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Capriccio

Ceramics is more than just playing with mud, as has been discussed on this site before. It ranges from the functional and commercial to the personal and expressive, from pieces that demand no attention because they exist to hold a pile of sandwiches to pots that require effort from the viewer as you move around the object, examining details and angles that provide an emotional connection with the maker.

Tabu teapot by Angus Suttie at the Sunday Painter gallery

In London recently, and on a visit to The Sunday Painter gallery, the work of Angus Suttie (1946 – 1993) was on display. His approach was described as “tapping the subconscious to see what happens”, and he turned out work that is humorous, direct and engaged. Strong vertical or horizontal shapes, with twisted forms, holes and conduits, piled-up different forms from smaller parts, playful and probably unplanned from the start, they are “awkward and beautiful” as he himself described the work. The exhibition is on until 26th October – click here for the link, if you’re anywhere near the South Lambeth Rd, drop in.

Red and Green dancing vase – Peter Arscott Ceramics

That element of play is important. Starting out without a clear plan or design in mind can lead to all sorts of interesting outcomes, specially with hand-building when you can cut the clay and shape it as you build your piece. At Peter Arscott Ceramics the vessel is still king, and is the basis for all work, but sometimes functionality is not obvious, or, rather, not relevant, as the personality of the piece takes shape – often in a whimsical direction.

Poseur vase

“Whimsical” is such a strange-sounding word. “Whimsical derives from whim-wham, a noun from the early 16th century that originally referred to an ornamental object or trinket. Later whim-wham, with its fun sound, came to refer to a fantastic notion or odd fancy” (Merriam-Webster dictionary). So that explains it: whimsical, quirky, capricious.

Lone goat

There is nothing capricious about setting off to walk up to Bradlow Knoll – it is a serious undertaking for two-legged beings of a certain age whose gamboling days are long behind them. However, this latest walk led to an encounter which put a spring in the step, as the recent fencing layout on the hill was eventually explained by the number of goats grazing. As all walkers know “When setting out upon an important journey, it’s good luck to meet a goat.”

Apologies for my lexicographical meanderings – it’s probably a phase. There are two theories as to how the word “capricious” is derived.  It comes via French from the Italian word capriccio, which originally referred not to a sudden desire but to a sudden shiver of fear. It probably comes from the Italian capo, meaning “head,” and riccio, the word for “hedgehog” – anyone who shuddered in fear was said to have a “hedgehog head,” meaning that the person’s hair stood on end like the spines of a hedgehog.

Capriccio vase, or St Sebastian vase.

My preferred theory is the possible link to Italian word “capra”, meaning “goat,” because of the animal’s perceived whimsical nature. Anyway, they are sociable animals, intelligent and curious, and, thanks to them, coffee was first discovered when Ethiopian goat herders noticed the animals acting energetically after nibbling coffee beans, though I prefer the version where the abbot of a monastery full of lazy monks saw the effect on his goats and fed the beans to his brethren.

Cockerel vase

St Spyridon, patron saint of potters and former goat herd, known by the PAC team in the studio simply as Spiro (in charge of Marketing) is keen that we know that goats are one of the cleanest animals, though they dislike water and would rather leap over streams and puddles than step in them. They also use the sneeze sound to warn each other of danger. Fact: the pharaoh Cephranes thought that so much of his goats that he had 2,234 buried with him. Spiro also says that goat yoghurt is the best – that’s all he eats.

Autumnal vase

As you can see from the image at the start of this blog, the view from Bradlow Knoll in early October gives every appearance that summer is still with us. The only tree that is turning autumnal is the horse chestnut, and there are not many in the neighbourhood: ash, hawthorn, hazel, blackthorn, sycamore and apple are more common in Herefordshire. This time of year is all about apples and cider-making, and in the cluster of villages around Much Marcle, the Big Apple Harvest festival takes place on 12th and 13thOctober. You can visit the local orchards, see, hear and smell cider and perry being made and taste and buy many different varieties of apples, local ciders, perries and apple juices. Click here.

Michaelmas daisies

Michaelmas daisies are all out now. They are a sure sign of Autumn and are so called because they reach their peak on or around the 29 September, Michaelmas Day, or The Feast of Michael and All Angels, signifying the end of the harvest, the start of autumn and the beginning of the shorter days.

A couple invited the local vicar for Sunday dinner. While they were in the kitchen preparing the meal, the minister asked their son what they were having.
“Goat,” the little boy replied.
“Goat?” replied the vicar, “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” said the youngster. “I heard Dad say to Mom, ‘Today is just as good as any to have the old goat for dinner.’

April showers bring more than flowers.

The art of walking on sludge requires you to walk bow-legged and on bent knees, leaning forward if going uphill, so that by the time you reach CJ’s bench at the top of Bradlow Hill your thighs ache like a ballerina’s after five consecutive performances of Swan Lake.  By the way, someone has left a nice pair of gloves that are now wedged between the slats waiting for their owner.

England’s sewage system

The rain has been relentless in this part of the world, making the ground as soft as chocolate fondant, delaying planting and seeding by farmers, flooding many areas, reducing oxygen in the soil (think of the poor worms) and forcing water companies to allow sewage into the rivers – this last revolting image the direct result of the privatisation of water and the neglect of any control over “market forces” in the guise of hedge funds. The result is priority for shareholders’ dividends over proper investment in upgrading an outdated system that can no longer cope with the zillion turds we produce daily. Enough moaning.

Bluebells in Frith Wood

Despite the muddy pathway into Frith wood, I ventured in, knowing that you would want proof that at least some things are still as they should be. What with Ukraine, Gaza, climate change, polarized politics, and all the rest of the present gloom fest, it’s good to know that the bluebells are with us, and the wood anemones.

