Trips to the supermarket are less frequent these days with the vegetable plot starting to feed me well. The first row of potatoes dug with both surprise and disappointment, firstly to find them so monstrously large and secondly that the chitted potatoes I discovered in a sack under the sink were obviously main-crop and no good as early new potatoes, lesson learnt. Mange tout peas now in full swing as is Swiss chard, Rocket, beetroot, carrots, courgettes and salad. In the fruit garden that had been abandoned for years the crop of black currents was remarkable and what the French call groseille was even better. Gooseberries or maquereau-groseille were limited having suffered in their neglect as well as being swamped by moss and lichen. The raspberries went wild but are producing a small bowel full each evening while the rhubarb is thriving with the dressing of manure, (15lbs picked today). A borrowed chest freezer is filling fast and the preserves cupboard has already a healthy store of strawberry jam. The pollination was disappointing on the pears but a couple of the apple trees are seriously laden.
Tuesday, June 9, 2020
The dry conditions has also meant no problems with slugs or snails as they hide away in whatever cool damp spot they can find. Having left the garden fallow for the past decade it was pleasing to see a healthy population of slow worms plus a mass of millipedes and a few very large old toads. Creeping sow thistle has been the only real problem with hours spent breaking up the soil and trying to remove every last trace, then digging several more times as the inevitable tiny remaining rhizomes start to regrow. The potatoes went in first in late March and look strong and healthy with hopefully plenty going on below ground. I’ve planted loads of cherry tomatoes outside and hoping that blight will not be a problem, certainly if it continues to remain dry. I had to restart the strawberry patch with fresh plants from a neighbour so there are not many this year but he has them by the bucket full and jam making is in full swing.
When trees are under stress then flowering is the first option of survival and back in April the valley was full of cherry blossom. When the wind came great clouds of white filled the sky and the roads in places received a powdering of snowy petals. Unfortunately the fruit setting has been minimal with many apple trees have no fruit at all for the second year. The Elder trees however have been glorious and my first batch of Elderflower champagne is ready to drink. This is the taste of summer and while my morning tipple might be an infusion of freshly gathered mixed herbs the rest of the day my thirst is quenched with champagne.
Saturday, May 30, 2020
On my three month over winter trip to Western Australia I carried with me one small back pack that passed as hand luggage. Within I had enough tweed and wool to keep me occupied and an absolute minimum of clothing. Fortunately in the shocking heat of Australia little in the way of clothing is required. WA was fortunate in not suffering the massive fires that raged for months in the east but the support and aid sent was impressive. Now the world has changed and the human race has other things to occupy its mind. Corona virus meant little to me when I first heard of it in mid-January, then I assumed it would be just another one of those Asian flu things that would probably be over before my due date of return on the 4th March. However by then it had already become pandemic and during my flight back via Singapore we were all masked up. I was a couple of days in London and little seemed to have changed although I made sure I touched nothing while on public transport. Each day brought more foreboding news of Italy being closed down and the epicenter now having moved to Europe. Two days after arriving back in Brittany I had a small local exhibition of my work opening on the Saturday afternoon and a workshop to follow on the Monday morning. It never happened since lock-down was imposed and we passed into a period isolation, which just happens to be my norm so little inconvenience. After only a couple of days I realised my only form of outside entertainment had been seriously polluted by the virus and so contented myself with creative exploits and the resurrection of my sadly neglected garden. It was also obvious that there would be no way of returning to the Isle of Lewis and that I must resume a life in Lezele for this summer.
On the creative front I have launched into another long project, this time to stitch a book. I’m on the eighth page, each measuring 30x40cm and in no particular order, they will cover a miscellaneous variety of images and subject matter. Things that I find interesting amusing or simply transfers well into a stitched form. An example of this was the two images inspired by a friend’s six year old daughter. I find it fascinating that when children visit my studio and see me at work they are never intimidated but rather inspired to create something. Then they do what no adult would do and give me as a present the picture they have produced, assuming that because I create so many I will be delighted to accept theirs. I this case Georgian had depicted two images of herself in a fantasy world and with a little manipulation they transformed well to applique embroidery. The first shows Georgina with cherry red lips and two fluffy white dogs. Those dogs have blue glass bead eyes which proved all important when it came to the second image of Bill-Linda. The angry man seems more upset by the fact she didn't shut the gate than that all his fluffy white dogs have been savaged. On close inspection you wil note that Bill-Linda is carrying an I-bag.
