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more folded books – Orkney part four

Posted jane -->on 1st Dec 2018

here are our lengths of paper, painted and drawn on in the dyeing shed, brought indoors to fold and cut;

put together the whole is more. we used japanese ink sticks rubbed onto flat stones from the beach with water, and peat from the burn banks, making brushes or finding twigs and other materials to make marks.

we had embroidered squares and dyed them to make book covers

padded with pieces from the floor-covering old blankets that had been used to protect the billiard room carpet from our activities. however, on advice I left my book uncovered, and used those pieces of silk joined to other pieces to make another tsunobokuro bag. which has since gone to wrap my daughter’s birthday presents ….

but there was more –

we stitched papers into the book

from the selection in our first present of materials, from Alison – old map pieces

tracing paper, and the rubbings I had done of George Mackay Brown’s words around the pool in the garden

sewn in with linen thread

a new artist’s book. an interesting technique which needs none of the usual materials for book binding beyond aul, needle and thread.

then we worked with Alison with colour again on our last afternoon

by this time I had loosened up a great deal.

I used the watercolour tubes I’d brought, on papers from Alison’s contribution

and on this one, the vegetable dyes and oil bars she’d brought.

then I added some colour to the sketchbook from our trip

it melted the fountain pen ink

and is rather gestural instead of “filling in”

but in some cases I think I did a bit too much

however on the whole I’m pleased, and

intend to make more sketchbooks in this way

perhaps on the writing outside courses; the next one starts in January.

a slow look at the sound on our last morning, and a slow look back from a grey seal. a place to stick in the mind, and a wonderfully productive week with “sister stitchers” – keeping in touch via instagram –

I have already obtained a copy of George Mackay Brown’s A Portrait of Orkney, and ordered his collected poems.

on the subject of poems

my poem is out in the Rialto, very exciting

 

the colours of the land; Orkney part two

Posted jane -->on 26th Nov 2018

some people assumed that there would not be much in the way of leaves to dye with here in Orkney towards the end of November, and that the weather would be too awful to get outside much. but in fact the weather was mild and open; some days the sun shone all the short hours it was up.

the low lying islands make the sky huge, and there is light reflected from the surrounding and interlocking water of sea and loch.

at the bottom of the garden at Woodwick House the island of Wyre is a low hump across the sound, and the sea constantly changes colour

  

and the bare trees form a patterned screen – in this case

Rousay is the pink land under the pink cloud on the horizon, caught by the setting sun.

in George Mackay Brown’s book Magnus he describes this group of islands, ten including the mainland which he gives its old name, Hrossey (horse island) “the islands shift their places around the firth, Hrossey, Eynhallow, Rousay, Gairsay, Shapinsay, Wyre, Eday, Sanday, Stronsay, Egilsay” as Magnus and his men sail/row across the sound towards his martyrdom on Egilsay

on the beach there is a thick wreath of seaweed, coloured from ochre to rust to deep wine-purple, amongst stones that are lighter versions of the same colours, and at low tide, fine grey sand, ripple marked.

from the beach you can walk back up beside the burn, as it pours over the rock steps and pools in treacle brown depths

on a path through shrubs and trees

with secret spots to hide and read a book or draw,

leant over by tree branches. from the name I suppose there must always have been trees here.

quaint post and rails – the seabird skull my addition, a find from the beach –

snow drop bulbs everywhere in bare earth and humous, already starting to sprout green horns.

at the top there’s what they call in scotland a doo-cot – a dove cote

with compartments for all the pigeon nests, providing baby pigeons for pies. whether this is a genuine really old one is hard to say, but it’s been made into a sort of pagan chapel

a quiet contemplative place

beside the sound of the rushing burn

at the gate before the bridge

and at the other side of the house there are castellated turrets – a late Victorian fancy. the gates are missing, anyway, and the path down the to the sea is public.

the hens are the rightful owners of the garden, six of them, and with no foxes they don’t have to be shut in at night.

this one is the boss, she’s twelve years old. one day they laid four eggs!

inside we had been hard at work stitching on paper, watercolour, or other special paper – some hand made. I had brought heavy weight watercolour, and it was brutal to stitch on, so mine was quite minimal. others filled up their three pieces with masses of abstract stitching and pieces of fabric.

