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The call of the cicada

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View of the Ter, from the monastery

No slog up to Bradlow Knoll this month. Instead, a walk in the countryside outside Vic in Catalunya, to visit the ancient monastery of Sant Pere de Casserres perched high above a bend in the river Ter. Challenging because of the heat (about 34° centigrade) but rewarding for the view, and for the architecture of this 11th century Benedictine building – plus there’s a café where you can get a drink.

The nave of Sant Pere

Vic itself is an attractive city with a welcoming central square with shops and bars, and a Saturday market that beats most others into a cocked hat. There is a beautifully laid-out museum of medieval art in the old part of the city, with a collection saved from churches and monasteries in the region, including a painting of Christ’s circumcision – a rather concerned Mary looks on, unsure about the priest’s competence, while the infant Jesus seems to be rather laid back about it.

Vic is also famous for its sausages. Of course we were not there for the sausages, though many were eaten. Luckily, we were on holiday in a small coastal town, so the sea was there for cooling off, although, possibly encouraged by the heat, the cicadas were particularly noisy throughout, singing their little hearts out, high up in the pine trees, in the hope that a lady cicada might fall for their tune and, after mating, might deposit her eggs in the bark.

Cicada. Watercolour by Lisa Dearling

Never having seen a cicada before, here is what I found out about them: both male and female cicadas die within a few weeks after emerging from the soil, where they spend most of their lives at depths down to about 2.5 m (8 ft). The “singing” of male cicadas is produced principally using a special structure called a tymbal, a pair of which lies below each side of the abdominal region. The structure is buckled by muscular action and unbuckles rapidly on muscle relaxation, so quickly that to the human ear it is almost one continuous sound. Most cicadas go through a life cycle that lasts 2–5 years. Some species have much longer life cycles, such as the North American cicadas that go through either a 17-year or a 13-year life cycle. But the point is, they must be the loudest insects on the planet and once the sun sets everything seems too quiet.

Click here to listen to the cicadas

So, if you’re looking for “quiet”, then nighttime is good, or very early morning, before the sun hits the trees. Yours truly, in search of oneness with Nature and Zen-like tranquillity, walked down to a small cove at 6.30 in the morning while the cicadas were still snoring and swam accompanied only by a cormorant. Even the iPhone camera’s click seemed intrusive.

Cala Xelida at 6.30 am

Perhaps inspired by the cormorant’s ceaseless search for fish, a drive to nearby Palafrugell’s fish market followed. Once the centre of the Catalan cork industry, it now serves as a summer holiday town for residents of cities such as Barcelona and Girona. Many narrow streets emanate from Plaça Nova – a large square with bars, restaurants and boutiques, and not far is a ceramics gallery called Tejemaneje on Carrer Sant Antoni next to the market.

Tejemaneje entrance

Stepping into its cool and elegant interior is a pleasure. It is run by Jordi Tejedor, designer, artist, ceramicist and businessman, whose work is exhibited along with that of others. His is the large neanderthal figure that greets customers as they walk in, by which I mean the sculpture on display, and not Jordi.

Jumping figure copper oxide on white clay by Jordi Tejedor

.It all seemed a very long way from Peter Arscott Ceramics and the studio with the rest of the team resentful at their exclusion from a holiday in the sun – but then, as I explained to them, getting a heavy Japanese pug machine, a 200 AD Bishop of Tremithus (and patron saint of potters), as well as a spider onto an EasyJet flight would be a challenge. Furthermore, they should pity me, since a machine, a figment and an arachnid can cope with heat, whereas I, a human, am not designed for such temperatures. And the mosquitos would undoubtedly attack me too. As proof here is a drawing of my right leg after a night’s vampiric assault.

Previous mention of sausages reminds me that a  slab potter will find that there is usually a great deal of unused clay or cut-offs when making a piece. To recycle this clay, these lumps are thrown into a large bucket and soaked with water until enough is amassed to lay out on a surface to harden to the right consistency. At this point, as the clay is cut up into sections with a cheese wire, one discovers the wooden sculpting tool and the metal needle tool that disappeared so long ago. The clay cannot be too soft that it squirts out of the mill, or too hard that it impedes the action of wedging and removing any bubbles. When it is extruded as a long sausage, it is ready for use again. Not an ounce of clay is wasted, thanks to Shinto the Pugmill.

waiting to be pugged

Because patience and persistence are necessary for making pottery, given that every stage requires concentration and patience, from preparing the clay (as above) to moulding and finishing it, accepting the occasional flaw may add to the overall authenticity of the piece. It’s important to strike a balance between maintaining control and letting go – sometimes failures and setbacks are not the ends but often occasions for development.

Waving Yoohoo vase

Why am I telling you this? Well, I just want to come clean and show you two examples of what I’m talking about, from the Yoohoo series. The one above shows clearly that there is a gap between the top of the right arm and the body of the vase, caused probably by my allowing the arm to dry more quickly than the body. This was already apparent at bisque stage, but I decided to paint it and glaze fire at 1200℃ and I think the gap adds something to the piece, and gives it more movement.

Saluting Yoohoo vase

The second one  (above) has its blue arm dipping away from the rim of the vase at an angle, instead of being perpendicular – probably because its own weight dragged it one way with the extreme heat – but again, it gives the vase a certain quirkiness which makes me think of American sailors’ salutes in those Hollywood movies of the 50s. Anyway, you’re perfectly entitled to tell me I’m wrong and deluded.

