Thursday Thoughts...

“Moreover, poems are not language but the content of the language” 

 Mary Oliver

I have been reading Mary Oliver's handbook to poetry and this was one of the many underlinings I made.

I am a fairly concrete writer, and one of my challenges with poetry is to abstract a notion, to find ways to have a reader understand something that isn't simply told. To find a way for folk to discover a beautiful thing, by way of metaphor and abstraction.

Most of the time I am far too direct.

Here I think she is trying to say that poetry isn't just the words - it is somehow within the words, a small or precious notion that the words wrap around and suggest. That poetry is there, more with the feelings, associations and expressions of the words, than in the direct meaning of the words themselves.

The beginning of a public art poem by Evi Westmore, in Inverness.

Pottering about

 I have had a few moments here and there to sit and think about making artwork.

I have been wanting to create several small pages for a book; thinking about interesting backgrounds to work onto and into.  I had really hoped to get this work well advanced before we head back; but somehow I doubt it.  We have been away for three days and it is amazing how much time back here gets spent doing life, yard work and life.

Nevertheless.

So I have jotted down ideas as they arrive in those half-waking moments in the night. Ideas that come roaring forward and need attention. Ideas that on waking you rush to recall and note down. They seem so right and so true. The test is if they hold up in the full waking of day .

This book is part of a pair, which I'm working on at companionable distance and via email with another artists' book maker based in the UK. Thus far we have set a few parameters and shared some papers and we have set forth into that unknowing yet challenging and wonderful space of collaboration.

Collaborations can be scary, frustrating and odd; yet for me they are most often stimulating and wonderful and humbling. I am looking forward to these books emerging; hoping that they are of good enough quality and well resolved.

My wee studio space in the cottage is proving a fine place to play and working within limitations is always good for one. Also oftentimes frustrating. I simply do not have access to a quarter (sixth? eighth?) of the things I might usually call upon.

Even my water glass is a second hand vase!

So I played with some watercolours I had, and some inks I had, and tried to see if I could make anything interesting out of them. A piece of toilet paper acted as my dauber. I'm all style. 

But I also played with some plastic wrap -  a technique I recall from decades ago but have never really put into practice, and played with bit of string.

In the end I had maybe 6 pieces that were of interest to me. Or maybe 4. 

This lovely blue is something; but not just the thing I am looking for. But nice to have met!

I don't really know if I have found what I am looking for; but at least I am testing a few things out. As ever, steps taken re never wasted.

Innerpeffray Chapel

 My last post was all about the Library at Innerpeffray; but onsite was also this Chapel. It was in the upstairs, almost mezzanine room, of the Chapel that the first Library books were stored.

I didn't know what to expect - it was during rain, we dashed across thinking yes, we should probably have a look before we go, and my breath was simply taken away. Its serenity. Its beauty. Its simplicity. A place of calm.

We were fortunate to have the space to ourselves and could observe, contemplate and absorb.

The doorway in, font by the wall.

Looking down from the altar.

Looking up towards the altar.

Alongside the altar the door and narrow spiral staircase to the 'upstairs' room.

The original Library space, from the top of the staircase.

Looking upon the Chapel from the Library space window.

At the altar end, my attention is drawn to a highly decorative, carved headstone. The carving looks naive;  or in a way, modern. Yet I stop and check - it has dates like 1678 and 1707. It must be really old. In the short time we have left, I can't come to a full enough understanding of who it is about, who may have commissioned it, who is represented. I am a wee bit baffled. Intrigued, but definitely unsure.

It seemed to be very much about a couple's children. So many children. I am still not sure.

Each child's name is carved into the stone and a figure rises above the sone to represent them. I think.

The style of the carved lettering also looks naive-modern to my eye, so I check the dates again. It still says 1707.

The play of light and shadows on this side made the figures even more interesting.

I have done no homework on the Chapel; and especially none about this headstone.  I may find that it IS a modern replica, or a modern original to commemorate a special family.  But there is a deep story within it that makes me want to know more.

Thursday Thoughts...

"Be where your feet are".

 Scott M. O’Neill

The elegant simplicity and purity of this message.

I oftentimes struggle with getting ahead of myself; I have an immense capacity to catastrophise; to get to the end of the disaster before it has taken more than a few tentative steps.  My mind races ahead, trying to anticipate, trying to work out strategies to avoid the worst that might happen.