then we made folded books, into which we inserted leaves/and seaweed

wrapped them into parcels with cloth

and after a brief cook

opened our little treasures, at the same time adding to our drip-sheets/abstract paintings (Japanese inksticks ground on beach stones and peat from the burn-side, using sticks and home-made brushes, and yes, fingers)

they looked gorgeous when wet

though this lovely rusty brown

dried to something a bit duller.

the drip-lengths were made into something very exciting on the last day.

when you work with leaves and stitches your eyes get tuned into all the fine details of the landscape

things you might walk past before, suddenly shine out at you with their beauty.

 

sister stitchers in Orkney outlands: part one

Posted jane -->on 23rd Nov 2018

another magical place in the space of four weeks – Orkney – and a wonderful retreat led by India Flint and Alison Mountain of Big Cat textiles in Newburgh (where I have been for several really good courses, taught by the likes of Michel Garcia and Larry Thomas as well as by India)

arrived in the dark after a flight from Aberdeen to Kirkwall which caught the last of the light with views of the Moray Firth, Caithness, the Pentland Firth (complete with ferry ploughing a pale blue wake) and the interlocking islands, sounds and firths of Orkney, so when I parted the curtains at seven am and saw this out of my window I was in love with the place.

we stayed and workshopped in Woodwick House, an Edwardian very Scottish looking country house with a kind of tower attic and stepped gables and crenellations wherever possible. it still has its beautiful but draughty sash windows, but also bits and pieces of more contemporary text and some quite good paintings, in a simple plain decor that felt comfortable and un-posh, not imposing anything except an awareness of the Orcadian tradition of ancient and contemporary art and poetry.

the fact that there are quite tall and old trees in two shelter belts running down each side of the garden to the beach of this little bay (“wick” means bay) is unusual on these bare and windswept islands. they are mostly sycamore, salt-hardy and tough, a non-native tree which thrives all over the UK. the pool in the photo is part of an installation of sculpture and poetry (not sure when this was made) and around its rim are words written by George Mackay Brown, one of Orkney’s most famous poets. some letters are sadly missing, but part of it reads –

drink here voyager about to depart
on the salt sound
Eynhallow

Eynhallow is one of the smaller islands in the group just off the main island here.

we began with a fancy-restaurant-standard supper made by Alison and India, setting the ball very high for the rest of the week.

the next morning down to the serious business, working on paper with Alison, splashing vegetable dyes about on paper,

and continuing to layer up with pastel, oil pastel, gesso, more paint until the whole thing a bit soggy, then we folded our large sheets into books

put more onto the nicely reduced and framed sections

I discovered that pastel in layers with the translucent dyes and also darker ink-depth mark making

and then working over the top with more pastel

gave very pleasing results. I am wondering about a bit of fixative when I get home though.

for the first textile phase, led by India, we were given a strip of old wool blanket to stitch and add more fabrics to.

I was really quite minimal in my stitching compared to most. one had no idea where this was leading, by the way!

by the end of the morning however far we had got, our rolls of blanket went into a pot or rather a huge fish kettle of burn water (a burn runs down under a bridge at the entrance to the garden and along its edge, the water a coppery clear caramel from the peat) and a little “iron water”, to steep and relax in some heat.

we had the afternoon to wander, and bring back leaves, seaweed, stones, twigs and anything else we found to add to the stitching.

bundles duly went back in the kettle for an evening boil-up

identified by tied on additions which make these little objects full of character before you even start

by the morning they had cooled down and we had our christmas present moment of unwrapping, with many oohs and aahs, much excitement.

as India fished them out

starting to unwrap mine

then they all dripped on the line

you can see how much of the landscape is imparted

eventually dried in the boiler house

we made bags. here is mine, a tsunobokuro bias-stitched envelope or sack on our expedition to some of Orkney’s ancient sites later in the week.

the stones of the Pictish broch at Gurness

their lichens and weatherings

echoed in the colours and textures we were able to obtain with the dye processes and the pigments and paints on paper during the week.