Anemones

On my way out of the woods I passed by a large patch of forget-me-nots. The Greek name Myosotis is a combination of “mus” and “otis” and means “mouse ear”, referring to the shape of the leaves. I’m posting the image because they are beautiful delicate blue flowers with a yellow eye and grey-green velvety leaves, and they are vibrant, heart-warming and make one smile – a reminder of a friend who is no longer with us.

Ceramics: the good news is that the new kiln is now up and running, and a first batch of vases has been glaze-fired successfully.

Big Yoohoo vase just out of the new kiln

The kiln is a Rohde front-loader called Helmut – very efficient and accurate, with a good work ethic.

Introducing Helmut.

He is extremely heavy and here I must give thanks to Steve whose knowledge of cantilevered engineering worked a treat when we moved H into position. He deserves a medal and should any of you be interested in acquiring or finding out about medals of the Great War then Steve, professional military history researcher that he is, is your man. Click here to visit his sight. So far, Helmut seems to get along with the rest of the team – it’s all change here with the introduction of Shinto the Pugmill too.

Thelonious undone.

Spiro and Ziggy are very sad that Thelonious (the old pugmill) is no longer here, and were upset to see him being loaded onto the back of a lorry by a forklift truck to be taken to the (gulp) scrapyard.

Spiro and Ziggy making a scene

It seems that nobody wants anything requiring three-phase power. If anybody is looking for an inverter designed to drive a three-phase induction motor, please get in touch – this one is an IMO iDrive2 XKL.

While writing this blog, news arrived from local MP Jesse Norman that the government has published the River Wye action plan, with up to £35 million in new funding, setting out a wide range of measures to address phosphate pollution and other environmental impacts on the Wye. It has also appointed a new River Champion for the river. All this could lead to a properly funded single collective long-term effort bringing all groups together. That’s a good result and, who knows, it may even be the first step towards the eventual re-nationalization of water.

Back to ceramics.

Stockpiling at PAC.

Here is an architectural piece made from left-overs from the slab roller. It would look better if it were 10ft high.

And before I finally abandon the issue of what can be found bobbing on the surface of our rivers:

  • What is brown and sticky?
  • A stick.

Have a good Spring.

Anatomy of a fall

The view from Bradlow Knoll at 10 am New Year’s Day

Pottery is just an excuse to play with mud. The material used is really nothing more than soil clay that has been mined. Mud is wet soil. Roll a ball of moist sediment into a thin string – if you can, it’s clay. It’s generally accepted now that playing with mud allows children to connect with the natural world around them, and helps develop tactile skills, boosts creativity and imagination. And it’s fun and therapeutic. And I think this applies to adults too. Using your hands to shape clay into a vessel is an ancient practice that is fulfilling, and whole cultures are identified by their pottery, after all it is one of the oldest and most widespread of artforms. Pots say a lot about people.

New Year’s Day, old moon.

But as you well know, when it’s been raining a lot in the countryside, mud becomes an enemy not a friend, and you have to take it into account when you go for a walk, specially up and down a hill like Bradlow Knoll. In the early morning of the first day of the New Year, the sky was clear after the rainfall of a few days – weighing the pros and cons, and mindful of my duty to my faithful blog readers and seeing a pale waning moon beckoning in a blue sky, I decided the omens were good for a climb up the hill and a first photo of this year’s view.

Walk in the woods vase

However, the problem with walking on claggy mud is that you have to keep your eyes on your feet the whole time. One small lapse of concentration and can send your legs into the air, so you try to step on the least wet bits along the edge of the path, head down and unable to appreciate the surrounding landscape. Which is tiring and frustrating, specially deep into Frith Wood where the dark tree cover keeps everything as damp as possible, though there was a wintry sun low in the sky that you could glimpse through the trees.

I was not really enjoying my New Year’s walk. The mud was not fun and therapeutic, though maybe the worms were enjoying it; in one acre of lands there can be more than a million worms, so I imagined them partying underfoot. There is a stretch towards the end of the walk that is surrounded on both sides by brambles so it’s difficult to use the drier edges of the path. It was here that my concentration strayed because the birdsong was so unexpected and loud. I was trying to identify all the various songs (mainly blackbird, robin and bluetit) when it happened.

Some doctors  believe that one of the biggest benefits of mud baths is that they can provide stress relief. Sitting in warm, soft mud can relax the muscles and soothe the mind. They are also thought to relieve stress, joint pain, rheumatoid arthritis and certain skin ailments. Some people use mud baths simply to chill out. What I found myself in face down was not a warm bath of mud but an unrelaxing cold and slimy one that did nothing for my self-esteem.

It was a slow-motion experience in three stages. First the right foot slid backwards, and I thought I’d land on my right knee (no big deal, I thought, just a muddy knee). Second, because it was slightly downhill, my upper body was leaning forward enough to propel me further, so I stuck out my right hand to stop things getting any worse (no big deal, just a muddy hand, as well as knee). Third, my right hand made contact with the mud and slid forward all the way until the whole right side of my body lay obligingly in the quagmire. This happened in less than a second, but it felt very gradual – it’s amazing what your brain can be doing in such a short time: surprise (this cannot be happening!), anger (I showered and put on clean clothes an hour ago in honour of this New Year, and now look!), indignity (God, I hope nobody’s looking!), curiosity (all the birds have suddenly stopped singing, are they having a quiet laugh? Do birds laugh? I must find out), and finally disappointment and petulance (I was being so careful all the way, it’s just not fair).

