tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9729530773716631432024-02-23T14:27:57.595-08:00THE COAL TIP STUDIO YSTALYFERAPaul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.comBlogger76125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-23798184356344284572024-01-09T06:09:00.000-08:002024-01-11T06:00:05.246-08:00Working and walking things out<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJA-Ao__fPvhTzZfvdYcDHSANqbXEQbt9-ubqv9jReQCW9RtIB4S0_UqTgdiAwtUJ6l0mNpjxbD16mHvY8kIYbHrcjTXERkcrtjLSU3jWz-TIqX6bOkPl82VtXisFo8mTagHz43xD8wgAEti00eLoUTybNqb08iUaoUAWFoZtAJthum6tnvDlMuohTcwY/s4000/20240105_105012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJA-Ao__fPvhTzZfvdYcDHSANqbXEQbt9-ubqv9jReQCW9RtIB4S0_UqTgdiAwtUJ6l0mNpjxbD16mHvY8kIYbHrcjTXERkcrtjLSU3jWz-TIqX6bOkPl82VtXisFo8mTagHz43xD8wgAEti00eLoUTybNqb08iUaoUAWFoZtAJthum6tnvDlMuohTcwY/s320/20240105_105012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>The only way I can see beyond the heavy sadness and anger I carry in me for the dividing and othering that humans do in order to protect boundaries and the notion of ownership of bits of the planet, is to ironically walk on the local bits of the planet that though 'owned' have rights of access (though many of these are being lost and contested).</p><p>As artists or makers or poets,writers or musicians, we cannot separate ourselves from the realities of what's going on globally, the internet makes sure that our concerns keep being stoked (rightly) but at the same time it can be crippling creatively and have a negative effect on our health. Being on and in a landscape, moving through it, having eyes to see pattern, light, movement and ears to hear the sound of the wind the call of a raven the fall of water; somehow changes the heart and mind. It allows us to grieve but also connect with deeper time. I find myself sometimes in a state akin to prayer where I'm calling from deep within for an open heart and eyes to what is more than us and our competitive nature. We need to keep moving, to work things out, to find meaning. There are many humans doing this, crossing boundaries reaching out beyond western societal norms, and this action gives me that old fashioned thing called hope.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnDtDSOzSLZUcXnkgIxN1y_Oq3NNd0M8xUH6OdGpjCkiCzBJj10akFp3Ylq8KAI5UbIuyYMPMWdf0AYy9Cqrb-RLQS6E3K3tr9VoQT7TO3fhOhrVYcPKTUfUCsZpDqmDtCS4p48QltTyPj3dS7YRjJV4Nz81QeZ5qRi_JdsdHNfK8_PN3UL9j49Y2HBfo/s2550/original_05a78eb7-0946-4e70-a0f0-1422eadb999b_20240105_114510.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2174" data-original-width="2550" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnDtDSOzSLZUcXnkgIxN1y_Oq3NNd0M8xUH6OdGpjCkiCzBJj10akFp3Ylq8KAI5UbIuyYMPMWdf0AYy9Cqrb-RLQS6E3K3tr9VoQT7TO3fhOhrVYcPKTUfUCsZpDqmDtCS4p48QltTyPj3dS7YRjJV4Nz81QeZ5qRi_JdsdHNfK8_PN3UL9j49Y2HBfo/s320/original_05a78eb7-0946-4e70-a0f0-1422eadb999b_20240105_114510.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I work things out by walking and sitting and sketching, bringing those sketches back to a room in our house I grandly call a studio. The making of drawings and bricolage is part of this working out. A process of learning how to see and feel the land.</p><p>I'm reading 'Mountains of the Mind' by Robert Macfarlane, and in that book he links the moving through a landscape with the expansion in our understanding of geology and deep time. I suppose for me and others of us, making and marking is a similar thing to physically exploring a space. There are many artists who work in this way, it is a visceral process that links our mineral bodies to the mineral geological landscape.</p><p>I think I might have a bit of Paul Nash in my blood somewhere, having recently revisited his work, along with those artists around in the early 20th Century. I'm completely out of step with current art movements in terms of what I'm producing now, but I can still enjoy the 'new' and learn from it. Opening up has been a wonderful thing.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYqhiML0lqGB0BnTH8HqSAUAaQ7Yjqoq05Md7Kn1XyhipQQdPgLYNmWrR0DWUXR1aJ66EBkyEUwPH4uOhlom56h0y6RY-slAJuFNrcPL9gsSfhACJ6Uru5bplM-SnnKBlc13BsKxChZD4X7y5jK-rFTXczqu8lzZEvSzTtB9gbMXJAyzVLE9i8y2TxdEk/s4000/20240105_130513.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYqhiML0lqGB0BnTH8HqSAUAaQ7Yjqoq05Md7Kn1XyhipQQdPgLYNmWrR0DWUXR1aJ66EBkyEUwPH4uOhlom56h0y6RY-slAJuFNrcPL9gsSfhACJ6Uru5bplM-SnnKBlc13BsKxChZD4X7y5jK-rFTXczqu8lzZEvSzTtB9gbMXJAyzVLE9i8y2TxdEk/s320/20240105_130513.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWQyo7kr_HlR8rE_nyCVy8nOSxYxfh4vZ5HxuOXc4KztZoXm7zs6bLS7NhKu6Ll4cL1w1D-SOV49o4P7tgLngcikJ11hZZf23pf28j20_xs807feAgrq5wY4DAUPcfrHi4d95xvfHfYuN6XJQ7u8cwXcFciJIQ7PnjKYHEmP0-ONFNyh_KRsXy-mBc1U/s3221/20240105_155012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMt8yHwz79VfrF1Eqio8zbDEP31ak5Vr6kxk2P9JfvVz6JgwaL7CdvfQa_S1ssxIoaz3_r4iFzlgcI9ub1XESGl4G4NJG34ME53uYlN_cdWshZKOqeTf5wEsvTNBcPTmPrqg0I6llgQyUH_AS6Oj_HOVYBLWr_spAZEfoFCsy45dWJyZkBonLeAzWKKm8/s3326/20231231_120233.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2353" data-original-width="3326" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMt8yHwz79VfrF1Eqio8zbDEP31ak5Vr6kxk2P9JfvVz6JgwaL7CdvfQa_S1ssxIoaz3_r4iFzlgcI9ub1XESGl4G4NJG34ME53uYlN_cdWshZKOqeTf5wEsvTNBcPTmPrqg0I6llgQyUH_AS6Oj_HOVYBLWr_spAZEfoFCsy45dWJyZkBonLeAzWKKm8/s320/20231231_120233.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Paul</p>Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-42146192764167939302023-10-04T06:01:00.027-07:002023-10-20T03:23:08.592-07:00 Conundrums<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBMl00W8dBCcVb-LIFU_ZEBDavZpLliWh8D6SQ6rJad3Yq3wGIhEji4cOlNsrEfcCBbcOJRo5DLbCQMxaIzXddXphSdB5Xl4iYc5VwoYsaXhbsYLBiBNY1kA6LCkF6j1Wb6aI0NgVtM8bbWakbRLPk8Pl3V-h9TCP5cl6QY19th5woyvZFtp1QVHXnTW0/s3934/20230929_103114.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2950" data-original-width="3934" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBMl00W8dBCcVb-LIFU_ZEBDavZpLliWh8D6SQ6rJad3Yq3wGIhEji4cOlNsrEfcCBbcOJRo5DLbCQMxaIzXddXphSdB5Xl4iYc5VwoYsaXhbsYLBiBNY1kA6LCkF6j1Wb6aI0NgVtM8bbWakbRLPk8Pl3V-h9TCP5cl6QY19th5woyvZFtp1QVHXnTW0/s320/20230929_103114.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I've been sitting with the dirt, on the dirt, in the dirt. Trying to dissolve into the land, much like the detritus of human industry. I've been noticing more and more how our discarded lands and trash slowly become absorbed, colonised and recycled in the relentless machine of life. Everything decays and returns to the dust it was made from, no matter what the matter, even if it is slow to degrade, degrade it eventually will into constituents that reform and recreate long long after we are gone.</p><p>I've always felt contained within the label of 'working class'. I have worked in adequately paid work all my life until recent retirement and illness. During those working years I continued to make drawings and writings mainly in my diaries, from which I extracted bits and pieces every now and then to turn into artworks.</p><p>But why does a human make stuff ? What is the point of picking up stones, twigs, shells, leaves, bats, bees etc and incorporating them into collages ? What is this weird mystery of a process ? And does the awkwardness of the work made preclude the title 'artist' ?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-RbGDbtQm1IOWRjojSbvNnLrVIcitH9T9LB6qz6cSBmOkPBW-soekUwIHCYr50CG_LbrRJizqLDuCjE6FjtWYqrhbgQZqIwL2tR-KzTTEKFUJgh3JgfU2iRCBuV5lXufQyW6tJ1kMwbsIhpLO9gtZumyt3eEG-O2QoR7WkVsckt_Db_EEKBnhp9PpXQ/s4000/20231003_145209.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm-RbGDbtQm1IOWRjojSbvNnLrVIcitH9T9LB6qz6cSBmOkPBW-soekUwIHCYr50CG_LbrRJizqLDuCjE6FjtWYqrhbgQZqIwL2tR-KzTTEKFUJgh3JgfU2iRCBuV5lXufQyW6tJ1kMwbsIhpLO9gtZumyt3eEG-O2QoR7WkVsckt_Db_EEKBnhp9PpXQ/s320/20231003_145209.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>I'm asking myself these questions because I've found it very difficult to break into the 'art world'.</p><p>I've applied for all sorts of things from residencies to gallery representation with very little success. I did my MA as a route back into the rare atmosphere of exploration, and it was wonderful, but two years on and I'm back beavering away in my studio making stuff. I'm too old and tired for all the chasing that seems to be required. It takes all the energy away from making and seeing.</p><p>I make things, and watch things and live the wind and rain, coal tips and quarries. I make things from discarded things, old frames, old materials that I've had for years and mix them up with plaster drawings/paintings all done usually while listening to music. Perhaps they are too problematic, too fragile?</p><p>I'm trying to ask questions of the land we have lost connection with. I'm trying to hug her/they/them.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHXsQn_WmzZ6SDwynAFq2IQacieZpqtqDfvO94oLUEucu_p4jxw5pCNz8QKTMHA3-iRRI_S3fM1pVq7yKPG2Z-2ed83mDKyk0jrziolzwi4ck_7Uft266n0kMK5cxYxCv5RfZ-C4RNuEsJKl5vyaGLY0jkbvV8aUFPg2H05SChCQV-Hlg6C-INlc1lrc/s4000/20231004_122847.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHXsQn_WmzZ6SDwynAFq2IQacieZpqtqDfvO94oLUEucu_p4jxw5pCNz8QKTMHA3-iRRI_S3fM1pVq7yKPG2Z-2ed83mDKyk0jrziolzwi4ck_7Uft266n0kMK5cxYxCv5RfZ-C4RNuEsJKl5vyaGLY0jkbvV8aUFPg2H05SChCQV-Hlg6C-INlc1lrc/s320/20231004_122847.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2SidMdFZmCknWHdRkQ4nIcyt9WauEXBEhxtmUAnvRpxJTe8ZPhjhGT0kF6rX4KZIvG7Fmy9UMG3w3WTVtP898CalQ4K3nMuq6_RFtOEn5VHNVl9cKslL6YlvIGPAtq5YCb7rZLPU6wm5gFS5gZp5gzJiDbHFHBUoH3qIgjPd-ySeQsyEmNUdD9TyUIdU/s3500/20231004_130008.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3500" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2SidMdFZmCknWHdRkQ4nIcyt9WauEXBEhxtmUAnvRpxJTe8ZPhjhGT0kF6rX4KZIvG7Fmy9UMG3w3WTVtP898CalQ4K3nMuq6_RFtOEn5VHNVl9cKslL6YlvIGPAtq5YCb7rZLPU6wm5gFS5gZp5gzJiDbHFHBUoH3qIgjPd-ySeQsyEmNUdD9TyUIdU/s320/20231004_130008.jpg" width="274" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tareni tip as a representation of under and over and all life in between</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>My process is slow, contemplative and perhaps a bit strange. I'm trying to draw you in to what's beneath the surface of everything, I'm trying to get closer and closer with each thing I make, and, and it will all fragment easily and return to its constituent parts, just like me!</p><p><br /></p><p>Post Script : I've had some work accepted in two exhibitions next month, which has lifted me out of that horrible loop of self doubt and imposter syndrome that so many of us feel. Thank you to the selectors at Mission Gallery Swansea and Y Gaer Brecon. This is a lesson for all of us artists, it is true that just because your work isn't selected doesn't mean you are no good ! Keep going !</p><p>Paul</p>Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-13024874443160029802023-01-18T05:20:00.000-08:002023-01-18T05:20:11.405-08:00Up and down. Mind, body, and ego fluctuating with the land I walk on.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBAb3wrS0UWODdQcd6iaZvjo0Ks-r15zCnoccUMxh_RTyORPejxbDHG6JlSD4CrtUl2F7XbtVfvM2HrY5SVZ41dwYA1ypVygZO84cSvVlKYPTLmvExsibx16l0LuKuVOB1OwjE3a_iB_ExJllLlsbm-NQjiIyTCtIUXRoHsyqBaeGXxAvMdi2R7Rw/s3491/20230116_150254.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2957" data-original-width="3491" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBAb3wrS0UWODdQcd6iaZvjo0Ks-r15zCnoccUMxh_RTyORPejxbDHG6JlSD4CrtUl2F7XbtVfvM2HrY5SVZ41dwYA1ypVygZO84cSvVlKYPTLmvExsibx16l0LuKuVOB1OwjE3a_iB_ExJllLlsbm-NQjiIyTCtIUXRoHsyqBaeGXxAvMdi2R7Rw/s320/20230116_150254.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>What days are these ! Torrents like water flow through me. A kind of electricity mirroring the storms, these flows are sometimes of pure joy, other times doubt and guilt.<p></p><p>Perhaps it is true that we are of the earth, of its evolving, changing, living nature. I feel my emotions and body change with the seasons and the availability of light, and I know others of us feel it too. Walking and observing - feeling wind, rain, frost, and the brief warmth of the sun ties me to the rest of the life that lives and dies in this valley.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8teb7fUkw9mIVmrtXcMVpOz0spfk-_atHlwFZ-wOk6c6VAFlfyaRw44jpoznRthXhUws_wpq-9WK4x5mi10l6qELQl9u9m6XoVj9THCgn37E9U_R_FPflEGzWV62R8nocUUtXc5Qf_-TTMfamOoprSCGerzqf_jao1uwV1g35w1xlvUjVis8vSOTG/s4000/20221220_104854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8teb7fUkw9mIVmrtXcMVpOz0spfk-_atHlwFZ-wOk6c6VAFlfyaRw44jpoznRthXhUws_wpq-9WK4x5mi10l6qELQl9u9m6XoVj9THCgn37E9U_R_FPflEGzWV62R8nocUUtXc5Qf_-TTMfamOoprSCGerzqf_jao1uwV1g35w1xlvUjVis8vSOTG/s320/20221220_104854.