaow into the mouth piece, quite suddenly and before I can activate the mute button. My colleagues already consider me eccentric but mewing and animal noises, perhaps go beyond that simple description. She also thinks there's enough room on my lap for a lapcat and a laptop. There really isn't.
I've been struggling for ages to pin down what art is, what its whys and whens actually are, or at least what its direction of travel actually takes you towards.
I then saw a quote, new to me but surely well-known and famous: 'Art is not a handicraft, it is the transmission of feeling the artist has experienced.' -Leo Tolstoy
Like a flea jumping about all over the place and suddenly pinned down with a thumb, this phrase had it all, like walking full-force into a door.
It seems like we are all on a quest to connect things together, to see the joins that were not visible before. Art is simply one expression of that journey we all share.
In anything we do, we want to do it better and more succintly, to use that momentum to drive us to understand, whatever it is, just that little bit more each time that we try.
So surely art is no different from simply being alive and travelling in a forwards direction, it is nothing more than a way to describe that journey, like a simple page in a diary or a snap of a happy day on the beach.
As we live life we make connections between seemingly disparate things, and discover they were actually joined together all along. And now I think that good, great and exceptional art helps you make those connections in your head, as the artist reveals all those links they discovered within themselves and distilled them into blobs of paint or whatever medium is their choice of expression.
Or perhaps:-
"Dog sculptor, how do you sculpt this enormous block of stone?"
"I just take away all the bits that aren't dog."
Because of these things I aspire to paint. I've probably mentioned it before. Great painting, for me, seems to distill so much more than any other medium I've witnessed.
Emotion, narrative, sorrow, symbolism, joy and so much more condensed into something that does not require a plaque to tell you what to think. Line, form and colour, skillfully applied, to convey so much depth and description. I don't know if that is at all possible with other mediums, and especially not with mine.
That doesn't mean I am not going to try, as I mature and learn and grow, my art comes along with me and I want to strive forward to reach a point when my art begins to draw together much more, will make you think, ponder and contemplate. After all these are the things that make me tick, make me feel alive, drive me to learn and develop and evolve. And just like great painting I want my art to grow strong and not need a written description, it should explain whatever it needs to, to whoever wants to look at it and let each person take away whatever they wish.
Perhaps it is a confidence thing. To have enough of it to let it speak for itself. Perhaps that will come with maturity and the time to make more connections between whatever disparate things I find.
What is life without drive and fascination and a journey with which to set yourself on? Whether I ever reach there, who knows, but it is assured you never will, if you put don't put one foot in front of the other.
I made this for my exhibition and it's been there for a few weeks now. I haven't seen it since but my partner said they've dried, cracked and grown a little mould. She added they looked pretty good too :-). Drop into the gallery if you are passing by and let me know how they are changing.
My self-confidence doesn't allow me to keep quiet (ahem, as if you hadn't noticed) but perhaps it will one day soon. But I believe there's a few layers to see here and I'll stop and leave it at that. Except to say that I put them in with no conscious effort and it was revealed gradually afterwards.
Despite not planning their inclusion, I still believe they are manifestly there and I am beginning to learn the power of intuition and, too, of the unconscious mind.
A few years ago I was unaware of those things but maybe they are all a fundamental part of the whole maturing process.
So that one day I may find the confidence, to speak without any words.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Progression
Friday, July 08, 2011
Sycamore Seed Sun
I want to post something but need to write something to go with it. I normally write about my thoughts when I created the sculpture, or something that's preoccupying me or maybe something amusing that's just happened.
Well, I didn't make this today and can't remember much of what I was thinking when I did. Actually that's not strictly true. I remember quite clearly trying to get a photo of it all day. I knew it would be better to wait until the sun was lower but I tried anyway when the sun was high in the sky. It was very windy too and kept falling out of the tree I first put it into, shedding seeds as it did.