I met two dog walkers further on, at a fork in their path, and wondered whether they’d heard my expletives. They looked vaguely concerned at my state, and I had two choices: either I let them go along my path to see if they too slipped in the mud or I recommended the alternative path ahead of them. The Devil in me lost and I told them how to best avoid my fate – it was my first good deed of the year. By the time I got home the sun was out again low in the sky and cast a long shadow, reminding me that we’ve already had our shortest day (22 Dec), and that seemed to put things in proportion, so I blamed my shoes, which have no grip and are inappropriate for walks.

guilty shoes

Somewhere in the Frith Wood is the mud imprint of yours truly. It will last until the next rainfall, then dissolve back to its natural muddiness. Mud is the stuff of creation, used to create Adam, so how come it’s used to tarnish people? Mud is thrown at people in accusation, a name is dragged through it, anything dark and confusing is clear as mud, a person who resists change is a stick in the mud. But we potters know better, which is why I hold nothing against it, other than, occasionally, my body.

architectural pieces drying.

And ceramics? (It’s about time you mentioned them, says Spiro). Well, yes, the new kiln is yet to be connected, so I have been making pieces that have not been bisque fired and sit around waiting in the studio, like the ones in the image above, and the set of Yoohoo vases below.

Yoohoo vases waiting for a bisque firing

Also waiting for kiln connection and bisque firing are various figures and pieces made by visitors to the studio. The lynx pictured is a favourite.

Lynx by Lisa Dearling

And finally, and given that these blogs always seem to refer to woods and trees: a man walks into Frith Wood and tries to cut down a talking tree. “You can’t cut me down,” the tree exclaims, “I’m a talking tree!” The man responds, “You may be a talking tree, but you will dialogue.”

My conversation with Eric

Vell Mill meadow near Dymock

This is the time of the wild daffodils, and one of the best surviving wild daffodil meadows in the UK is the Vell Mill meadow, where thousands of people used to visit during the spring – traveling up from London on the train to pick the flowers to take back and sell. They’d load them on the train known as the Daffodil Express.

from Bradlow Knoll

It is an easy and unchallenging walk along the Poets Path – a reminder of the area’s connections with Robert Frost, Edward Thomas and others poets, who used to walk “ankle-deep in daffodils”. And it’s not as challenging as climbing up to Bradlow Knoll, which was achieved for your benefit, and despite the treacherous mud, the strange ominous gunshots and creaking joints. As you can see from the photo, it’s still looking wintry.

Interior vase at the Palais des Vaches gallery, Exbury, Nr Southampton

This blog exists primarily to promote Peter Arscott Ceramics, but regular readers are well aware of my tendency to talk with spiders (Ziggy), with pug mills (Thelonious) and with a long-dead Bishop of Trimythous and Patron Saint of potters, Saint Spyridon (known as Spiro), who is in charge of marketing.  So you won’t be surprised about my conversation with Eric, a rat.

Eric

As I looked out of the studio window last week, I caught sight of a tail disappearing behind the compost. Some of you have already been introduced to Eric (see blog of Spring last year), and he has been a constant affront and aggravation since. His life was saved by a poet then, but by now I had had enough. I borrowed a humane rat trap and smeared a biscuit with peanut butter. Next day I had him at last in my power, though he seemed quite self-possessed given the situation.

Yoohoo vase at Palais des Vaches, Exbury, nr Southampton

‘So, what are you going to do? Shoot me? Drown me?”

“No, no drowning. You rats can hold your breath underwater for three minutes – so it would be prolonged and cruel. Did you know there are other species of rat that can swim for over a mile? So those stories about rats popping up in the toilet are not urban myths – you lot will easily make your way up a drainpipe and bite people’s bums for a laugh.”

“Drainpipes are cleaner than swimming in your rivers. You won’t see me anywhere near the River Wye – it’s like doing the breast stroke in treacle. Disgusting.  And I”m a rat!”, he said rather affectedly.

Good time vase at the Palais des Vaches, Exbury, nr Southampton

Touché. Anyway, I’m taking you over two miles away and releasing you.”

“Oh? May I draw your attention to the Universities Federation for Animal Welfare document whose guiding principles in the humane control of rats and mice cover the welfare of trapped rodents and points out the relevance of the Animal Welfare Act 2006. If you will permit me to quote from the document, (and here he cleared his throat): Release of an animal elsewhere is not necessarily a humane thing to do – translocated animals may fail to adapt to or integrate into new territory and may suffer and die as a result (Mason and Littin, 2003)”.

“What are my alternatives? If I leave you at home, you just breed like…rats. Apparently, just one of your lady rats produces six litters a year consisting of up to 12 ratlets. And you reach sexual maturity after 4-5 weeks, meaning that a population can swell from two rats to around 1,250 in one year, with the potential to grow exponentially. I daren’t think how many of you there are living by the compost.”

“So what difference will getting rid of yours truly make? I’m just one little rat.”

“Yes, but I’ve been after you for a long time. You are the one who flaunts himself in front of the kitchen window, metaphorically cocking a snoop at me, provoking me. And now I’ve got you, thanks to peanut butter.”

Eric’s downfall – crunchy peanut butter on a Hovis biscuit

“Yes, that was delicious, I admit. Will you let me take some when you “release” me? It’ll tide me over until I settle down and get used to eating whatever it is that’s available in the countryside. What do you suggest?”

“ Nuts, berries, wild vegetables, snails, birds’ eggs. It’s a very healthy diet. You have to work hard – it’s not the easy living of feeding off my compost and garbage. And you’ll have to watch out for traffic and cows.”

a cow

“What are cows?”

“Oh dear. You are going to have a hard time, aren’t you. They are large, domesticated, cloven-hooved herbivores. “Vache” is French for cow, you know, and it so happens that I am exhibiting some of my stoneware vases at the Palais des Vaches, a fine gallery in Exbury, near Southampton.”