And so I spend a fair  bit of mind time trying to work out how NOT to be doing that, how to be mindful and present and all of those other practices that stop me anticipating awful things in an anxious manner.

Then this!

Talk about being grounded.

I just love it. 

My feet are here. Now. In this place. With these people. This is where I am.

Note to self:

Be there in your mind too.

Our feet together. Red dirt. Uluru.

Innerpeffray Library

Serendipity is real.  Whilst in Dundee, and waiting for Barry to emerge from a room at the Verdant Mills Museum, I picked my way through some tourist brochures. I saw one saying Innerpeffray Library and picked it up thinking it might be interesting.

Fortunately for us it was in the general direction we were headed the next day so we plotted a route that would get us there. It pelted rain and blew a gale as we drove, we headed off the wrong direction once or twice, but we were rewarded for our persistence. Many times over.

It is the most beautiful of places, with the most wonderful of stories. It is in fact, the very first free, public lending library in the UK. It was established in 1680.

Founded by David Drummond 3rd Lord of Madertie he established a permanent endowment (a "Mortification") to ensure its future. Originally the books were kept in a small room in the Innerpeffray Chapel, and have been looked after since then by The Keeper of the Books. We met the current Keeper Lara and she showed us many of the treasures.

In the early 18th century his heir Robert Hay Drummond took over responsibility for the Mortification, and he built a new building to house them which was completed in 1762 - the building which still houses the Library today.

There were many highlights. The generosity of spirit of the founder - who also established a free school on the site 20 years before the Scottish Government Act required free education for all - in opening his Library to local people - it was meant to "be for all" , has lingered with me.

The school was operational until 1947; and the Library only stopped lending books in 1968.

I could wax lyrical as they say about the whole experience and the wonder of it all, but the real highlight for me was the Borrowers' Registers. Handwritten, the registers contain the names of borrowers and the books borrowed with the first recording in the first book in 1747, and the final one in 1968.

The borrowing of a book was treated as a sort of a contract, and the person's name, address and sometimes occupation were collected, along with the title of the book and how long they were borrowing it for.

Perhaps depending on how trustworthy they were, or how local they were, how often their journey took them by the Library, it seems the borrowing time could range from 2- 6 weeks.

as the books were returned, the Keeper would draw a line through the entry.

Some borrowers could probably read, but not write and they simply signed the entry rather than wrote in their own hand. It would have been a long walk for local people to come across the farmland to borrow books, and I love that they were able to.

When I asked about women borrowers, there were some. Our conversation turned to how women however, were mostly working in and around the home; whilst men's work often took them further afield. It is possible men borrowed the books, but women read them aloud in the evening to the family.

I so want to investigate these registers and discover some of the stories within. If anybody has family history that links to the area of Innerpeffray, outside of Perth, it would be marvellous to see if one's ancestors had borrowed from the library, and to learn which books.  To then visit the Library and hold the books they borrowed - well, that would be something precious.

The Library is fully committed to sharing and holding the books, and will access particular books you might wish to see; as well as having some brilliant displays along themes, and along historical lines.

It is probably good that blogging in Scotland is such a slow process for me - and we have to head out for dinner - or else this post could go on for ages!

I will do another post on the Chapel as well, and can only highly recommend an online visit to the Library.

Thursday Thoughts...

“Artists are driven to do what they do no matter what. It’s a very powerful ambition and they pursue it in whatever way works best for them. Artists have a practice and pursuing and developing it is always the motivating factor, not whether or not they will sell something or even find a venue in which it can be seen.” 

Whitney Museum curator Carter Foster on grit 

I must admit I think an artist, or a maker's, mind is constantly sifting through signals, connecting disparate thoughts, seeing images and translating them in their own way. I think their minds are often viewing the world in a particular way and are quietly, sometimes subconsciously, formulating ideas about telling a story, or making a work that expresses certain things. 

Many of us are then compelled to make a piece in response to this gathering of stimuli, thoughts and experiences. I certainly can't speak on behalf of artists who sell really well or are held in prestigious collections, but in my own small way I know that I sometimes really need to say something; or I really need to feel something. And make it I will, with no real thought that a buyer exists for this; or a collection might be interested.  I need to make the work I need to make and then afterwards comes the latent pondering of whether I should try to sell it, or contact an institution, or enter it in a show or a prize.