I knew that the dogwood ring would begin to dry out and contract, and as it did the thorns would fall out. So I needed to get a photo quick but the wind and sun weren't playing ball. Probably I was expecting too much, the wind might drop but I haven't developed omniscience, recently, with which to control the sun. If I had I expect my land art would be absolutely brilliant but I guess (un)godly powers might be considered cheating.
Eventually I gave up and returned later on, when the wind had dropped and dappled light lit up the undergrowth. Now everything was perfect or at least it would seem so. The light was magical and the breeze light and warming but the dogwood ring had lost some moisture and the thorns decided to drop out like needles on a Christmas tree on January 6th.
So I spent many minutes pushing them back in, cursing and pricking myself. This eventually worked and I had the seeds arranged nicely again. I expect you'd have less success using this technique if you were trying to stop your Christmas tree from going bald.
Once positioned and backlit all that was left was to click the shutter.
As for anything funny happening, that would be depend on your point of view. Some may see it as an opportunity, or perhaps something threatening, but in hindsight I definitely thought it was funny.
I've recently acquired a camper van of the Mazda Bongo variety, complete with elevating roof and electric blinds. We like to go out in it somewhere and brew up a cup of tea, simply because we can.
We went on a trip down south and arrived after midnight near to where we wanted to be. We found a little back road, in a forest where it seemed quiet. Pulled up into a layby, elevated the roof and got ready to sleep until dawn.
It's the great thing about owning a camper, you can just roll up and sleep wherever you like. However not worrying about where you are exactly might have unexpected consequences.
This tiny little lane, supposedly in the middle of nowhere, suddenly turned into a highway. Car after car came past, each one slowing down as they approached our spot. "Just what are they gawping at?" We exasperately exclaimed! "Leave us alone, we just want to sleep!"
When we got home I typed the words 'dogging' and "Devon" into Google and retrieved the answer I was looking for. It seemed some local swingers thought we might be up for some action. We had rolled up to one such particular spot, apparently very popular with those inclined in looking for late night action. The moral of the story is to be careful where you park up for the night, you might get more than you bargained for. Quiet remote spots are popular late at night with people other than just impromptu campers.
For those of a sensitive disposition or anyone who is quite happy with the lack of broadness of their mind, I suggest you don't Google those words, and certainly not look at Google Images. You will definitely get more than you bargained for, you have been warned!
As for ponderings I don't think there is much profundity present. Perturbing me this week would be the News of the World scandal, the sudden addictiveness of Twitter (don't do it unless you can handle it), and whether someone really can eat too many crisps.
But what of email etiquette? I regularly receive emails from different people interested in land art and I always take the time to reply. I know if I had written to someone that I would be upset if I just got ignored. Often it takes time to write the replies, I go into detail about what they have asked about, answer questions or help students with projects and dissertations. It's nice that people are interested enough to write to me and I enjoy writing back to them too. But here's the rub!
If it were me I would thank someone for taking the time to answer my questions but very rarely does this ever happen. I often respond to requests for help 'with sure what do you want to know' and never hear anything again, or write a long answer to posed questions and again hear nothing from them either. It is rare, but gratefully received, when they do reply but really that's only happened a handful of times. Am I too sensitive, is my email etiquette calibrated incorrectly? It all seems a bit strange to me.
Over recent months I've written and emailed a number of (well known, famous and less so) UK based natural artists to express my sincere gratitude to them for the inspiration they've given me, and expressed how my life has been profoundly affected. In addition I wanted to reach out and make contact with likeminded individuals, with the hope that we could perhaps collaborate in the future. Disappointingly I haven't received a single reply.
Perhaps they receive a great deal of mail, of the unsolicited and fan variety, and it has become a burden to reply to it all. But I feel that everyone is an individual and deserves that simple courtesy no matter how busy you are.
I am tempted to compromise my principles when I answer questions and seldom get a reply but perhaps it is really a test of character. If I feel sad when my communications remain unanswered then I expect someone writing to me will too. It's important to resist feeling jaded as without empathy most of us are nowhere.
