Suddenly it is the middle of May and the sound of birdsong envelops me in the garden and fields. I try to recognise patterns of song and gaze upwards after a long cold wet Spring where my focus felt inwards.
New broods of blackbirds in the yard, robins watching me turn earth and plant seedlings, chiffchaffs in the field. The swallows have returned, flying and calling at dusk as we walk, and the swifts – heard first and with a rush of hope I look up to scan the skies…
I have made several recordings over the past year of sparrows chattering in the hedge. Some rich warm dye from onion shells inspired me to have a go at printing on cloth as well as paper – a little linocut of a sparrow.
Time to think of dye pots outdoors and this year I think I will continue to work on carving and printing…
Today is the equinox, when day and night balance delicately and equally in the rhythm of the seasons…
this past week since the snow, the natural world has been moving into this time – flowering, emerging, singing, energy rising…
I have been thinking so much about nests, home, hearth, a safe place, belonging, and all in need of these…
In the darkness of the January winter we found this nest under a clay tile down in a quiet space, a little place found and made into a safe home – we gently put the tile back, covering and protecting this shelter for whoever it belongs to …
The bird feeders have been a whirl of activity – tiny long tailed tits frequent visitors with a flash of pale rose pink and the sound of little high pitched contact calls. We found an old nest late last year in the field – feathery lined and moss covered, crafted with intricate care and skill to nurture their brood safely – I look at it often
This morning whilst raking grass and leaves for compost-making, we watched a pair of robins who have decided that the shed – dishevelled and increasingly fragile, with a laburnum tree holding it up – will become their chosen nesting place. They have spent all day in and out through both a crack in the window and the space above the propped open door, twigs and moss nearby. Their sense of belonging heartened me, they are unafraid to make this space to nest be their own for a while and we will watch and leave them undisturbed, feeling joy that they are there with us and hopefully glimpsing their fledglings
Thinking about all these matters, I stitched a sample of a block – log cabin – new for me to make. I will work on another to play with light and dark balances and I have decided to brew a madder dye-pot so the centre can be a focus for warmth. What bird song I will record I am still wondering
snowfall – a quiet awakening with soft blue-tinged light at roof windows blanketed with snow… the gentle light remained all day and softened the atmosphere
hungry birds to feed, leaving footprints – some more tracks, half-covered, which could be deer or fox in the night
on the ground borders and edges have disappeared which gives fresh perspectives to ponder
the branches with echoes of their lines weighted, traced, snow lightly suspended
blossom frozen – ice flowers with colour tinges
this one partly wrapped
this one with tiny pink flowering holding fast…
I decided to do some kitchen table work, gazing out, carving marks, whilst my soundtrack was dripping snowmelt and sparrows in the hedge
Practise blocks of lines carved in lino – newly gifted, fitting my hand snuggly with smooth pear-wood handles and arrows on the blades
In this quiet time of midwinter there is space, a pause; it is a liminal place I try to hold close for as long as I can. I find I am not ready to venture forth, I draw in for a little longer and am grateful to be able to.
It is a time of stars – I read about the colours of stars, long dark nights, a wintry night lit up from a full moon, dreaming deep during sleep, and gazing at the fire warming my bones. A time of not remembering the name of the day. A time for poetic images. The shifting colours of early dusk, late sunrise – blurring edges. It is the time of my birthday.
A few years ago I began to collect and keep some petals and flowers from summer solstice morning to winter solstice eve so we could put them in the fire as part of the beautiful small rituals that we develop over time in the cycle of our lives. Another is the winter walk with my cousin – a day of gathering greenery and weaving wreaths.
There were some deep dark red dahlia flowers – crimson, scarlet, cherry, garnet, then fading – always trying out names and wondering.. I had kept them back this year and, on a whim, I decided to make a rounded end to twelfth night by giving them to the last of the night’s fire.
Walks are swift between the rain and wind at the moment, the fresh air lifts my awareness enough for my eye to catch the green shoots peeping through and catkins dancing…
Joanna Wright – Green Party councillor came to the exhibition ‘time:make’ at the Lansdown Gallery in Stroud and asked to make a recording for Radio Bath’s programme Earth Matters.