 

more painting and autumn photos

Posted jane -->on 20th Oct 2018

we have been having glorious sunny weather here in Norfolk,

but we aren’t into full autumn leaf yet, it looks like it’s going to be quite gradual

though hips, haws and berries are abundant, even holly berries covering trees already.

I’ve been painting from memory and feeling again, parallel with the writing, and done a couple of truly abstract landscapes.

I started on this one with the idea of the sea asters I wrote about last, and the late swallows on the marsh grazing at salthouse. this was the start on canvas, with some paper collaged onto it, using diluted japanese black ink, and diluted acrylic paint.

I covered it up with later stages, and wished I had done something similar on paper. it always seems a scramble trying to paint without reference to any physical drawing, photo, or indeed, being actually in front of the subject. it seems that really one has to think about balance, tone and colour as much as anything. so I put these dark splodges in, standing for the ditches, dark earth in the grazing meadows, and the black anaerobic mud of the saltmarsh.

then big strokes with palette knife, dry reed and grass colours, some little blue things for the asters, wet into wet, and there it was. it’s 50 x 70 cm.

this week I was thinking about the reedbeds at Cley. started on paper this time, using a “folded” aluminium pen and the japanese ink. these folded pens are a calligraphy tool that gives you a very fine line that changes to very wide when you twist it round, so all these marks are made by the same pen.

then I added colour – watered down acrylic – and lost that pure graphic line.

but never mind, I ripped the drawing up to stick bits of it on the canvas

which already had plain torn paper stuck on it and a foundation of dribbles and thin paint.

experimenting with how this worked

two pieces stuck on and some paint added, and the canvas turned anti-clockwise 90 degrees.

more paint went on, and I scratched through it with the palette knife and added brush strokes with a round thick brush. after the scratched lines it seemed to be finished

but the paper buckled a lot, I got it too wet, I think; however after a few days to dry out, it’s hardly noticeable.\

details show what’s happening

brush strokes floating over the paper and canvas

here the paint over the paper drawing was scraped back to reveal more of it.

and drawing with the palette knife through the paint reveals more colour.

I think the knife marks bring more of the movement and graphic qualities of the reeds. this one is 50 x 50 cm.

today the hipstamatic app brought some of the misty dewy morning mystery and drama to my photos

the sun catching a field maple bush

and Bims

this week I had an amazing treat – a journey on a steam locomotive footplate, on our local steam train line, North Norfolk Steam trains, from Sheringham to Holt and back. very special

 

 

 

back to acrylic

Posted jane -->on 21st Sep 2018

early autumn can look a bit dull – tired leaves that are still green, recently ploughed stubbles

and the weather has been warm enough to kid you that it’s still summer. now the seasonal thrashing/flaying of hedges has begun, though many which were done in early spring are safe

or are in the two yearly cycle. the blackberries have been amazing; our walks punctuated by stops to grab handfuls, bear fashion.

B is not interested in blackberries, she prefers small furry creatures, as the poor little baby bunny she pounced on in the ditch on quite a busy road and despatched immediately. our walk home disgraced by the grey furry little ears poking out from between her jaws as she carried her catch in triumph firmly clamped in her mouth.

views with newly seeded rape fields show us what next April will look like

but there is plenty of autumn texture

and inspiration for painting

back to the small square format and acrylic paint – I have so much I certainly can’t switch completely to oils.

also when painting in the village hall with the group, acrylics so much more convenient. so the usual start of throwing runny paint about, helpful on a white canvas …

I am back to using a brush more, principally for the sky here

getting there but something wrong with the composition. relatively cool weather meant the paint didn’t dry too fast, so I scraped some off and changed the shape of the cultivated field

seed heads and stalks of knapweed in the foreground indicated with blips and blobs of dark paint and scratching through paint with the point of my little pointy palette knife. I had been looking at Joan Eardley again, and I think this shows her influence.

we’ve been back to Bayfield recently, the cooler weather had banished the flies.

the conservation/bird seed planting is changing colour. this plant which looks like millet has some bright orange ochre heads and some a strong red.

surely another painting!

but last Monday I took this in bayfield woods by mistake – hipstamatic allows double exposure and sometimes I find I’ve slid the control across by accident. well, too tempting not to try to paint it.

on an old plywood board this time, a re-used one.

syrupy paint and an attempt to get the pale green light behind the main tree. as always, an earlier stage looks rather more exciting in retrospect.

both these squares are 40 x 40 cm (16″)

I am signed up for a plethora of writing courses this autumn, plus two week long residential courses. there will be writing in bed early mornings!

plus plenty of this of course.