I really need to get out and make some proper land art soon and when work and time allows. The words come best when making something as do funny encounters and pieces of insight. My interim ponderings are more on the morose side without the solace of creativity. Normal service should be resumed soon!
Saturday, July 02, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Tangle Cube
I expect like most people, or at least those that are reading this (;-)) you often go for strolls around the park, woods, fields, streets and lanes around where you live. Once spring has sprung those places that you wander through change from moment to moment. Grasses grow tall, wild flowers reach for the sky, everything is in leaf and green.
A revisit to any of those places a few days, a week or a fortnight later and you'll see everything taller, seed heads developing, the undergrowth becoming more tangled and dense like a miniature jungle.
It isn't just something you see, it is something you feel, right through to your very core. Moist air full of buzzing insects and all life looking for chances to reach further, colonise, grow and develop and to bring along the next generation.
Amongst what I find so magical is the blueprints that underpin all life. Road maps and assembly instructions that say to each component part 'do this and repeat until you cannot do any more.'
Plants build spirals and circles and all manner of intricate symmetries. Cells build upon cells and those simple instructions to duplicate, replicate and grow lead to all manner of specialities and magical things. So amongst all that tangled undergrowth, whilst our own cells are a-buzz with the headiness of high summer, lies such richness, diversity and complexity. Complexity consisting of simplicity, beauty and regularity.
All life is a fusion of these two things. Complexity and simplicity, order and seemingly random chaosity. The order and the disarray, the turmoil and the calm, the tumult and the peace.
The tangle and the cube.
Apologies for the watermark, I hate them! But unfortunately it has become necessary to try and protect them a little more (not that it will stop everyone) but I still want to share regardless!
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Variegated Oak Leaf Curtain
This turned into yet another two day search for the sun.
I recently read someone's blog entry about my Rowan Berry Swoosh sculpture and they wrote "tedious work I'd expect but worth it."
It rarely is tedious, though sometimes it most definitely is. But instead it can be quite exciting. Because I rarely plan what I am going to make and change and adapt as I am making something then I don't know at all how it will turn out until near the end. And as I approach the end a feeling on excitement deep within begins to build, as I start to see the final effect. Often it doesn't take on the level of vibrancy or symmetry that I am striving for until the very last component is completed. Sometimes it is like a switch going on, right at the very end, and suddenly everything falls into place. It can be quite unexpected and surprising but nearly always thrilling too.
A fundamental part of my leaf and light sculptures is the sun. I may combine leaves, wood, thorns and other natural elements together but they are not complete until they are put in the right position, in the right place, with right light and the right surroundings. Sometimes this comes easy, sometimes it is incredibly difficult. And sometimes the search for the sun can be very tedious. But as that blogger wrote - worth the wait. And the longer I have to wait the bigger the buzz when I finally combine all the elements together and that switch is flicked and the sculpture comes alive.
It's that extra notch that I strive for. The difference between an ordinary sculpture and something with a bit more life. It doesn't feel right unless that light comes on.
I sometimes worry that my photography looks a bit artificial, messed with, overly saturated or unreal. It is important to me to never fake what I do, as there would be no point in demonstrating any skill if it could be dismissed as photoshop trickery. My photos sometimes look unreal because of the effort I go to to search for the right place, the right light and conditions that will combine with my sculpture to show it at its best.
However there is an ilk of internet lurker who think everything is photoshop trickery or everything is fake. One of my photos of a rock stack was on Reddit this week, and I was quite tickled by the comment "The middle has a thin metal pole holding it all together, you can see it if you zoom in. Zoom in and look at the bottom 3 rocks, and the set of rocks 3rd up from the bottom."
'I've been rumbled, thank god for the internet police! I would have got away with it if it wasn't for those pesky kids!' No, but really, it would be much more difficult to go to the beach, find a load of rocks, drill holes in them and then build them up, where would the fun be in that! My advice to the internet sceptics is get out there and make your own rock stacks. It's kinda fun, not very difficult and a whole lot more interesting than land art conspiracy theories! Can you see a metal pole in this!
