tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76581867216273315102024-02-19T09:58:27.554+00:00WILDERSTUDIO - artwork by Jules Cadiethe wild studio experience
- in the early spring of 2010, I made a shelter for observing, drawing and making artwork, high up on the fellside behind my North Pennines home in England's north.
Since that time I've tried exploring other landscapes with a similar immersion in their environments. This (b)log describes my progress and some other works.Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-22232096126354240092012-03-21T14:58:00.001+00:002012-04-09T13:45:40.894+01:00spring to summerNow we've reached the vernal equinox, I've begun planning an expedition to take place over the summer solstice. This is to walk along the watersheds of the rivers South Tyne, Tees and Wear, collecting material and artwork as I go.<br />
<br />
This morning I walked along the South Tyne valley, up onto Yad Moss to Crookburn Bridge, where the B6277 crosses the county boundary between Co. Durham and Cumbria, before returning by the road. A tarmac surface may be quick, but it was very hard on feet and legs.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKUEZLul-56F2gjKFXzGHjXkw3s64NCS-JhtR2uMSsmBj96kNZsEbWumy17Y0G_deEnsU5M9wU_pBy1lAZlf-UcmK5zgOTN7PvvMrOvScavlj9AGc_lzjJTF8jGz0Mvi0Tve2fbJ17DCA/s1600/boundary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKUEZLul-56F2gjKFXzGHjXkw3s64NCS-JhtR2uMSsmBj96kNZsEbWumy17Y0G_deEnsU5M9wU_pBy1lAZlf-UcmK5zgOTN7PvvMrOvScavlj9AGc_lzjJTF8jGz0Mvi0Tve2fbJ17DCA/s400/boundary.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the Cumbria/ Co Durham boundary; also the North West/North East regional boundary</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As you can see, one challenge I shall have is a lack of firewood at night. This view looks straight across towards Great Dun Fell (covered in cloud) and is the route I shall take. I 'm guessing that there isn't a single tree across those eight miles. I plan to stay the first night on the Northumberland border close to Killhope Cross and move from there to this point for the second night. Both these happen to be close to roads. From here, not only will there not be a single tree until I get within sight of Garrigill, but neither will there be any roads. Here's a view of the last trees I saw, about 3km away...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVJRZLz2lvLOf3QqprYY1rMlIOFbeU8OAbXLVz-T9tXoaLUS8zuQZHFTGteiXCWQijx1nHyCfghVHeAI8ZR-OGmBjdRz7RomIvQedFDNzHY0rrfhDzPi89wdOrj6RbMlfCWq9aSH1XME/s1600/treevalley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVJRZLz2lvLOf3QqprYY1rMlIOFbeU8OAbXLVz-T9tXoaLUS8zuQZHFTGteiXCWQijx1nHyCfghVHeAI8ZR-OGmBjdRz7RomIvQedFDNzHY0rrfhDzPi89wdOrj6RbMlfCWq9aSH1XME/s320/treevalley.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
For all its bleakness, the detail in the moorland is full of life. I nearly trod on this frog. It was probably the first time it had seen a human. I hope the experience didn't disappoint.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg7OUhdRrky1BGdArMrQFZaCTN7_YjAc9VaB8HIwMcBirlwfw8Zsw7AB5SzT7-2R2FgHz5MuW8HQgCPYKH3Ih4jYzdWsYH331w8dvok_ZdjwbPOvHJoDMPxXlaMqfqRqFWP7iowp02F4g/s1600/frog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg7OUhdRrky1BGdArMrQFZaCTN7_YjAc9VaB8HIwMcBirlwfw8Zsw7AB5SzT7-2R2FgHz5MuW8HQgCPYKH3Ih4jYzdWsYH331w8dvok_ZdjwbPOvHJoDMPxXlaMqfqRqFWP7iowp02F4g/s320/frog.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Inanimate forms, too, abound, revealing miraculous patterns and colour transformations. To make the most of the experience, I shall be prepared to deviate from my planned route often, over the course of five days and four nights. I expect to spend about one third of the time observing (eco-gazing!), painting, drawing and taking photographs, one-third walking and one-third resting (more eco-gazing!), eating and sleeping.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlieL-9AAEjjFUn40pllfKSzPCeG-fO7anuCCjhAEb_WBM_TXV17Ck2llijLtxr29AIBl38X57u20Bn8iH35QPhlRB5br51flQVviDETBEBiod3AGB-0oIbfGicmwtqGD4Oll8ZBzudcw/s1600/watermark.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlieL-9AAEjjFUn40pllfKSzPCeG-fO7anuCCjhAEb_WBM_TXV17Ck2llijLtxr29AIBl38X57u20Bn8iH35QPhlRB5br51flQVviDETBEBiod3AGB-0oIbfGicmwtqGD4Oll8ZBzudcw/s320/watermark.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Below is a sketch-map of my planned route. Because I need to deviate and stop so often to make artwork, I need to do it alone. However, if anyone wanted to spend some time at my night-time rests, that could be good, especially if they brought something to drink or smoke, or to add to the fire!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyNspZNeY04CojXQ4thsaH4lUVn2zjo6d_-MedghguO25C-cZR9yPxr6ZjOHQnbcT3qHNacyC97hq8ztpljDueODebG-tUrHZXKUMseVdRvK37O_N-KEuwZlnlFV0EHMKfbqe6nDnqNJ0/s1600/wmap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyNspZNeY04CojXQ4thsaH4lUVn2zjo6d_-MedghguO25C-cZR9yPxr6ZjOHQnbcT3qHNacyC97hq8ztpljDueODebG-tUrHZXKUMseVdRvK37O_N-KEuwZlnlFV0EHMKfbqe6nDnqNJ0/s320/wmap.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
The purpose for this trip is to raise money for the new roof on Garrigill Village Hall. I shall ask people to sponsor me by buying prints of the work I shall be making. I shall hold an exhibition of the work at the village hall over the autumn equinox. 30% commission from any work sold at that will also go towards the roof. More details on a separate page on this blog: <a href="http://wilderstudio.blogspot.co.uk/p/wandering-watersheds.html">http://wilderstudio.blogspot.co.uk/p/wandering-watersheds.html</a>Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-92005170601925831602012-03-08T12:13:00.000+00:002012-04-03T10:23:25.895+01:00eco-gazing<blockquote class="tr_bq">
What is life, if full of care,<br />
We have no time to stand and stare?<i> (William Henry Davies)</i></blockquote>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBK1gHAiqA-XCtQBtswg31kHSE3ZZT30sb5tC34o3QLoO3yWLIb2Zv7RIlEseYr4K_nyo4fEMDWoVgbgUHRc7vmorurORGq4hHv8WeqopkgRkzGWFs2q8cYa0KXMYVOUmtGzdCTITvq9Y/s1600/snowave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBK1gHAiqA-XCtQBtswg31kHSE3ZZT30sb5tC34o3QLoO3yWLIb2Zv7RIlEseYr4K_nyo4fEMDWoVgbgUHRc7vmorurORGq4hHv8WeqopkgRkzGWFs2q8cYa0KXMYVOUmtGzdCTITvq9Y/s320/snowave.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Good question. We should <i>make</i> time. The variable weather at the moment gives plenty of opportunity to experience the widest range of physical conditions. <i>Why</i> should we make time? Standing, staring, gazing and wondering are not passive states. They are interactive. They require one to confront the way things are. They can lead us to an enhanced sense of well-being, that we belong in the natural realm. In an article entitled "The healing touch of the wild" for <a href="http://www.positivenews.org.uk/" target="_blank">Positive News</a> psychotherapist <a href="http://www.hettidysch.co.uk/" target="_blank">Hetti Dysch</a> concludes with the sentence 'Helping us to reconnect individually and culturally,wilderness therapy invites us to get to know our landscape and inspires communities to be guided by the blueprint of sustainability and interdependence that nature reveals.' For me, it's a way of triangulating current situations.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvGShPnQFq-C5vDvyOPYKoRvyAl17gsCX63cm3Y7EpH7Q1ZMUWq4YeDANhNEzDNpdZx7zXTv2YTYO2Yg3ImwWCneWS8mu8oo-S8rVt1wHI-m2Qv7ZpEwrBAAmSr5IJqbFLgBNktgdCROc/s1600/river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvGShPnQFq-C5vDvyOPYKoRvyAl17gsCX63cm3Y7EpH7Q1ZMUWq4YeDANhNEzDNpdZx7zXTv2YTYO2Yg3ImwWCneWS8mu8oo-S8rVt1wHI-m2Qv7ZpEwrBAAmSr5IJqbFLgBNktgdCROc/s320/river.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
