presence and absence

these little sweet pea monoprints explore a theme which forever holds me

This year once more The Bees Knees will be together again for the Trail.

Yesterday we were setting up – I forgot to take many images as we were absorbed in curating all our work but here is one and there will be more at the weekend…

the sketchbook drawings go with the little butterfly in the last post – in the palm of my hand

This year, walking and collecting I realised I have been drawing and ‘drawing attention to’ small found things. Petals, seed heads, bones, shells, creatures that I seem to cradle in the palm of my hand. The kind of practice that I have done forever and certainly since early childhood, hand in hand with tending to the fragile, broken, vulnerable

The idea developed into forming little bowls from wild clay from the field to keep these finds safe. In the end I used paper clay to make my little pots – pressing my thumb into the palm of my hand and forming the bowl so that the impression of my palm is imprinted.

ragged winged gatekeeper butterfly

Last winter I decided to begin a new rhythm, a daily ritual, and do a drawing in the early mornings with my first cup of coffee to hand – a touchstone for the day ahead. Sometimes a little walk around the garden first, sometimes an image caught beforehand.I have divided each of my sketchbook pages into 4 so I can repeat a drawing. Timewise it could be a very few moments whilst drinking that first coffee, or longer.I stayed with this and it has been transformative for me.

Sweet peas, grown from seed started in the depths of the dark new year.An abundance of flowering, richly coloured – so many to gather and bring inside and to give away as little gift offerings – the fragrance never failing to raise a smile.Giving again and again.. I dried petals, I painted petals as I watched them fade, and a glimmer of an idea developed.

This week an informal artist residency at Walcot Chapel in Bath.And somehow over the weeks and months I have a body of work!

Drawing and drawing attention to small things from nature has helped me to look more closely, to observe more attentively.I have been printmaking – mono prints this time and my focus has been presence and absence with a ghost print following each drawn print. I love how mono print has followed as a natural progression from the daily drawing and have made my first attempts at larger scale drawn prints

I have two ‘power flowers’ – calendula and sunflowers – for me these two have strong resonances, deeply held – joyful, healing and bittersweet..

Little Lino cuts from a mix this time of drawing and the traces of inner memory.

The first edition floated on cloth in the breeze, printed onto plant dyed cloth.The silk ribbons were dyed with fragrant turmeric and tea – embroidered French knots holding the prints to the ribbon

The Lino prints for cards were gently pressed onto rice paper – handprinted with the bamboo baren, mounted on card with nori paste

Some are a little inky, each has little differences, character – I am happy with this – the nature of hand-made, the maker’s hand, the touch of my practices combine to make these what they are…

I seem to find my voice has been quiet lately though I have so often composed posts in my head – maybe on a walk, a bus journey, in the middle of the night as I listen again to the owls call.

Here I am though, sharing images of some prints for https://www.growbatheaston.co.uk/art-trail 7/8 October 23 – showing with the wonderful women artists group The Bees Knees

The little sparrow print, from my last offering here, is ready and waiting – and the hedge this past week has been suddenly alive with the glorious riot of their chatter.

Earlier in the year we watched wrens who were nesting in the garden – caught in the corner of the eye as they darted to and fro, then bolder and more visible if I kept still and watched – the birds here are used to our ways and us to theirs. Staying still and waiting for them to forage I draw them in my head by following their contours quickly with my eyes and look at the colour and texture of their feathers, holding the images in my mind – tiny spirited little birds. I listen out for song – it is the background sound of my days.

Then to draw in the sketchbook, looking again, more drawing without looking at the page or only for quick checking, and usually something deeper happens when I have become familiar enough with them to let go and draw more intuitively, think about them and their ways – capturing the essence of what I experience. There is no one way to draw, just trying what works for each of us, hoping the little birds stay a few seconds before a whisper of wings as they go…

I make a Lino cut and then hand print onto rice paper – quite a delicate, slow process – each one a tiny bit different, unique, as I gently use a bamboo baren and watch the image emerge.I love the repetition of each process from cutting the card, using the nori rice paste, printing my maker’s mark on the back – a rhythm and flow

This has been a year for blackbirds! So many broods. They became brave enough to wait on the doorstep and then even to hop in through the front door looking for seed. I drew them daily again and again learning the wing shape, the tail, the beak and eye, sensing the bones, and listened to their songs as they called from the top of the cherry tree…

Linocut registered for printing

Rice paper and bamboo baren – working on the print

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

the prints remind me of end papers in a book

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…