A cute one for Illustration Friday this week. The word is ‘slow’ and I was inspired, of course, by the slowness of the tortoise. I was also reminded of my grandma’s tortoise, Napoleon, who had white emulsion paint on his shell to help my nana see him in dark foliage. I thought this ‘creep’ of tortoises could be painted with the letters of a Shakespeare quote about slowness. It takes a bit of time to pick it out but that’s exactly the point.
The word this week made me search out ‘Hare Brain Tortoise Mind’ by Guy Claxton from my bookshelf. The book extols the virtue of slowing down and not thinking too hard, and importantly letting your subconscious mind work things out in its own time. It’s not an easy read though is full of ‘golden nuggets’. I particularly like the quote from A.A. Milne: “Did you make that song up?”.”Well I sort of made it up”, said Pooh “It isn’t Brain..but it comes to me sometimes”. “Ah” said Rabbit, who never let things come to him, but always went and fetched them.
This is my first ‘Illustration Friday’ in a very long time. It’s such a good website and perfect when you just want a quick fix of illustration activity. The word ‘Trouble’ isn’t particularly easy and my first thoughts were of troubled sailors out at sea and the waves themselves being like monsters swallowing up the boats. I’m currently reading Moby Dick, so it’s not a surprise that my mind went there. As well as some very long sentences, the book is stuffed full of poignancy – “Ship and boat diverged; the cold damp night breeze blew between; a screaming gull flew overhead; the two hulls wildly rolled; we gave three heavy-hearted cheers and blindly plunged like fate into the lone Atlantic”
Autumn is a wonderful time of year and there are certainly many writers who have written beautiful words about it:
“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower” – Albert Camus
“Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking successive autumns” – George Eliot
“No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face” – John Donne
“Autumn…the year’s last, loveliest smile” – William Cullen Bryant
“Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons” – Jim Bishop.
My Autumn is joyous too, inspired by the words of my mother when she was a child seeing a chicken being plucked: “Oh! The chicken is losing all it’s leaves!”. My bird’s lost leaves keep winter safe until it’s ready to hatch.
A recent visit to the Toy Museum at Brighton, a little place built into the railway arches, threw up all kinds of wonderful and macabre toys amongst the Hornby railway sets. I never liked dolls at all when I was little (and my equally tom-boy sister used to fill her doll pram with soil and use it as a wheel barrow) but I appreciate them much more now as objects of terror rather than of nurture. Here are images from a sinister cabinet of dolls.
Other highlights in the museum was a beautiful box full of jointed Alice in Wonderland Characters. It was unclear what they were for but they featured every character from both books and I particularly like the way they are displayed interacting with each other. Another highlight was the Punch and Judy cabinet where an unusually primitive crocodile lurks at the front. I love the way they’ve been arranged as if they were posing for a family photograph, as if a hanged man was an everyday occurrence. Punch looks particularly calm and proud.
The Brighton Art Gallery and Museum also had a fascinating gallery about performance and puppetry where, again, Punch and Judy featured. It had a particularly great set of Vietnamese Water Puppets (pictured here) – I’ve been lucky enough to see more of these in the Taipei Puppet Museum actually in the water.
It’s not exactly clear why life-like dolls are so sinister though there have been attempts to account for it by the ‘Uncanny Valley‘ theory used in robotics. The theory explains that once faces and movements become just too lifelike they evoke all kinds of innate fears in us such as fear of being replaced. How amazing that extremes of realism should provoke extremes of imagination. For me, I really like to see objects that disturb as it’s a ‘safe’ fear – they’re behind glass after all. There’s a real beauty to all these figures, beauty found in the textured, flaky paint and the crude sculpting that can’t be found elsewhere so the Toy Museum is a bit of gem in my view. Just don’t make me go there alone at night time…
By far the best thing about using Twitter has been the discovery of this wonderful site: http://www.brainpickings.org. It’s written by journalist Maria Popova and contains many wonderful and thoughtful articles about the world of creativity and of creative people. I use it when I need a pick me up, something to put my mind back on the rails as it wanders off course (frequently!).
Here’s a wonderful quote from Brainpickings by the painter Agnes Martin on process:
“You’re permanently derailed. It’s through discipline and tremendous disappointment and failure that you arrive at what it is you must paint. For months, the first paintings don’t mean anything – nothing. But you have to keep going, despite all kinds of disappointment….I think that everyone is on his own line. I think that after you’ve made one step, the next step reveals itself…and I do believe we unfold out of ourselves and we do what we are born to do sooner or later, anyway”.
