After a psychology degree of too many words, hands demanded outlet so began with the materials freely available, wood and stone. Wandering the woods and fields soon led to a feel for local nature, craggy ground beneath my feet and uplifted among the vertical world of trees. Trees are made by light, mostly of air and rain, sounds obvious but there’s little mineral, the roots don’t suck out a huge hole under a tree. This growing story is left as a tideline in the grain. It is how the ocean of life has written itself there in the rings, one more each year, in slow time, in one place, abiding. Trees are radial beings, temples of light.
Stone is in cosmic time, the cooling remnant of stardust which formed a crust to stand atop the molten core. In Cornwall sea eaten cliffs show these cooling contortions, in the unusual Serpentine of the Lizard, and the coloured Granites indicating where tin and copper minerals were likely. Tin and copper make Bronze for a new age of work. Metal was poured white hot to some moulded idea, sword plough or mirror.
The natural worlds of wood and stone are materials which tell their own stories of growth and decay, of continual change, caught in the snapshot of a piece of work. From raw material to finished piece the language is of form and texture, in rough and smooth, intricacy and simplicity. Sometimes the overtness of the material means we forget to see it with fresh eyes. Stone is not wall, wood is not floor, that is just the familiar furniture of our primitive world, our primal mind. Recently discovered, a 3000 year old Grecian Bronze mask still has a look of surprise. When familiar stops, mental furniture revealed, we look anew. The intent of art is always present.