Following the golden string not out of liminality, but into it…...
Capturing the Landscape
In seeking to connect my outer and inner landscape, I wanted to explore processes that allowed me to physically make a connection with the landscape through my artwork by capturing it. Obviously poetry and photography are at the heart of this, but I have also experimented with a variety...
Bury Hill on Midsummer
Sickle winged swifts sail, caressing the earth Diving, celebrating the midsummer silence Ears of wheat, row upon ripening row Succumb to the metachronal rhythm Of a warm midsummer wind Fields softly undulating Like waves lapping a chalk white shore Here, the living worship the dead with weeds Enshrine them...
Chanctonbury Hill on the last day of May
Follow the milky path through Thickets of field rose and briar Of elder and hawthorn Bent, yielding to the wind Watch as the fork tailed kite soars Weightlessly gliding Reach out Here you can almost touch heaven Flint men carved the dew pond That rests dry Sit with them...
Ghosts
Maybe I have been reading too many books… My mind is full of ideas about traces on the landscape. Greg Humphries explains in his book Walking Backwards, that telling stories about places ‘creates connection between the land we experience outside and ourselves and our inner landscape’ (Humphries and Vayne,...
What is an Artist?
In order to find something, you need to know what you’re looking for. As I follow the golden string towards finding my artist self, I can’t help but wondering what my artist self might look like, (so that I might recognise her when I see her). This begs the...
Risk Taking
I am beginning to realise that taking risks is a crucial element of being an artist. Experimenting, stepping outside my comfort zone, and doing things that make me feel slightly uncomfortable often bring moments of true creativity. Things do not always work out as I expect, and I am...
Bramber on Ostara
Fern tongues unfurl licking vernal air verges roll and unfold, labouring lencten blooms verdant abundance merging and stitching embroidered banks or primrose, elder and vetch flint teeth conceal conchoidal cracks sunk into clay paths of cleft earth haunted by summers gone by sprawling static caravans neither here nor there...
The Liminal Shoreline
I recently experienced what I now recognise as a critical incident while walking along the shoreline at Ferring. I had gone for fish and chips on a spring evening, a moment of happiness with my family after a long week at work. I wasn’t looking for anything or intending...
Hagstone
Hagstone eye to another world, a portal perhaps between life and death? A place of lingering between knowing and not, between the past and the present....