This morning I was watching and sensing the interaction of wind and flow on the river water. This was time, the river and my presence creating a moment. Having learnt and practised meditation techniques intermittently, I knew that I could change my level of consciousness. Apparent emptiness could be filled if I allowed the river in. With concentration, I can hold on to what I consider to be a deeper level of consciousness for a while, so turned my attention to the trunk of a tree.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfD_fP7IgWge2vVfOmdXmHXbu7KhhlCSj8pMoMdNUAHKB7iXWaD1f1wGF2RUeExYkxLB366YT8FMUeY-4W3OitYRHfUxbtaULHKiNQJXGLm-OO5lD1xjBcNWqun2zqaFy2TupxUE_fq9A/s1600/trunkhistory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfD_fP7IgWge2vVfOmdXmHXbu7KhhlCSj8pMoMdNUAHKB7iXWaD1f1wGF2RUeExYkxLB366YT8FMUeY-4W3OitYRHfUxbtaULHKiNQJXGLm-OO5lD1xjBcNWqun2zqaFy2TupxUE_fq9A/s320/trunkhistory.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
As so often before, once I had started to draw, I became part of what I was observing. The drawing is only an exercise in observation; an aid to understanding. And although I don't set-out to create a drawing that becomes something that might have its own value as an end-product, the desire to create something beautiful does, nevertheless, play a part. By something beautiful, I think I mean something that attempts to communicate or express some human emotion. I was drawn to draw this particular tree trunk by some very raw sensibilities, such as the raw sexual attraction of an orifice and of the released binding from a wire fence. Making the drawing was so very different from taking a photograph and later manipulating it, as I had done two days' previously:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXdIT-Ym783FM0Tqol_inpd-lE3jlRUqBLfjnhVPHL8-EEE_QkQEhZ5h0d1M55J3DFQn_72IGHYC7cn9WICdUxcyl_KM7VXMambKD30HRthaKco6fYNGc2ri8_xKeeHrHnsUP-3jZC14/s1600/suntwigs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXdIT-Ym783FM0Tqol_inpd-lE3jlRUqBLfjnhVPHL8-EEE_QkQEhZ5h0d1M55J3DFQn_72IGHYC7cn9WICdUxcyl_KM7VXMambKD30HRthaKco6fYNGc2ri8_xKeeHrHnsUP-3jZC14/s320/suntwigs.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
I took this image on my way to the top of Noonstones Hill, from where I could experience the effects of the weather at different altitudes. Also the image below.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdmwFnVeoy1swPiAwNrKktjNBABJkLYwvkotZXMSGb0n5whdjgZDmqfeACGUjW0IT0lrzeYMmPNfrslesivvtoqaaqXWTXCRF9dQfGu_1h0NztLY1PkciIw_UFGX3c8UeEDISQONZJ0o/s1600/sunicicle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsdmwFnVeoy1swPiAwNrKktjNBABJkLYwvkotZXMSGb0n5whdjgZDmqfeACGUjW0IT0lrzeYMmPNfrslesivvtoqaaqXWTXCRF9dQfGu_1h0NztLY1PkciIw_UFGX3c8UeEDISQONZJ0o/s320/sunicicle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
From the summit I took this image of Yad Moss. I think it speaks for itself. I was not inclined to interfere with it in any way.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQpVi2qvMJy4BVC06pDnjaTAxXnQbBrVot2AfRGN0tEZhXGT0-I-Hq83aomXRC9WHlgKHpfo7HzzJDCINDzD8LxeQJ8nA2Jkhlqd8Srp4qDEBnniiHSJ8TNpfLA28Q9EhQywF9MZ-MDI/s1600/sunfell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQpVi2qvMJy4BVC06pDnjaTAxXnQbBrVot2AfRGN0tEZhXGT0-I-Hq83aomXRC9WHlgKHpfo7HzzJDCINDzD8LxeQJ8nA2Jkhlqd8Srp4qDEBnniiHSJ8TNpfLA28Q9EhQywF9MZ-MDI/s400/sunfell.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
The point I'm trying to make is that meanings and values seem to come to the surface just by gazing. I guess it could be at anything - or anyone - that you love. It seems to reinforce that love. Just as lovers gaze at each other, just as a mother gazes at her baby and the baby gazes back. They and we are a part of each other, and sense a fullness by our belonging. A love of the fullness of life and the way that we are part of that fullness may help us to break our addiction to consumerism. If that's so, maybe we should do it more? And if that's so, I'll give the activity a name. I'll call it eco-gazing.<br />
<br />Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-64571723679981967282012-02-07T11:48:00.001+00:002012-02-08T15:38:15.559+00:00shape-shifting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKqgtvUd-_FUkCT1mMW9-WW20DhxZCneadaoCFsN25Nm5tgkmeVW5gDYAfYEQNqwAcMOF1C29wpomfkpwP0Kd_jTvfi_4wLtlNLl8cPK4OzrHqO3JU4Bf6cYSzpa62qIBZC4eF9XVT4cQ/s1600/lighttrunk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKqgtvUd-_FUkCT1mMW9-WW20DhxZCneadaoCFsN25Nm5tgkmeVW5gDYAfYEQNqwAcMOF1C29wpomfkpwP0Kd_jTvfi_4wLtlNLl8cPK4OzrHqO3JU4Bf6cYSzpa62qIBZC4eF9XVT4cQ/s320/lighttrunk.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
In this winter's quieter moments, there's the chance to draw. It's a great excuse to just gaze as well, and just to wonder at how the material world is as it is. The more I gaze, the more I wonder,and the more I wonder the more I wander - into the realm of fantasy and fable. Below is part of a longer panel around the idea of the Celtic tree-spirit, Leannan si. I'm playing with ideas such as these at <a href="http://wondercelt.blogspot.com/">Celtashgill</a>, my new Wondercelt blog.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitzmSAFzxvuUOS32gl5V8_Ho_-VSFodEf3oyEwV1qQloneAVlO5HF0_K9lQj-IykK7pqAzom9rnIq_qtU65Fm-gmlgbOMB7umplbKcaE9w6ygh2tdtwvicOy6P4_tKRanRS8Z_QUZKBbk/s1600/topleannan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitzmSAFzxvuUOS32gl5V8_Ho_-VSFodEf3oyEwV1qQloneAVlO5HF0_K9lQj-IykK7pqAzom9rnIq_qtU65Fm-gmlgbOMB7umplbKcaE9w6ygh2tdtwvicOy6P4_tKRanRS8Z_QUZKBbk/s320/topleannan.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Running water, cold air and rocks collaborate and create fantastic forms of ice, turning unremarkable gills into remarkable wonderlands.