Tag Archives: Woodland

Maps That Mean Something

“They were maps that lived, maps that one could study, frown over, and add to; maps, in short, that really meant something.”

Gerald Durrell, My Family and Other Animals.

If you read my last blog ( Give me a map…) you’ll know that I put the blame for my love of maps fairly and squarely on my father.

Give me a map …

The responsibility for my love of poetry is less easy to assign to just one person.  This never mattered very much because it never occurred to me that I would need to get the two things to work together.  Doing the MA in Contemporary Crafts at Hereford College of Arts , however, has created some unusual alliances in the way I think about things.  Around about the time I was walking the Wales Coast Path around the South Gower, two projects were occupying my mind.

Higgledy Piggledy thinking

The first was how I was going to find away to convert all of the experiences and ideas of that journey into a map that made sense and the second related to a piece of work that I have been asked to submit for the exhibition called ’50 Bees – The Interconnectedness of All Things’.  You can find out more about the exhibition here .  Luckily I was reading ‘Art Quilt Maps’ by Valerie S. Goodwin.  One of the chapters is called ‘Map Haiku:Visual Poetry’ and set me on the way to making the sort of maps which reflect both the physical landscape and the way in which I experienced it when I was out there walking.


A word about Haikus and other forms of poetry

Lots of people don’t know what a haiku is.  This is because they didn’t grow up with my sister Helen.  By the time she was 10, Helen knew virtually everything in the world (or so I thought at the time).  It is thanks to Helen that by the time I was 8, I had been instructed in a variety of theories including how to mummify a corpse ancient-Egypt style, how to skin a rabbit and -most importantly for my MA – how to write a haiku.  A haiku is a form of minimalist Japanese poetry with a set number of syllables.  Strictly speaking, the first phrase should evoke the season to set the time of the haiku, the second phrase the place and so on.  Let me not, however, give Helen more responsibility for my love of poetry than she is due.  My mother was a poet whose work was best described as Vogon-like (only readers of Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy will understand – and sympathise).  I grew up with shopping lists written in rhyme, limericks on birthday cards and – worst of all – letters to teachers excusing me from games or for absence – composed as country & western style song lyrics.

The architects of my love of poetry

In some ways I failed to escape the early influences and I still find it incredibly easy to write in verse although I usually get bored and move on to a different activity after about 4 stanzas.  Luckily I live in Wales, a country with more than its fair share of poets.  I love the brooding melancholy of R.S. Thomas (Reservoirs):

“There are places in Wales I don’t go:

Reservoirs that are the subconscious

Of people, troubled far down

With gravestones, chapels, villages even:”

and I adore the imagery of Dylan Thomas(Hold hard, these ancient minutes):

“Hold hard, these ancient minutes in the cuckoo’s month,

Under the lank, fourth folly on Glamorgan’s hill,

As the green blooms ride upward, to the drive of time;”

So as I thought about the South Gower and the 50 Bees,  I wondered about using a haiku as a starting point.  Especially as I had no other ideas floating about in my head.  Rather than use a Japanese form of poetry, I did a bit of research and found that there is a Welsh version called an englyn.  There are 24 different styles of englynion which range from incredibly complex to just downright incomprehensible.  The englyn milwyr (soldier’s englyn) was the simplest: 3 lines, 7 syllables per line with the last syllable of each line rhyming.  I thought that the soldiers wouldn’t mind me borrowing and tweaking their englyn so I decided my verses would be in English and would go with the 3 lines, 7 syllables but not bother with the rhyming.  I started with the 50 Bees simply because time was pressing and I had been getting emails which urged me to send photographs of the completed work as soon as possible.  The COMPLETED work?  Small chance of that happening.  I had been assigned a bee called the Colletes Cunicularis which is a fussy eater of goat willow and has very specific ideas on where home should be – sand dunes.  Also, my bee was prone to dancing with all the other bees from her hive.  I liked that image and thought about it a lot as I walked around the sand dunes of Kenfig Burrows in Glamorgan.

Postcard sized embroidery of Kenfig Burrows

According to local legend Kenfig was once a rich town and its people were cursed after they failed to show shelter to an old man on a stormy night.  Voices on the wind were heard to cry “Dial a ddaw” (Vengeance is Coming) and by morning the whole town had been buried in a sandstorm.  It is said that the bell of the church can still be heard ringing from beneath the waters of Kenfig Pool.  That story helped my englyn along.

“Paths swept by wind, strewn with gold

are lost to all save those who

watch her giddy dance unfold.”

There we are – 3 lines, 7 syllables per line.  Easy – thanks to Helen and Mum.

It made my final piece of work for the 50 Bees exhibition almost logical.  I just scaled everything up and got my poetry in for all the world to see.

The Giddy Dance

I decided to apply the same methodology to the South Gower.  I looked back over the photographs I had taken and the sketches that I had made.  In my mind the images of stairs cut into the woodland floor and the smells of carpets of wildflowers were still strong; I remembered that I had been mulling over a problem and trying to find a solution that was proving to be irritatingly elusive.  3 lines, 7 syllables per line later, I came up with this:

“Heavy, heady, scented steps

Violets, Ramsons, Celandines

Perfume the path, the moment.”

I was more pleased with the englyn than it probably deserves and this may have been because it kick started a design idea for a map of the South Gower walk.  I did a postcard size sample piece to just make sure I had the colours, lines and textures going the way I wanted them to.