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />I've been working on some paintings of raw clay and watercolour on plaster that are attempts to express my mineral bodily link to the post industrial sites in this valley. Attempts at a visual expression of how thin/liminal these places are. History speaks up from the disturbed ground. The hills and mountains are making statements.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUdYA_j3hVI8qIxaGEz4yOgTEButWQJxWeG2ny30c42EXn-r4da-LlI8USN5a4fwk13Pz7C8uaxn6Vk_DQvHgY-4rNIUT5M0iCW4FzN1tQi2AlnG68z009sbTzjF1yA94NJX3YgiXjz40ebazIzJW_3i_Bf1OyilERe_68zlVYVDDil9eubvRWUHV/s3854/20230105_131731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3854" data-original-width="2959" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUdYA_j3hVI8qIxaGEz4yOgTEButWQJxWeG2ny30c42EXn-r4da-LlI8USN5a4fwk13Pz7C8uaxn6Vk_DQvHgY-4rNIUT5M0iCW4FzN1tQi2AlnG68z009sbTzjF1yA94NJX3YgiXjz40ebazIzJW_3i_Bf1OyilERe_68zlVYVDDil9eubvRWUHV/s320/20230105_131731.jpg" width="246" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p></p><p>10/11/22</p><p>Heights to lows, I'm not sitting well in my skin.</p><p>The wind blows around the house off the distant channel </p><p>funneled up the valley to the hills</p><p>it shudders the tiles and makes a sea of the trees</p><p>roaring waves breaking on a shore of branches</p><p>fox and badger hunker down</p><p>silent owls give voles and rats a rest</p><p>and the dogs, like me are in their beds</p><p>dreaming.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>11/11/22</p><p>Unsuccessful! I keep on applying for residencies and failing. I'm just too old for all this rejection/application cycle, it's exhausting !</p><p>13/11/22</p><p>A bright morning. Woken by a pair of raven rattling overhead, overheard through the skylight window. A cool night, condensation lightly runs on the inside of the window edges. Golden light. I feel the liveliness of life again - it stirs through my body.</p><p>In the bright morning, we saw textures, diverse plants and jewel like colours. Sky, rock, water. Is loving a ravaged landscape possible ? I plant my feet and my minerality in this valley. The Upper Tawe Valley is the place my footsteps make their home, particularly Penwyllt, it has a very spiritual, rooted, connected affect on my soul. I don't know why, I just feel it.</p><p>Edges, living edges. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2H2ibEPCmbtKTHhWUv8vldVDcciCAx0njLGZ3DKWWVxSz1JHHKGFFLckmXxyxwg_rYjtCIBZMEcSsnghPzdILHWGjtDE84yHLahzTUFWo8zBxd4-L1aLG9xABQhbjXNepNTaWxfbmXeLIwKldUd0cUHkxFj9mivB5Y0b4jDa6EF9as25JvL7Wk3D6/s4000/20221220_104751.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2H2ibEPCmbtKTHhWUv8vldVDcciCAx0njLGZ3DKWWVxSz1JHHKGFFLckmXxyxwg_rYjtCIBZMEcSsnghPzdILHWGjtDE84yHLahzTUFWo8zBxd4-L1aLG9xABQhbjXNepNTaWxfbmXeLIwKldUd0cUHkxFj9mivB5Y0b4jDa6EF9as25JvL7Wk3D6/s320/20221220_104751.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOaFa3bWQ7Le8x7IOmmofDk-o3F_tYrrDfV_JB4vM2BJn-Q-aQn0xhnrPP_ClGtw-QJfev-TGzcRngMOeoymyH3ZDsjI6DkdUAH6_q6z6-Rb61_vN_cudhSkLNAgw0sngLzaqfWmQS42P9NbQU6QMoz6PWVflyAau5yLOUjD85q-H_ogXadUuA4jSt/s4000/20221220_104431.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOaFa3bWQ7Le8x7IOmmofDk-o3F_tYrrDfV_JB4vM2BJn-Q-aQn0xhnrPP_ClGtw-QJfev-TGzcRngMOeoymyH3ZDsjI6DkdUAH6_q6z6-Rb61_vN_cudhSkLNAgw0sngLzaqfWmQS42P9NbQU6QMoz6PWVflyAau5yLOUjD85q-H_ogXadUuA4jSt/s320/20221220_104431.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWtXnp9ffyMhg1nY4Og9-EajwXB8SE-FScxNuJXcokusREspWO2S9hiwDaUSa4DBccnR0Sza7HPJPF-Sgx2j7Q7FfPbe1H_L0Yz_wOc7jDBGu8l6GzZCtMU8n0wnmPJOJA7eYZYkfwq44sdTebUyWgWFqekgYcSENRU7DSXGG0zfCTU6p18KmZYKg/s4000/20221220_104800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWtXnp9ffyMhg1nY4Og9-EajwXB8SE-FScxNuJXcokusREspWO2S9hiwDaUSa4DBccnR0Sza7HPJPF-Sgx2j7Q7FfPbe1H_L0Yz_wOc7jDBGu8l6GzZCtMU8n0wnmPJOJA7eYZYkfwq44sdTebUyWgWFqekgYcSENRU7DSXGG0zfCTU6p18KmZYKg/s320/20221220_104800.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3tnXraI1Qkjh48km5oJ9QRxWro_WsXJ0HH_xKCse5clDiTlCi94oCjzH0hPZy-nKZuII23bscZbPZazTq-Zez7TSQQ2RxDxIRoxrWodCI305Hdyvw2NK2OT71SNeVaZi08Q_C5w2sY-NRsPLOGhGjx_UK6pK2iovwxVY2VZ-BEg-0gWVYuzjkCZU/s3599/20221205_114551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3599" data-original-width="2484" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3tnXraI1Qkjh48km5oJ9QRxWro_WsXJ0HH_xKCse5clDiTlCi94oCjzH0hPZy-nKZuII23bscZbPZazTq-Zez7TSQQ2RxDxIRoxrWodCI305Hdyvw2NK2OT71SNeVaZi08Q_C5w2sY-NRsPLOGhGjx_UK6pK2iovwxVY2VZ-BEg-0gWVYuzjkCZU/s320/20221205_114551.jpg" width="221" /></a></div><br /><p>5/12/22</p><p>Suddenly the energy returns, it comes from a place outside of my small self/ego and seems to speak to something deep within my body. I know that this is not just my experience, but is the living experience of many humans that contemplate life beyond the mundane and manufactured. </p><p>I watched a video about the work of Cecilia Vicuna who, in her teenage years (like me and many more of us) saw that the life of the planet was being depleted by the actions of humans. She was born in 1948 in Chile. She calls her work precarious because it is fragile and vulnerable - that echoes my love of using plaster for the same reason. She focuses on what is dying, I do too, but also on what is living beyond us and our individualism. </p><p>There seem to be so many 'dead' humans in positions of power. They are dead to life more abundant, to the more than human life. Whilst the dead remain in power, they will continue to drag death behind them.</p><p>'Soul is the seed of life. Feelings, emotions, sentiments, intuition and reason pass through soul and manifest in the world....It is not only humans who have soul; animals, birds, insects and microbes have soul. Soil, trees, rocks and rivers have soul......The world is how you see it and what you make of it.' Satish Kumar.</p><p>13/12/22 </p><p>I stood on the frozen 'ground' of the spoil heaps of the redundant Tir Bach Colliery looking toward the quarried and mined hill of Varteg opposite, a weak sun hanging low and watery over its top. The euphoric sense of matter - spirit - universe of yesterday replaced with a deep sadness, a lament that this remnant of a past extinction, this coal, helped to fuel our colonial ambitions, made some humans wealthy then left both the land and the communities here depleted of purpose. Then I see silver birch, hazel, willow in the low winter sun and realise it is a landscape in the process of healing itself.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvpJSLY0AdBnx4dEFcJbmdeDJtxWfkJlUmBAt6IV9I_b8MgvspmXDCbC_XVtf__nZtD-VZswMkuq7rU0ZSVKmaMLdzKmcI8d_9UZr0m5bKCpfzwv6dYF2TwE0OkPvr_PqqOQnDBt35l_tldiPUac-WN04UnSsbE5YvT7S9pkEbZwYk2LZ8OE4cus5/s4000/20221212_140815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvpJSLY0AdBnx4dEFcJbmdeDJtxWfkJlUmBAt6IV9I_b8MgvspmXDCbC_XVtf__nZtD-VZswMkuq7rU0ZSVKmaMLdzKmcI8d_9UZr0m5bKCpfzwv6dYF2TwE0OkPvr_PqqOQnDBt35l_tldiPUac-WN04UnSsbE5YvT7S9pkEbZwYk2LZ8OE4cus5/s320/20221212_140815.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPHnfKseUoRXD6rRCmvP_WQy51MlXfgfmxYUR4lZqXTdTIGIfyxO9UnrYDsZ9Zlyt6oF_Ncp804QS7EMu4vUZBzPxsdrMyFk8zDDvGiH5wtpE8zrp2avj82c_H0V-r0-qAVdxJ0tgSqBC9HwQfJqgOOM5xZ-Lo2dAdFXMPcJI4jhVBdNQOnr50K_b/s5665/IMG_7078.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3744" data-original-width="5665" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUPHnfKseUoRXD6rRCmvP_WQy51MlXfgfmxYUR4lZqXTdTIGIfyxO9UnrYDsZ9Zlyt6oF_Ncp804QS7EMu4vUZBzPxsdrMyFk8zDDvGiH5wtpE8zrp2avj82c_H0V-r0-qAVdxJ0tgSqBC9HwQfJqgOOM5xZ-Lo2dAdFXMPcJI4jhVBdNQOnr50K_b/s320/IMG_7078.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ne4aGrMwqK4vfjVzSn-nXKUn8e7rqdtJjOS4mLbbtVN3slVjve8QAmlC_b8ID1L2ExcOip46qrQNQVzbv_po3w4mDvfpJWvuP9LQlP_GU1Q3VJwlUHHxedk4X2XNV_1gvVMLRwtWvGRbqFngwC-YYkO6NhrUwUjqw1mmnZbjE5EWr5ZTsIXJWW7V/s4000/20221210_103408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Ne4aGrMwqK4vfjVzSn-nXKUn8e7rqdtJjOS4mLbbtVN3slVjve8QAmlC_b8ID1L2ExcOip46qrQNQVzbv_po3w4mDvfpJWvuP9LQlP_GU1Q3VJwlUHHxedk4X2XNV_1gvVMLRwtWvGRbqFngwC-YYkO6NhrUwUjqw1mmnZbjE5EWr5ZTsIXJWW7V/s320/20221210_103408.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSAiztP8qjq_1mB7LZBbu-ZpB-Sz_5gyA958aDnMlldnwbxdsVq8ZsE8ZUZBl6OEGU4SPZuAkEY1R9_TCpStm0kWmE925Ui-T7Ij3Lb5H24eVELe-RHX3YuV481S7eNFD3bgFXLLYfBkOtOaDUzxmSOz2RHhU05TnfLv8iYm4cxYIb39uYlmpHO6f/s3091/20230109_144133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3091" data-original-width="2867" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSAiztP8qjq_1mB7LZBbu-ZpB-Sz_5gyA958aDnMlldnwbxdsVq8ZsE8ZUZBl6OEGU4SPZuAkEY1R9_TCpStm0kWmE925Ui-T7Ij3Lb5H24eVELe-RHX3YuV481S7eNFD3bgFXLLYfBkOtOaDUzxmSOz2RHhU05TnfLv8iYm4cxYIb39uYlmpHO6f/s320/20230109_144133.jpg" width="297" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p>Paul.</p>Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-39870337819374685742022-11-04T07:00:00.000-07:002022-11-04T07:00:03.130-07:00 Small observations of a large universe<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTyUh7mqZSc8MC3Y5KcPM5pTwMC8BKKvFVbO9oJ5vhLsO8gpE1akQagdTfURAORB__44pGXVNN31KKOSlN2jBMxmTIuYdBIZkwYyYlTxPf6wXhHvZFY-aIPEWtlGlE-Pe4B0jkj81Cse2pgIvet96wib-u3xjIwWHMZW-qEx8yc7XNJW_szeDmRyF3/s3957/20221101_142323.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2968" data-original-width="3957" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTyUh7mqZSc8MC3Y5KcPM5pTwMC8BKKvFVbO9oJ5vhLsO8gpE1akQagdTfURAORB__44pGXVNN31KKOSlN2jBMxmTIuYdBIZkwYyYlTxPf6wXhHvZFY-aIPEWtlGlE-Pe4B0jkj81Cse2pgIvet96wib-u3xjIwWHMZW-qEx8yc7XNJW_szeDmRyF3/s320/20221101_142323.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><br /></p><p>15/10/22</p><p>A blue sky with cold butterflies looking for warmth</p><p>Ravens, gravel throated call from valley to hill.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1dyaleuMyc_kTN_gcVhddd0swhU-bVFiUrZ8UlAWIDv-WkPKIGIS-T7loDd9GBF6-4JENO9jhREdocIJrkHTk3d61AYsAV0Bf-IHqFBWZJmalnAkvRRBtgeXR0ckFCrCPxlQFYNeob0vgr0hqyrPMkbTTUpgumZcHibJ1peQ_KSUxsSMzz6PThw-/s5923/IMG_5916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5923" data-original-width="3869" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1dyaleuMyc_kTN_gcVhddd0swhU-bVFiUrZ8UlAWIDv-WkPKIGIS-T7loDd9GBF6-4JENO9jhREdocIJrkHTk3d61AYsAV0Bf-IHqFBWZJmalnAkvRRBtgeXR0ckFCrCPxlQFYNeob0vgr0hqyrPMkbTTUpgumZcHibJ1peQ_KSUxsSMzz6PThw-/s320/IMG_5916.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>22/10/22</p><p>A man chases another man down the hill waving a baseball bat.</p><p><br /></p><p>25/10/22</p><p><br /></p><p>Partial solar eclipse</p><p>Politicians with small thoughts - hearts fixed on economies, boundaries, weapons and violence</p><p>holding power , unable to see through the illusion</p><p>A slight darkening</p><p>Humanity does not live on economies alone, but on every word that proceeds from the mouth of all that lives</p><p>under our feet, in the air and the cold bright water.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfnE_c1LnbrIoudoz1F9b3nrxjtHL3XAcEMMPphgDuFg_Xc1JOQRVu4I5o2C1vkRyGJfyX7NmolR58x4QkjiTyZHvmjvdqXBRQj5J2P7sLRBQ9EXhAi6yPh6ystNI1M591Ay-QO6716DZHxXVT-2uy661RZFw2HWQb3vjGfzsGKls68Ee_dRP_N3Fm/s4000/20221101_101540.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfnE_c1LnbrIoudoz1F9b3nrxjtHL3XAcEMMPphgDuFg_Xc1JOQRVu4I5o2C1vkRyGJfyX7NmolR58x4QkjiTyZHvmjvdqXBRQj5J2P7sLRBQ9EXhAi6yPh6ystNI1M591Ay-QO6716DZHxXVT-2uy661RZFw2HWQb3vjGfzsGKls68Ee_dRP_N3Fm/s320/20221101_101540.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRviN6krXMH7263KHLuNZRby-bf7F2nup_hncXktaw1Aj-7A38U0qE5XsRb6aNy5S7g-DYYma5bQ_8RSJYNhXb2JFoqnEQJsP9dVuIZTj9kVyfMRhV9TgZgli19H40TFhbjNaVf5TgbksW1Oh56dCwJRleoTGX8C0qntt3rN_XGyIxjvILDIQdzVvL/s3681/20221102_104527.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3681" data-original-width="2806" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRviN6krXMH7263KHLuNZRby-bf7F2nup_hncXktaw1Aj-7A38U0qE5XsRb6aNy5S7g-DYYma5bQ_8RSJYNhXb2JFoqnEQJsP9dVuIZTj9kVyfMRhV9TgZgli19H40TFhbjNaVf5TgbksW1Oh56dCwJRleoTGX8C0qntt3rN_XGyIxjvILDIQdzVvL/s320/20221102_104527.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>1/11/22</p><p>Prophecy</p><p>A song is sung from the valley head</p><p>drifting down to the sea</p><p>a South Wales song </p><p>of coal waste wanting trees</p><p><br /></p><p>A song of rewilding</p><p>blackberry bramble cwtching oak, birch, willow and hazel</p><p>She sings to the river</p><p>of reeded edges</p><p>of meanders</p><p>of inter-tidal marshes</p><p>of salmon no longer impeded</p><p>of sewin</p><p>and otters on the Twrch</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZCP0Rs82H6_jXWD_Ue1jjMPAkO9hHoqBBLJ5O1cZddZVQjAoXXoeuPOOV8BXaxwEUsCk6JTFq0OEZtJPIP54EjAr-wS41NLXIJodSdKmWl5rMj_gmnv-uHM7lj6s_YghmGa7ISmrid_EYWLaK5i4IAyg40icQvaWXFzgGvISG_KxUmI_7Kq_TsTVW/s3509/20221101_101620.