Fortunately I don't have to make my living as an artist, if I did, perhaps my thinking might change.

St Mary's Chapel and headstones

 Last week we visited the 12th Century St Mary's Chapel. It was a lovely day for a wander, with a big blue sky and no wind.

As ever, I am taken by the centuries old carving, the labour of love of the person who did it, the accommodations they made, the errors they rectified, and the beautiful hand of the maker seen so vividly.

This was a very early one - and the ligature between the N and the D in AND caught my eye.

This one had a lot of loveliness going on.

The spelling of Stone. Henderson is shortened with two lots of ligatures and the absence of a second E. And always, the beautiful ampersand on its side. The spelling of July - with the very old I instead of J, and the addition of another L.

A detail, with the spelling of Wife, with a U.

The three-way ligature with TH and E in MOTHER, and the lovely R tucked into farmer.

The spelling of DIED also appealed, as does the shortening of September.

Another upside down/sideways ampersand.

The ligatures between N & E in STONE, and H & E in HEAR (here). The spelling of LYS (lies)... 

I could spend hours looking at old headstones and thinking about the people who carved them.

Sunrise during the week on our way to the cove.

Craft Fair and a new studio nook

 Barry and I had the opportunity to take part in the Watten Craft and Produce Fair on Saturday, and we had a really good time. The Fair was busy! Loads of good products and produce; excellent crowds and plenty of folk to chat with and share our work with.

Barry setting up.

Fiona setting up.

Table set up!

 

My solace stones...

In the afternoon, the sun streamed in...and all in all, a great day was had.

Meanwhile back at the cottage...

After our most recent visit, when I had begun to feel like Virginia Woolfe, and the need for a room of one's one, I had thought a lot about how to create studio space whilst sharing the cottage with Barry and Dad.

Grand dreams of a stand alone lovely little timber structure out the back turned more towards reality and I began to think of the only spare space we have - on the upstairs landing between the two bedrooms.  The space is approximately 1.9m long, but only 30cm deep. Tricky, but not insurmountable.

As with everything in the cottage, IKEA came to the rescue and we found a desk that was 1.5m long and 30cm deep, two stools which could tuck underneath/alongside it and a storage system that was also only 30cm deep! They arrived last week and were immediately made up.

Coming up the stairs...

Standing in the upstairs 'powder room'.

How wonderful is that!?!?! Already I love it and have used it. I have unpacked everything from my art boxes and files and piles and they have tucked away brilliantly.  And I have started making some small things. So very chuffed.

After yesterday's sunshine, today, the wind was blowing a gale, so we threw a wash on and it spent less than an hour out there (some pieces were dry in 15 minutes).

And came inside and stewed some of our very own apples, and some brambles we had picked this morning.

Not pretty, but delicious!

Thursday Thoughts...

“When you are in the middle of a story it isn’t a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood; like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard powerless to stop it. It’s only afterwards that it becomes anything like a story at all. When you are telling it, to yourself or to someone else.” 

Margaret Atwood

Of all the authors who can take you on a ride through a house being torn apart in a whirlwind or a boat crushed by icebergs, it is Ms Atwood.

 The way she describes it here make its feel as if you are on a roller coaster, with things coming at you from every direction as you grapple to take this bit and make it make sense; then adding it to that bit to see a slightly clearer picture. Breathless I am.

And then in moments of quiet, after you have finished, you can sit back and reflect on it; join all those dots together and see how the whole thing makes sense.  Oftentimes you wonder as you make your way through a book or a story how things fit together and does this go with that? At the end, you sometimes learn that things you thought might be important weren't, that some events were not in fact portents of anything or that subtle mentions were the things that held it all together.

Sometimes you can only make sense of books and stories (and life) backwards...

International Day of Peace

Once more we celebrate and promote the UN's International Day of Peace on 21 September in a few days time.

We have sent our peace pieces out into the world; and have hung our weathergrams in Maleny and at the cottage.

My Dad collects these cutlery holders for us all through the year so we can re-use and recycle them as peace weathergrams.

This year the notion of us always dreaming of peace (wishing, hoping) made me think about these words I wrote some time ago, that suggests we can meet in the middle somewhere.  That whilst we are dreaming, so too is peace and we really want to get together. 

We have hung weather grams and peace doves in our magnolia tree at the front of our Maleny home; and have brought them with us to hang at the cottage too.