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_TBqAU3G52AEMoPBOpXDy57_hA4Z-HgXnmUh_1Jn4oclhiUd3QtQXEyEQl-yIGhp7SYipTVbSHpaNpJNy8yDGFwi65G8_Kvzsf8i4m4UuVPFwLgEu4rUarQ9vYpgomQjTA4RThZL7Nw/s1600/icewave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_TBqAU3G52AEMoPBOpXDy57_hA4Z-HgXnmUh_1Jn4oclhiUd3QtQXEyEQl-yIGhp7SYipTVbSHpaNpJNy8yDGFwi65G8_Kvzsf8i4m4UuVPFwLgEu4rUarQ9vYpgomQjTA4RThZL7Nw/s320/icewave.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Ice grows its crystals across glass, along twigs and around the edges of foliage, leaving another lexicon of shapes from which to draw.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVhwA8RJ2djRF1NBSpDRBdqajMEzY1YgA64A7YnWs6oPtjwPQ3-BU8XiymwJ7Eu3jo5xtZxxhMiQbhRAXHgYauJTU2txQvq2_9Ks9Dlwr9CF66cvzYhVoxB6fgPlZ0z6A6CqHU9jdVT4/s1600/windowfrost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihVhwA8RJ2djRF1NBSpDRBdqajMEzY1YgA64A7YnWs6oPtjwPQ3-BU8XiymwJ7Eu3jo5xtZxxhMiQbhRAXHgYauJTU2txQvq2_9Ks9Dlwr9CF66cvzYhVoxB6fgPlZ0z6A6CqHU9jdVT4/s320/windowfrost.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YOn50lrohVePvdxuO9kbuZFjaZTS-UqKuVxlqY8xIcNJtMyuopagCQBr11cOa5_Aky2W46neH2riQFR0ExoHzY9tu7zDMOnGAdHxFhmTrw_VRAKfXBjZbYWMeJp0n3rwm7xWaGUjj28/s1600/windowfrost2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YOn50lrohVePvdxuO9kbuZFjaZTS-UqKuVxlqY8xIcNJtMyuopagCQBr11cOa5_Aky2W46neH2riQFR0ExoHzY9tu7zDMOnGAdHxFhmTrw_VRAKfXBjZbYWMeJp0n3rwm7xWaGUjj28/s320/windowfrost2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-12256909136212939592012-01-11T15:12:00.004+00:002012-01-11T15:51:33.345+00:00on the wander<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivsdhEC-tAu3axqeXYTv5mIKS_QF6DPouJSSj2Q3QLYrdzLYcW1XUksyB47CPGQoky2_pI_DVrCD0h6SVKdobNkBoE5-bbetzQS8EjerdssZrkVkZM3g45ZdjXtcB-kp7kK31i4p7YvdE/s1600/janerosion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivsdhEC-tAu3axqeXYTv5mIKS_QF6DPouJSSj2Q3QLYrdzLYcW1XUksyB47CPGQoky2_pI_DVrCD0h6SVKdobNkBoE5-bbetzQS8EjerdssZrkVkZM3g45ZdjXtcB-kp7kK31i4p7YvdE/s400/janerosion.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
The new year has been shoved along by ferocious winds, which, for a few days at least, have relented enough to make it OK to walk around and absorb what's going on. It's very mild, too, although damp. I've taken the opportunity to look out for a new wild-site to use as a base.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiTYaXcF5MDdNCH_ORkcHFJBvZ4nJEYHRTo54cGxIaqYtjBXEmfP1KXaReXXe2H0l1ZyRfBQp55c8v8JU0ueBxk51NIOWXc6F9fyrBt0AoXUb9bQrVNImcwobM9-pyFyXITYmyiZYF-4A/s1600/bbranchdance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiTYaXcF5MDdNCH_ORkcHFJBvZ4nJEYHRTo54cGxIaqYtjBXEmfP1KXaReXXe2H0l1ZyRfBQp55c8v8JU0ueBxk51NIOWXc6F9fyrBt0AoXUb9bQrVNImcwobM9-pyFyXITYmyiZYF-4A/s320/bbranchdance.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Wandering around the fellsides within striking distance of home, I'm aware how much erosion and chaos the winter weather has been causing. Chaos triumphing over order. Everything in a state of entropy. I quite like that. It's reassuring to note that for all our technological powers, they are as nothing to the forces of natural physics, at any scale. Fungii, mosses and lichens colonise our buildings, gripping the contours of eroded ridges. Winds blast and howl around the corners and under the eaves. They flog to destruction anything loose. Rain and snow is forced into the smallest crack and crevass. We would do well not to ignore such things. We should be mindful of natural forces all of the time, even when, as now, they whisper to us rather than shout.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDioL89kD7IBGsMLJ1Hix2-j6ulXksZFl-7z587xcZwC502BfhyphenhyphenzW52An-VypFnbHgmS6UFf9QQxcRuLIUsksY-OjPKZuHUvBOO4xCtP-jwIfNCyMYOMXOFX5NsTHqPz1WhByUFn967UI/s1600/trunkspeardraw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDioL89kD7IBGsMLJ1Hix2-j6ulXksZFl-7z587xcZwC502BfhyphenhyphenzW52An-VypFnbHgmS6UFf9QQxcRuLIUsksY-OjPKZuHUvBOO4xCtP-jwIfNCyMYOMXOFX5NsTHqPz1WhByUFn967UI/s320/trunkspeardraw.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
I guess this watchfullness is the main motivation for wanting to revive a wild-base. After quite a short while in a natural environment, I can start to feel an attachment. The area around me begins to communicate. I sense a full range of experiences and emotions, although the originhal stimulii may be inexplicable. Sometimes I sense there's a flow that I can be part of; sometimes not. Today I felt like dancing, but didn't.<br />
<br />Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-53006417219731527552011-10-12T11:06:00.001+01:002011-10-14T08:24:13.656+01:00feeling slightly sheepish<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6M-Ypwwm-v9vu0-5zSeJg4TCHiZsoe1REJ7puTeqPjmGJyuHv8sv9hY-c2kOUAFJL8rCbSDoPrnPaP4Z2D6xZrVp7Pg4vlb1g9SR8yYW_a4hNIat5K7pWLW-_fhQL9nb4mzztoCuYTc/s1600/blackface.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6M-Ypwwm-v9vu0-5zSeJg4TCHiZsoe1REJ7puTeqPjmGJyuHv8sv9hY-c2kOUAFJL8rCbSDoPrnPaP4Z2D6xZrVp7Pg4vlb1g9SR8yYW_a4hNIat5K7pWLW-_fhQL9nb4mzztoCuYTc/s320/blackface.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The surface landscape of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/North_Pennines">North Pennines</a>, just like anywhere else in Britain, is an occlusion of geology, climate and human exploitation. Farmers and shepherds have brought and bred sheep and cattle that suit the prevailing conditions. They've piled stones into walls, and burnt lime for sweetening the pastures and cementing the stones into shelters. They've planted and felled trees for timber and firewood. They've built tracks and drove roads across and through the hills and dales of this upland area.<br />
<br />
The sheep that are such a strong feature of the North Pennines landscape produce wool, of course. Last week, we celebrated and promoted <a href="http://www.npennines-wool.co.uk/">North Pennines wool</a> at an event that attracted around 400 visitors to <a href="http://www.northpennines.org/">Lanehead</a>, high in the North Pennines and close to the source of the River Wear. It brought together farmers, small-holders, fleece-processors, spinners, weavers, dyers, craftworkers and wearers of wool. There was a friendly and lively atmosphere to the event, and kindled new relationships and ideas amongst those who attended. Look at this blog: <a href="http://northpennineswool.blogspot.com/">northpennineswool.blogspot.com</a>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkFvV4KV607KSklmIiFB9YzmxpJYX-iiPFKBlSrg-GtoN403sqVffk6F16G7ChXTwdtnlJJbU70kC-I1npZUGylBLJ2B8NSHx66lLBmThqwKcRLkkGnv6FV1wTBzgHK_eZb-vZ80UUpsg/s1600/woolevent2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkFvV4KV607KSklmIiFB9YzmxpJYX-iiPFKBlSrg-GtoN403sqVffk6F16G7ChXTwdtnlJJbU70kC-I1npZUGylBLJ2B8NSHx66lLBmThqwKcRLkkGnv6FV1wTBzgHK_eZb-vZ80UUpsg/s320/woolevent2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The week before the wool event, I went with a group down Tyne Bottom Mine, a long-disused leadmine, and another example of North Pennines geology and human exploitation coming together. I was able to dig out some pigment for making into paint, including the yellow ochre in the sheep pictures.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyr50zbvvSASZzOIjKG0coqpMNvfHurTtzdrfepTMVsAVvil20u9ADAu7medY5D-vybVH69I9Kj18vN7BsnXyo085Q2_aGfS1xy1uKKh57UxNRdUZo2HJAGoNATEuBB3IJV9hzcRxjP5Y/s1600/tynebottom1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyr50zbvvSASZzOIjKG0coqpMNvfHurTtzdrfepTMVsAVvil20u9ADAu7medY5D-vybVH69I9Kj18vN7BsnXyo085Q2_aGfS1xy1uKKh57UxNRdUZo2HJAGoNATEuBB3IJV9hzcRxjP5Y/s400/tynebottom1.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