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3509" data-original-width="2692" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZCP0Rs82H6_jXWD_Ue1jjMPAkO9hHoqBBLJ5O1cZddZVQjAoXXoeuPOOV8BXaxwEUsCk6JTFq0OEZtJPIP54EjAr-wS41NLXIJodSdKmWl5rMj_gmnv-uHM7lj6s_YghmGa7ISmrid_EYWLaK5i4IAyg40icQvaWXFzgGvISG_KxUmI_7Kq_TsTVW/s320/20221101_101620.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwQ37QZBGGArrJvATOtNztbq3XSdeLN0Ho9bsQ8QwqsknoIVRHL1B55qgXXpMhC_xD6RkNmv4Y1iqyOgyvUWHEcSKJHcB-bYSghKzhvkbEvj4LqhhJ0GCRViUzVwKfHltAW39VAni7HBaPv_ZjW4-eiDuiTsMUO-ov4AqQXY7voJWfK4L54XAPlM7/s3832/20221103_112150.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2525" data-original-width="3832" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwQ37QZBGGArrJvATOtNztbq3XSdeLN0Ho9bsQ8QwqsknoIVRHL1B55qgXXpMhC_xD6RkNmv4Y1iqyOgyvUWHEcSKJHcB-bYSghKzhvkbEvj4LqhhJ0GCRViUzVwKfHltAW39VAni7HBaPv_ZjW4-eiDuiTsMUO-ov4AqQXY7voJWfK4L54XAPlM7/s320/20221103_112150.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>3/11/22</p><p>On Tuesday as part of the Environmental Justice Foundation 'People's COP 27', I listened to lawyers, scientists and activists discuss the urgency involved in stopping the leaders of the Northern Hemisphere continuing their dependency on fossil fuels. The speakers highlighted that the economic costs in cleaning up and putting bandaids on the increasing damage to communities will eventually catch up with them.</p><p>Last night, we had torrential rain again. This is happening more and more frequently. It overwhelmed Victorian infrastructure, washed out roads and drains and flooded properties. There has been very little investment by government in helping councils deal with the new reality of our climate. It is in denial as it continues to hold on to oil and gas instead of investing in renewable energy and working now to mitigate flood risks and updating infrastructure. </p><p>This is the reality for us, but it is far far worse in the Southern Hemisphere where promises of financial help to build resilience have been reneged on. They don't want charity, they want recognition that the damage caused is directly linked to the former and current greed of the North, and point out that investment in the affected regions in the Southern Hemisphere will benefit all.</p><p>This is a global issue, this is the earth telling us we need to change.</p><p><br /></p><p>4/11/22</p><p>Today I read this:</p><p>'.... The problems of a Western worldview are obvious. The way of life demonstrated by Western peoples leads to alienation from the Earth, from others, and from all of creation. This lifestyle creates a false bubble called " Western civilization," which people in the West think will protect them from future calamity. This false hope is detached from all experience and reality.</p><p>..... How do we avoid the impending disaster brought on by a settler lifestyle of living ON the land and against nature ? The answer is simple : we learn to live WITH nature. ' </p><p>R Woodley, Becoming Rooted ( Broadleaf Books 2022)</p>Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-34433323120025251262022-08-22T07:02:00.000-07:002022-08-22T07:02:56.620-07:00'Nothing appears in the world without risk and tension' Dr Bayo Akomolafe <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqRHJpMJRTpSN1OQ5GCcAuEtEt0rV2_wk2fzUfTQ5TdADidlXSgT87lgDFLdzQnGeqO0-kkBRCll7M4_8NfhqAdeHPuoxDoruIKzAA1ve4a74btY15PFuIf85phwq1mQQuqJkxwdMB4tCyqFGn3-6Ww6rM5lMpfofdVfBhdcJdkMOCW2HylxRYmuAt/s3456/20220821_105517~2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqRHJpMJRTpSN1OQ5GCcAuEtEt0rV2_wk2fzUfTQ5TdADidlXSgT87lgDFLdzQnGeqO0-kkBRCll7M4_8NfhqAdeHPuoxDoruIKzAA1ve4a74btY15PFuIf85phwq1mQQuqJkxwdMB4tCyqFGn3-6Ww6rM5lMpfofdVfBhdcJdkMOCW2HylxRYmuAt/s320/20220821_105517~2.jpg" width="278" /></a></div><p><br /></p>I came across this tree trunk standing in a country park, it was marked with a faded cross, sealing its fate.<p></p><p>This death of a tree, a totem to fragility and a reminder of how tenuous life is.</p><p>I've been working on a series of bricolages dealing with how we as humans embody the world of more than human. How we have worked with and against the land. I want now more than ever to 'feel' alive. To sense, and to see beyond me.</p><p>I started work on 'The beautiful, terrible evidence that we have lived' a few weeks before my heart attack, so it kind of holds the reality of how the body can suddenly suffer and potentially die. I am in tension , and that tension is living..</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6xlKwQXhnpyOeyDrQfZ64rZoatWIXVYvrohYykeC7GgJBb5JgKBifCMwq5rp7yTD9LAxjkTjWZLtFHDJ4B8zLnRc0f4BH9K995a0OzxJCYEtSEub8rlaTQjAEUAsdKqq0D_sCiNNbVr5hLo6vaZKBx-lZIWuOztWwsAcuRLGBVPxSu2Z3GGe9w9AT/s4000/20220821_144853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6xlKwQXhnpyOeyDrQfZ64rZoatWIXVYvrohYykeC7GgJBb5JgKBifCMwq5rp7yTD9LAxjkTjWZLtFHDJ4B8zLnRc0f4BH9K995a0OzxJCYEtSEub8rlaTQjAEUAsdKqq0D_sCiNNbVr5hLo6vaZKBx-lZIWuOztWwsAcuRLGBVPxSu2Z3GGe9w9AT/s320/20220821_144853.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2P3MhdrCQzIPjBG3js32oFxhYJYSh9mll_4HfV94nnlUyxvCdZKfhxmdMcXkdbCRfOcRYhJGaCdRkRV34DGKwTBI48nVx3NoqmOu06fkCp1Ibtd39ROpymZVnCVXrQRyP6sico0QH1VgAp7AE2_mNdsXGik0LoH4NdwxYAAkZ6Q-qbVJjFdChYqu/s4000/20220821_144917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM2P3MhdrCQzIPjBG3js32oFxhYJYSh9mll_4HfV94nnlUyxvCdZKfhxmdMcXkdbCRfOcRYhJGaCdRkRV34DGKwTBI48nVx3NoqmOu06fkCp1Ibtd39ROpymZVnCVXrQRyP6sico0QH1VgAp7AE2_mNdsXGik0LoH4NdwxYAAkZ6Q-qbVJjFdChYqu/s320/20220821_144917.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoQXzuDDv4Sz9v-1mFFIOBNSxm6VUQOKJg-FxzdA8bLU0SIvDTKQCFA0Ppq1EUh5P3OTFbw2cwEoK-VofdOFNngM3-lAIS4FVU3CFaONG-nVWUM1EswzI_2st16j9q1DovvRiINy2ijq1GFLzubXESGU81q-h-nk4zBU2ywsgHV3UJoSZmV7zmdAK/s4000/20220821_144929.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoQXzuDDv4Sz9v-1mFFIOBNSxm6VUQOKJg-FxzdA8bLU0SIvDTKQCFA0Ppq1EUh5P3OTFbw2cwEoK-VofdOFNngM3-lAIS4FVU3CFaONG-nVWUM1EswzI_2st16j9q1DovvRiINy2ijq1GFLzubXESGU81q-h-nk4zBU2ywsgHV3UJoSZmV7zmdAK/s320/20220821_144929.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPOwghIMyQKcdNtOlBScX7vt1Okpm64kh9Hk6JRWL7yUjvZ598x1DIKpnAfbFd4jkYudDpwGfivtpLqDyvPts0U7A670AlwE2UjD8UC3mWVRbEKv4TotQGz2C6yb3VLNYaagZKoHKtPfkJWC42rFribVq_VCRHza6g5CogUSyPoEj8ds71o3nHYygg/s4000/20220821_144938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPOwghIMyQKcdNtOlBScX7vt1Okpm64kh9Hk6JRWL7yUjvZ598x1DIKpnAfbFd4jkYudDpwGfivtpLqDyvPts0U7A670AlwE2UjD8UC3mWVRbEKv4TotQGz2C6yb3VLNYaagZKoHKtPfkJWC42rFribVq_VCRHza6g5CogUSyPoEj8ds71o3nHYygg/s320/20220821_144938.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>I admit that finding purpose after a major life event is a bit of a frightening and doubtfilled journey, I've wondered about the point of making art. What would have happened to all this work if I had died ?</p><p>I have to live, and so I step back out into the land.</p><p><br /></p><p>I have also started to re-work my diptych about our mineral bodies and walking, and have decided to call it 'communion'.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwjvFoAFfrpWCjyPHJ2sRzObH4bLHAGG0nM-uODUfrikfr781fgP9EJaFc8XGvjAbw8eX3i-1p3QFxs3bilb-cBeiVFh-gonaurtSWgoqR0qcQ8zKgTnCP-tKvTHXLE8APeQW4YlEPeXPsi7MstkybxRc5Tvi5md3RrxQz47Om8O0fU5-HhooGDqHO/s3118/20220821_173313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3118" data-original-width="2826" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwjvFoAFfrpWCjyPHJ2sRzObH4bLHAGG0nM-uODUfrikfr781fgP9EJaFc8XGvjAbw8eX3i-1p3QFxs3bilb-cBeiVFh-gonaurtSWgoqR0qcQ8zKgTnCP-tKvTHXLE8APeQW4YlEPeXPsi7MstkybxRc5Tvi5md3RrxQz47Om8O0fU5-HhooGDqHO/s320/20220821_173313.jpg" width="290" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Paul.<br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-88182837420394652962022-07-19T04:51:00.008-07:002022-07-19T04:56:20.402-07:00Slipping into the landscape<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtP4Hu7yXy3O5EyXsjNH-YRlS6jLSbe4Y638S8lbv3qEge920SNQSpfGS0CIZ0UCeooZAuIdnxXJIo3ZY30kOUnTreLg_uCAcmDG74wZcHk0xfkduiBk-V7rNZC3Plo3yfvQghcOq-TxL3X9wX1O7tpvPUP8z2IauVZEz4MEYN_zgPbVDeIg_hyd_/s4000/20220718_105601.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtP4Hu7yXy3O5EyXsjNH-YRlS6jLSbe4Y638S8lbv3qEge920SNQSpfGS0CIZ0UCeooZAuIdnxXJIo3ZY30kOUnTreLg_uCAcmDG74wZcHk0xfkduiBk-V7rNZC3Plo3yfvQghcOq-TxL3X9wX1O7tpvPUP8z2IauVZEz4MEYN_zgPbVDeIg_hyd_/s320/20220718_105601.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Work in progress - underground, a seed<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>The hottest day. As we bake ourselves, we continue to live as though this will all go away. I slip into the landscape under the young trees of the 'Patches', a landscape ripped and raped but now softly rewilding.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMVgsSznbL3UpNiH05WMKiU8MTTP-SnH2DXT9bd742llZ0hDrpe8KapY8MD3TMZXD0EF7ctIDDH_1XShXuE1Gmia0SqC3k0hABIBropE0f1nQmPHULBhU5FB0d49WNWykEQ_GPMghrJxtwafwbNZoSfQE2YdZ-wDPhJq7WqxfOO0rvBrg9XpsNcjXc/s4000/20220718_084725.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMVgsSznbL3UpNiH05WMKiU8MTTP-SnH2DXT9bd742llZ0hDrpe8KapY8MD3TMZXD0EF7ctIDDH_1XShXuE1Gmia0SqC3k0hABIBropE0f1nQmPHULBhU5FB0d49WNWykEQ_GPMghrJxtwafwbNZoSfQE2YdZ-wDPhJq7WqxfOO0rvBrg9XpsNcjXc/s320/20220718_084725.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>This landscape is another voice telling us how to revive, it sings a quiet song, part lament and part invitation. Revival, a new heaven on a new earth. Stop the extraction, let the land, sea and air rest.</div><div><br /></div><div>Do we hear the voice of the land ? We have noticed the quietness of insects, the gradual disappearance of the hum and thrum of life. The insects return when the land is not intensively sprayed, cut, cultivated and dug up.</div><div><br /></div><div>The revival is right here speaking to us from the ground. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHsLjn9_kgBpoL388b64FGYGdWJR-E32UvUFeYBLVbmLibwZLz8H_R7PtZm5mo1kd8lNth9-QQidIMeba3IQ2CURPpwExMNONasjf-Dc1_r_4SyPWym5gdiwF_6qpsojxbYv8EWpbzbG6znBHVzz8EXDErKbBmo3k9F1NfK6s0zXFXXdpjOgEwcSK/s3276/20220718_164505.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3276" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHsLjn9_kgBpoL388b64FGYGdWJR-E32UvUFeYBLVbmLibwZLz8H_R7PtZm5mo1kd8lNth9-QQidIMeba3IQ2CURPpwExMNONasjf-Dc1_r_4SyPWym5gdiwF_6qpsojxbYv8EWpbzbG6znBHVzz8EXDErKbBmo3k9F1NfK6s0zXFXXdpjOgEwcSK/s320/20220718_164505.jpg" width="293" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carboniferous clay ironstone fossil of freshwater clam (carbonicola) from the patches coal tip</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>The voice of the land speaks from deep time, it tells us of upheaval from the past, events that caused freshwater mussels in ancient swamps to be buried, mineralised and layered in sedimentary rocks, to be dug up with the burnable carbon, separated by riddles and dumped to form a new hill. This earth, this mother, this generator of life from mineral to biological, has taken billions of years to become relatively stable only for humans to make it unstable again. Are we really "Building back better" ?</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNQDxI3j7U5HDi15Q_F1mCxnGhDo1VTuVOwbjeoyPFWDzxzDlaOGfRNFz62DMA-VB9l8FoMoIHxuPAL9ro8xOGV5_sO2AeT0LDgoDz4cf4bkRV0uL3h13rGCKZA3ZabhlZ-pa5xaW_W8Jz2EHB3xwDPlCCaF-7-mV4IUl6ZSdugWxj3xLJXhc-e8Z7/s2612/20220718_112231.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2612" data-original-width="1759" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNQDxI3j7U5HDi15Q_F1mCxnGhDo1VTuVOwbjeoyPFWDzxzDlaOGfRNFz62DMA-VB9l8FoMoIHxuPAL9ro8xOGV5_sO2AeT0LDgoDz4cf4bkRV0uL3h13rGCKZA3ZabhlZ-pa5xaW_W8Jz2EHB3xwDPlCCaF-7-mV4IUl6ZSdugWxj3xLJXhc-e8Z7/s320/20220718_112231.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buried with a clam</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps there is a shift in consciousness and there are more humans realising that increasing tech, moving faster, consumerism and manufacturing on a large scale isn't in fact progress. Maybe scaling back is.</div><div><br /></div><div>'If anyone has ears to hear, let them hear'.