But land art begins with nature and what might not be obvious in what you see is what i learnt about these leaves. Whilst searching for acorns for the Sessile Oak Spiral I found two Oak trees, one with yellow variegated leaves the other with green. I am not sure why these were different from the rest, the only difference I could see was they were perched on top of a small crag and perhaps they were starved of necessary nutrients. But whatever the reason their leaves were beautiful and so I collected some for later.
By trying to create a symmetrical and uniform square shape I had to try and make each small square the same and by doing this I deepened my relationship with the leaves.
With organic growth there is an infinity of minute differences and as I cut a square out from each leaf I learnt how some were straight, some had a bent central vein, some the lobes cut in too deeply and some were too short. In a nutshell I had to inspect each leaf I looked at to discover its structure, shape and colour and better understand the diversity and variation in the leaves of two specific trees.
It is not a robotic process of simply selecting square after square and then sticthing them together. No, it is a process of appreciating and understanding each individual leaf and with it the beginnings of understanding the tree which bore those leaves. By chasing after form and symmetry I was rewarded with knowledge and experience of these trees and their leaves.
There is nothing tedious about this. Nothing in nature is the same. Each thorn, leaf and berry is subtly different from the next. Each day, hour and minute is different from those that preceeded them. And each new experience and new discovery is fresh fodder for the interested mind. Nature is endless and fascinating even if you are just looking at a single leaf.
So after trying the day before to unsuccessfully find the sun, I tried again before breakfast the next day and the early morning light was perfect and the swicth flicked and all the elements came together once more.
In other news this week I am rapidly approaching the age where I must be permanently grumpy and have to whinge about everything (some might say I am already there)! So I am sorely tempted to have a bit of a rant and here's why:-
My photographs often get nicked and used without my permission. I do like people to ask and if it is for your blog and you want to talk about land art then I generally grant permission. But this week I've found three universities using them, but if that wasn't bad enough I found three artists organisations advertising land art workshops using my pictures, one of them lifted 15 images and an entire article about teaching kids land art! There was no credit given at all, no permission sought and they were using my pictures to advertise their own workshops! If they are any good at land art you'd think they'd have some pictures of their own and you'd think an artist may have more respect another persons work!
I've never wanted to watermark my images as I want you to see them as they should be seen but I am getting close to feeling like I have to. If you all prefer that I didn't then say so and I'll reconsider.
Right, I'm off now to shout at the traffic/neighbours/wildlife/sky/helicopters/general public.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Shine
I suppose I am supposed to advertise my exhibition that starts next week. I'd prefer to be sat down carrying on making the sculpture that I've started (a unique land art creation that should last many a year without degradation so someone can hang it on their wall, should anyone want to buy it, anyway!). I am sure most artists would rather hide out in their studios (not that I have one of those) rather than pop up from behind the parapet and self promote.
So what's the deal?
It's a group exhibition with a selection of other North West artists who work across a range of different disciplines. It starts next Tuesday and runs until mid October at Arteria featuring Gallery 23, 23 Brock Street, Lancaster. There are some details here.
The exhibition is entitled "Shine" which must be to do with our wealth of talent (and modesty ;-)) rather than the weather. It's raining, but then Wimbledon has nearly started so it should be raining.
They asked me if I could create something for their posters and fliers so I did, Paper Birch bark, Chinese Red Birch bark , Maple leaves and thorns. Just add sunshine, Dandelions and hey presto.
The opening do is on Thursday 16th between 5pm and 8pm. If anyone would like an invitation (you are all welcome - though I cannot pay for any Trans-Atlantic flights) then give me a shout and I will send you one.
That's all for now, need to get back to my sculpture. Laters!
Friday, June 03, 2011
Flux Capacitor (Friday night's alright for doodling)
It's been very hot and sunny today. Blue skies, humidity and thirsty gardens.