Monday, November 18, 2019
Stay long enough on the isle of Lewis and you’ll find yourself either cutting peat, working with sheep or weaving, I’ve already ticked the boxes on the first two so back in the summer of 2014 I was not at all surprised to find myself building a loom. An old black and white photo of an islander at his loom looked inspiring and like a true naïve I thought if I kept it simple warp and weft surely couldn’t be all that difficult. Well after a couple of false starts I borrowed a book from a friend and discovered all about heddles, sheds and shuttles.
Having seen an illustration of a Navaho Indian loom I felt this might be an ideal and relatively simple way to start weaving. There is something wonderful about launching into a new method of creation, and through play finding out just what is possible. Within half a day of starting the floor of the studio was covered with mounds of salve-edge wool and the process started to make sense. It was also obvious that this process allowed for much in the way of versatility as I thought of all the different things I could incorporate within the weave and my mind raced on creating extravagant finished hangings within my head. Having continued weaving into the evening I dreamed of the repetitive process for most of the night so keen was I to press ahead.
Fast forward five years to spring 2019, in my new studio. Having obtained a small Harris table loom in a swap with timber I set about making a warping board. I soon discovered that getting the warp onto the loom was something better done with two people. Persistence is a great quality and in this case it was accompanied by remarkable selection of both English and French swear words.
Once the loom was set up the actual weaving proved simple but with seemingly endless possibilities of intertwining warp and weft. I had been collecting partially used bobbins from local Harris Tweed weavers for several years and had a good selection of colours. I decided to work with two ply that would not only speed up the weaving process but increase the random colour distribution within the material. By varying the weaving structure from plain weave, basket weave, double face, tapestry and three different twill weaves I could play to my hearts content. In this playing process, which was neither totally random nor organised I was able to produce a cloth that could not be made by any machine. Next year I intend to continue this process of one off weaving to the point where I have enough for an entire three piece suit.
I was delighted this past summer to be asked to run a workshop for the Tolsta Youth Club, particularly since our local village primary school was to be closing. As the number of children was due to drop to below ten it had been decided to mothball the school for a few years in the hopes that numbers might rise. Fifteen children attended the evening stitching session and I based it around a game of head body and tail. Each child drew a head before folding the paper and passing it on for them all then to draw a body and finally a tail. The resulting images were then adapted and transferred to stretched calico and the fun began. Few of them had ever held a needle and while some made a dedicated effort to follow the lines of their drawing others attempted to speed the process up with larger stitches. In the space of a couple of hours they were able to make significant progress for me later to take each image a little further and machine them onto a blue backing sheet.
The following week I ran an adult stitching workshop and kept to the same format of fantasy animals produced by the head body and tail game. Having joined in and produced one of these animals myself I decided those who wanted to could meet up again a fortnight later to compare notes.
In the meantime I carried on stitching, finishing the animal which turned out to be a hitherto unknown Blue Ridges Tasmanian Devil and transferring it to a piece of mattress ticking and padding it out in a stump work fashion. I then used the vertical stripes of the ticking to produce sample stitches as was popular at the beginning of the 20th century. Never content with one of anything I continued with an accompanying twin tailed dragon with a passion for sniffing roses. There is something magical in having no preconceived plan, simply allowing the mind and needle to wander as an images appears.
Friday, September 27, 2019
Any attempt to define naïve painting seems only to add to the confusion so don’t be surprised if you are none the wiser after these few words.
Untutored a true naïve painter can never be “professionally” trained, however there are professional painters amongst the Naïves. The true naïve also have a talent that separates them from those who paint as a pastime or merely for fun. There are artist who could be said to paint in a pseudo-naive manner and in France they are referred to as “Les Pompiers”, not as firemen but in stylistic terms as being pretentious or pompous.
