finds - watercolour

I painted my July finds in the groups I'd discovered them, three different woodland pathway sites on a local walk.

finds

Last month I went off for a walk after a succession of rainy days. Top soil had been swept from woodland pathways revealing rich pickings of the domestic pottery shards that delight me. I've found these many times before on a particular path near Scarthin Wood, but on this walk they shone from pathways I'd never gathered from before. I kept them in the collections I'd found them, placing the muddy finds in different sections of my backpack.

I'm drawn to these worthless shards, were they a preferred bowl, favourite cup of a father or son, were they handed down from a mother to a daughter, precious, part of a wedding gift? Was anyone heartbroken when they shattered? Can I sense an echo from who held them? Who raised cup to lips, clattered a spoon scrapping the last morsels of porridge from them? The past in the present, a ceramic trail, reminding me of Hansel and Gretel's attempt at retracing steps, staying safe in the wood.

I'll paint these in their families, recording their cracks, breaks, pattern and decoration in watercolour and pencil. Devoting my full attention while I fix their likeness to paper. 

drawn into existing

When a passerby glanced at her she wondered what they saw. She sensed her face as a blank space, a fuzzy unformed 'thing'. If pressed to describe features she floundered, flustered in confusion, concerned at what the questioner might read in her embarrassment.

During childhood she looked outward, her gaze not met in any kind way she remained unreflected in the eyes of others. She looked outward to prepare herself, to understand the lay of the land. Her skin became exquisitely sensitive, a receptive layer picking up shifts of mood, the feelings of others. Where did she start and they begin? Skin was no barrier, it held her together while allowing all manner of unwanted-ness in, it stopped her insides spilling, but just.

Decades later she chose to look into her own eyes, to draw a self portrait everyday for 28 days without judgement. In charcoal, in 2B pencil, in graphite she observed and drew. A conversation between mirror and her surface, reflected. The graphite an anchor, proof that she was here. Night after night she masking taped paper to drawing board, mooring the drawing with softly sketched lines, intuitive measurements. Then, always beginning with the eyes she began to plot the face, layering pencil line, smudging charcoal, rubbing away mistakes. More often that not the face that emerged was not quite hers, or her, but marginally rearranged. Every night she taped the drawing to the living room wall and was greeted by a crowd of faces each morning.

In drawing she began to understand, gazing with soft eyes she saw herself. A face not arranged for others, eyes brimming with sorrows and an unguarded remarkable wonder. She gazed with a mothers love, and within this the eyes that met hers became steadier, surer. She learned about the curve of her cheek, the almond shape of her eye, the upturn of her nose, the enviably beautiful ear. With each pencil mark she became solid, formed, drawing herself into existence.