 

the end of summer

Posted jane -->on 2nd Sep 2018

BIms and I have been walking at Morston twice in the last couple of days.

Bayfield, although beautiful, has a lot of flies at the moment; I find them really annoying.

on Friday I had an appointment with my nearest bit of coast, a collaborative project with Coast to Coast to Coast, the hand sewn poetry journal I’ve had a poem published in twice.

lots of poets whose work has been in any of the five issues went to their bit of coast and wrote two to four lines which will be used by Maria Isakova Bennett for an installation during her residency in Aldeborough’s Lookout

an unbelievable sea of cars was parked at Morston on Friday morning – the seal trips doing fantastic business on perhaps the last day of a lot of people’s holiday. we walked along past all the boats motoring up and down the channel, and out onto the saltmarsh.

we went again this morning as the weather is still perfect, and for Bims it’s great at high tide – the area she can run in is limited, and she can have a great time sploshing around on the edges of the tide. she’s wary of deep water – although she did fall in a big creek this morning and got nice and wet all over. and she meets people and other dogs in a neutral situation where there’s plenty of room.

although it was warm she had the opportunity to cool off

and pose while sailing boats cruised up and down, and all the birds were perfectly safe from her

we haven’t been there much but I think in future will make more use of it.

I haven’t done any painting this August, the writing has taken over a bit, but I have been making up some big canvases, reusing stretchers, and this painting started in 2002, has resurfaced.

it already has some areas of very thick oil paint which have cracked

and interesting textures over the foundation size of rabbit skin glue

I have had it up in the studio for a couple of weeks while i thought about it/avoided it

today I got myself together and decided that it would be less intimidating flat on the table

and like that it proved much better for gestural mark-making

pushing the brush around with thick oil paint

and working over the old surface with limited colours.

a bit of scratching back through with the palette knife

thinking about fields of sunflowers and constellations and sun/moon

and long grass and blue reflected sky at Morston

so here we are. 46′ x 60″ or 116 x 152 cm. now I can let more colours and textures get into my head for some more big paintings. tomorrow we have a demo of working with pastels in the village hall – I’m sure that will help as we are to have a go ourselves.

a few butterflies

Posted jane -->on 11th Aug 2018

I’d not seen anything in the way of a colourful butterfly this summer until we had some rain

then after the drought broke a couple of weeks ago with storms there were two commas in the garden, but nothing more except various whites until earlier this week

the commas were back

and two small tortoisehells

but they don’t seem to visit my garden often

the buddleias will soon be over

so I took several photos

but at the end of July, after the wind and rain, I found these butterflies again on the edge of the wood

the silver-washed fritillaries

I was quite surprised that they had survived our awful contrary weather this year

I counted about ten

feeding on thistle and knapweed

they are the biggest fritillary, and glide and swoop around the edge of the wood into the conservation grass

with closed wings they are very well camouflaged on the dead thistles. I look forward to finding them here again next year.

the thistles themselves are wonderful subjects

using the hipstamatic app on my phone makes them look even more dramatic.

on the Bayfield estate there are some fields of mixed planting, for pheasants but also wild birds and insects. chicory seems to be a thing too.

we walk round the “bird walk” about once a week. there’s a lot of shade if you’re early when it’s hot.

and the Glandford ford for a paddle

I feel a few paintings coming on from these fields

meanwhile some of us in the village hall painting group had a go with oil paint. and it’s true, it’s much nicer to paint with than acrylic. I still have usable oils from 20 years ago and more – including flake white, made of lead carbonate, which you can no longer buy unless you are licensed as a restorer.

I was inspired by Richard Scott antiques, where they have very pretty flower arrangements amongst the antique porcelain and glass.

but for the time being I am thinking of doing some big landscapes on some canvases I stretched and started fifteen years ago. watch this space!