One more source of inspiration at the moment comes from the exciting build up to a trip to San Francisco and trying to find some work by Margaret Kilgallen, though I doubt I’ll make it to the railroad tracks where most of her ‘graffiti’ still remains. The few quotes left by Kilgallen are more optimistic than Agnes Martin’s but are, in essence, the same – on work she says just to trust the work – “If you trust that you put in the time to do the work, then the work will happen and you’ll figure out the answers”. Reassuring words indeed from two great women to keep me firmly back on track – full steam ahead.
Have you ever run cheekily across wet cement or pressed your hand into soft sand? It seems irresistible to want to leave your mark and it appears that we’re not the only ones. 219 footprints and hand impressions have been discovered in the lead roof tiles during restoration work on the tower at St Margaret’s Church in Wetton, Derbyshire. They covered a period from 1781-1913 and their ‘story’ is proudly shown in the church if you visit today.
The preservations include this wonderful map (cropped here) of where the hand and foot prints were found. It looks like dance notation – as if the roofers were actually dancing, not roofing, for a living. It’s fascinating to see where the feet overlap as roofer after roofer tried to find his little bit of space. The marks of the feet help historians to understand fashions of the time and the carved initials (see shots below) help them to locate the local roofers in the graveyard of the church. The style of the hands and feet are all quite similar – pointy shoes and wide-set hands. They look like hands that have worked hard. The shapes made are beautifully naïve and the text accompanying the display in the church ponders over the role of the common motif of the heart in the sole of the shoe – perhaps the graffiti was an ode to a loved one?
Interestingly, the current show at Tate Britain ‘British Folk Art’ features enormous leather shoes (two of which can be seen here: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/luxury/art/38499/folk-art-comes-full-circle-at-tate-britain.html). One shoe in the show (there are no pairs as they were designed as in-shop promotions) is stood high on perspex so we can look at the beautiful sole underneath and there, similar to the ones made at Wetton, are patterns of hearts and of rough studs around the perimeter. It seems then that the heart was a traditional design on the sole of the shoe -we left signs of affection everywhere we walked and our hearts helped us grip the land.
I’m also reminded when I look at the marks, carefully punched into the lead with roofing tools, how determined the roofers were to leave something behind that only fellow roofers could see – so different to today’s world of seemingly sharing everything with everybody.
It’s also a lovely gesture to include just hands and feet. Hands stand for the things we make and the people we hold close. Feet represent where we go, our movements in the world. So both shapes are symbolic of something deeper than just graffiti, to me at least.
I love accidental discoveries like this – a country walk revealed more than muddy footprints that day. They leave a greater testimony to life than the graveyard they look down on and I’m so grateful for opening that church door and stepping inside.
A trip to the amazing Heraklion Archeological Museum in Crete a few days ago dug up some visual wonders for me.
Firstly, there’s the wonderful early Minoan ‘Poppy’ Goddesses with arms upraised as if they are all in agreement. Notice how the figures are encased (feet sticking out of a cylindrical shape). Perhaps their goddess status was only occasional and as I was looking at them they reminded me of the giant dancing ‘puppets‘ that spin around the crowded streets of Spain during a Festival . At the end of the night the Goddess takes off the hard casing, lowers her tired arms and enjoys some Cretan wine with Zeus and a few other friends. They are called ‘Poppy’ Goddesses since they normally feature opium seeds in their headdress (a symbol of sleep or death) so perhaps they are enjoying more than wine on their time off.
Earlier goddesses had an easier time of it – arms tightly folded. These ladies give nothing away. I love them because of that mysteriousness.
The museum is full of curiosities . Very little is labelled so you’re left to wonder as to their function. They had an amazing collection of ‘jugs’ one of which is this bereavement vessel which was found in a child’s grave – the facial expression is meant to be one of a mourning mother.
Where Minoan Art really comes into its own though is in its decorative pottery. They took such care and attention over the drawing quality and the vibrant patterning is just astonishing. I loved the octopus motif that occurred over and over again – the eyes give away a lightheartedness that is found in many of the shapes/animals they used.
Strange how so much of the work in the museum is amazingly fresh-faced despite being more than 3000 years old. And will it still thrill in another 3000 years? As the Poppy Goddess does, I’d raise both hands in agreement – absolutely.