South Gower 1 – Postcard

I came to the conclusion there wasn’t enough map-like content in my postcard.  It could as easily have been an atoll in the South Pacific as the coast of South Wales.  I refined my design and my colour palette and started again, this time working on watercolour paper rather than fabric and layering up glazes before stamping the text on.  I’m not that keen on stitching into paper and I’ll probably be altering my techniques before I do the next map but I’m not dissatisfied with the outcome of the South Gower map.

South Gower Moment

Felly, i ble nesaf?  Wel, es i am dro dros y mynydd lleol sef Mynydd Llangeinwyr.  Roedd y gwynt yn gryf iawn.  Tynnais i luniau gyda chamèra ac yn fy llyfr sgets.  Wedyn, daeth y geiriau’r englyn yn hawdd.  

My next map is probably going to be based on a walk I did over Llangeinor Mountain.  Llangeinor is a tiny hamlet on an ancient drovers’ route across the Glamorgan uplands.  On the day we crossed these now barren moorlands, the wind was harsh and bitter so:

“That wind – cuts through cloud spun light

carving shapes, crafting shadows,

splintering the dry stone walls.”

I’m not sure what sort of map I’ll be making to go with this englyn but I’m pretty sure that it will be one to frown over, study and it will mean a bit more than if I’d just drawn the route.

Never written an englyn: try now! 3 lines, 7 syllables per line.

 

 

The Cold Time between Christmas and Easter

The Anglo Saxons called February ‘Sol Monath’; here in Wales it’s known as Y Mis Bach (The little month).  It starts with the Christian festival of Candlemas and the Celtic celebration of Imbolc.  Both have light at their heart – whether a spiritual light or the physical lengthening of the days – and both signal that winter is almost at an end and Spring is on the horizon.  It is, for me as an artist, the time of year when I do most planning; I read poetry and quotations, sketch from life and from imagination and stock up on all the bits and pieces that I need to keep my haberdashery stockpile looking healthy.  More than that, it is the time of year when I cast a glance over what is working for me creatively and what is not.frosty morning

Armed with this new found inner knowledge, I have started to prepare the first of this year’s works of Textile Arts.  My pals down at Bryngarw Country Park wanted an indoor sketch of The Keepers to explain the central theme of ‘Beneath this land a story sleeps’ and how The Keepers have a life within the Park which we may not see or be party to because of our rushed and bustling lives.  I have done a quick sketch which will form the basis of a wallhanging in needlefelt and creative embroidery.

keepers sketch

Hopefully this will be part of a joint exhibition Maggie and I will be having in May (From the Wood 2 [too]).  You can find more details here.  Next on my list is to enter the Open Art Exhibition at the National Eisteddfod of Wales.  I am not doing this because I think that I will be successful but for three other and quite distinct reasons.  Firstly I believe that without people entering competitions  art becomes an elitist and ultimately barren backwater; secondly, the National Eisteddfod is not in existence to show Wales as a densely castled theme park with quaint folk speaking an archaic language.  It is trying to encourage, sustain and flaunt a vibrant culture and linguistic tradition in the face of globalisation.   It can’t do that if only a couple of people enter the competitions.  (Ac os ‘dych chi’n dysgu Cymraeg, mae rhif y gwlith o gystadlaethau yn Maes D sydd yn addas i chi.  Ceir rhagor o fanylion yma

cynddylan 1

Thirdly, just before I get down from my hobby horse and put him in the stable for the night, I am firmly of the opinion that it will help me develop as a Textile Artist.  Like a lot of competitions, the National Eisteddfod require you to present an artistic CV and a supporting document for the piece of art.  This means it’s not just about painting a picture or throwing a pot or (in my case) stitching over some fabric.  It means you have to think about what you are doing and why you are doing it.  It means that art has purpose.  I tell anyone who stands still long enough to listen that good art – in whatever form – should do three things: it should evoke an emotional response, it should provoke thought or opinion and it should be the result of skill or good technique.  I cannot say whether my entry to the Eisteddfod will meet any of those criteria but it won’t stop me trying.  Besides which, the Eisteddfod 2015 is being held in Meifod, the home of my current sources of inspiration Cynddylan and Heledd (Mae’r ‘stafell Cynddylan yn dywyll heno) . 

Cynddylan sketch

Ysbrydoliaeth is the word in Welsh for ‘inspiration’ and it’s a feminine noun so if you look at the quotation at the top of the page, it might make more sense when I tell you that the whole verse of this Irish song is

She’s my pulse, she’s my secret, she’s the scented flower of the apple, she’s summer in the cold time between Christmas and Easter.

Happy Stitching!

 

Rain, rain, go away

 

 

The novelty has worn off as far as the rain is concerned here.  Too much of anything is not good and that particularly applies to the weather.  From my workroom window, the field has been replaced by a large pond with occasional islands.  At least Talullah, Lola and Gilbert (the ducks) are happy.  Continue reading Rain, rain, go away

The Single Step

“The longest journey starts with a single step.”

And never was a truer word spoken when it comes to starting something creative off – in whatever discipline or craft.  As this project will be set alongside The Keepers in Bryngarw Country Park, I spent some time there on a very wet afternoon last week.  I find that being outside helps me to form ideas about colours, lines and textures that I want to use. Continue reading The Single Step