This week I've been looking after a neighbour's cat. She's a funny little character with comedy whiskers, a squeak for a miaow, a bum wiggle as she trots along and a propensity to sit legs akimbo licking her wotsits (that's the cat not her owner). I am very fond of Cassie and I look forward to her owner going away so I can spend some time with her. My cat, however, isn't so keen (cue disdainful look from my moggy).
Once I'd finished work and went over the road to give her some grub and I noticed the garden was looking a little dry so I gave it all a much needed drink. Talking of which I've just realised I don't have any beers in the fridge and I could murder a cold one. Cold blooded murder in the first degree, mmmmmmmmmmm yes please.
There's two plants I use quite a lot in non-autumn leaf sculptures: Chamelia (which I have an unfortunate tendency to always refer to as Chlamydia, which was a joke the first time I said it but now it's stuck, and I am afraid I am going to accidentally say it in polite company) which produces yellow, orange and red leaves during the growing season and Photinia which produces scarlet red leaves in spring and summer too.
I thought I'd put together a quick doodle, grabbed some thorns and assembled a little leaf sculpture looking for some sunshine to light up its life.
Heather (Flickereno of these here parts) harvested some morning glory stems last year, and made several little twisted rings. (Here they are before their flight over the pond). She sent them to me in a little parcel a few months ago and asked if I could make something with them. They are beautiful just the way they are but nevertheless I've been pondering ways of including them in something for ages. As I have had very little time or energy to make anything lately I just hadn't got around to it even though I had meant to.
So now one of those little rings sits in the middle of the lit up leaves. An across the pond collaboration. Apologies for the delay Heather and there will be more to come with the little rings and something will wing its way across the pond to you too.
The sunny weather sure does motivate me a little more and I can't resist warmth, the lush growth of flaming June and sunlight through vibrant leaves.
I also have an exhibition coming up in two weeks time and as it approaches I feel my mojo returning. Well it could be that or heatstroke, I'm not sure.
Now there's only time to get down the booze shop sharpish and commit murder in the first degree...
Enjoy your weekends!
Cassie
Monday, May 30, 2011
Loch Fyne Seaweed Beacon
This spring seems to be passing me by but if you were to follow the seasons purely on the weather you experience, you would think summer has been and gone and autumn was well underway.
Our weather has been really weird. In April we had two solid weeks of hot and sunny weather, even here in the North west of England and in Scotland too. Two places known for excessive precipitation. Around here, if you fancy getting wet, just wait a while and a rain cloud will grant your wish.
Shortly afterwards it clouded over and rained, and rained, and rained some more. When it wasn't raining it was windy and when it was raining it was even windier. And yet the rest of the country was dry, very dry indeed.
Fruit crops harvested early and two words that often don't go into a sentence together suddenly did. "British wine" doesn't sound right unless you slip the phrase 'people drinking' into the middle but nevertheless in the South the optimum conditions are prevailing to add the word 'quality' into it instead. It seems our weather is changing or at least is altering its regular pattern at least from my short sighted point of view. I can only see things from day to day. I'm not a glacier nor an oak tree so I see simply from the perspective of an organism where an hour feels like quite a long time and a second a fleeting moment. I expect a tree would see things quite differently and a fly would perceive differently again.
A phrase that is phonetically identical is something us Brits do excel at and I warn you I am about to have a 'quality British whine' myself. It probably isn't going to be fun to read or something you would want to listen to but I feel the need to offload in any case.
Sometimes things that you'd rather not be doing take up all of your time, they eat you up and spit you and out and leave nothing left for the scavengers. My get up and go got up and went and I have little or nothing left for anything else except work.
Working weekends, long hours and feeling like I am always on duty has meant I have no energy. There's none left to create anything but also what has evaporated with the tiredness, is any concern that that creative energy is gone. A burning desire to create but no time with which to do so, well that is one thing, but no desire, no time and no energy is another thing altogether. And it's got me thinking...