Sausages in Oxford market. Photo by Kaihsu Tai

Just as you are with my constant references to sausages. Does every culture have its own sausage? The Spanish have the chorizo, the Catalans their fuet, the Germans their bratwurst, the USA their hotdog, the UK their banger, the boerewors comes from South Africa, the gyulai is Hungarian, the linguiça is Brazilian. Surely this shows that we all have more in common than not, and wouldn’t it be wonderful if the world’s problems were fixed by annual international sausage conventions?

Keep well and stay cool.

Swimming, eating, drinking.

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Cala Aigua Xellida

Apologies to those of you expecting the usual image of Ledbury from Bradlow Hill. We’ve been away, you see. A gathering of the clan took place this month in the small town of Tamariu on the Costa Brava. The nearest anyone got to trudging up Bradlow Hill was getting down to Cala Xellida and back, which was done by car anyway – it was a holiday after all. It consisted of swimming early in the morning in this beautiful little bay, consorting with octopuses and watching cormorants diving alongside, or simply floating on your back (like a pale plump starfish on an azure sea) mindful of not brushing up against a sea urchin – one of their sharp needles in a vulnerable spot would spoil the day. I thought the sea urchin was a friend, but it was anemone.

Paracentrotus livides profil. Photo Frédéric Ducarme

The name Tamariu derives from the tamarisk trees along the promenade, which separates the beach from the narrow streets and whitewashed buildings of the town. It was, like most settlements along the Costa Brava, a small fishing village, and fishing boats are still to be seen up on the beach. Nowadays there are a few hotels, along with seafood restaurants, cafes and bars. It is set amongst rugged pine-covered cliffs flanking the sea.

View from the coastal path flanking Tamariu.

A few days beforehand, we had stayed with friends in a small village outside Vic, the ancient capital of the region of Osona. Set among lush green hills, from here you can see in the distance the highest peaks of the Pyrenees that border with France. The main square, where most of the town’s social and cultural life takes place, is a large square area surrounded on all sides by beautiful old buildings, some dating from the late 14th century.

Plaza Mayor, Vic.

Whilst there, a trip uphill to the hermitage of Sant Sebastiá, long abandoned. It stands as a reminder of Albion’s perfidy and of the ongoing struggle for Catalan independence because it was here that the decision was taken to send an emissary to the British, which led to an agreement of support in 1705 during the war of Spanish Succession. Alas, Britain let them down by signing the Treaty of Utrech in 1713. Long story, with little obvious link to ceramics, but complex and interesting. Great views of the valley below.

View of Vic valley from Sant Sebastiá.

Catalans and ceramics? Yes. The best-known source of pottery is La Bisbal which has been producing pots for centuries, and uses the typical blue, red and yellow tones associated with it in the numerous artisan studios along the town’s main drag. But pottery here is also associated with the great names of Catalan art: Gaudí, Miró, Dalí and, though born in Malaga, Picasso.

Ceramic seating in Parc Guell – Antoni Gaudí

Of the four, Gaudí did not actually make any ceramics, rather he smashed them up and incorporated it into his facades and rounded architecture, as can be seen on the benches in Parc Guell where one can sit and look down on the city of Barcelona.

Suite Catalan – Salvador Dalí

In 1976 Dali was seeking a buyer for a collection of tiles known as the Suite Catalan that he had produced in Spain two decades previously. From the original run of 100,000 tiles 60,000 remained. A German lawyer bought them all. The remaining tiles from the original run have sold in private sales and auctions over the years, fetching as much as $2,300 for a set of six, and over €500 for just one.

Earthenware dish with bird – Picasso

Picasso and Miró are better known than the other two for their ceramic work and made extraordinary pieces which nowadays are seen in museums around the world. Picasso moved to Barcelona with his family at 13, in 1895, when the city was full of political and artistic ferment. It was politics that turned his visits to Paris into permanent French exile, but before that, his artistic early artistic formation developed in Barcelona. His Blue Period is Catalan.

Oiseau (Solar) bird – Fundació Joan Miró

Peter Arscott Ceramics would like to emulate them one day and, in a fit of creativity, inspiration has nudged this piece out of the studio.

Doodle vase by PAC

These few days on the Mediterranean were not only about swimming, eating, and drinking. Oh no. There was a quick cultural visit to Gerona.  We wanted to see the cathedral’s interior, which includes the widest Gothic nave in the world, with a width of 23 metres (75 ft), and the second widest of any church after that of St Peter’s Basilica. When we finally made it, the huge West door was being shut to visitors by a stern-faced porter.

Closing time at Gerona cathedral

Defeated in our cultural pursuits, we could only drown our sorrows with more food and drink. Here is a picture of tapas: anchovies and olives.

Tapas

In deference to the octopus we met daily at Aigua Xellida (there may have been two, but if so, they were hard to tell apart; they were i-tentacle), we tried not to eat any cephalopods. But we did eat fish, and many sausages along with barbecued red peppers and aubergines, and a lot of cheese and ham eaten on local bread rubbed with tomato. And more sausages. They know their food, those Catalans.

Salchichón de Vic

Back home, and the call of the clay was loud and enticing, tempting hands into making new shapes and forms, and perhaps influenced by the happy use of colour in the pots and dishes seen in La Bisbal, an orange-red tone crept into one of the more devilish vases that popped out of the kiln today.

Imp vase

Enjoy the rest of Summer.