The fusion of rocks, minerals and water underground has created a slowly-evolving visual feast.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibZARBNRDyYFR1t5RAdP_L7VJZRscb0pWjyphXkPQivuDUEIy-I0s52RCJMdq6VE4mzKo-MO1RdrpiJGD3CpCxBpRVbJ6OP8krvd8tiUKwwyrhR2yUBmxGupeHjVWlvgBITKin14plk60/s1600/dales.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibZARBNRDyYFR1t5RAdP_L7VJZRscb0pWjyphXkPQivuDUEIy-I0s52RCJMdq6VE4mzKo-MO1RdrpiJGD3CpCxBpRVbJ6OP8krvd8tiUKwwyrhR2yUBmxGupeHjVWlvgBITKin14plk60/s320/dales.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
On the surface, sheep, pasture, wind, rain and sunlight energise the fellsides.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, the remains of my shelter continue to provide visual stimulus; for creating more artwork and for setting-off a train of thought about the universal process of development and decay.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh55aWEIW7fhgNVFlqL1Npp1Uu8mkx9tV7UIY8FNvT_iPHpgB3UDWR3P7HJxZ08V4HN2F-DA8cXFMnXs1xdlwIm7Xq4JDix4zAPucMXDaiKacRtP0NiCpH3ZnX1aLKxd_lB-MQNrEribL0/s1600/shelterpeelopt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh55aWEIW7fhgNVFlqL1Npp1Uu8mkx9tV7UIY8FNvT_iPHpgB3UDWR3P7HJxZ08V4HN2F-DA8cXFMnXs1xdlwIm7Xq4JDix4zAPucMXDaiKacRtP0NiCpH3ZnX1aLKxd_lB-MQNrEribL0/s320/shelterpeelopt.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-61041356298483855982011-07-15T09:39:00.000+01:002011-07-15T09:39:28.201+01:00still learning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDpIBzcY_GVxU6wPnUHUFf7JrVbLwZ2c8w3W6DfgrlQfsLKYmnIf7B_PGwC6K7hrQ-9DSNTgEZadb04FXw5kFvWKJT7fYpwbHO4IWSNGd1884NDh-24726txB07_tm1ALdPIf9Y5YRGU/s1600/july11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoDpIBzcY_GVxU6wPnUHUFf7JrVbLwZ2c8w3W6DfgrlQfsLKYmnIf7B_PGwC6K7hrQ-9DSNTgEZadb04FXw5kFvWKJT7fYpwbHO4IWSNGd1884NDh-24726txB07_tm1ALdPIf9Y5YRGU/s320/july11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Although two seasons have passed since my shelter was dismantled, the experience continues to inform my work. The tumbling of the sky over the land, the scouring by rainwater, and the exposure of rock and buried peat all contribute to the way the composition forms itself.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWLt9lRCCdB43nBFI37eimuAB7EvsNEtLmEgMIqy8z_Rd6hiFVm8Uau0f-xZOLrXbtCoSOy_XZSRCGCwtkqIFaaBeUZVKouNQpKigS3Na8plazzFn-8vG9Y1IrqJHFhNcj3u4ogoZqDAc/s1600/july11b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWLt9lRCCdB43nBFI37eimuAB7EvsNEtLmEgMIqy8z_Rd6hiFVm8Uau0f-xZOLrXbtCoSOy_XZSRCGCwtkqIFaaBeUZVKouNQpKigS3Na8plazzFn-8vG9Y1IrqJHFhNcj3u4ogoZqDAc/s320/july11b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
It's haymaking time just now, and the patterns of the hay meadows are accentuated as the hay is cut, dried, turned and bailed. The sun early in the morning and late in the evening floods over the fellsides, picking out the drama and tensions between the wild gills, the tamed meadows and the drystone walls that separate them.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFSr4vtBWe8QrP54-mYJzaDrLQJSEwtKP0X7yfVof7XTK2t1IxRREiNY2Kb1TKGjGsYElxbP6JrsI9VTHmsjLuwbja-AwXTCNETMwqTKsXVAK-P600KfjAogSTDPgTqATztkBJF-NRpk/s1600/july11c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFSr4vtBWe8QrP54-mYJzaDrLQJSEwtKP0X7yfVof7XTK2t1IxRREiNY2Kb1TKGjGsYElxbP6JrsI9VTHmsjLuwbja-AwXTCNETMwqTKsXVAK-P600KfjAogSTDPgTqATztkBJF-NRpk/s320/july11c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-89856244556977066832011-06-17T10:12:00.000+01:002011-06-17T10:12:37.370+01:00macro to micro<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-BGWjSWfCnsZPekAIU115gN6j4ACjzmwv8BWV7pSEAk2_7Sap9BJSgtSU9asfjTNtCTWkcPsGpgVxx_X4pSd5CWHImklm_aRYnVExYhbGCDhPavPpRqD-wKVKIYH6S1sNcgevLYcbcY/s1600/orion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-BGWjSWfCnsZPekAIU115gN6j4ACjzmwv8BWV7pSEAk2_7Sap9BJSgtSU9asfjTNtCTWkcPsGpgVxx_X4pSd5CWHImklm_aRYnVExYhbGCDhPavPpRqD-wKVKIYH6S1sNcgevLYcbcY/s320/orion.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Orion Nebula, taken by Hubble, NASA/ESA</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Whether gazing millions of light-years into deep space, or staring at a plant just a few inches away, you can only be struck by the beauty of form as it flows around and fills space.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3KBNfNEokFZoOMC7cM4Nh8Zs0tNAgKI2yIdvElz4mG0ul8zg7xJtFWyZC1e68FmUf7_UDWGe2fBUVUp4fdHOa-04y3cEwfHKWacyuPtpBBp7rzN8URbg8VrXLyABkGclkJPKn12o5as/s1600/thistle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ3KBNfNEokFZoOMC7cM4Nh8Zs0tNAgKI2yIdvElz4mG0ul8zg7xJtFWyZC1e68FmUf7_UDWGe2fBUVUp4fdHOa-04y3cEwfHKWacyuPtpBBp7rzN8URbg8VrXLyABkGclkJPKn12o5as/s320/thistle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thistle at my feet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>An alluring aspect of space-gazing is the language. The words are more than utilitarian descriptors. They rely as much on references to classical cultures as they do on technical classifications. I've marvelled at Hubble's 'top twenty' photographs and their captions, extracting some of the phrases used and re-ordered them into a kind of poem. It is reminiscent of early Pink Floyd lyrics.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL-tbP5muQicG2c4zos62P8_0c6uTvbiGjHjYMg1jPRA0yYA9Lv2FOupgDc6reHZi7slN0sp82bXeC9c82e8EUw596ieFoYGW6_SgEkynM6QW68dYPRYmKN0tG9Lu2fQN9gcbp2TtxDpM/s1600/majesti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL-tbP5muQicG2c4zos62P8_0c6uTvbiGjHjYMg1jPRA0yYA9Lv2FOupgDc6reHZi7slN0sp82bXeC9c82e8EUw596ieFoYGW6_SgEkynM6QW68dYPRYmKN0tG9Lu2fQN9gcbp2TtxDpM/s320/majesti.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Majesti</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">Hubble has peered into the Sagittarius Star Cloud</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Majesti appears as a whirlpool</div><div class="MsoNormal">Young stars reside in the curving spiral arms,</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">the formation of supermassive black holes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">'The Mice': a pair of galaxies </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">engaged in a celestial dance of cat and mouse.