It was midwinter before we could arrange to meet for the December programme. We spent some time one afternoon walking and then stopped in the field in a sheltered spot for some homemade cake and tea before recording for the show. We watched a buzzard, talk ranged widely and warmly. My nerves evaporated and I so enjoyed sharing that time together.
Walking at dusk around Solstice and lying in bed at night when the snow fell, I listened to the owls
Fieldfares and redwings flew in with the snow, birds of all kinds were hungry. The pink white berries on the mountain ash disappeared, fallen apples became sculptural – little bowls from creatures feasting, and goldfinches landed outside the window on the seedheads. The full cold moon appeared tremulously voluminous and it’s bright light illuminated frost and shadows at night. Blackbirds calls came clear and rich at dusk.
And now, the cusp, the new year, and the quiet lull of drawing in.
The exhibition ‘time:make’ is now over. An intense week with the joy of sharing work and so many stimulating conversations – this skein of yarn was naturally dyed with golden rod by Kay Swancutt – so vital and glowing in colour and feel. I have been resting and reflecting about it all, but wanted to mention the sound recording element of my work.
I made field recordings of birdsong whilst walking and selected three for this exhibition. Owls calling at dusk and in the night, a chorus of spring song in the field and the swifts swirling around our village. Each quilt pattern was chosen to work with the birdsong. The concept I wanted to achieve was for the viewer to walk towards the work and for the sound to emerge quietly – much as we become aware of birdsong whilst walking outdoors. I have been so fortunate to work with Matthew Olden and am filled with thanks for the quality of his work and his support in realising this dream.
We discussed the ideas I had, and Matthew developed the system. Small sensors picked up the movement of viewers walking by the quilts and this triggered the software he developed which activated the sound of birdsong. It was a steep learning curve for me but so worthwhile and something I will pursue. I do love to balance the old ways and the new. The traditional skills grounded in time and the new technology to enhance and extend the work. A big thank you to Kay Swancutt and Jean Kirk – we have plans to take this exhibition to another place hopefully
The garden called this week – the autumn equinox is today and I have been harvesting food, flowers, seeds – and these rosehips are such a deep colour… New ideas brew
Looking ahead, next week is the Grow Batheaston Arts Trail and I am excited to be showing work with The Bees Knees Artist Collective. More soon…
Firstly the buddleja dye bath. I have talked about this dye bath before and also in this post too – it is one of my most familiar, favourite dyes to brew. It is so consistent in colour, and the scent is heady and fragrant. Today I once again stood still and watched a hummingbird hawk moth on one of the bushes in the garden. I use the flowers either fresh or spent – it seems both react equally well, though I haven’t ever left them stored for long, but have made up a bath once they have finished flowering (especially if I feel they are needed fresh for foraging insects).
I used oak gall powder as a mordant and the experiments gave me a deeper golden yellow – not quite as bright as using a little alum. I had some in my box of cloth from last year so I could do a little mix and match for tones.
I try to keep a journal of samples to refer to, but often the magic of the process and the unexpected happenings are the joy of it all!
To save energy I leave my dye baths and cloth and don’t usually re-heat them and find the cold water works beautifully too..
The INDIGO… so now into the blues…
This is the one I don’t yet grow myself – one day maybe, another time.
