no shelter

snowblast

Weather fronts crashing into the British Isles seem to drag Heaven and Earth closer together, into a tormented Hell, or at least a maelstrom, of flying twigs and leaves, stinging hail and freezing, frozen clods of peat.

  When the wind stops and the clouds part, Earth is like a tease. She's beautiful. She seduces you to tumble across her mounds and valleys.

The shelter is no more a shelter. However, it still feels good to be there amongst the remaining sticks. The remnants of my fire-pit remind me of the summer. I should use the charcoal there to make some artwork. The stones I used to partially dam the gill and form my pond have been scoured out by the force of recent spates. Now's the time to retreat back down the hill a bit to the warmth of the studio.

In the warmth of her workshop, Ellie (fleece with altitude) showed me how to 'draw' with wool and a felting needle. This seems such a direct use of materials, I immediately came back to my own studio, continued with the felt drawing and incorporated it into the following piece. This includes charred scraps of wood, raw fleece and my own made oil paint. I've now got my own felting needles and intend doing much more like this.

fruit of the fell