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">A dense swarm of stars, patches of dust,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">and a bright star cluster near the nucleus of the galaxy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">Saturn's four moons pass across its face. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">The white icy moons Enceladus and Dione,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">the large orange moon Titan, and icy Mimas.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">Enceladus and Dione are preceded by their own shadows.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">A Seyfert 2 – a galaxy </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">probably powered by a black hole at its core.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">The thick ring around the yellow core</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">is an area of active starbirth.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">In the Orion Nebula,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">more than 3,000 stars reside</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">in a dramatic dust-and-gas landscape</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">- plateaux, mountains, and valleys. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">A picture-book of star formation, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">from the massive, young stars shaping the nebula</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">to the pillars of dense gas </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">that may be the homes of budding stars</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">A Sun-like star is ending its life, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">casting off its outer layers of gas,</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="caption">forming a cocoon around its remaining core. </span></div><span class="caption"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">A white dwarf is in the centre.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgRSxqtQl6nZaBfkxLOlZ7k48VqwEilGagNJVu7LNjZVDqJ7p0NajSAEgiAx9gKvVuhxCfEBC3nwo6l-gyarLexPsrDWDug98RoAD-0U6YOIsQucFhzXE0pi4_ieoZ0lWM5qZWD-6efY/s1600/deadtree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgRSxqtQl6nZaBfkxLOlZ7k48VqwEilGagNJVu7LNjZVDqJ7p0NajSAEgiAx9gKvVuhxCfEBC3nwo6l-gyarLexPsrDWDug98RoAD-0U6YOIsQucFhzXE0pi4_ieoZ0lWM5qZWD-6efY/s320/deadtree.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-89409500378510407752011-06-06T14:40:00.002+01:002011-07-14T08:30:24.513+01:00crysalis colour<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVPtuopkMVY5wRBu-nrgCpE_rbbr-HOY2hX1QlJwMs_POjYFoCKu3y9fe5XPCl_CTuBDfC0d9Od0G1Tob4nS5nXR_NM3UnKq6mw1FhyphenhyphenziPAD5EdfjcwPZWsjQSBBEKUZzrLPZoVvPUc4/s1600/barkface.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVPtuopkMVY5wRBu-nrgCpE_rbbr-HOY2hX1QlJwMs_POjYFoCKu3y9fe5XPCl_CTuBDfC0d9Od0G1Tob4nS5nXR_NM3UnKq6mw1FhyphenhyphenziPAD5EdfjcwPZWsjQSBBEKUZzrLPZoVvPUc4/s320/barkface.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bark Face</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After having stayed very quiet in one place, you begin to notice that the natural world, which at first recoiled from your presence, gradually gets back to its business. Close-at-hand, all sorts of relationships form, fall apart and reform, and at all sorts of timeframes. The contrasts of dark and light seem to intensify, and colour emerges from where there seemed little before. Further afield, where your presence is almost insignificant, clouds and sunlight play on the gradients and planes, reflect off water or become absorbed into clefts.<br />
<br />
I've been preparing some new artwork for an exhibition at <a href="http://www.highcupwines.co.uk/">High Cup Winery</a>, which is open from 18th June - 29th August, and based on the North Pennines around High Cup Nick.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLOabnBm6VpHffqrJn6nD8ZXpzRoBi6bYADWsBERyDobKZcTPj2Xr-jNB7UOxaIdJXwZE6M2Nn-BQfQFoQSTQc5mKV2psXqo5DAlNRu_2vlKqc204_PwRrwU90PPoa7KFDTR9wrTVWfWE/s1600/hangingvalley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLOabnBm6VpHffqrJn6nD8ZXpzRoBi6bYADWsBERyDobKZcTPj2Xr-jNB7UOxaIdJXwZE6M2Nn-BQfQFoQSTQc5mKV2psXqo5DAlNRu_2vlKqc204_PwRrwU90PPoa7KFDTR9wrTVWfWE/s320/hangingvalley.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meander</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-21146395953593168342011-05-22T13:12:00.002+01:002011-05-22T13:25:51.337+01:00drawing threads<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdrcY48AoPbu8c7OF5666WY2lM27aNRiddD3fV7uB9VEb5V3IPN-RTt7SlwV60oSGvABwSFqIv74MhorD9Fu_kKfIeb7HVYCYkY6iNYJxgv02fLmndW9mmxyPJa-Ylb-XZ95LjgBTf1M/s1600/oxalis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOdrcY48AoPbu8c7OF5666WY2lM27aNRiddD3fV7uB9VEb5V3IPN-RTt7SlwV60oSGvABwSFqIv74MhorD9Fu_kKfIeb7HVYCYkY6iNYJxgv02fLmndW9mmxyPJa-Ylb-XZ95LjgBTf1M/s320/oxalis.jpg" width="302" /></a></div>A visit to the Tarset valley in Northumberland on Thursday placed me in a different landscape and stimulated some new drawing. However, within seconds of laying out my materials, my attention was drawn to the ground around my feet, where fresh wood sorrel (oxalis) was growing through the leaf litter and moss. I became engrossed in the same old topic of the adaptive cycle, and the same old obsession with triadic form and composition. Sorrel, moss, and leaf litter were representing the stages of development, consolidation and release. The leaves of the sorrel were divided into three.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgc3RUe94DscnBT2yzvLBwqhHw_hD1uvw2spjZYK-8Ijlli49AgHvD6fjMWCfDcd3RLzn0UY91s4Sz70vhFgtZzRt0s-6d4_y4ZltiyPRPNeCvOb47KuyM00xllTKZvT2GViOZRogNDX0/s1600/tarsetwood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgc3RUe94DscnBT2yzvLBwqhHw_hD1uvw2spjZYK-8Ijlli49AgHvD6fjMWCfDcd3RLzn0UY91s4Sz70vhFgtZzRt0s-6d4_y4ZltiyPRPNeCvOb47KuyM00xllTKZvT2GViOZRogNDX0/s320/tarsetwood.jpg" width="221" /></a></div>After the sorrel, I turned my attention to a dead tree that had fallen across a drystone wall. Here again was the same adaptive cycle. The dead tree had created a new and vibrant environment for insects and therefore a food source for birds. The wall had lost its original purpose of creating a boundary; it was keeping nothing out or keeping nothing in. It had been colonised by plants, some seeking shade, some seeking dry rooting and others seeking shelter from wind.<br />
<br />
