My partner Clare and myself shared our recent creative processes at a small Open Studio event in August this year. Plays were performed, words were literally woven, stories were threaded together and Studio Hundy opened its doors exhibiting a series of 4 artworks, “memory fragments” created out of paper.
These “Paper thin memories” were the culmination of a personal transformatory journey following the death of my father in October 2016. Working with papers and other related materials cleared from the family home, I was inspired to transform these “objects” – so tangibly full of meaning – into artworks of some kind.
A synopsis of the 4 pieces that arose as part of this creative process can be viewed by following the Exhibitions link – Open Studio 2019
September is well underway. Harvested golden fields shine out across the landscape. Early morning mists and dew fall on cobwebs like glistening jewels.
Bird song has changed – the robin and the blue-tit seem to sing a different tone; or perhaps I’m just noticing them more? An occasional skein of geese fly over our house, with their evocative calls, echoing in the still cool air. And the fruiting process in our garden abounds.
The abundance of summer is gradually drawing to a close – so wonderfully depicted in Keats’ poem:
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage trees,
And fill all fruits with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimmed their clammy cells.
Verse 1 of 3
John Keats 1819
Rowans are often stripped of their berries by this time of year, but those that remain “glow” against the gradually turning foliage.
And the late flowering Rudbekia shines out in the darkening evening light.
For me autumn flowers bring a sense of hope and promise of the Spring to come, as the days grow short and the earth prepares to “close down” inwardly for winter.
The new beginnings associated with Easter are always accompanied in April/May by a sense of anticipation in nature; awaiting the sighting of the first House Martins or Swallows. I say sighting, but sometimes it is the awareness of their excitable “chatter”. It never fails to bring a feeling of jubilance, in the knowledge that these migrants have returned to build or re-build their homes for the summer.
It is a profound feeling that resonates deeply. This year it was on Good Friday that I was aware the blue sky had received those welcome dark shadows, flying rapidly in apparent purposeful endeavour. The depth of this event is, for me, beautifully encapsulated in the poem by Mary Webb published in 1928.
The swallows pass in restless companies.
Against the pink-flowered may, one shining breast
Throbs momentary music – then, possessed
With motion, sweeps on some new enterprise.
Unquiet in heart, I hear their eager cries
And see them dart to their nests beneath the eaves;
Within my spirit is a voice that grieves,
Reminding me of empty autumn skies.
Nor can we rest in Nature’s dear delight:
June droops to winter, and the sun droops west.
Flight is our life. We build our crumbling nest
Beneath the dark eaves of the infinite,
We sing our song in beauty’s fading tree,
And flash forth, migrant, into mystery.
by Mary Webb
Reference: Webb, M. (1930) The collected works of Mary Webb. Poems and The Spring of Joy. London: Jonathon Cape, 1928.
Three and a half weeks on from the Spring Equinox, the clocks have changed and the light is gradually increasing. Signs of new life are abundant and buds in all shapes and forms are beginning to “blow”. An old English word:
blow3 /bləυ/v. & n. archaic. v.intr. burst into or be in flower. n. blossoming, bloom (in full blow). [OE blõwan f. Gmc]
Whilst not often found today, this word – for me – encapsulates nature at this time of year (Photo-gallery: Buds in Spring).
I came across its use in a song at our regular Thursday a capella singing group:
You have to believe that buds will blow,Believe in grass in days of snow,That’s the reason a bird can sing,On its darkest day it believes in spring
As spring unfolds and buds burst into bloom, bird song also brings the joy of new beginnings.
A sound recording I made in our local valley in 2017 brings something of that joyous spring calling to life.
With the gentle sound of the Eden water flowing in the background, the light was slowly fading and the various songs being sung resonated, as if in preparation for another new day.
After Candlemas the first two weeks of February saw the skies clear, the sun bring warmth and the crocuses bloom.
Primroses, that had started to flower even in January, shone brightly in their profusion.
The icy scenes we’d seen on the Eden water on 1st and 2nd of February (Photo-gallery: Ice on Eden water) melted away in a moment and it seemed the reluctant winter had been pushed away – Spring had arrived. Even the bumble bees agreed!
Not the case; early March has seen the return of cold, windy and wintery weather. Not like 2018, with heavy falls of snow and drifts 6ft deep in places, but the temperatures have dropped dramatically and today light wet snow is falling from a grey sky.
Our seasons are fickle these days and keep us guessing what may arrive next.