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgax8wSe16nnOnPtX9GZLHOW_XVxZccnGw3rL2ByN0YEftwzmj8zYO-fa6UVoFanbxfjjc7ByHHOmuZiia0zqz5y6ffeUMAr_Q2yZF7JveJRXB_SPMU6EIVqWFvwlGSwDKTe3ha4VNkWGnh2rHm1BmYqDgRBUNKStOqdJJwIVfVQAzFN2xC5ofc-tdo/s4000/20220718_132902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgax8wSe16nnOnPtX9GZLHOW_XVxZccnGw3rL2ByN0YEftwzmj8zYO-fa6UVoFanbxfjjc7ByHHOmuZiia0zqz5y6ffeUMAr_Q2yZF7JveJRXB_SPMU6EIVqWFvwlGSwDKTe3ha4VNkWGnh2rHm1BmYqDgRBUNKStOqdJJwIVfVQAzFN2xC5ofc-tdo/s320/20220718_132902.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Current reading</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div>Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-49126499739627378472022-04-06T07:52:00.000-07:002022-04-06T07:52:59.170-07:00The shadow of trees, gateways and holy walks<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWaBj7D8XrsxbUYySmS1_spudaRVp2-wxHwDSg82Vf3JG0QYT0PE9SdwHa6uGWRsBJIGXXzRHTD_IrzCmNvK2O5vLpEXziV-XT7TtwrF1T_qghK7JcG2ZCh1f2ErqOqjueDtCmBMK00Tx8vI8iyRC2E5tpKsZgxLZpoXDjSllakj-1eTzqD4972ItI/s4000/20220311_130459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWaBj7D8XrsxbUYySmS1_spudaRVp2-wxHwDSg82Vf3JG0QYT0PE9SdwHa6uGWRsBJIGXXzRHTD_IrzCmNvK2O5vLpEXziV-XT7TtwrF1T_qghK7JcG2ZCh1f2ErqOqjueDtCmBMK00Tx8vI8iyRC2E5tpKsZgxLZpoXDjSllakj-1eTzqD4972ItI/s320/20220311_130459.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">William Blake from 'Spirit Mirror' at the Glynn Vivian</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I thought I might just share more of my very slow burning process of making, it is not unique, it is a very human experience felt and acknowledged by many of us. Experiences are filtered through writing and reflecting and then making. The following are extracts from my diary sketch book :</p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4yC6IxN5eragvoWPp6K768jDiEN7KdapAcBN0uKy7HVtMhbj9w4jnomBkcCzVDugLybD8aMlWutY8pH-9ex-S7nZR8kJbImFKMUMMLemeky7TveSGgvRXECfTZPs6xQEHkhRWR0u9aeB6WAEl-hIn__ogJg02woq9ZfklHmUMxCBIR9i9IF1bAWHJ/s4000/20220129_142005~2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4yC6IxN5eragvoWPp6K768jDiEN7KdapAcBN0uKy7HVtMhbj9w4jnomBkcCzVDugLybD8aMlWutY8pH-9ex-S7nZR8kJbImFKMUMMLemeky7TveSGgvRXECfTZPs6xQEHkhRWR0u9aeB6WAEl-hIn__ogJg02woq9ZfklHmUMxCBIR9i9IF1bAWHJ/s320/20220129_142005~2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red cows in the furnaces and other stories</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Jan 29th 22</p><p>Is the universe benevolent ? What other stories might there be ? My story is a tortuous one, a journey that many humans take through 'the first half of life' into the second half. I have carried my desires from one to the other, but they are burdensome sometimes, sad at others. The light of the late sun catches the maple and apple arch in the garden - a golden gateway.</p><p>Gateways continue to be there even into older age - possibilities, energies which are different - slower. Gulls wheel over this valley 20 miles from the sea in clear blue air.</p><p>How do our stories connect, interconnect ? Our stories are universally linked like hyphae underground. Linked, connected, running through the flow of our physical beings.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjagfEv0iQ10BBjV-fLU4CwVbvsTvYUotze3H-lIKcY8bN_ZEcMXMtyA6RpY_ahXLtYhHEA6MiMDlZ8Ze_7ZSyohexnlyckmZDq5R31JxcfULc8aiITczJFyNTYpHUyuOjoEg-Mg_R_-AkUB4vGAmTA4wfy2PffwrDn73hAObr1HZpqiX3PgrJ6fqrq/s4000/20220225_110350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjagfEv0iQ10BBjV-fLU4CwVbvsTvYUotze3H-lIKcY8bN_ZEcMXMtyA6RpY_ahXLtYhHEA6MiMDlZ8Ze_7ZSyohexnlyckmZDq5R31JxcfULc8aiITczJFyNTYpHUyuOjoEg-Mg_R_-AkUB4vGAmTA4wfy2PffwrDn73hAObr1HZpqiX3PgrJ6fqrq/s320/20220225_110350.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bryn Derwen</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Feb 1st 22</p><p>The golden and green fingers of the oak reach up ! They reach up into the blue, they push their buds to the sun. They await the light and warmth. Desiring the sun reaching - flowing toward the light. We also need the spring, need the resurgence.</p><p><br /></p><p>Our friends who art in heaven, hallowed is the oak reaching into Spring</p><p>Whose roots are rooted in extracted land altered by hands that hacked out the hill</p><p>Tectonic plates shift sometimes surprising us with the movement of old walls</p><p>Reminding us of flux and that stability and economies are illusions</p><p>The only energies that are constant are ancient and beyond control</p><p>Energies that are both dark and light</p><p>Your buds search for the warmth of the golden sun </p><p>Red buds</p><p>Blue sky</p><p>Sap rising</p><p><br /></p><p>Oak ' shuttling the air into sky and storing the sky underground ' 'People could be the heaven that the Earth is trying to speak to.' R. Powers 2019</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcl2qpVjOEYePUY42f-rwgC-DBYza6OizDDE7Da7t2lqSgIcNBNQuQKxK4ylKocTAiVpjPog9sEioq9taIuL95_aC4B-6kYsIBWLHXVipchD-gpa4yPZ0Sd4Qh4mcsy92Trbe9gK9SrMI3pun_amc1s3U54RnVvcMtEqoZl1ROIEQmsdcNpadLQpgQ/s3970/20220307_094138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2977" data-original-width="3970" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcl2qpVjOEYePUY42f-rwgC-DBYza6OizDDE7Da7t2lqSgIcNBNQuQKxK4ylKocTAiVpjPog9sEioq9taIuL95_aC4B-6kYsIBWLHXVipchD-gpa4yPZ0Sd4Qh4mcsy92Trbe9gK9SrMI3pun_amc1s3U54RnVvcMtEqoZl1ROIEQmsdcNpadLQpgQ/s320/20220307_094138.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQCw0Pubb4vcHlrxNsBjhCykHVlyB0aZ8BO6pkC1Tk59eF8wLbeWQivBatCvH52GMQUiWHKXSnQ_nW34Jn-uIrloaD9dTZGeLWJSTbgs7U8HU6lnnfkYKh-YqRJ8Lgr-a9uztUwwVeZQCtzyW1Dt8MATXVkQQivv9E1ODiaJ-4gXWsr8FV-qT69Zh/s4000/20220310_113750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQCw0Pubb4vcHlrxNsBjhCykHVlyB0aZ8BO6pkC1Tk59eF8wLbeWQivBatCvH52GMQUiWHKXSnQ_nW34Jn-uIrloaD9dTZGeLWJSTbgs7U8HU6lnnfkYKh-YqRJ8Lgr-a9uztUwwVeZQCtzyW1Dt8MATXVkQQivv9E1ODiaJ-4gXWsr8FV-qT69Zh/s320/20220310_113750.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPg3mXca0jQmhZhrkcVHDwGwzsLkUZafu6uElGc9yWzX-h6sDuGHUeRB9iwbA3-6GIrEB_qF4DY6EHB2SNlKRhxN49BasvTajXAnDzC7qY8fgQHwPnkwDpC48Py0fS_9ABRFeiIjgwKXmTdoBCwa6JmAKLYH7G2jPJjgX6qmQ2qR0sgDN8tpmJikoN/s4000/20220313_122848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPg3mXca0jQmhZhrkcVHDwGwzsLkUZafu6uElGc9yWzX-h6sDuGHUeRB9iwbA3-6GIrEB_qF4DY6EHB2SNlKRhxN49BasvTajXAnDzC7qY8fgQHwPnkwDpC48Py0fS_9ABRFeiIjgwKXmTdoBCwa6JmAKLYH7G2jPJjgX6qmQ2qR0sgDN8tpmJikoN/s320/20220313_122848.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>Humans produce in art :' the inner images the soul needs in order to see itself and allow its own transformation.' Carl Jung</p><p>'Wisdom is feminine, she is the ordering principle of the universe, seeing the grain in wood, the currents in water and wind, the laws of nature, the way things are." Rami Shapiro</p><p>March 17th 22</p><p>Praying for justice in the gate, no more defending empires, no more holding on to capitalism as though it is life.</p><p>The gateway this morning is the light filtering through the trees, early light rising in the east backlighting the mountain and highlighting the wing feathers of the blue tits prospecting the nest box near the beech hedge, dry copper leaves about to fall from the bud.</p><p> A lattice of silver tinted branches of the maple , a kind of song, a pardiso, Persia in Ystalyfera. Let all that has breath sing a song of justice in the gateway.</p><p>March 18th 22 The shadows of trees and a holy walk</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIE5LgwhuF5Nhubhw3EKM-B33amGXfwvJCfaCPX9k0huBvg4N7gODCHLEqjksw63dxTPAaj0Rf8aP38_EQQB7MbfKEP2p3VQPL9v_UPqPkNngUzCAAfDOxgPPqAByjCo5jr_z9uzlVuvgQSB911bPL33JSrpWNHnKVbOBUSuHew_9aP4iy04fmNv4B/s4000/20220318_113654.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIE5LgwhuF5Nhubhw3EKM-B33amGXfwvJCfaCPX9k0huBvg4N7gODCHLEqjksw63dxTPAaj0Rf8aP38_EQQB7MbfKEP2p3VQPL9v_UPqPkNngUzCAAfDOxgPPqAByjCo5jr_z9uzlVuvgQSB911bPL33JSrpWNHnKVbOBUSuHew_9aP4iy04fmNv4B/s320/20220318_113654.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiXQ-ARfAmiiZJHeW-cBPwL0p9P-RgBRzqW006Kf_wXMD95dOvhtXTKj1Z6GTWehMZrBCOsLo4-YAH5pW-26cE9eh7dLkTebxUoIQe_08W1go98ixnJDIisadxOjODa1HACe0l3uY3ZkUMjtEytLQVZj1eGeIhKdtYFPl6zk4LWchYcH_lLzyeQN12/s3264/20220318_115049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiXQ-ARfAmiiZJHeW-cBPwL0p9P-RgBRzqW006Kf_wXMD95dOvhtXTKj1Z6GTWehMZrBCOsLo4-YAH5pW-26cE9eh7dLkTebxUoIQe_08W1go98ixnJDIisadxOjODa1HACe0l3uY3ZkUMjtEytLQVZj1eGeIhKdtYFPl6zk4LWchYcH_lLzyeQN12/s320/20220318_115049.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKDXJRd3BsrY14NrzmgaU5oW1H5zMLwSbrJtXfjeExLTUyCFn7e6WGZRmFPiC-I_FZEufT7nYqr3ISVxFwQi2DPxPhrfWyvjb2ORmlSARjQFH50HDPGSdIfVR0VV1ZPsSC1cSMfSUkisjwKgapb2EzD_sRBwPKu2K27TuABKUgxjoCq16mG6uzqpz/s4000/20220318_114226.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKDXJRd3BsrY14NrzmgaU5oW1H5zMLwSbrJtXfjeExLTUyCFn7e6WGZRmFPiC-I_FZEufT7nYqr3ISVxFwQi2DPxPhrfWyvjb2ORmlSARjQFH50HDPGSdIfVR0VV1ZPsSC1cSMfSUkisjwKgapb2EzD_sRBwPKu2K27TuABKUgxjoCq16mG6uzqpz/s320/20220318_114226.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlKCUOKkIkfSfDb3mlfekhibHzcDaScucZPW3jQ6dLLE68B55nMlZyVLp1LFLjPjRESXJ_jcwkuksqRQ5_IY2sM_Ju33eUSUA8GjmekJ_0EYSp3F-hd1oMetvfdBd9YYiiq5SU1_vzUiGB0iiPNJwgFM29XXAC-l07lNn_tGDDarYcFToMeU0ziER/s3811/20220318_113952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3811" data-original-width="2858" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlKCUOKkIkfSfDb3mlfekhibHzcDaScucZPW3jQ6dLLE68B55nMlZyVLp1LFLjPjRESXJ_jcwkuksqRQ5_IY2sM_Ju33eUSUA8GjmekJ_0EYSp3F-hd1oMetvfdBd9YYiiq5SU1_vzUiGB0iiPNJwgFM29XXAC-l07lNn_tGDDarYcFToMeU0ziER/s320/20220318_113952.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2ZiSzpVutLeTdhgMxxXJ2t8J6AkVt_hqjxbaSzOv752aIwng6Ku-z3UiS_NLuRoMDMxVEytVgwwMx6jVuvPYqK2tGQPasCnA9GB6pm_rmHiaE8LdA3_Zca2wd22-kyHucYM-IzDFv2ZhsX_HNbcDlkfej6VimpeWhMs5ccO3p-1TJU-Dzn0xZIAT/s3256/20220318_113936.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3256" data-original-width="2738" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM2ZiSzpVutLeTdhgMxxXJ2t8J6AkVt_hqjxbaSzOv752aIwng6Ku-z3UiS_NLuRoMDMxVEytVgwwMx6jVuvPYqK2tGQPasCnA9GB6pm_rmHiaE8LdA3_Zca2wd22-kyHucYM-IzDFv2ZhsX_HNbcDlkfej6VimpeWhMs5ccO3p-1TJU-Dzn0xZIAT/s320/20220318_113936.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Old men on old ways. We were serenaded by skylarks rising above our heads. Up ancient paths trod by 'holy' feet. Capel y Ffin, the monastery, the priory valley. A blind headed cwm where glaciers carved u-shapes and engineered ridges. There is a deep sense of history in the stones, scattered settlements and remnants of communities in this held hollow. Surprisingly neglected even in this google mapped age. The ground is tracked and trod by humans, sheep and ponies.</p><p>What is it about the shadows of trees, the casting of shadow, the leafless yet to bud bulk and net of webbed branches, this between Winter and Spring ? There is an ancient allure to these places. Cwm Iau/ Cwm Yoy the leaning tower and ancient carved cross, the colliding of life and death the ups and downs, reflected in the walking of the hills.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzStqwc_VUb6E0bNLghKxydReMvwRA6aZkkLvsIhBnOe263QxvptxAMdsLL8y4yHR1A6-O1aEcXopr16uNJ96punGZB6KY0eBWyBO4MorGcYnpVCkbtYHlLkL5Fw7OryHczsgz-Ks336Idkxf6ULWGgwBRCRjUJ6SX7hdiFptUIbx8GgjhlquG8KXp/s3608/IMG_0316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3608" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzStqwc_VUb6E0bNLghKxydReMvwRA6aZkkLvsIhBnOe263QxvptxAMdsLL8y4yHR1A6-O1aEcXopr16uNJ96punGZB6KY0eBWyBO4MorGcYnpVCkbtYHlLkL5Fw7OryHczsgz-Ks336Idkxf6ULWGgwBRCRjUJ6SX7hdiFptUIbx8GgjhlquG8KXp/s320/IMG_0316.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKVYYcFid99h9EbJQEqMrKdkEnX9vrLHj_LvD61CSEbH8SLtX6AII99JIN9awslr9CDcuz0Qqg-Cwqyfa12j996weyVX6WH9dLVZSW8ppwdI0kBcYJrHn9m0Fx1kLcA2XKNROH7my4SA5OcbtEM3opysDbd6YXVAxQrVJ0PowEwADpVRqsao-sUQ6/s4000/IMG_0321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKVYYcFid99h9EbJQEqMrKdkEnX9vrLHj_LvD61CSEbH8SLtX6AII99JIN9awslr9CDcuz0Qqg-Cwqyfa12j996weyVX6WH9dLVZSW8ppwdI0kBcYJrHn9m0Fx1kLcA2XKNROH7my4SA5OcbtEM3opysDbd6YXVAxQrVJ0PowEwADpVRqsao-sUQ6/s320/IMG_0321.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifpkIinwz7L9F-PlAcbSVw-bab8dKUOTNjXZSdp2u4DuYgsx0GCPdAMtc2uRoGFE5BPP8NLc-Tnj8CpV1IjyessWFExT2yAnztinWQ-Kb21eKlnA06e2PnLT-2eH9U2Lp7cOHcvzfL8RonL2TEuF6FrA0SfeY9-3t0R4gONYOfgcTSye0Zi20pyI0E/s4000/IMG_0358.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifpkIinwz7L9F-PlAcbSVw-bab8dKUOTNjXZSdp2u4DuYgsx0GCPdAMtc2uRoGFE5BPP8NLc-Tnj8CpV1IjyessWFExT2yAnztinWQ-Kb21eKlnA06e2PnLT-2eH9U2Lp7cOHcvzfL8RonL2TEuF6FrA0SfeY9-3t0R4gONYOfgcTSye0Zi20pyI0E/s320/IMG_0358.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>The shadows of trees - Capel y Ffin</p><p><br /></p><p>We carry them in dark recesses</p><p>They sometimes emerge through the chambers and reach daylight</p><p>In the process they enlighten and dissipate like ghosts.