Here I will stop talking to Eric and tell readers that included in the pieces on show is a new piece which refers to Betty Woodman, one of the great ceramicists whose approach to making pots was always an inspiration to someone who enjoys painting as much as shaping clay. Click here to visit her site.

Betty vase. Palais des Vaches, Exbury, Nr Southampton

To get back to Eric – I did take him 2 miles away in the car and released him in a very inviting meadow with lots of hedgerows and trees. He took with him some peanut butter on a Hovis biscuit, and, as an extra measure and gesture of goodwill, I gave him 50p. I have not seen him since but if any of you see him hitchhiking in the Ledbury area, you are NOT to give him a lift.

River Wye. Photo by Claire Ward

On a less whimsical note, concerned as Eric by the state our main river and its slow poisoning, the whole PAC team has joined the Save the Wye campaign. The Environment Agency says the main excess nutrient that is causing concern is phosphate and that more than 60 per cent of the phosphate in the Wye catchment, which causes harmful “blooms” of algae, comes from poultry and other livestock manure washing into the river during rainfall. This accounts for approximately 72-74% of phosphates entering rivers, turning them into pea soup.

Peggy Sue, pooping polluter

The situation is compounded by discharges from sewage treatment works, which are regulated through Environmental Permits, accounting for approximately 21-23% of phosphates entering rivers. #SaveTheWye is an umbrella campaign to support and build the network of organisations and individuals working to protect and restore the health of the River Wye and its tributaries, for the benefit of both wildlife and people: https://linktr.ee/savethewye

The display at the Palais

Goodbye from Eric

Ledbury’s surreal connections

Ledbury down below

There is a lot of doc leaf in the fields and meadows at this time of year – they turn a dark ox blood red as their seeds appear and are easily identified as they stand out in the green landscape. This is very noticeable walking up the hill to Bradlow Knoll. The reason they command the eye’s attention is that we humans find red on green, or green on red, a very strong and vigorous combination – both colours are opposites on the colour chart, as blue is to orange, or yellow to violet, though these do not have the same force.

Doc

Interestingly, blue, red, and yellow are primary colours, whereas green is not (being made of yellow and blue) but has the personality of a primary colour. Anyway, try putting a piece of pure green paper next to a central red (one that pulls nether to yellow or to blue) and you might see the edge where they meet seemingly vibrate.

This is what goes through one’s head when walking up a hill towards a wood, this and “did I switch the kiln on?”, and “how do birds pee?”, and “which would be the nicest if animals could talk?” Once on top of the hill, the view below, with Ledbury’s steeple in the mid-distance, turns one’s attention in another direction.

Red and Green vase at Take 4 Gallery

Ledbury has become a popular destination for visitors recently, or it could be that they are all “passing through” on their way to Wales. Nevertheless, seeing the place where you live through the eyes of a stranger is good – what you usually accept as commonplace is often special when looked at objectively. For example, it really is extraordinary that so small a place has such links with poets such as Masefield, Barrett Browning, Auden, Frost and Thomas, or that  Butchers Row museum once stood in the middle of the High Street with seven others buildings and saw the slaughter of animals on a regular basis, the blood and effluvia mingling with the stream that ran down Church Lane leading to outbreaks of typhoid – until the buildings were bought out by public subscription and knocked down.

Zephyr vase at Take 4 Gallery, Ledbury

Though Ledbury is no stranger than any other place, it does exhibit a Tibetan flute or pipe fashioned from the thigh bone of a human, it did have church sextons who carried long sticks to wake up those who were nodding off with a tap on the head, and it did have pavements made of large cobbles or “petrified kidneys” that were big enough to send clog-wearing Ledburians flying.

Objective chance. Conroy Maddox

So, Ledbury has its “surreal” moments, but few places can boast of being the birthplace of a true surrealist painter like Conroy Maddox. He was born in 1912, upstairs  in what is now the Herefordshire Wildlife Trust shop, next door to the Poetry House on the corner of Bye Street. A painter, collagist, writer and lecturer; he discovered surrealism in 1935, spending the rest of his life exploring its potential through his paintings, photographs, objects and texts. He rejected academic painting in favour of techniques that expressed the surrealistic spirit of rebellion.

The Dressing of the Crabs. Conroy Maddox poster for the first Ledbury Poetry Festival 1997

His creations soon began not only to challenge the conventional view of reality, but also to push pictorial expression to the limits of consciousness. He was even implicated in both scandal and controversy when, during the Second World War, Scotland Yard suspected him of fifth columnist sabotage and mounted a surprise raid to seize works thought to contain coded messages to the enemy.

Party guest

Weekend parties at Maddox’s house drew in a wide variety of unconventional attendees, and guardian journalist Tim Hilton recalled in his obituary of the artist: “Festivities were common in Maddox’s surrealist villa. I attended carousals there with other undisciplined children, women in Gypsy dress, poets, communist intellectuals from the University of Birmingham, and early postwar Caribbean immigrants … The Balsall Heath house also contained dozens of unsold paintings and many photographs of Maddox in the company of a nun. Some of their activities involved a crucifixion, the naked but bespectacled Maddox its victim, while the nun drank from a two-pint bottle of the local brew, Mitchell’s and Butler’s.”

Fountain by Marcel Duchamp

The obvious link between ceramics and surrealism is Marcel Duchamp’s inverted porcelain urinal signed “R.Mutt” and titled “Fountain.” Sadly, this will not be on show during Herefordshire Art Week, a nine-day art trail open to all (3 – 11 September).  Artists, craft makers and creative businesses open their private studios every day from 11am – 5pm.