 

 

 

 

orchids and swifts

Posted jane -->on 10th Jul 2018

in June we remembered the orchids at Warham Camp, and made a date to visit while they were in flower

we had timed it perfectly

there were common spotteds

and pyramid orchids

covering the south and east sides of the huge rampart banks

built of chalk dug up from the layer of it that is just under the subsoil here in the middle of north Norfolk

so that this iron age fort has a very special fauna and flora, including chalk-loving and drought-loving plants .

it is surrounded by conservation grassland, the river Stiffkey (a chalk stream) was straightened in the eighteenth century and cuts against part of the ramparts, and even the arable fields have wide nectar headlands, so the insect life is healthy and varied, and so is the bird population.

a beautiful flower beetle on a scabious flower

we saw common blue and chalk hill blue butterflies (the caterpillars of this feed on horseshoe vetch).

this painted lady was in the churchyard as we passed through on our way

most of the flowers are quite small versions, due to the thin dry soil.

in the centre of the circle of banks and ditches thistles dominate. more details of the archaeology can be found here

linnets and whitethroat were singing in the hedges,

swifts, swallows and martins swooping over the nearby fields and the central dish of the fort.

there was quite a breeze so you may want to turn the sound off for this scan of one of the banks and its orchids

the impression I was left with of the birds and the landscape with its flowers resulted in two paintings. one of the swifts at Warham, and one of swallows hawking green barley after rain at Edgefield.

I made a start

remembering the chalk and the clouds, then left both alone for a week

last week I took the swallows hawking one, and did some quite radical things to it

but after a couple of hours it had settled into something more peaceful and less abstract.

so yesterday I took the Warham one and chucked lots of runny blue paint down it, ran some red and some burnt sienna around it,

worked back in with a big brush and gesso and some greens,

then I had to get those  mounds of the ramparts back in, without losing the sense of the river and the sky

 

but I left quite a lot of the blue watery stuff,

put more opaque pale greys into the sky, with the diving swifts

and added the pyramid orchids, that strong pink, and just a couple of butterflies

there’s a lot of movement and colour. I think it has something of the day in it.

 

print and words week 2

Posted jane -->on 29th Jun 2018

so when you have strips like this and your tutor says she thinks you should slice them into even narrower strips …

you think for two minutes and then you take the risk ….

and stick words on and fold …

and then the print looks even more like manuscript illumination

and you cut up your poem

and find the words are so much more brilliant isolated on their long narrow pages

like jewels

and you print more in an afternoon of adrenalin

and more ideas are offered

that you need days more to explore

and at home

you tear and fold what you printed

and cut up another poem

that you are in the middle of writing

hoping this process will clarify

its labour-pains

and then

you have two more concertina books a little more resolved

being pressed between boards

to flatten and many thoughts towards more.

print and words week 1

Posted jane -->on 29th Jun 2018

I’ve just taken part in two workshops with Tara Sampey and Jonathan Ward (he leads the Writing Outside courses I’ve been doing at the Cley Wildlife trust visitor centre)

these centred around a walk through fields and a holloway in Edgefield, Jonathan’s home patch.

we collected words and plants

and chatted

sharing a sense of wonder at the small details – overnight rain had collected on these funnel spider webs and turned them into a constellation of shining drops around the black hole of the spiders’ traps

it seems that we have not had rain for weeks and weeks, but there had been some showers (that was about ten days ago)

and the swallows were hawking low over green barley fields

linnets and whitethroats singing in bushy hedgerows

a sad very dead pair of elms loom over a small meadow pasture full of insects

the hedges full of pattern making us greedy pickers beautiful things to print with

back at the hall we were shown how to roll ink onto the gel plates to make monoprints

the mind-bending part is how to make use of the negative image produced by the first print, and the delicately detailed positive which comes after you peel the plant material off the plate

some of the images reminded me of medieval manuscript illuminations

the really exciting part is when you start printing a negative in a different colour over the positive, off-setting

and generally playing about with part of the plate …

so we went home excited, to play with words at home and make some texts which could be combined with the images

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