</p><p><br /></p><p>But shadows are necessary</p><p>The dark parts hold us as much as the light</p><p>And there is no contradiction</p><p>We are night and day</p><p>Brother sun, sister moon</p><p>War and peace</p><p>Neither one or the other</p><p>We are both, held in a holy mystery.</p><p><br /></p><p>March 26th 22</p><p>'because we have been steeped in patriarchy, we may resist the idea of a "maternal" universe, yet the pattern it reveals - that all of life is birthed, held and nurtured in the cosmos - is undoubtedly true. ' R. Rohr 2022</p><p>'There is a Sanskrit word, darshan... it suggests a face - to - face encounter with the sacred on earth '. R. Macfarlane</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0yiqu2nWu-j6_AOeazuq26Cn1_Vjvr_nWIch0Q7ax5H54fP7hY9tJfxrVIoxOKQsAqi4216F5EmnB-S-UNbeQLCryeuPeizEFIkwFlUrUoSXxV04XTQ35y8EEhE4I9fQQ1eOX1k8fgRGDkwcnDW512vwj50Yf_xm1Lrasaj_l0BFAd4tSQ6QwOGB/s2729/20220331_154051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2632" data-original-width="2729" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0yiqu2nWu-j6_AOeazuq26Cn1_Vjvr_nWIch0Q7ax5H54fP7hY9tJfxrVIoxOKQsAqi4216F5EmnB-S-UNbeQLCryeuPeizEFIkwFlUrUoSXxV04XTQ35y8EEhE4I9fQQ1eOX1k8fgRGDkwcnDW512vwj50Yf_xm1Lrasaj_l0BFAd4tSQ6QwOGB/s320/20220331_154051.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-53692844797067804722022-03-05T09:16:00.001-08:002022-03-05T09:16:56.004-08:00'What is (man) that you are mindful of (him) ?' Trying to live WITH the land and not to other it .<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEianLgTOhffqzWJiNYfMriuRD5CaTKXaxa5iOCN5Gd4LcvWhKCtdF_pb-qpxkZ-1nnmu3EyhKfnSUFGX9f9KM9OLg0aIptJCoDrc2TbEDUHpCeikx3yyYAwZ58EhX0RqdBBKZB5TteSAi4_-3OBbMPwGwTH-U_uU_q5J6zzugFWQKQbLmtQ6j1b7nZu=s3882" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2911" data-original-width="3882" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEianLgTOhffqzWJiNYfMriuRD5CaTKXaxa5iOCN5Gd4LcvWhKCtdF_pb-qpxkZ-1nnmu3EyhKfnSUFGX9f9KM9OLg0aIptJCoDrc2TbEDUHpCeikx3yyYAwZ58EhX0RqdBBKZB5TteSAi4_-3OBbMPwGwTH-U_uU_q5J6zzugFWQKQbLmtQ6j1b7nZu=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tread lightly on the land</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>I'm not sure that I want to be mindful of man at this point in time. I am grieving for the stupidity of men, and it is mainly men who seem to believe control and ownership constitutes life. Our combined bloodied histories are screaming at us, the earth itself is also screaming at us to wake up from this stupidity. </p><p>There is enough for everyone here on this planet, not more than enough. Greed is a bitter root. Commodifying everything and everyone, numbering, counting, comparing, it is all a dead end. </p><p>Grief is overwhelming us. I also feel ashamed that some reporters have said this war should not be happening in the civilised world, as though only the Northern hemisphere is populated by civilised humans! So much for civilisation.</p><p>It is not just humans that suffer when war over ownership of lands and borders lead to destruction. The land suffers, the flora, fauna, water and air suffers. The planet suffers. </p><p>When will we get it ? Life is brief, it is precious, wonderful, beautiful, and we live it with our more than human soulmates that are here for the living too. The brevity, and the sadness of life coming to an end early is something that is hard enough without men bringing it to a violent end sooner.</p><p>Wars and rumours of wars persist. But am I deluded in feeling that there is a groundswell of humans that have had enough of our stupidity ? </p><p><br /></p><p>Paul.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-55131219000439206992021-11-19T07:53:00.000-08:002021-11-19T07:53:11.854-08:00Returning to the studio<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfne7QSMnVqjyW6bxihHTyn5aE7YeU0wUAcLCha72gWG_7fmeEsbDtj4-KywCCTK3HLF_TLhccj5cizJVCKfX9-2AskmoUYIEyOQOjs8rzpc5u6dgrZC5RXEoxnGxNeD4shNUftGzxSU/s3865/20211119_131006%257E2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3865" data-original-width="2899" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRfne7QSMnVqjyW6bxihHTyn5aE7YeU0wUAcLCha72gWG_7fmeEsbDtj4-KywCCTK3HLF_TLhccj5cizJVCKfX9-2AskmoUYIEyOQOjs8rzpc5u6dgrZC5RXEoxnGxNeD4shNUftGzxSU/s320/20211119_131006%257E2.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Universe</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><br /></p><br />It has been a while since I posted on this blog. The reason is because I have been working on the M.A. And have been a practising artist for the last few months since graduating and finishing work as a nurse. Looking at the stats for this site, I realise that there has been a consistent readership despite my lack of posts ! First of all thank you to those who have taken time to read my ramblings, I will try and update you on where I am now.<p></p><p>I graduated with a Master of Arts in Fine Art - Contemporary Dialogues from Swansea College of Art, University of Wales Trinity Saint David on 23rd June this year. It was a difficult time to graduate because we were all working remotely from our various workplaces, mainly from makeshift studio spaces at home.</p><p>I valued the connections we made during that time via Teams. Seeing the work of my fellow students develop over time was both exciting and challenging. A lot of the work was being made in response to what was happening both politically and environmentally. The course opened up a whole new world that I had not been conscious of before.</p><p>The course ignited my reading and research into the environment and has fuelled a resurgence of work that I had started in the eighties but had forgotten how to make !</p><p>I would recommend undertaking the MA if you want to open up your practice. I am not saying we need letters after our names to justify ourselves, but the experience of doing the course plugs us back in to the arts, particularly to what artists are addressing in their work in the contemporary world.</p><p>I now see making artwork as a form of activism, in the sense that it puts a voice out there into consciousness, into the physical world.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0b3ZiR3fC6-1U_QYLPQeorZUfogQg0HDSEoL4cga8OxBGbnrJYPQIFikEHGM7N2BEOhXJnbfWMthh-BoTUCC2Un28IeYfOMXVgChD8J8AkB7QYZbSPSW2ATdPykoJOS9Puy7gW2YNUe8/s4000/20211101_133355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0b3ZiR3fC6-1U_QYLPQeorZUfogQg0HDSEoL4cga8OxBGbnrJYPQIFikEHGM7N2BEOhXJnbfWMthh-BoTUCC2Un28IeYfOMXVgChD8J8AkB7QYZbSPSW2ATdPykoJOS9Puy7gW2YNUe8/s320/20211101_133355.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Craig gigfran</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHp61Xa7DPJxq7J_Ot2SdmhbnhZeYbadN176mVpLZS-xZZ0g4USc2vFMp6aPtwrvFwUTTuzZq1WNkxzIDZMSXbZo8pbUiPYlP80aXzmnjYTe5M_G__AipuQaW6ZVkF12dOsxAki4n3t84/s3657/20211101_140902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3657" data-original-width="2723" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHp61Xa7DPJxq7J_Ot2SdmhbnhZeYbadN176mVpLZS-xZZ0g4USc2vFMp6aPtwrvFwUTTuzZq1WNkxzIDZMSXbZo8pbUiPYlP80aXzmnjYTe5M_G__AipuQaW6ZVkF12dOsxAki4n3t84/s320/20211101_140902.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vessel in which hope sails<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p>It is hard at any stage of life to 'emerge' into the art world, but being over 60 puts a bit more pressure on !</p><p>I have decided instead to just enjoy making within the resources I have. This takes off any pressure and allows the inner voice to continue speaking. I see collaboration with each other as the only viable way forward, to link with like-minded artists and makers and organise our own projects. I want to celebrate diversity. Diversity is the way of mother earth. Monocultures, separatism and hard boundary setting are all borne out of a particular way of seeing the world, and seems to be the cause of most of our ills.</p><p>I am currently working with 3 other artists, Eleanor Greenwood, Lily- Ella Westacott and Dylan Williams. We are aiming to have an exhibition in October 22 based on our connections to the landscape and each other.</p><p>I have submitted two works into the Swansea Open at the Glynn Vivian Art Gallery in Swansea. Both were accepted. They can be seen from Saturday 20/11/21 until Sunday 30/1/22 . They are physically fragile works made of my favourite material plaster of paris. The fragility is deliberate. They both exist because I exist, we exist together ! The ravens in Craig gigfran exist to call us to attention. To be attentive to what holds both us and them, we cannot be separate, our mother is the same earth, the same air, the same soil, the same water.</p><p>Vessel is a casting made from the bark of trees in Craig Y Nos Country Park. It is a small ship, a container sailing with seeds of hope into a future where humans and non humans value each other as equals.</p><p><br /></p><p>I have recently been working on the piece headlined above at the start of this blog. I work with huge doubts about my output as an artist, I think this is common to most creatives. Who would want fragile plaster works ? We all want solidity, permanence, but in truth nothing is permanent. Our universe is expanding out into infinity.</p><p>Universe is another reflection on our common heritage, our common minerality. I exist today and there are more cells dying than being renewed, my universal body is disintegrating, dissipating back to the elemental. What holds all the whirling atoms together ? Is it love ? Does love bear all things ? Darkness and despair as well as explosive light and energy, burning and yearning ? It seems all entwined there. Love is sadness at loss, that awe when seeing the colours of Autumn. That feeling of wanting to curl up by the fire. The agreement with darkness and light - we are truly found there.</p><p>Universe is about all of that, it is based on a casting of my umbilicus (belly button) the scar where we were once nourished and attached to our mother, and her mother and everyone's mother. It is the swirl from which we all arrive into consciousness, from fusion, from energy, from atoms and finally into breath briefly.</p><p><br /></p><p>Paul.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-13115734518761120772020-02-06T08:58:00.000-08:002020-02-13T08:58:46.231-08:00I see<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
'In English, "I see" means "I understand". Seeing, it has long been recognised, is not the simple recording of light stimuli; it is a selective and creative process in which environmental stimuli are organised into flowing structures that provide signs meaningful to the purposive organism.' Space and Place Yi - Fu Tuan 1977<br />
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I believe as human beings, we can see beyond the knowable measurable world (in our heads). We can see without thought - contemplative seeing - this is what pattern, line, flow and movement- colour, light and air does - it moves our mind from thought and analysis to the abstract concept of beauty. I believe beauty still exists in the world. It is a constant and flowing living thing that is bigger than us and is linked to us at a cellular and atomic level. We are part of a greater living system than we are usually conscious of.<br />
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Paul</div>
Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-79311140492964312852019-11-25T08:22:00.000-08:002019-11-25T08:22:43.659-08:00Poetics are everywhere<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've been quietly making and experimenting - failing - falling and getting back up again.<br />
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There are such beauties around us that are so beautiful they are hard to put in to words or to make manifest in materials.<br />
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There is also lamentable pain and loss, but both the beauty and the pain are connected by a very human thread that runs deep in us.<br />
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I am seeing that thread in the landscape around me and in the people and their voices - the songs they sing and the stories they tell.<br />
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My current pursuit is the layers of the landscape and the embeded stories that can be read and heard.<br />
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I am enjoying the process.</div>
Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-29477204877942346832019-08-04T06:47:00.000-07:002019-08-04T06:47:26.285-07:00Links and coincidences<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm still here, I think.<br />
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Therefore I am. But usually thinking takes me off on tangents - I am least creative when scrolling through social media. Am I losing the art of consciousness ?<br />
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These are all experiments with glass, plaster and canvas. I'm delving into the poetics of space.</div>
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Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-51548876491084014932019-04-03T08:31:00.002-07:002019-04-03T08:38:38.419-07:00Further experimentation - working with ghosts and traces<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Traces or the ghosts of what was and what will be are around us most of the time - time is a concept that we find hard to understand.</div>
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I am fast becoming a ghost of myself - and perhaps this is why we tend to keep the idea of the author genius alive - we shout out to the temporal - we are here now !</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Letterpress print of poster idea</td></tr>
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Temporal truth has potent - and unlike concrete or spatial truth it is difficult to capture in image form.<br />
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I have been looking to capture something of the fleeting. Using my phone camera and printing the images on film - then using sunlight to project the images on to paper and re photographing them.<br />
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The results look a bit like early experiments in photography </div>
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I've also been looking for temporal traces of the seasons, and found the wind had been writing with dried grasses.</div>
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The written word contains traces of thought - that elusive chemical thing that happens in the human brain - another reason why authorship remains potent to me.</div>
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I have combined traces of words and ghost image - I may take this idea further.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dADXuScFx8GNlTzQ3XqTQLPCyeShIuAQHqQbrRcDxpk-krUWPs_3JrUlTY1vlIcJKejYLUisII9vLDNwQS0BYcBOzYk46rW7bWN_KeKcdicO13tRWraHQ3sEXZmSEPNzPT451qT3v10/s1600/IMG_20190403_154344.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dADXuScFx8GNlTzQ3XqTQLPCyeShIuAQHqQbrRcDxpk-krUWPs_3JrUlTY1vlIcJKejYLUisII9vLDNwQS0BYcBOzYk46rW7bWN_KeKcdicO13tRWraHQ3sEXZmSEPNzPT451qT3v10/s320/IMG_20190403_154344.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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All the various elements of the MA seem to be dovetailing.</div>
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Paul.</div>
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Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-82539257410032385952019-03-15T09:21:00.002-07:002019-03-15T09:31:06.599-07:00Trying to make sense of deconstruction <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am struggling with the idea of deconstruction, of hegemonic thinking and post production in art.<br />
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In the meantime I am working towards a collaborative exhibition in September where myself and <a href="http://eleanorflaherty.co.uk/">eleanorflaherty.co.uk</a> are thinking about sacred spaces, about water, about flow.<br />
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I have started to experiment a little with words and images but still using the familiar (to me) materials of found objects and plaster of paris.<br />
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<br />
I have become increasingly interested in the idea of trace - of ghosts - of voices from the past<br />
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On reflection - the ideas of collaboration and authorship, of identity and fluidity, and yes even deconstruction - have helped me to start (and it is only a start) pushing at the boundaries of materials and representation again - which is what I hoped the MA would do.<br />
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I still believe we all have a unique voice, we all see the world in similar ways but our expressions of it can be different but complimentary.<br />
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<br />
Paul</div>
Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-49866220289311449482019-02-21T14:58:00.000-08:002019-03-15T09:02:50.370-07:00Concrete poetry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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My grandmother's shop.<br />
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<br />
Paul</div>
Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-16960617609216442292019-01-27T06:31:00.000-08:002019-01-27T07:09:15.753-08:00Every day I search for answers<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I just do not understand myself.<br />
I look for answers in the time lines<br />
I try and work out whether I am a monster by looking at the sins of others<br />
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Art sometimes just says to me "you are empty"<br />
This wet cold street that you walk accommodates your footfall knowing you will not be here for ever.<br />
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Then I look at 'religion' and find that I am a sinner saved by grace and the earth awaits my bones.<br />
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I look at trees felled by the storm winds<br />
Wrenched by the roots<br />
The soil turned at right angles to the sky<br />
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There are no answers except those I hear in my own mind<br />
There is no voice that speaks softly anymore - harsh words abound.<br />
Remember you touched the headstone in that Cornish churchyard in 1994 and watched the sunset turn the tower pink.<br />
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The wind stirs up roof tiles, twigs and plastic bags<br />
It disturbs<br />
It puts me ill at ease<br />
I so want to rest without the conflict of all the words we throw at each other<br />
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My head is just a head- a hairy crown with a soup of thoughts within<br />
Then a sparrow chirps a song and I remember the cacophony of my youth<br />
The abundance of singing<br />
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Not one falls from the sky without a sorrow borne<br />
And we fell many.<br />
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Do you remember my song ?<br />
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Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-65469492324645823932018-12-30T12:02:00.000-08:002019-01-09T04:37:10.869-08:00Creativity slump with part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
To break the holiday sloth - I found beauty in the mists shrouding the hills and have started a new painting.<br />
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I don't want a carbon copy - I see pyramids in Craig -Y- Nos - I see muted colour and a sense of the place.</div>
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When I suddenly see pyramids in the trees, or patterns and unexpected rhythms or silver trails drawn on the still pond by ducks<br />
These are the things that heal me<br />
There is a painful innocence - a life in the natural world beyond our human selfishness<br />
A pure life motive<br />
I feel the sacrifice in it<br />
Death to death and pain forever<br />
A definite stillness.<br />
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Paul</div>
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Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-51641856073137557742018-12-10T05:23:00.000-08:002018-12-13T01:09:56.648-08:00Almost there<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Friday 14th December is the day that I present the thought experiment. I have gathered many strands of thought and placed some of them on a canvas.<br />
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These are just platforms for further experimentation.<br />
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The presentation itself will involve the creation of a triangle of routes for a volunteer ant to follow wearing the restricted vision mask. The triangle will represent the 'Ants Hierarchy of Needs' (With thanks to Maslow)<br />
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I propose that ants have a fulfilled and 'happy' life, and by restricting our vision we too can live a fulfilled life.<br />
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The mask idea came from the exhibition at the Glynn Vivian Art Gallery last month called 'A Spacewoman Dreams' <a href="http://www.artrabbit.com/events/a-spacewoman-dreams">www.artrabbit.com/events/a-spacewoman-dreams</a> The collaborative installation followed themes of loss, emptiness and dislocation. I propose the antidote to this is that we all become ants with limited vision - no access to social media - and only able to see the task ahead.<br />
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This will constitute a new religion - and will involve following the Ant Manifesto. Adherents will get a medallion, a mask, and will only be responsible for attending the queen, finding food for her and her offspring and maintaining the nest !<br />
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The presentation itself may produce further springboards. My lines of interest are currently the idea of taking a line for a walk - ( Our collaborative piece which is the next project I'm involved with also links in with this experiment) the idea of 'soul' and what makes us different from the rest of our fellow creatures - why are we self destructive ? And what part does phenomenology and the idea of 'other' have to play in a world that we only see from our own perspective.<br />
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Meanwhile over in the Glynn Vivian <a href="http://swansea.gov.uk/glynnvivian">swansea.gov.uk/glynnvivian</a> One of my poems about my sense of displacement is currently on show in the Swansea Open Exhibition - which was opened by Sir Peter Blake on Saturday and runs until 2nd February. Peter Blake's illustrations for Under Milk Wood are well worth a few visits.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWcqIeWLL1hY3EWdtKHUgAXMP__cTIJdxOvcnH3QeTPGqIBs0JaSP4OF5LOF1jcP-j4x-F_RwkJj6aDATsQVmhyphenhyphenyrJ38aTxsNK_ABf8vxgS-ixDvSJzBqq1DY6zr7X8dMOjk95U-dC_Ek/s1600/IMG_+Displacement+-+Paul+Steer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWcqIeWLL1hY3EWdtKHUgAXMP__cTIJdxOvcnH3QeTPGqIBs0JaSP4OF5LOF1jcP-j4x-F_RwkJj6aDATsQVmhyphenhyphenyrJ38aTxsNK_ABf8vxgS-ixDvSJzBqq1DY6zr7X8dMOjk95U-dC_Ek/s320/IMG_+Displacement+-+Paul+Steer.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Displacement<br />
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It falls away<br />
This land cut by river and ice<br />
Wild evasive impassive<br />
I could fall or sink into the earth's mouth here<br />
Tumble over an edge<br />
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This pale fleshed human<br />
Unfit to live in this landscape of cold wind and hard rain<br />
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How did I get here with my soft skin and barely a hair ?<br />
How did I become so separated from the soil that gave me birth ?<br />
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I am an alien here<br />
Unlike the buzzard hunting in vain<br />
Too wet today<br />
No rabbits browsing the shorter grass<br />
They have soft hair in layers<br />
Or like the buzzard - feathered oiled and scaled to repel the weather<br />
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I pull on layers<br />
Undergarments, over garments, artificial skins<br />
I should not be here today<br />
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Perhaps we were meant to store the summer sun and keep it in our dens till spring.<br />
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Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-9388256193626487872018-11-19T05:17:00.000-08:002018-11-19T05:17:50.137-08:00Knowing the way should help ?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Insula Dulcamara Paul Klee 1938</td></tr>