Matisse vase at Take 4 Gallery, Ledbury. hArt

The Take Four Gallery on the High Street will be exhibiting some pieces by Peter Arscott Ceramics, and there will be demonstrations at 11 and at 2 on Thursday 8th September on how to make a three-legged urinal, er..sorry…bowl.

Three legged bowl at Take 4 Gallery

h.Art has become part of Herefordshire’s cultural calendar, with a huge variety of art and art forms on show in open studios, group exhibitions and gallery events. The vast majority offer free admission to visitors, in locations such as manor houses, historic barns, farms, churches and beautiful gardens.

Back in the cool of Frith Wood, with no other walkers on a very early Monday morning, the eery silence was only occasionally broken by birdsong, and at one point a sudden crashing through the undergrowth revealed the light brown back of a fleeing deer. If Surrealism was an avant-garde movement in art and literature which sought to release the creative potential of the unconscious mind, for example by the irrational juxtaposition of images, then this was a good setting – substitute pike for deer.

From predatory pike to printed prose: let me introduce you to the Stand Magazine and to Jon Silkin, poet, editor and critic who established it with his £5 redundancy money (received after trying to organise some of his fellow manual workers) as a ‘stand’ against injustice and oppression, and to ‘stand’ for the role that the arts, poetry and fiction in particular, could and should play in that fight.

Silkin

As described by the poet Rodney Pybus, Stand is “….. a place where the unglamorous, the unfashionable, the oppositional, the innovative, the unEnglish, the radical voices might gain a hearing as well as the more conventional, acceptable and consensual voices.”

My short story, Maxwell’s Nose, probably belongs to the “conventional, acceptable and consensual” stable.  If you’d like to read it you can click here for the website, and you can read the intro, though you would have to buy an individual copy (£7 inc postage) through the editor at engstand@leeds.ac.uk to read the whole story, or else subscribe online. Excellent poetry contributions.

Goodbye

Hereford, Hawkins and Hoople

Hereford Cathedral

“And Prince Eadric and the Welsh became hostile and they attacked the castle-men in Hereford, and did them many injuries. And here the king set a great tax on the wretched people …” (The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, Worcester Manuscript 1066, pp. 200-201)

Illustration of a Welsh archer from the late 13th century

It seems that, right up to the Middle Ages, there were quite a few battles waged by the Welsh against the English in Hereford, which probably gave rise to many myths, and perhaps the most famous of these are the supposed laws about your rights to shoot a Welsh person with a longbow on a Sunday in the Cathedral Close in Hereford. A spokesperson for the Law Commission has confirmed: “It is illegal to shoot a Welsh or Scottish person regardless of the day, location or choice of weaponry.”

Church Street, Hereford

So, denied this right by law, I left my bow and arrow behind and drove into the city to deliver ceramics to the Timothy Hawkins Gallery – just a stone’s throw from the Cathedral, but it was a weekday anyway, not a Sunday. Church Street, where the gallery is, is a stone-paved lane that leads from the close to the main square, free of traffic, and with cafes, it is much used by pedestrians as a short-cut.

Timothy Hawkins himself is an artist craftsman who makes beautiful bespoke furniture, and the gallery is an outlet for some of his work, but also for others. Glass, textiles, metal work, ceramics, as well as wood, is on display, and after you’ve paid a visit, you can go and visit the Chained Library and the Mappa Mundi at the Cathedral before going to one of the fine pubs for a drink.

Signs and Wonders by Edmund de Waal. Photo by Hélène Binet

The main square itself is used as a market once a week, and I was reminded that many years ago a young Edmund de Waal used to sell his ceramics there when he set up a studio in the eighties. His work is minimalist and functional, but also sensual because, as he says, “of the knowledge our own hands hold when we make things”. Touch is important to him, as it was to another potter, born in Hereford, Simon Carroll.

Simon Carroll. Photo from Artforum 2014

Quite a contrast with de Waal’s work, Carroll’s is exuberant and risk-taking, and he was a whizz with glazes.

Hello vase at the Timothy Hawkins Gallery

Who else has Hereford connections? Well, three incredibly famous actors: David Garrick, Sarah Siddons and Nell Gwynn, Charles II’s mistress. And singer songwriter Ellie Goulding. And, of course, Mott the Hoople, glam rock band whose greatest hit was All the Young Dudes, written for them by David Bowie to stop them splitting up, which they were on the verge of doing – you of a certain age will enjoy listening to it again: click here.

Vase 54 at the Timothy Hawkins Gallery

And if any of you enjoy your sport, you may remember one if the greatest footballing upsets in FA Cup history when Hereford United beat Newcastle 2–1 in January 1972, when they were still a non-league side and Newcastle were in the top division of English football. Have a look at Ronnie Radford’s goal here.

JV11 at Timothy Hawkins Gallery

Historically, Hereford was once part of Wales (thus all those battles) and there is still a debate that crops up now and again as to whether the county would be better off as part of Wales and not England, to the extent that some believe that Herefordshire has become mecca for people from the South East and London to build their castles in their very own corner of ‘England’, to the detriment of Hereford’s “Welshness”, defined as infectious high spirits, combined with recklessness, generosity, and a ready wit (all of which Nell Gwynn had in spades).

the longest place name in Europe

Two English tourists are driving through Wales and visit the place with the longest name in Europe Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch (“St Mary’s Church in the Hollow of the White Hazel near a Rapid Whirlpool and the Church of St. Tysilio near the Red Cave”). They stop for lunch and one of the tourists asks the waitress: “Before we order, I wonder if you could settle an argument for us. Can you pronounce where we are, very, very, very slowly?”The girl leaned over and said: “Burrr… gurrr… King.”

