Whatsoever |
Whatsoever |
A tree on the Longshaw Estate in the Peak District - shaped like a great open cup with branches coming down to the ground and other soaring upwards.
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I have made several images of these leaves over the years. The first was a collage of New York which included leaves I found there and brought home . I was amazed by the way the modern buildings were surrounded by such ancient trees. Other more recent images try to capture some of the excitement and elegance of the leaves that I collect every autumn. A drawing of a Ginkgo leaf is used to make an 'aide memoire' of things that seemed important . The list relates to being on the journey of life, including he impossibility of trying to hold water in pocket and walk with stones in one's shoes. At Hopton Hall the wall of the gardens have been built curved. This makes them stronger apparently. It certainly makes them more remarkable and unusual. The height perhaps and the direction of the prevailing wind were perhaps to great to trust in a straight wall. The great curves are like hands being held, surrounding something precious. It reminds me of the Matisse painting of the dance where the curves together swing and sway. Another wall : old stones dividing the wilder wood from the more tamed. This is at the edge of the gardens of Chatsworth House and feels like a special discovery. The locked gate is tantalising - as if we are on one side of a secret garden. There is another wall at Chatsworth that is a remnant of the past, a foundation repurposed. It is an unlikely enclosure - a solid stone wall that formed the foundations to a great glass house which was dismantled because it was too expensive to heat. The base stone wall remain and now the space enclose a maze and some flowerbeds. at this time of year full of great seek heads. Children try to find their way through eh geometric hedges of the maze - "put your hand up sp I can see where you are the Mother cries" . The flowerbeds are full of the future, surrounded by the past. In the middle there is a small model of what used to be. Now the foundations of the past enclose plants open to the sky producing seeds for the future which can freely fly, over the corridors of the maze. It is easy to take striking pictures at this time of year. The leaves change and flicker and the yearly event yet again seems marvellous and full of blessing Local walks are full of blessing.......... Multicoloured maples Hidden like cyclamen under tree Dancing fountain Grandeur of trees Persistent roses remaining Fruitfull seeds sycamore rose hips holly berries Gardened cared for Times and seasons turning Bright autumn Free Leaves Flying through the air Hidden dahlias and daisies Into the woods Carpeted with leaves of summer past Complex dense Light shining through Quiet pathways Many different species Roots making stairway and old brick and stone laid down and worn Shade and sun. Dark and light Dry and wet Glimpse of a sunlit field An old stone wall and wooden bridge Rustle of wind in branches Autumn leaves are for kicking. Their dry sharp friable texture made the carpet for early days of student life. Their unbelievable colours make the humdrum wood come alive. Their flat, damp, treated-in pattern on the shiny grey pavements make a short-lived decoupage. Here are three ways of moving away from the conventional and expected and being brave enough to cope with imbalance and change and mess
Cutting the canvas I had a canvas - a rather poor still life that I was tired of looking at. I covered it with thick light blue paint and it became a door with a handle. I made the colour more interesting by adding pastels, But then I was brave, and cut apertures into the canvas with a craft knife. I have never done that before. I then scrunched paper to come through the gaps and adorned with a red ribbon. Here is what resulted: Colouring outside the lines Sister Mary came to the art classes in the church hall. With her white hair and careful manners she was rather shy in the group, happy to let her more strident fellow nun make the running while she made her tentative small watercolours of the still life set up in the middle of the room. One Saturday morning we thought about colour and how it can be laid down and juxtaposed to make interesting patterns. Each had a simple line drawing to ‘colour in’ and set about the task with relaxed earnestness. But on this morning Sister Mary became even quieter than usual. When she showed what she had done she giggled nervously but with a great smile on her face. “Look”, she said, “I’ve coloured outside the lines. I’ve never done that before. Is it allowed?” She left that morning taller, more confident in her stride. A few weeks later she died peacefully at the convent - the smiling end of a life well lived. Her dedication to her faith and mission was indeed a life lived outside the ‘normal’, ‘acceptable’ lines. Finally she was able to make that visible in her wonderful drawing. Writing in the book
I was brought up to revere books. My father had been raised in a home with very few and so was determined to have books in every room. If I wanted to buy something to read he would always help (not so if I wanted a record) and he never wanted anyone to write an inscription in a book, however meaningful, as it would sully the purity of the precious object. Years later, when I had a home and many books of my own (loved but not treated quite so reverentially) I returned to Tate Britain where there had been many childhood family visits. This time it was to see an exhibition by Peter Doig. I bought the catalogue and sat in the cafe of the gallery looking through it. Going round the exhibition I had written some comments in the little free handout they gave you but they seemed insufficient to do justice to all my thoughts and ideas. I took the pen out of my bag and there and then, with cooling coffee and the chatter of tourists and art students around me in the round room, I started writing in the book: about what I liked, what I questioned, what I wanted to remember. The nagging critical voice in my head was quietened. I could do this. I reasoned that if I wanted a ‘clean’ version I could always buy another copy but for now this was mine to interact with and dig into and write in! PROCESSION. is a strong word that does not have to be limited by ideas of dry process or conformist following on. It can also speaks of a wonderful way of moving forward, in the company of others, to something splendid. The journey itself is fascinating, stimulating, sometimes very hard. But it is all getting somewhere : there is a purpose. There is a great sentence in Tom Stoppard's play 'Arcadia' which says; "We shed and we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it" Here are some images and words that reflect this idea One verse in the 'OMF hymn' (words by Frank Houghton) says : We bear the torch that flaming Fell from the hands of those Who gave their lives proclaiming That Jesus died and rose Ours is the same commission The same glad message ours Fired by the same ambition To Thee we yield our powers In this praedella, the horses lend an inevitability of the procession moving towards Calvary. However the people and the energy pull backward and forward. Only Christ faces us. This photo was taken at Curbar Edge in the Peak District. Here are the new generation of the family dancing forward across the hills into the future. What a wonderful free procession they make. Cezanne, in his inimitable way, invites us to make a procession through the avenue of trees to the distant light. Even if we are alone at the moment, others will come as others have gone before. And finally, apparently Queen Elizabeth II had a fondness for an aboriginal proverb :
We are all visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through. Our purpose here is to observe, to learn, to grow. to love...and then we return home. |
WhatsoeverThe posts are 'postcards' on my journey through faith and art. The name 'Whatsoever' comes from Philippians 4:8 in the Bible : Categories
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