All naïve painter have their own vision of the world which in some way is uniquely different from that of any other. As children attempt to interoperate their surroundings for the first time their viewpoint can be regarded as uniquely theirs, and it is that very naivety which the mature viewer finds so appealing. Naïve art cannot be taught and as such is a reflection on our own years of innocence.
The necessity to express is much stronger than the artist himself or as Rouseau put it “Ce n’est pas moi qui dessiner c’est ce truc au bout de ma main”. (It is not I that am drawing, it’s the thing at the end of my hand”.) The naïve painter could be said to be like a person possessed in the grip of a “thing” the nature of which he cannot “logically” understand. Naïve painting is timeless, the artist being continuously in search of “paradise lost”, a reconfiguration of all that life has robbed them of, a creation of “paradise regained”. It has been said that naïve painting is that painted with the “eyes of the soul”, a term used by Shakespeare and of biblical origin; “I have pondered upon all things with the eyes of my soul”
As folk art and traditional craftsmanship gave way to industrial methods of production so man ventured into the unknown. It is hardly surprising that from the melting pot of races that went into creating America came a long history of naïve art. The strength and charm of the naïve image is often one that transposes well into the stitched form and with that in mind this week I ran a short evening introductory stitching workshop for the Tolsta Youth Club. We started with a game of head body and tail to produce a wonderful array of strange beasts and then transferred these to calico either reproducing the entire image or simply the head. Although stitching can be seen a process of travelling up and down with a needle it is never easy to start with and a tangled and knotted mess can ensue which in itself can still be regarded as stitching. In order not to stifle creativity it is important that child don’t take on the adult trait of thinking they might get some wrong. The children were aged from 7 to 11 and learnt fast and managed to produce some delightful images.
Tuesday, September 24, 2019
In the not so distant past it would have been unheard of to take photographs of an artist’s work during an exhibition and one could have been sure of a negative response from the gallery owner however polite the request. If you couldn’t afford the original or a print then there would surely be a small reproduction in the catalogue or book. We have long since passed the period of being politely requested not to take photographs by museums and galleries as everyone carries their mobile phone at the ready. That old concept of politeness still abounds within the walls of my studio where visitors would not dream of taking photographs without first asking permission. All that changes when those same images are freely displayed in public because now they are public and free. So do I now assume that all art should be freely available and if so how am I the artist to make a living? This past week I ran two paid workshops and have another this coming week plus two talks, however that alone won’t cover expenses. And between exhibitions where am I supposed to store it all. The words of a friends daughter spring to mind when after my first ever exhibition she said “Stop now Tom before it’s too late”. Is the overcrowded studio crammed with past work what all artists have to contend with in later life? Our own physical abilities become restricted in harmony with the shrinking studio space as insulating layers of stacked canvases encroach and the only way out is to start repainting. Those lustful nudes of yester years will soon become the passion of pastures new.
While sitting in on my exhibition in An Lanntair art centre I have been asked only a couple of times if it is OK to take photographs but that it usually to take a photo of me the artist, a man, stitching. So do they now want my sole as well? What is on the walls is widely assumed to be free for the taking. The taking of a photo is a process of possessing that image with no recompense to the artist. Once the excellent free image has been made using that smartphone there is no need to possess the original. If that image is then posted or shared on line then who is the owner. It would seem that just like music the visual arts are to be freely consumed. I imagine those happy snappers would consider that I should be flattered that they wish to point their phone in the general direction of my labours but unsurprisingly to me at least their image collecting leaves me cold. It could be said that I like those happy snappers am simply making images, but that is to oversimplify the process, painting a picture not only takes longer than pressing the button but also takes considerably more skill.
There is no way that the average person could afford to pay me for a year’s labour in stitching a stumpwork casket so in this hyper-connected world why shouldn’t they take a photo? Do they think to possibly share these images with friends? Maybe, but does that make it any more likely that I will have a sale? No, I have never sold any of my artwork over the internet or by photograph and what on earth is the purpose of a like? To me likes are just another loneliness indicator, used in the hopes that others may join in and confirm that you are not the only sad bastard on this planet who enjoys wandering around galleries with a smart phone.