Nell Gwynn as Cupid, an engraving by Richard Thomson, of a painting by Peter Cross.Samuel Pepys kept one on his desk.

Large figure vase at the Timothy Hawkins Gallery

song of the nightingale, buzz of the fly

May view of Ledbury

A celebratory walk was needed after a successful glaze firing. The view from Bradlow Knoll down towards Ledbury this May afternoon was grey and cloudy. You can see in the distance the white shapes of the plastic used in the speeded-up cultivation of strawberries for the voracious soft fruit market, and, nearer, the sheep  which will end up on our dinner plates. Land maintained and exploited for the consumer’s benefit, which has made our landscape what it is today. This applies to Frith Wood as well, where dead trees are removed or left on the ground to encourage wildlife. This tree was 57 years old – I counted the rings.

A well-maintained wood.

It clouded over very quickly and started to rain, so it was dark walking in the wood, and there was little birdsong. However, it was not as dark as a few weeks ago when my daughter and I found ourselves with thirty others tiptoeing through Highnam Woods near Gloucester at midnight.

A walk through the woods at night vase

 It was pitch black. Not a sound could we make, no squeaky shoes allowed, or noisy clothing, no flashlights to be used, only the vague shape of the person in front to guide each of us in single file until we came to a small clearing and very carefully sat down. We had previously gathered around a campfire to eat, drink and listen to the environmentalist Sam Lee, who was leading us into the trees with one purpose only: to listen to a nightingale sing.

Nightingale. Photo: Carlos Delgado

Unlike the continent, the UK is seeing the slow disappearance of the bird, due to farming and land management activity, but primarily to the lack of thoughtfully maintained woods like Highnam, which is owned by the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds, and is a jewel, a remnant of ancient woodland that is carefully managed in order to keep a balance between mature trees and traditional coppice.

Doodle vase just out of the kiln.

Our nightingale sang his heart out, though not for us. Only male birds sing at night, in order to woo the females – if you hear one still singing at the end of Spring, that means he didn’t get the girl and he’ll be a Summer bachelor. Ours was a Pavarotti, with the most amazing technique, and the sound was clean and clear and strangely affecting. Click here to listen, and if you are interested in going on a Nightingale Walk next Spring, have a look at the Nest Collective website here.

Posture vase

From beautiful sounds to irritating ones: is it me, or are the flies out early this year?

They keep zooming into the studio uninvited, hurling themselves against the windowpanes again and again, and buzzing at a particular pitch that keeps you from concentrating. Eventually you spend too much time trying to swat them, unsuccessfully, and getting more and more frenzied and unfocused.

Fl-eye view

Like most people, I know flies have those compound eyes which allow them to see what’s coming towards them no matter at what angle or speed, so that by the time they’ve swerved the blow of a rolled-up newspaper, they’ve had time to read the print. Ok, so flies are important pollinators, second only to the bees, but house flies, commensal with humans all over the world, spread food-borne illnesses. And they are an annoyance especially in some parts of the world where they can occur in large numbers, buzzing and settling on the skin or eyes. Did you know, and I’ve looked this up, that the fly’s taste receptors are in the labium, pharynx, feet, wing margins and female genitalia, thus enabling it to taste your food by walking on it?

Research on your behalf also uncovered this: the Sardinian cheese casu martzu is exposed to flies so that the digestive activities of the fly larvae soften the cheese and modify the aroma as part of the process of maturation. Banned by the European Union, the cheese was hard to find, but the ban has been lifted on the grounds that the cheese is a traditional local product made by traditional methods.  And why not? The sustainable food of the future is the insect.

Swat vase

Do flies, do insects, have much to do with the history and development of ceramics? Not as far as I know, this is just another long and rambling lead-in to my latest batch of vases out of the kiln. I think you’ll agree that the piece above has been influenced by fly-swatting.

Hello vase

From bird song to buzzing to mooing: more PCA ceramics at the Palais des Vaches in Exbury, where you can also see a unique coffee table made with tapering beech legs, the top being sealed, and hand painted with acrylics. Three layers of heat-resistant varnish ensure that hot mugs of coffee will not mark the surface, though coasters are recommended. The surface is easy to clean.  It could be described as a horizontal painting on four legs, and certainly you get a lot of pleasure from simply looking down on it and enjoying the colours

Unique PAC hand-painted table at the Palais des Vaches

Other work at the Palais includes this large sculptural piece:

Porthole vase

And to finish, a poem from childhood:

“Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly,
“‘Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show when you are there.”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.” (Mary Howitt)

Ruby my Dear vase at the Coastal Gallery

Well, I couldn’t resist finishing off with John Keats:

“Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call’d him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!”

Eunice done me wrong

Storm brewing over Ledbury

The consequences of humans evolving bipedalism from a body designed to walk on four, not two, legs, include the effort required to climb a hill without running out of puff. This is what walking up to Bradlow Knoll entails – back pain, breathlessness, and aching thighs, but the reward awaits, no matter what the weather: the view down to Ledbury and beyond, though it looked ominous and buffeted by winds.

Final hurdle

But it would be easier on four legs. The fact that it is a “knoll”, which means low hill or hillock, somehow adds insult to injury. It feels more like a smallish mountain, or at least a steep hill. What’s more, when you make it to the top you are ambushed by the fifty extra steps required once in the wood to get to the very top.

Two legs good

Bipedalism. It seems that thousands of years ago our pelvis shortened, the thighs became longer, the angle of the thigh bone changed to point inwards allowing the knees to come together under our centre of gravity, allowing us to stand for a long period without getting tired. The spine curved into an S-shape helping to support the head and creating balance. Oh, and we lost our body hair.