An animal's natural life span is preordained by a number of heartbeats. The avian, amphibian, reptilian, mammalian and piscine heart will beat 1 billion times before you become toast for someone's breakfast. The speed your heart beats dictates how long you will live. To our eyes a mouse lives at hyperspeed and to it we must be moving in slow motion. Each of our metabolisms dictate how we view our world. As human beings we are fixed to perceive our universe how our physiologies constrain and instruct us. Our world may be full of ideas and dreams and fantastical stories but ultimately only make sense to us because we share a particular way of being. These things may never make sense to something outside of our time, to a fly or to a tree. Whether we like it or not our dreams may transcend this physical plane but our cellular construction root us to what we are. Well at least that's how I see it when I turn inside out to look inwards but many a gifted philosopher will have pondered this conundrum and revealed more hidden truths of humanity than I ever will.
So what of energy, essence and vitality amongst all this?
Being tired and lacking in oomph has made me wonder whether we are born with a box full of energy, just like the heart we are issued with comes with a guarantee of 'good for a billion beats.'
In my dreams I always see myself able to achieve anything, be anyone and cram all those any's into just one day. But when I try I always get much less done, achieve much less, become much less than those high ideals in my dreams. I look at some people and think "where do they get their energy?" How can someone bring up three kids, work all day, study for a degree in the evening and not disappear into a puff of smoke?
I can always use less energy than my maximum but I've never been able to create more. It seems to be pretty fixed and whatever I try I seem to be able to do only so much. And when the needle reaches 'too much' my body retreats not always with my mind tagging along, and it wants to sleep or switch off or do nothing at all. But my ideas want more, and despite their constant high ideals and nagging for more, my energy box seems to decide how much I have and the cabling only allows a certain current to pass through. I'm fitted with a 60 watt bulb which is plenty to be able to see and read and do all the things someone may want to, but pulling off Pink Floyd's laser light show with a single 60 watt bulb just ain't going to happen despite my mind going supernova at the prospect. What my mind wants my body tries to deliver but it needs to be treated fairly. It needs to work regular hours, have regular tea breaks and pay into a pension plan. There's no point for boss brain to demand the application of an Olympic athlete when the staff pool only has 5 mile fun runners available.
So that's what I've been pondering: are we hard wired to have a certain amount of energy? Are high-flyers full to the brim and preordained to fly high? Perhaps, if true, the answer is, is not to emulate those high flyers but instead to realise how full your energy box is and use that energy only for what you wish to and don't waste it on soul-less energy sapping fripperies.
I guess the real question that needs answering is how to do this while still paying the rent?
Back in mid April when it was high summer I managed a few days away from work to visit a little bit of Scotland. Sometimes things all slot into place and a last minute decision to go somewhere different when only a few minutes from our destination resulted in a trip with each slot slotted.
A wild camp next to a sea loch, sunshine and lapping water rested our souls, and brought calm and peace to all around. Wild dolphins and seals in the water, bobbing, playing and enjoying life. Those moments when time changes, you forget which day it is and don't care whether tomorrow comes tomorrow or in a week's time instead. Pure magic in an experience that lives on and long in the memory.
It took a while for the creativity to kick start, enough for it to get me up from lazing on the beach, letting the ambience lap over me like the salty water of the loch.
Land art is a way of seeing, just like swimming or walking are. If you swim in a river you feel the water, change your perspective and accentuate what you know and what you are. If you walk up a mountain you change rhythms and sense the world anew through your feet.
Land art is at its most challenging in an unfamiliar place. When the materials are foreign and the locations unknown, the time it takes to reveal the essence of those things can be very long and distinctly unguaranteed. Firstly it takes time and concentration to see the nuances of that environment and much more time to conjure up ideas how to reveal those discoveries in a sculpture. With leaves I've spent enough time with them to know what construction techniques I can use to display and reveal their inner properties but with unfamiliar materials I need to fathom out new and different ways to show off what I have discovered.