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We have started a collaborative piece of work for the next stage of the MA. There has been constant overlapping of ideas and threads from the Pecha Kucha thought experiment and the essay questions, all of which feed into the collaboration.<br />
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The group has called itself 'Nowhaus' ( we have set the bar high !) after that collaborative school of art, design and architecture the Bauhaus.<br />
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Having looked at the contributors and teachers at the Bauhaus - I rediscovered an old influence on my early art journey - Paul Klee. I particularly like the way he taught drawing and the concept of 'Taking a line for a walk'. I haven't yet presented my ant religion to the world - but that also involves lines - walking and the psychology of spaces and boundaries and the effect on our thoughts and emotions. I also recognise the influence Klee's work had on my own mark making.<br />
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There is nothing new under the sun, but at the same time there is a newness in ways of seeing that Klee and other artists open us up to - and that brings with it a sense of awe at what is in the world and how we live and breathe and have our being in it. Is that the sublime ?<br />
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Paul</div>
Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-22159021663712679252018-10-29T08:58:00.000-07:002018-11-10T06:40:05.401-08:00Which way ?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This thought experiment is throwing out multiple possibilities for this ant to follow. After each tutorial I have a new path that beckons. It has driven me half mad - so I went for a walk in the hills along both familiar and unfamiliar paths. I suppose that is what this life could consist of - if we are fearless enough to stray now and then into new territory. Straying does open up new perspectives on what is familiar, but so far I still need the comfort of knowing my way home. Perhaps I am more ant-like than I thought - I need a nest, a home - what is it like for those who are homeless ?<br />
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Today below the thunder of inelegant metal birds I see the buzzard and red kite wheel and a peregrine dart from the crags. The landscape opens up - light floods in and warms stone that was as cold as ice.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New perspective on Cribbarth</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Shadows sun warmth joy</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My father-in law's clock - the copper face makes me feel at home - I cannot explain why</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A low to the ground viewpoint of landscape making it unfamiliar re-worked today after the walk</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A painting by Wendy McWilliams called 2011 a record of journeying on one day in her neighbourhood in the States in 2011</td></tr>
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Nature does not respect the boundaries we impose - but moves through, around and over them.<br />
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Meanwhile I have now considered three possible essay questions - but I seem to be settling on the sublime, I cannot die yet - sorry M. Barthes. It seems Ben Kinmont is also in that place even after trying to deconstruct.<br />
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Life is art art is life. I am conflicted and contradictory - I want a home, a nest and I want freedom to roam - can I have both ? Community or self ? Is our true self found in community or are we all islands with some similarities and some differences ? Would the earth benefit from us all just being focused on our basic needs being met ? Is there more to existing than just meeting our basic needs ? Do we need self actualisation (Maslow) ?<br />
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Paul the ant<br />
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Update 10/11/18<br />
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I read this following piece in the Guardian Magazine today and immediately thought that we are becoming more and more ant like in our search for the 'perfect' life - the one lived by celebrity and life coaches. The article is funny but insightful.<br />
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I have made an ant amulet - this will be awarded to the person that converts to ANT and in wearing it will abide by the law of restricted vision. This will make them happy !<br />
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Paul</div>
Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-47080948504390385342018-10-25T09:01:00.002-07:002018-10-25T11:24:40.069-07:00A space to put things in<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Having collected lots of thoughts - I now have a space to arrange them in at The Elysium Studios in Swansea .<a href="http://elysiumgallery.com/">elysiumgallery.com</a><br />
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I hope to fill the wall with more ideas and connect them with threads.<br />
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I followed up some ideas from our speed tutorials - I particularly liked the thoughts of the anthropologist Tim Ingold -he talks about us having conversations with the world - loose ends and lines that get knotted and tangled together on the journey. He encourages thinking through the activity of making, the making driving the thinking. He describes a tension between the idea and the material.<br />
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Also Nina Katchadurian was mentioned during the tutorials - she deconstructed maps and reconstructed them - a visual thread marking a physical route through a landmass. <a href="http://ninakatchadourian.com/maps/finlandroad.php">ninakatchadourian.com/maps/finlandroad.php</a><br />
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Today we had a lecture on the 'sublime' This has triggered more thoughts on movement and purpose.<br />
The sublime related to the natural world back in the late 18th century - the awe produced by landscapes and wilderness - the vastness of the heavens. It is said that in this century we have overcome the natural world, have controlled it and our awe is now centred around technology. I would argue that we have not controlled nature - we have altered it to our own detriment. We ourselves are nature. We are digitalising and measuring and quantifying everything to the point where we believe there is no mystery.<br />
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"God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him ..." Nietzsche. It is we who kill the concept of God and then go on to find other ways of experiencing the sublime - continually searching out new 'gods' to worship. Perhaps we need things to believe in ? We need anchors in an uncertain world - we always try to make sense of the world around us.<br />
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The discussion around the sublime seemed to empahsise that only grand scale works can create a sense of awe - I'm not sure about that as I have experienced awe by looking at a small Ben Nicholson relief. Or have marvelled at the beauty of some small insects - jewel-like beetles and intricately patterned butterflies for example.<br />
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Paul.<br />
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Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-72471653395640038572018-10-20T10:53:00.000-07:002018-12-10T05:32:09.396-08:00Thought trial and its trails <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The thought experiment continues.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Footprints, the direction of travel dictated by the estuary and the sand dunes. Detritus from the storm following the flow of the tide. An imprint, a memory of flow. It reminded me of a line of wood ants in a forest carrying twigs to make their enormous nests<br />
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'A line made by walking ' by Richard Long in 1967 recorded a man made temporary line as a line or path that goes nowhere. He wanted to make an artwork that was outside of a gallery space and the traditional notions of sculpture. The snaking line of detritus above was made by nature and man had no hand in it and because of that its sculptural form has an even greater purity. I have written and rewritten a poem - trying to distill this piece of nature's artwork.<br />
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Storm wood pushed up<br />
Following the shore<br />
An imprinted memory of flow<br />
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Sea apples and sticks<br />
Swept in curves<br />
Stranded line of beach bone<br />
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Detritus not of human hand<br />
Plastic washed far out to sea<br />
Cleansed the cormorant is watched by the fishes impassive eye.<br />
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I watched a You Tube clip of ants constructing a nest on the forest floor. The journeys they make are either to find materials for construction or to find food for the colony. After thinking about their single minded activity I wondered if ants lived fulfilling and happy lives - unlike us who are slaves to status, appearance, mortgages, loans etc. We are conflicted - we know that we are destroying the planet through our consuming but we are unable to stop. *1 Ants just ant. I thought perhaps I should start a new religion which cuts out our thinking and makes our lives simple.<br />
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The religious text and commandments would be as follows :<br />
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Follow the queen of the six legs<br />
Join the segmented community<br />
See mindless purpose through compound eye<br />
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Active antennae twitch at the busy movement<br />
Going nowhere but existing nonetheless in chemical messages<br />
CLEAR THE FOREST FLOOR<br />
FIND FOOD<br />
NEST FOR THE NEW GENERATION !<br />
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Adherents of the new religion would wear ant masks with restricted vision - only allowing a view of the next task.<br />
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How happy we would be.<br />
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Whilst out walking I kept thinking of these journeys we make - what is the purpose ? Connection to the landscape ? Therapy for the soul ? Walking in nature does seem to have a restorative effect. We walked to the top of Carn Ingli from there you look down as though in an aeroplane and the landscape looks map like. I did a sketch of mountain bikers making an ant like trail along one of the paths.<br />
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I often walk with fellow blogger, photographer and garden maker Charles Hawes, he sends me postcards from the walks he does abroad - I love receiving them - records of a journey into which I try and place myself imagining I was there in that landscape.<br />
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I have continued to work on the fresco adding words related to this journey of thought. I suddenly thought that the ant looks like a fossil - the circle around it like the circles painted around fossilised insect like sea creatures called trilobites collected for my A Level in Geology many years ago.<br />
Fossilised records of the past - imprints like postcards of an ancient journey.<br />
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As I am writing this - the news shows thousands of migrants from Honduras and Guatemala crossing the border into Mexico, thwarted at the border gates they build rafts and float across the river to avoid the border controls. Another type of journey - disturbing and distressing.<br />
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*1 Today ( 24/10/18) I remembered the following piece of work by Simon Starling 2006 - a wooden steamboat crossing a lake fuelled by its own timbers. It sinks. I remember laughing when watching the slide show at Tate St Ives. A beautiful and melancholic thing- a metaphor for our lives. We are all in the same boat burning up its resources as we go nowhere in particular. We are ants, so perhaps it would be best to recognise that and take a bit more care of one another and the boat ?<br />