Moe

The disadvantages of standing on two legs?  More pressure put on our spine and on our knees. The vertical position of the spine makes it more prone to back injuries. It’s also much harder on the heart and its vessels to pump blood to the entire body. And the big heavy head our spine has to carry, no wonder we lose our balance and fall when we get older.

Bighead

In the case of Moe, my bedside table mascot, he can only stand upright if his feet are wedged at an angle behind the table, otherwise his head, being too heavy for the design, forces him to collapse. Who is Moe? Those of us of a certain generation may remember Larry, Moe and Curly Joe who had us laughing when we were six or seven. Not sure their vaudeville humour has survived with time, but there is a certain nostalgia seeing them poke each other’s eyes and indulge in slapstick. Click here for The Three Stooges .

Fingers – one of the benefits of bipedalism

On the other hand, walking upright frees the hands for carrying your important tools like your mobile phone, for social display and communication like when you feel the need to welcome or insult somebody, but, most importantly, for making pots out of clay – there’s no doubt that would be difficult on all fours. Having fingers also helps.

Eunice did it

The fragility of the human frame and what it has to put up with (stress, weight, temperatures, balance) leads me, of course, to ceramics. All this was uppermost on the day of the climb to the knoll. It was cold and windy but not yet a storm. That was to come a few days later in the guise of Storm Dudley, very much a milksop of a squall compared with his successor a few days later – Storm Eunice. Presumably the next one will be a male name starting with “F” – Fred, Finnegan, Fernando, Finbar? Well, while writing this, Storm Franklyn blew in and is at the moment playing havoc with the tree in the garden. The news says there’s another on the way, and it’s called Gladys. Dudley, Eunice, Franklyn and Gladys – sounds like a polite tea party at an old people’s home.

Large Block vase

 

Large Block vase stress fracture

It was Eunice who knocked over a big garden vase, but sometimes it is the potter who is the culprit, as in the case of the large block vase. By not allowing its thick stoneware time to dry slowly and completely, sections of it dried at different times creating stress fractures that only became visible after firing. It is now useless and will be relegated to garden duties.

Big Spring vase

Big Spring vase

Sometimes the fractures are made when the potter is manipulating the clay too much, as when adjusting a handle onto the body of a vase, which is what happened with this Big Spring vase.

Big Spring vase close-up

Still on the subject of bipedalism, cows have four legs, as is well known, but not feet. They have hooves – hard, good for long distances. Good in almost any environment except sharp rocks. Very little maintenance needed. I mention them because Arscott Ceramics will be exhibiting some work at the Palais des Vaches near Southampton opening on 18th March, in collaboration with the Coastal Gallery. More about that in the next blog, but if you are nearby on the day do pencil it in your diary.

Tendril vase at the Palais des Vaches

Why do cows have hooves? Because they lactose.

I wonder if at this rate we’ll get to Storm Zebedia this year? Anyway, keep well and don’t forget to pencil in the Equinox exhibition at the Palais, which is in Hampshire, and as everybody knows, in Hertford, Hereford and Hampshire, hurricanes hardly happen. So you’d be safe from the wind.

 

Meandering

The Leadon, which gives its name to Ledbury.

It was a clear, bright September morning, perfect weather for a long walk, but the thought of trudging up Bradlow Hill for a view of Ledbury overcame any remaining willpower and my feet took the easier option, leading me in the opposite direction, across the bypass and along the (flat) Leadon River walk to the east of the town.

Leadon – Celtic word for ‘broad stream.’

Maybe I would spot a kingfisher, or see fish jumping, or some riverbank fauna. Perhaps it was the lack of recent rainfall, and it could simply be seasonal, but the Leadon was a trickle of its usual self, and looked muddy and, frankly, dead. There was no life in it, no fish, no birdlife, and I wondered if it had suffered another watercourse pollution incident like the one in 2016 which killed more than 15,200 fish after 100 tonnes of digestate had been pumped onto a field and had flowed into the Preston Brook, which in turn flows into the river Leadon.

A tributary to the Severn river

There have been efforts in recent years to help the Leadon thrive as a salmon river. In 2009, thousands of salmon were released, and two small weirs were installed near Ledbury, which were designed with salmon in mind to overcome barriers to migration. Also, roach, chub, and dace were added to the mix. Most fish recently re-stocked into the Leadon have been non-migratory species, commonly called ‘coarse fish’

fish vase – if only the Leadon were like this

So, I wonder if there is a problem, or whether my observations are not accurate, but I would have been very happy to spot any fish, even a ‘coarse’ one. I will return later to see if this is just a seasonal issue.

Three legged ‘Coarse’ fish bowl at the Bevere Gallery, nr Worcester

A tiny bridge leads onto a footpath which meanders away from the river and town, towards Little Marcle, with a distant view of the viaduct to the north. Five million bricks were used to build the thirty round-headed arches on their piers in 1859. It was built for the Worcester and Hereford Railway Co, the bricks made on site from the clay dug out for the foundations by a local company owned by Robert Ballard. Seeing the builders hanging by ropes as the structure went up, locals referred to the camp where the men lived (near what is now Beggar’s Ash) as Monkey Island.