Its hard, then, to be accomplished, to live up to your own standards, and produce something as intricate and complex as I'd like. But where the process is challenging it is also most rewarding too. It all lies in discovering new things, in learning about something and somewhere when you wouldn't have if you hadn't spent the time.
As I combed up and down the beach I noticed garlands of seaweed, dried and hanging down from washed up driftwood, left high and dry on the edge of the high tide mark. The sun shone strongly through it and it was bright crimson in colour. This triggered me to look at the other seaweed and inspect the colours I might find.
After a break for tea I found a bit of this red seaweed floating in the bottom of the cup, as I'd already drunk it I couldn't spit it out so I had to settle with the idea that the dried hard seaweed had started to soften in the liquid. I could find four colours there, yellow, orange, red and green and all the hues in between, each in a different state of dryness, flexibility and robustness. I tried all I could think off with each coloured material to attempt to bring them all together. Cutting, soaking, drying, sticking together, pulling apart, stripping, twisting, tying together. What I learnt then about all the different types of seaweed on that beach was fascinating. The variety and intricacy of each, and how they changed depending on the height up the beach they were. For me that is the essence of land art but time was quickly passing and soaking and drying seaweed takes more time than I had so this sculpture was not going to culminate into something that would reveal everything I had learnt.
So instead of something that took all those colours of seaweed, I took one single variety and attempted to reveal its properties alone. By attaching them to a large piece of driftwood and backlighting them with the strong, early spring sun I hoped to leave a beacon at that place. A beacon that would signal to the dolphins and seals a truth they already know. That our world is infinite and intricate and interconnected and everyrthing has its very own beauty within, if only we would stop and take the time to look.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
Aura Leaf
A Mirbeck's Oak leaf surrounded by thin layers of Paper Birch bark, one white, one orange and positioned to catch the last red rays of the setting winter sun.
I made this back in January and this sculpture has become the cover for my new book Flux. You can read about it here.
Sometimes land art comes easy and sometimes you have to put the work in. I didn't really have any idea what I would do when I arrived in the wood (but that is hardly unusual) so I kept warm by wandering around inspecting the twisted oaks, looking for the right spot to make something. Often this is where the inspiration will come from. A shape, a colour, a particular place, something will trigger an idea. I found a dead branch with a perfectly formed zig-zag that would be perfect to attach leaves to, to make an abstract tree whilst the real ones surrounding it laid dormant waiting for the spring.
I had found some nice, thin layers of Paper Birch bark earlier, translucent and glowing when held up to the light. So I decided to layer them onto oak leaves to see if the light would catch the edges.
I made seven of these layered leaves and attached them with thorns to the dead branch to create a surreal, abstract, electric tree. But one of those leaves was more shapely and brighter than the rest. The layer of white bark was almost perfect and didn't have any lentincels lentincels to break up the colour, so it appeared to be pure white, like paper. The orange layer was very similar. Since making that leaf I have searched and searched and searched for more bark with unbroken colour. I have not found a single piece such as that first one and at that time, luck would have it, that I had attached the best bark to the best leaf and put that leaf at the top of my abstract tree. The other leaves were not the same, the colours not as strong and the graphic representation not as striking.
I only found this out after a few hours spent freezing my brass monkeys off. The air was cold and frosty (this was back in January) and the wind strong and cut right through to the bone. I cocooned myself in my bivvy bag to try and retain some warmth, the nylon flapping around my face, my breath condensing on it making me damp and colder all over. To try and wake my bum from its slumber and to keep the rest of me from freezing solid I had to jump up and run around every ten minutes to get my, now thickening blood, to take warmth back down to my extremities. But, nevertheless, I cowered back under my bivvy bag, back on my perch on the rock to fashion more pieces of bark and pin them to another leaf.