Stock solution brewing – the mother tincture
The indigo flower and filmy copper
And now – out in the hot summer sunshine begins the dipping process which took days of slow rhythmic repetition – layering the blues, watching them dry lighter, dipping repeatedly to gain the range of tones. It was a long dry hot month and I drifted into day after day of working. I dripped blues onto my skin, my clothes, the kitchen floor, the outdoor stone…
Much thought about energy and water went into each day. The heat of the sun helped me as I didn’t reheat my vats but the warmth was enough and I decided to keep reusing water baths and not use more. It does show on the final work – it is deeply layered, I didn’t keep rinsing and so my hands are shaded with blue when I work with the cloth but that is fine…
As the cloth rested and cured I watched the night sky and decided what I achieved worked. Sometimes I left pieces out in the moonlight and let them dance and watch the stars…
Since a small child I have scanned the skies awaiting the arrival of swallows, house martins and swifts. In one house where we lived, the swallows nested under the eaves of the bedroom window. At a village school where I taught later in life, the children watched the skies from the playground waiting each Spring with excitement. The arrival of these little birds is one of the biggest markers of my year and I miss them so much when they go… the soundscape of my summer…
The skylarks are another real love, and I walk the big field listening to their soaring song and trying to work out their subtle colouring as they rise from the meadow grasses. I capture sound recordings of them, but later it seems these were all on windy days so the clarity was not so distinctive and I watch and listen to them during the rhythm of my walking – these are birds that belong in my heart and hold a special space there.
This year I was fortunate that where I live it was possible to join in with a local initiative to ‘swift watch’ – looking for their arrival, nesting sites and patterns of behaviour. The sounds of their presence is usually my first indicator – I sense and hear them before I see them – they seem to emerge into my consciousness. Evenings walking with friends, talking to folk about these wonderful little birds, promoting their cause in various ways, the thrill of watching them fly so fast into a nest spot folding their wings at the last second has been a highlight and a dream to be actively involved with.
This quilt piece has been years in my mind – maybe even decades. No new dye baths as the stack of naturally dyed tones seemed to already be waiting in the wings!
Even the quilt pattern – flying geese – has been long thought of and planned out in my mind as a very simple migratory pattern. The swift watch initiative helped me focus and realise the piece as the research, reading, discussion and action about saving the future of these birds was so frequent during the days and evenings of late spring and summer.
Sitting at my grandmother’s machine working on the piecing, their sounds came through the top windows and, in the evenings, sitting outside and watching the skies the screaming parties swirled overhead…
Field recordings were taken from different locations on walks, ready to be part of this work…
The Exhibition at Stroud is called ‘time:make’. We wanted to talk and explore together the process of making, the time spent, the slow emerging of work – all the richness and depth involved in this. So often we see the finished pieces alone and I always feel this misses out on what is to me the vital sharing of the journey. I do understand and respect that not everyone views it this way, and therein lies hours of debate, but for me a space where I can share and discuss is precious in terms of talking about the issues which my work is about and the process of the making itself if anyone should enjoy that dialogue – and yet looking quietly and alone is equally valued too. So – I thought here on this blog might offer one way forward. For any welcome visitors – ‘time:make’ is soon to open at Lansdown Hall and Gallery Stroud should you choose to visit and meet us there.
The 9 patch is pieced with colours from the kitchen, garden and field. Mixing colour from these was joyful. The onion shells carefully peeled and kept in a brown paper bag for months, then brewed for dye – it matters to me that the beginnings of hot food have another reincarnation as dye colour and then go into my compost. The simple kitchen ingredients as modifiers – such as lemon juice, vinegar or bicarbonate of soda offer endless possibilities of shades and tones which will fascinate me for my lifetime.
There are 3 or 4 pomegranate peels, avocado stones and skins – all kept safe and waiting. I usually work outside for dye work – for preparing, brewing and drying cloth and thread. From the garden and field there are cloth patches of colour made from dye baths of dandelion, golden rod, calendula, alder, nettle, buddleja, and more. There would have been coreopsis if the seedlings had survived a cold wet spell last year, and there will be next year as a jar sits filled with dried flowers. Sometimes I can’t bring myself to pick flowers the insects need and leave them be and just watch. People ask if the colour fades and yes, it well may or may not however careful we are. But so do we fade, become fragile, and I tend to look more closely and regularly at something that may not last and cherish it.
This piece was photographed outside in Spring sunshine with a backdrop of blackthorn blossom and the shadows of the hawthorn and grasses. I wanted the work to blend back into the natural world and me with it – as I do when walking at dusk, drawing whilst walking, or standing as still as I can to record sounds of birds…
The sun shines through and the colours sing…
Next time will be about migratory birds and the quilt that followed that path….
susibancroft 