5 million bricks = 30 houses

A Mrs Richards, who was meant to perform the opening ceremony in 1860, was left behind by the special train that was meant to bring her to the event. She did get there eventually and laid the final brick using a silver trowel – I wonder if she was allowed to keep it?

the foaming top of the Heineken fermenter

The footpath leads through Haygrove Farm where land has been turned over to vineyards, as well as to the traditionally grown local fruit, and then onto the Little Marcle Road which you can take back into Ledbury, passing on your right the huge Heineken plant which gives off a heady scent of old cider. In fact, I noticed that one of the giant containers was spewing froth from its open top, no doubt all part of the process, but looking like a colossal tankard of foaming beer. The robust fencing prevented me from tasting the foam on your behalf.

large warped vase

As you may remember from previous blogs, not everything that comes out of the kiln is perfect, and mentioning beer and cider brings to mind one recent large piece in particular that emerged meandering and twisted like the Leadon, looking as if it had spent too long in the pub and looking for a fight. If you saw the vase in the image above side on, you would see what I mean. On the other hand, the next one came out of the kiln looking good:

Green vase

These pieces are not necessarily practical but fun and visually interesting – eye-catching in the way the conventional shape of the vessels has been altered before they reach the kiln. Here are some early examples:

Ruby my dear

People might look at these objects and consider whether they could use them or not, or whether they just go for them because they are sculptures that fill a space in an interesting way.

Striped splash pot

People take them home, sometimes placing them in a particular place in a room, say a mantelpiece or a shelf, or putting flowers in them and changing their position every now again. The work swings between functionality and abstraction – this is what gives it its allure. It’s playful.

Jumble vase

A man walks into a seafood shack cradling a salmon and asks, “Do you make fish cakes?”
“Yes, of course,” the server replies.
“Great,” says the man, “It’s his birthday!”

Rutile

St John’s Wort in rutile vase

Last July I was going on about the names of all the different plants that grow wild in Frith Wood, as well as discussing the benefits of geophagia for some reason (the eating of mud or clay). I also think worms came into it, somehow. Click here if you want to revisit.

 

meadowsweet

This July, however, I would like to introduce you to Filipendula ulmaria, or meadowsweet. It could be because it was used in the Middle Ages as a sweetener for mead that it gets its name, but take a whiff and it might remind you of something familiar. Its chemical constituents include salicin, which was synthetically altered because it causes less digestive upset than pure salicylic acid used in drugs, and thus aspirin was created. It was Bayer that named it aspirin after meadowsweet’s old botanical name: Spiraea ulmaria.  It does have a whiff of aspirin.

meadowsweet

There is a lot of it now  flourishing on the sides of the roads all over Herefordshire: fluffy, slightly floppy, pale cream bundles framed by the hedges they grow by. I confess that the real reason I mention meadowsweet is to promote the Ledbury Poetry Festival and Edward Thomas’ poem, Adlestrop:

 

Yes. I remember Adlestrop—

The name, because one afternoon

Of heat the express-train drew up there

Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.

No one left and no one came

On the bare platform. What I saw

Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,

And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,

No whit less still and lonely fair

Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang

Close by, and round him, mistier,

Farther and farther, all the birds

Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

The Barrett Browning Institute

The Festival this year is mostly online, though there are some great events held in Ledbury itself over the weekend of 9 – 11 July. Click here for all the available events (online and non-online). The Festival is on until 11th July. The Barrett Browning Institute in the town centre  is the Festival’s headquarters, and if you go in you will find Sally Crabtree.

Sally Crabtree

Her latest installation is a sweetshop of conceptual confectionery which offers each member of the public a small gold coin which they can spend on just one thing at the counter and it explores the notion of choice in our lives-“Choose well. Your choice is brief, and yet endless” as Goethe says. It has the feel of a fairground stall with the excitement that each person goes away with a ‘prize’ so to speak. Of more value perhaps however is that each sweet that they choose comes with its own quirky, philosophical inner layer of meaning which they unwrap, depending on what they choose.

Festival A board

And for children… they can fill a jamboree bag with their own creations inspired by the Sweetshop of Words –  including lyrical lollipops, glass sweets and pop a pop a poem balloons!

stonewarew rutile signal vase

As I said in the last blog, the difference between poetry and pottery is only a “t”, and some new pieces have emerged out of the kiln which, if not poetic, are at least expressive.

Wavy rutile vase

The latest batch of ceramics has seen the rise of an ingredient called rutile.   Rutile is a glaze additive that produces colours ranging from light and dark blue, to tan, gold, yellow, and even purple.  It has a mind of its own, depending on the glaze base and the firing conditions and, because it is a mined colorant, its makeup also depends on the mine source. Many potters test their batches of rutile before committing to a full bucket of glaze – all the result of the mineral’s notorious inconsistency. But when it works, it produces many crystalline, speckling, streaking, and mottling effects in glazes during cooling in the kiln and thus it is highly prized by potters.

Wavy rutile vase verso

Of course, here at Peter Arscott Ceramics, and following in the contrarian, or maybe heedless, tradition, rutile is not used in this way at all but rather mixed as a powder with water and a viscous agent to produce a colourant that can be applied like paint to the bisque surface of the piece, and then dipped in a transparent glaze. In other words, it is not used as a glaze but as a colour that gives the object’s surface an effect halfway between wood and honey. See for yourselves.

rutile close-up

By the way, Brits pronounce it “root ill” and Americans say “root isle”, which I prefer. On the other hand, and digressing wildly, why do Americans say “rowt” when they want to say “route”? Answers please. And since we are on the subject, why do they pronounce “rubbish” as “garbage” and “chips” as “french fries”? I am sure that at least one of the three American readers of this blog will tell me in no uncertain terms.

my friend Edith

I got know a resident sparrow, called Edith, busy looking for anything to feed its chicks in their nest in the roof’s gutter. Luckily they were not flooded out, and I felt so sorry for her that I bought a  bag of mealy worms. She didn’t want to land on my outstretched hand but was OK on the table, where she would occasionally forget herself and leave a calling card. The fledglings have now flown, and she has lost all interest in visiting.  Spurned by a sparrow.