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Paul</div>
Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-79597608746184293992018-10-07T12:59:00.002-07:002018-10-10T09:18:54.874-07:00Marching on<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Week two of the Masters and interestingly I am seeing ants and ant like behaviour everywhere - perhaps I am going mad.<br />
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Henri Lefebvre in his book The Production of Space, talks about space as an abstract notion which is open to government - therefore to control and containment. Who's space is it ? Who owns space ? Can you own space ?<br />
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This line of questioning took me to a conversation I have been having with a friend who is doing his Masters in Literature at Bristol. He is considering doing his dissertation on Aboriginal literature and in particular looking at the stories they passed down from generation to generation establishing and strengthening their connection with the landscape. 'Settlers' stopped their free movement across the landscape by 'claiming' the land fencing it in and 'owning' it -which is absurd as the aboriginal peoples had lived there for thousands of years and knew the landscape intimately as a place to find food and shelter.<br />
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We are to a large extent controlled in our movements within the landscape through the concept of ownership. We are also controlled in other ways by prohibition on movement by road - mainly for our safety as there are so many of us on a relatively small landmass. Has progress really brought freedom ?<br />
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More thoughts on the thought experiment - we dabbled in metaphysical poetry.<br />
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We listed 5 physical properties of the moon and 5 metaphysical properties - then a group of 10 people threw their words on the floor and we selected words that spoke to us randomly - creating a poem and an image to illustrate it - very quickly !<br />
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The 'poem' reads:<br />
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Full mysterious light<br />
Changing love to cold<br />
No oxygen<br />
A lifeless mood ritual<br />
A bumpy wisdom<br />
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Sing your dreams<br />
The madness of soul<br />
Howl curl and embrace bright mystery<br />
Scream the harvest.<br />
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After putting these words together to make some sense of them - they seemed to me like a good description of snoring/apnoea and its consequences. I may use this method to create a poem about ants.<br />
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Incidentally whilst doing this exercise my mobile phone which was residing in my pocket decided to heat up to the point where I thought it might explode - I've been howling at Tesco Mobile today because they will not replace it unless they are sure they can't repair it - it is beyond repair it is dead like the Monty Python parrot. I explained that I have saved notes on my lectures to it, and use it for work but to no avail - they have to follow procedures like the rest of us ants.<br />
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My argument against this ant like behaviour is that as humans we have independence of thought. An exampleof this is cited by Mika Rottenburg in Art Monthly Oct 18 " In the space of an eight-hour workday, not everything has a purpose- things also have their own kind of logic and people do things in different ways". This divergence and diversity from ' norms - or not fitting easily into tick boxes', means that we may find collaborating in certain circumstances difficult - unless we agree with the terms and the aims of the collaboration. Then we have to decide whether the aims have a moral dimension -are they 'good' or 'bad' and who gets to decide which is which ? Perhaps there are subtle ways used by companies who make money out of us to control our movements and choices in the digital and real world - eg political choices - purchasing choices ? In regards to purchasing - we were reminded in the first lecture on the thought experiment that what we are told are sustainable purchasing choices may not on further investigation truly be sustainable.<br />
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I am thinking of making an ant mask and having my hair dyed red by a colleague - then making a short film where I get stamped on by a large doctor marten.<br />
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Paul<br />
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Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-28904810644924284772018-10-01T08:41:00.003-07:002018-10-01T08:41:57.986-07:00I've started the journey<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Passenger aircraft making trails ( ants) journeying along pre determined routes</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surface tunnels created by ants pattern of movement</td></tr>
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I have begun the MA in Fine Art and Contemporary Dialogues, and have decided to use this blog as a record of the journey.<br />
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My 'Thought Experiment' selected randomly from unmarked envelopes on the floor of the lecture theatre asks me to reflectively follow the movement of ants.<br />
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I have started to gather information - visual, thought connections and text.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRi0rTQxJN3xea_GjIW86KbFYvt2w8Jgk7IVRws0OLM5A1jsCaZPpwWNeGgH4IAjXNatUM7GwCznbVp7cEzKj_l7fErHBS1UIwxLkeJ0I9eTdKHPa4K8cH2Y3IUjCUzALmgDoGUxn40OQ/s1600/IMG_20180930_121012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRi0rTQxJN3xea_GjIW86KbFYvt2w8Jgk7IVRws0OLM5A1jsCaZPpwWNeGgH4IAjXNatUM7GwCznbVp7cEzKj_l7fErHBS1UIwxLkeJ0I9eTdKHPa4K8cH2Y3IUjCUzALmgDoGUxn40OQ/s320/IMG_20180930_121012.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favourite book as a 10 year old. I had a childhood fascination/obsession with insects - made an ant nest in a jar. Collected the pupae, watched the queen ants and the male flying ants mate - the queen ants losing their wings and seeking out new nest sites. The winged males die. I mixed together different ant species only to watch them fight and kill one another</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqRQM6KIc02TU_35X0DOeNKzIt4-13OY5Dx4HKLNhZ_sByUw8F_jVD1pnUh44olZEokLfl9FpLXWV7AQivPGGGrAcVF_LCNJ3P2KEc3helmBO1MX_FBJdrwZb1N5Zkb6k8e3cTDXWVmB4/s1600/IMG_20180930_123754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="567" data-original-width="1600" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqRQM6KIc02TU_35X0DOeNKzIt4-13OY5Dx4HKLNhZ_sByUw8F_jVD1pnUh44olZEokLfl9FpLXWV7AQivPGGGrAcVF_LCNJ3P2KEc3helmBO1MX_FBJdrwZb1N5Zkb6k8e3cTDXWVmB4/s320/IMG_20180930_123754.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ant in this biblical passage from the book of proverbs is described in the feminine - this is interesting as ants are a matriarchal society - they are driven by the need to create the next generation. We are asked here to consider the fundamental need for humans to gather and provide. This was taken up by certain forms of 'religon' to push the work ethic and to engender guilt and enslave others. This however does not seem to be its core meaning. It just seems to be saying that we need to be active in order to have enough food to eat and share.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEMaJzmVi5MuhcfKSO4n553qSN1fNSdi79BryorLAJ8CArupnNVskzCqsgt3uQjggg2SzX2RXHUyaC1euxylhO1XrVDgMYNNO_nPobayeBxhUVhWnV6IKKrZ01NmGgFrLzMEd0Q4aqxY/s1600/IMG_20180930_145947_193.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEMaJzmVi5MuhcfKSO4n553qSN1fNSdi79BryorLAJ8CArupnNVskzCqsgt3uQjggg2SzX2RXHUyaC1euxylhO1XrVDgMYNNO_nPobayeBxhUVhWnV6IKKrZ01NmGgFrLzMEd0Q4aqxY/s320/IMG_20180930_145947_193.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ant like behaviour - Collecting leaves in my garden - raking is pointless as more leaves are going to fall ! Small tasks like small stories however help to build the bigger picture - (reminds me of the mention of grand narratives giving way to small stories - in the lecture on Postmodernism - Jean -Francios Lyotard) . The garden is cleared and is visually pleasing - the activity is pleasurable - the scent of autumn leaf litter - the sunshine the sounds of the birds. The big task is broken down into smaller parts and is less arduous.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ants don't bully - they are naturally genetically driven to cooperate for the good of the whole community.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-R8h_2ALDT0dy7n9lalRGaj2QPyygCLfMRRdoPGKJsB8XDcWsscMIl-q9kjDDrYYzvb-HicOgRabHc2X0qXHJqsrgULltswySFidksbuSu8ZI1jXkw0GOAx_8Fg2vEXE9kHcYpALYX4/s1600/IMG_20181001_143843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1096" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-R8h_2ALDT0dy7n9lalRGaj2QPyygCLfMRRdoPGKJsB8XDcWsscMIl-q9kjDDrYYzvb-HicOgRabHc2X0qXHJqsrgULltswySFidksbuSu8ZI1jXkw0GOAx_8Fg2vEXE9kHcYpALYX4/s320/IMG_20181001_143843.jpg" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Transferring thoughts into an image - the thin plaster broke whilst carving out the channels - but this is ok as it mimics the cracked soil surface under the paving</td></tr>
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A fellow student stated that she feels that primary school education is delivered in such a way that we are 'turning out robots'. This obsession with predetermined pathways invades many areas of life including health care - for example the use of pre written care plans and monitoring forms and tick box systems on computer programs. These ways of working aim to reduce the risk of errors. Does working in this way mean that we lose the sense of the personal and individual ? Do we become just a number in the system.<br />
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Is control a bad thing ? It may depend on the controller and the purpose of the control. If we have no sense of purpose - no clear direction do we become depressed or anxious ?<br />
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An example of this was the first few days of getting to university for the lecture- I had to get used to the route into the city, the timings of connecting buses - and then find my way to the correct building and the correct room within the building. These initial trials of finding new routes and timings create anxiety, but once they have become routine and known, the anxiety dissipates.<br />
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Identity crisis, anxiety and depression may be the result of our postmodern world - the certainties of the past having been eclipsed. Does this create a space for a new form of control to exert itself over us ? We need to be careful ?<br />
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There - ramblings - hopefully I will pull out some threads linking with other artists, poets etc - this is the beginning of the journey.<br />
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Paul<br />
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Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972953077371663143.post-14862893006609175712018-07-11T12:25:00.000-07:002018-07-11T12:25:21.745-07:00In the waiting corner<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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While I'm waiting to start the MA in September I have continued to make larger drawings on paper based on sketches made in North Wales and in my garden.<br />
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I have started using a scalpel to cut out parts of the drawings - it feels more like sculpting and is akin to how I work in the garden.<br />
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My nerves are building now.<br />
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Paul</div>
Paul Steerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16934578411450049838noreply@blogger.com0