Light gives way to dark, dark to light, death to life, life to death. Everty time I draw I explore and excite new relationships.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCWznDwHpwJb7XUwf-CDrXCwjU1dIJFnf8lNSazZmhl6lYz9Y9MjK2wTUWsOjde5pkZEWxAsUUuB3Syvi1j4ud3w2FGaNjDn3djmczWp80o5PEudYZAIWhmzuZ4tpdKLfJ5frtoLFFd80/s1600/tarsetfarm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCWznDwHpwJb7XUwf-CDrXCwjU1dIJFnf8lNSazZmhl6lYz9Y9MjK2wTUWsOjde5pkZEWxAsUUuB3Syvi1j4ud3w2FGaNjDn3djmczWp80o5PEudYZAIWhmzuZ4tpdKLfJ5frtoLFFd80/s320/tarsetfarm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> By drawing the rotting wood, the rusting iron and the crumbling stone of the farm buildings at Tarset, I understood a little more about the buildings' history, and how it was connected to the changing practice of agriculture from pre- to post-industrial times. The farm buildings are now used for more than stock and crops. There is a studio for artists who stay for a year's residency and an office for the publishers of poetry. A barn is used for exhibitions. So the cultural space, too, has adapted to change.<br />
<br />
As I was drawing, I reflected on what I was doing. This was my way of experiencing 'deep ecology'. I continue to struggle with the question - is this the way I see things, or is this the way things really appear? I feel part of,and apart from, this place and its inhabitants at the same time.Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-56781054846644800162011-04-07T12:23:00.000+01:002011-04-07T12:23:06.296+01:00spring moon waxing<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRVdapJQXYUY9tEyex6EigAC7iRuYxxX7p2L0_bQrBq_c7q6mXQ-Q2n8ECQ8OkT6E4IDcdbLNAO_RzcPzvbCa6mbRSMjNpy6bz2o5EGC-lZ_pBBFk2QqGXDIEmT-Z-r1X5cXnoSbdzPA/s1600/beechtyne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRVdapJQXYUY9tEyex6EigAC7iRuYxxX7p2L0_bQrBq_c7q6mXQ-Q2n8ECQ8OkT6E4IDcdbLNAO_RzcPzvbCa6mbRSMjNpy6bz2o5EGC-lZ_pBBFk2QqGXDIEmT-Z-r1X5cXnoSbdzPA/s320/beechtyne.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">beech on the banks of the South Tyne</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The first flush of spring greening is heralded by an overture of birdsong and rushing water this morning. As I was drawing, I was wondering which way round it was. Was it tree-roots to rocks to river, or river to rocks to roots?Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-81806154781190002612011-03-03T17:02:00.002+00:002011-03-11T09:14:14.753+00:00fragile & fleeting<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdVa6_MpSaAJ__Y3jD2uSWrpMXmekbyMF8Ca1P8OwKqrIbWFi4Fb0MV6anAw2JixSkR0BKledxaC5oGLh09EeuFMMXdkxo9eN9e9S5AabaSvGa4_GIkbqJo4KNGSzTTY0MmyqJAx4j5M/s1600/marchice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdVa6_MpSaAJ__Y3jD2uSWrpMXmekbyMF8Ca1P8OwKqrIbWFi4Fb0MV6anAw2JixSkR0BKledxaC5oGLh09EeuFMMXdkxo9eN9e9S5AabaSvGa4_GIkbqJo4KNGSzTTY0MmyqJAx4j5M/s320/marchice.jpg" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">iced river surface</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I'm at last reconciled to not having a shelter anymore. I've detached myself from the attachment-and-loss-syndrome, and it feels good. From now on (until I build another shelter...) I shall regard the total environment within easy walking distance of home as my 'studio'. That's only right, since it's the place where I study, and where I test-out ideas and follow lines of investigation.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0k1L9yVET0Hg4-hT-245rGGG_7LmarQDLHYst59q2XJTwAwjiC9TWeEQTt7rpfrBwgT6hD3Ewj_G-UGOx7QI245wnMgHQoVO2Lmb_k78Du3av0y5UU9VCdENX9D_nOFXFP8u1Mo2QOUc/s1600/marchmorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0k1L9yVET0Hg4-hT-245rGGG_7LmarQDLHYst59q2XJTwAwjiC9TWeEQTt7rpfrBwgT6hD3Ewj_G-UGOx7QI245wnMgHQoVO2Lmb_k78Du3av0y5UU9VCdENX9D_nOFXFP8u1Mo2QOUc/s320/marchmorn.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">iced river rock</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Today I set about a rather obvious thought, and not at all original. It was all about beauty, how it can never be captured, and how it is so fragile and temporary. The frost was sparkling on twigs for a few moments, erect and proud, when the sun's rays flooded in, and then that same sun overwhelmed those thrusts of frost and their sparkle melted away into dark damp patches. These events, tiny in the scale of the immense universe, but immense in the tiny world of the twig, reminded me to be mindful in the moment, to love, dance, sing, laugh and enjoy whilst I still can.<br />
<br />
I've been looking at the Lichfield and Lindisfarne gospels, the Lutteral Psalter and the Book of Kells again recently. There's no doubt in my mind that those monks working away in their cold dark cells were like shamans. They saw real and imagined beauty in the connectedness of the universe and transported it through their inks and parchment into our own times. I want my own artwork to attempt the same but in a secular context. I'm reminded, however, of the rather portentous and pompous lines of William Blake:<br />
<blockquote>He who binds himself a joy<br />
doth the winged life destroy<br />
but he who kisses the joy as it flies<br />
lives in eternity's sunrise.</blockquote>Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-79793482265990583942011-02-02T11:13:00.000+00:002011-02-02T11:13:58.358+00:00dismantled<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieCACkqpBYP1lo5fx0VmMCsF08kGHTCJKSWV71axmwQfnlj9e7Kjw5DB54sTtf0SWkxP7hJztn0eDDTOECx5mNTMuBmZ8kKjJUb6T4oug7PC_kvmyhEL6pQyC1WP72qNOGytogdWwpwyI/s1600/flatshelter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieCACkqpBYP1lo5fx0VmMCsF08kGHTCJKSWV71axmwQfnlj9e7Kjw5DB54sTtf0SWkxP7hJztn0eDDTOECx5mNTMuBmZ8kKjJUb6T4oug7PC_kvmyhEL6pQyC1WP72qNOGytogdWwpwyI/s320/flatshelter.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The mantle of my shelter has been removed. Presumably by a 'keeper in preparation for a passing shooting party - it would be unseemly for the landscape to be scarred by signs of shanty habitation. The season finished yesterday, so the shelter lasted well. Even the stones from around the firepit have been removed. The bigger posts of wood have been laid on top of the brash to weigh it down. The earth walls have been kicked away. I felt cut free. I've been wondering over the fellsides ever since, looking for somewhere else to set-up when the spring brings easier weather.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jganLQJaAQoEuvNi-piyx4U8reL9nEGoAEHfywedVNpewL6oARfj79hxnTbdUcWepiJ63HmaBHdzfGjriob53m2J-oUS-5EZ5BpbRRd6B8QxbvrdDhFS_ZtlkgtK49Aw9zM7eLk11C8/s1600/earthslice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jganLQJaAQoEuvNi-piyx4U8reL9nEGoAEHfywedVNpewL6oARfj79hxnTbdUcWepiJ63HmaBHdzfGjriob53m2J-oUS-5EZ5BpbRRd6B8QxbvrdDhFS_ZtlkgtK49Aw9zM7eLk11C8/s400/earthslice.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">earthslice</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I've been digging out bits of clay and peat (very tiny bits) that have been exposed by the flush of meltwater, drying them, mixing with PVA, and using them to make images like this one. As it happens, this also includes a photo of an exposed rock-face and some branches.