It would be times like that that I question my sanity. It isn't like I know whether what I am doing will turn out any good or not but despite all that I seemed to carry on. I still don't know why I do, when I do, but I guess the times when I have given up have nothing to remember them by so I am glad that I can be persistent some of the time.
Anyway, when I got home to look at the pictures of my Aura Tree. I saw the leaf sitting on top and was taken by its form and colour. The low winter sun was strongly red and brought out the most amazing colours from the bark. So I went back the next evening to find that leaf and to single it out for a photo shoot all of its own. The golden hour, that evening, went through every hue of gold, orange, purple and red and lit up that leaf and its bark as though it was on fire, or painted or somehow made in a computer program.
I've not found a leaf or a bit of bark like it since. Everything came together to make it all that it could be without any volition from me. Sometimes land art is like that, just like moments in life can be. All the elements slot together to make your experience timeless and special, whether or not you are freezing your butt off wrapped up in giant plastic bag!
This sculpture became the cover for my all new book Flux, none of its contents ever seen before in print. You can read all about it here.
New Book: Flux
Via Flickr:
I've been holding back many of my images, including quite a few of my best and most recent sculptures. I'd been experimenting, trying new things, new materials, new ideas and I've put these all together into my new book entitled Flux. None of the photos have been published in print before and 101 of them have never been seen in print or online.
Flux has:-
257 Photos
160 Pages
101 New Unseen Photos
12 New Unseen Sculptures
I've just spent a fabulous few days in Scotland where I was very lucky to see wild Dolphins and Seals swimming in Loch Fyne and a Red Squirrel in a tree next to where my tent was pitched. All exciting firsts for me and it has really opened my eyes to the wonders of Scotland. The joy of nature just makes my soul sing, there is nothing more I need to feel content with myself and the world.
I made some sculptures whilst I was there but the virus I've had for nearly a month is clinging on by its fingernails, lingering much longer than it should. And it means I am lacking the energy to show you those, just now, and to tell you about the fun and adventures I had. So I thought I would tell you about my new book today and save my tale of Scotland and the accompanying sculptures for another day.
Thanks for stopping by!
Ps. Carry on to the next pictures and I'll tell you a little about the cover photograph. It may look drawn or painted by it is not and the colours are real too.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Tree of Life
It's late and it's time to relax so I can only spend a little time recapping my last few weeks and tell you about things I've never seen before...
I saw a bat flying and feeding in broad daylight... Never seen that before...
I saw an Apache Gunship flying only a few feet above the trees in Lancaster... Never seen that before...
I saw a ewe give birth to two lambs... Never seen that before...
Warm sunshine on Easter bank holiday... Never, ever seen that before...
It's really warm and it feels like summer rather than spring.
Although the oak leaves are only just appearing and there are Bluebells, Wood Sorrel and Primroses carpeting the woodland floor everything else feels much farther on. The birds are singing like its mid June and the weeds are growing like they know it is all they have to do.
Finally everything grows and my pallette is enriched once again.
Oh boy, I love the spring. There is nothing quite like it...
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Saturday, April 09, 2011
Dandelion Sun
I remember the day, a couple of weeks ago, when I saw the first Dandelions of spring. On a half hour run I saw four and knew within a few days they would be everywhere. I collected all of these in a 100 metre radius and only picked a small proportion of what was there.
They are so bright and ubiquitous that I just have to make something with them at this time of year, despite the fact that it will take weeks now, to remove the stains from my hands.
It is so warm today it feels like mid summer, I don't recollect such balmy temperatures in April. But I do remember early spring colds and I have one now and feel pretty bushed from todays endeavours.
There is already so much life growing everywhere, even though there are hardly any leaves on the trees. When the weather is like this, sunny and warm, you think it'll last forever. But when the rain and wind return, as inevitably they will, I'll remember how damn cold it can be in April and think back to the warmth while I made this Dandelion Sun.
A lemsip and early to bed, with the hope that tomorrow is also a sunshine filled day.
Flux is coming soon...