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnk06OSI2o2QQdXX4h4RTTrzi9DJ0z4gpjo81BOEZHjz5YSrhvNoAQs3aV6QW-LMbS6S9Dc9-Yfj407BW0jFT5qLo_hlKznoiih86BE7z9dm13-t81rUgEPxmmYEL4r0cR7OY7bsFP5JU/s1600/frags1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnk06OSI2o2QQdXX4h4RTTrzi9DJ0z4gpjo81BOEZHjz5YSrhvNoAQs3aV6QW-LMbS6S9Dc9-Yfj407BW0jFT5qLo_hlKznoiih86BE7z9dm13-t81rUgEPxmmYEL4r0cR7OY7bsFP5JU/s320/frags1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Other bits I've brought back down from the shelter, like this wool and lichen, and the piece of birch-bark below.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHTCYh5n6hdsZ_Jk5C19biD9VQxB_35Xbq2jE6W9QW4ryKUpA_-xA8Jdk6u1fQGFQMNsKXR6KieSJVkr6VZHwcoDVbL9Fqd8bk-k1gLs7AwVMhxKduwT9bhn6TROA6W07a59mNXS166fk/s1600/frags2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHTCYh5n6hdsZ_Jk5C19biD9VQxB_35Xbq2jE6W9QW4ryKUpA_-xA8Jdk6u1fQGFQMNsKXR6KieSJVkr6VZHwcoDVbL9Fqd8bk-k1gLs7AwVMhxKduwT9bhn6TROA6W07a59mNXS166fk/s320/frags2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I've learnt so much from this experience, although I fear that I'll forget some. Writing this blog may help me to remember. Most importantly, I've learnt so much about where to site a shelter and how to construct it. Rough wooden shelters are no good for the winter. This is no place for beast or human habitation.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglKv4M4df-riJy8zdM_ePHB5X1HqsOb5WhJZO0c3T2E28w0DTyH_eE0Ph8fpKs8L_FBf1nezp3MaZHJboWYtRUF7wkN7hIBFiTfa42fPYGD2vw0bibxkdbOErzIFwOd_FM0L9Uq9TDGpI/s1600/frozenstones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglKv4M4df-riJy8zdM_ePHB5X1HqsOb5WhJZO0c3T2E28w0DTyH_eE0Ph8fpKs8L_FBf1nezp3MaZHJboWYtRUF7wkN7hIBFiTfa42fPYGD2vw0bibxkdbOErzIFwOd_FM0L9Uq9TDGpI/s320/frozenstones.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVVMf2fdqvHtQkioWn4Ii2FoVK5SgNVC64RVOfm5r7yIJ0pVPC86LRecggLiJFrkirf5NqeXl3HMtVHk7Rp5TmVw16tGFEw8C0VygiU_HxvdBN1epaczthWZdRJGHOhQ0UAWEY64twHN4/s1600/deer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVVMf2fdqvHtQkioWn4Ii2FoVK5SgNVC64RVOfm5r7yIJ0pVPC86LRecggLiJFrkirf5NqeXl3HMtVHk7Rp5TmVw16tGFEw8C0VygiU_HxvdBN1epaczthWZdRJGHOhQ0UAWEY64twHN4/s320/deer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-48210090646422760652011-01-03T17:22:00.000+00:002011-01-03T17:22:32.684+00:00frozen out<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePqhchedJIwUJWGbN6SsSf_ZbV3Ketb1vsYsIMPJcqufRhtMsNY_qDTkddIbylUgLWJ5FcWRfaY0wvQzT07Q_Bf4EnveQQbTBst_3Q2R1GoumG4wf8eJgSvVnabmtDxWk8h4W2e-ctys/s1600/snowgill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgePqhchedJIwUJWGbN6SsSf_ZbV3Ketb1vsYsIMPJcqufRhtMsNY_qDTkddIbylUgLWJ5FcWRfaY0wvQzT07Q_Bf4EnveQQbTBst_3Q2R1GoumG4wf8eJgSvVnabmtDxWk8h4W2e-ctys/s400/snowgill.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">snow remnants</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The ice-jaws of the season have had an almost relentless grip since the end of November, pinning the earth down in sub-zero temperatures. Occasionally, a playful release and the surface melts. Then the jaws shift position for a few hours before clamping shut again. The crests of snow and the troughs of brief melting have broken the banks of the shelter. It's reclaiming itself to itself. Nature to nature. It's left me to retreat to the warmth of our house, home and hearth, firelight, family and friends. Culture to culture. Human relationships become important again. We talk of our exploits and plot the future. We make-up stories as we share and reflect on the myths, legends and histories in our background.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWirwmSj9KqvhhFBeqbyCSbQw6mUKCXc1JaLS7b9RsUiYMrWZ_UN7DvoIHuIKpgOoLOho0mlh0z0VFDPJjX3KaiYoGeRCLw8Yt1WH2hsJhLXUcVYAB-erzhVl12kqBwvDL2X1xE1bCNlo/s1600/dragon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWirwmSj9KqvhhFBeqbyCSbQw6mUKCXc1JaLS7b9RsUiYMrWZ_UN7DvoIHuIKpgOoLOho0mlh0z0VFDPJjX3KaiYoGeRCLw8Yt1WH2hsJhLXUcVYAB-erzhVl12kqBwvDL2X1xE1bCNlo/s320/dragon.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dragonade: Rolling Minstrels</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
In the next three months I shall use the images and material that I've harvested from the site over the year to create, assemble and curate an exposition for display and/or publication.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUC_NzwZI4pHITdMNT4onvTIjtyjYapk4nndUiT27_fUh75tjO6w0fyHx-WiXgKfaXE1rwojDDAfvl__6txW2eKwBDAWtyevcIK44kN5sfrNczgoHpMP5vRxhxX1Hwrvkdir21JvLBeoI/s1600/rmsnake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUC_NzwZI4pHITdMNT4onvTIjtyjYapk4nndUiT27_fUh75tjO6w0fyHx-WiXgKfaXE1rwojDDAfvl__6txW2eKwBDAWtyevcIK44kN5sfrNczgoHpMP5vRxhxX1Hwrvkdir21JvLBeoI/s320/rmsnake.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Supine Earth; Rolling Minstrels</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-79123663099387867182010-12-01T16:29:00.000+00:002010-12-01T16:29:42.539+00:00accumulation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbyU4rC_JxGKFU5w4dCJLn-Ji2NYJ-CkW_9ETk9VLyo06XNtufzxLtPFJGRPQ4cAM-JLphpLM_yfDvSTLrUpdb65L1ZVW5UHGyWSCM4UPAyKf1jfJlAFneBTZzCilUPOYUGv2v18V7NQ/s1600/snowshelter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbyU4rC_JxGKFU5w4dCJLn-Ji2NYJ-CkW_9ETk9VLyo06XNtufzxLtPFJGRPQ4cAM-JLphpLM_yfDvSTLrUpdb65L1ZVW5UHGyWSCM4UPAyKf1jfJlAFneBTZzCilUPOYUGv2v18V7NQ/s320/snowshelter.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The snow keeps piling in, so I set out for the shelter this morning to see just how much more it might have changed. I was prepared to spend some time sculpting the snow. Or, to be more accurate, I <i><b>wasn't</b></i> that prepared, because I could only find one glove.<br />
<br />
The journey was exhausting because the snow is so light and uncompacted. It had drifted a little, filling the hollows and flattening the crests. Without a stick, I was unsure how deep I would plunge with every step. Sometimes it was around shin-deep, mostly knee-deep, but often waist-deep. On two occasions I went as far as my armpits. That was frightening, especially close to the gill where I had no way of judging where land stopped and water started. I couldn't afford to twist my ankle or fall awkwardly; no-one knew where I was. I became supremely cautious and watchful of every move. At one point I stamped some steps down a steep side, looked across the gill and jumped with both feet landing parallel, unsure whether to brace or relax into the snow. As it happened, the spot I had chosen to land on was relatively firm, the snow being no deeper than knee-height. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcde9BImYoCNx9h354AASrta5C3z4ceDQySV1YjzF0ytAzqG10VuCgN1zBsWBjwiycT7pl2ZQU3QDNh9TZYPdUGhw0DDoon6b8kbvv1UvgLGIk3ehIWdyM7wM8BS1L0fa_npQwdNd7byg/s1600/swallowtailsnow2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcde9BImYoCNx9h354AASrta5C3z4ceDQySV1YjzF0ytAzqG10VuCgN1zBsWBjwiycT7pl2ZQU3QDNh9TZYPdUGhw0DDoon6b8kbvv1UvgLGIk3ehIWdyM7wM8BS1L0fa_npQwdNd7byg/s320/swallowtailsnow2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">swallowtail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This trip seemed to be all about edges. Some blown, some blasted, some cut, some stamped and some eroded. Windward and leeward edges. Sharp horizons and snow-blown crests. Dark bellies and crystalised combs.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0I3wziWt3j8drvqTch78tnBFOtkjU2UyGrZCH6oad5vWTFNvLRMO2DY8D1CjzwVXim7S-LQbSKXtIPknG2oII52J3eC3liMzQUIgOQHFxpsRl2TsuUSuTKihsHNGqLpmlgyNeDvqUq4/s1600/spidertwigs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0I3wziWt3j8drvqTch78tnBFOtkjU2UyGrZCH6oad5vWTFNvLRMO2DY8D1CjzwVXim7S-LQbSKXtIPknG2oII52J3eC3liMzQUIgOQHFxpsRl2TsuUSuTKihsHNGqLpmlgyNeDvqUq4/s320/spidertwigs.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">spider twigs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Upon arrival at the shelter, I hesitated. The driven snow had created beautiful arcs and bends around and over it. It seemed crass to change it, but I did. I compacted the snow with the intention of packing it around the wood and turning it into an igloo. However, the snow was so soft it just seemed to melt away. After a while I stopped, resolving to let time and weather do the work for me. It was warm and cosy inside as it was, and the insulating properties of the loose snow was obvious. Adaptation could be left to natural forces. I found my stick and came back across the open fellside, making good progress with the confidence that the stick-cum-probe provided. The snow was no thinner, but the going was easier.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2cPosPOK-sVWssFBJ4bgV2QPBD0zq7s35z-OSWDqyVTCOukDOk4JLDwZKhV5VeX-DFdFyEbJJIX5SX3Bx4pZqjhJvB82zhyCk7uf8rmD95piosJt2lQDc_ArNCvaLRRAjY9vVlrGm9tc/s1600/snowfield.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2cPosPOK-sVWssFBJ4bgV2QPBD0zq7s35z-OSWDqyVTCOukDOk4JLDwZKhV5VeX-DFdFyEbJJIX5SX3Bx4pZqjhJvB82zhyCk7uf8rmD95piosJt2lQDc_ArNCvaLRRAjY9vVlrGm9tc/s320/snowfield.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-3800413615241111442010-11-29T14:29:00.001+00:002010-12-01T15:32:33.671+00:00champagne powderHigh sky, land mass and sea coast create the theatre for currents of air from different directions to interact. Along the eastern coast, thunder-snow with its static charge connects sky and land. With only a weak effect of the usual Gulf Stream travelling north east across the Atlantic, the polar winds from Scandinavia have driven plumes of snow clouds westwards. Their leading edges have covered the shelter and all around it with cold crystalline snow.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9aZNsZDK4uG6oLVFIXhAfIDGaMLP9Hj61HX932pxwsGfcG2YUKNc2nrGp33GbrbheJTBAfEnhuMt_hVlgfY2FnsnrZXXbf0VSNQDgXJvr7PD9tG21VRQ72M3X4d9oAkYdbRqOOnT-_lc/s1600/snowsheltsm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9aZNsZDK4uG6oLVFIXhAfIDGaMLP9Hj61HX932pxwsGfcG2YUKNc2nrGp33GbrbheJTBAfEnhuMt_hVlgfY2FnsnrZXXbf0VSNQDgXJvr7PD9tG21VRQ72M3X4d9oAkYdbRqOOnT-_lc/s320/snowsheltsm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>No-one has been here. I followed tracks up from the road and along my usual route, but then they arched away, crossing the wall and up the fell on the open side. For now the air is still, and with the easterly polar winds predicted to blow soon, I took the chance to make a drawing.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOBwTql1HAuqsUNCqWyshj3oLjw7MnnG5x_mAPHJkbAl8A4f1HpJs1Sro4V8Y9sXRY6bdhvjsoelrM63ezevMxQ-dkwkCNMMkvGUdQpzK6S_gop4zEXZZOgnovYFBMdYPisT7fK8cpgA/s1600/snowtwigs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoOBwTql1HAuqsUNCqWyshj3oLjw7MnnG5x_mAPHJkbAl8A4f1HpJs1Sro4V8Y9sXRY6bdhvjsoelrM63ezevMxQ-dkwkCNMMkvGUdQpzK6S_gop4zEXZZOgnovYFBMdYPisT7fK8cpgA/s320/snowtwigs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It was unusually quiet, and free of distraction. Even with the remains of a hangover I was able to concentrate sufficiently to wonder at the silent unseen accumulation of ice and snow that had alighted on every twig.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZeyZOiDwTr1qFhT6ITheMSZAa6avMD672HN3JHR7hwHxgjkirTATfWNRveaIN1Imwheo7UXCg08PaDbyeFFSHqDUTq_xgbhpj9LUl1VCwQRnq9f40WqD-FQHwXrEAwxiTHaK0UZsvSDI/s1600/snowgill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZeyZOiDwTr1qFhT6ITheMSZAa6avMD672HN3JHR7hwHxgjkirTATfWNRveaIN1Imwheo7UXCg08PaDbyeFFSHqDUTq_xgbhpj9LUl1VCwQRnq9f40WqD-FQHwXrEAwxiTHaK0UZsvSDI/s320/snowgill.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The gill mirrored the huge forces at work in the macro-atmosphere. Snow had bent the grass and vegetation, dipping into the water and freezing columns of ice back up stalks.<br />
<br />
I looked at the features that make up this place, and at the transformation that had taken place. I'm almost looking forward to more cold and snow in the hope that the transformation continues by completely freezing the gill and making a solid crust of ice on which I could walk on top of the snow. In my excitement and my absorption I left my stick in the shelter. Once more, there's much for me to absorb further; to synthesise my feelings with the physical material-changes that the onset of winter brings.Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-2809398376756352042010-11-12T09:33:00.001+00:002010-11-12T11:03:19.533+00:00no shelter<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfVXYu5Sez7UNGJ0XNlGBFh2iQYeWagwKYGosDwtVrUEz0HxW5zR2-dcqWUbuKx8RvZpKuDRPrG8hUpW1oiQ_nXgFXy9gASegLuwWWDxQMp4zCnz1DysqyGX9URjE0NQTpA-A-tghd8M/s1600/windsnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbfVXYu5Sez7UNGJ0XNlGBFh2iQYeWagwKYGosDwtVrUEz0HxW5zR2-dcqWUbuKx8RvZpKuDRPrG8hUpW1oiQ_nXgFXy9gASegLuwWWDxQMp4zCnz1DysqyGX9URjE0NQTpA-A-tghd8M/s320/windsnow.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">snowblast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>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.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3xJeK3iJ99DThEnPOczQ2cTtRdmzseLB11NzlZUYGsfTpekPh5kNZ9Dxic6NMBiJloPZujFKQB8dstpwUs4waWdB2WKOrBJ1u7HW39BuL7UUIIfduwv9jrwggvKlnHWAjbW-VeX7-sHI/s1600/8nov.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3xJeK3iJ99DThEnPOczQ2cTtRdmzseLB11NzlZUYGsfTpekPh5kNZ9Dxic6NMBiJloPZujFKQB8dstpwUs4waWdB2WKOrBJ1u7HW39BuL7UUIIfduwv9jrwggvKlnHWAjbW-VeX7-sHI/s320/8nov.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> 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.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUSuQKxfj2f2t6XKaVV7ZjRKs341G8Ue_mC5skJPkYH_oPRL01vp918Amw-rBZg5fzYAZru23gqG4MFdifKDwHMJtecn_3ZJcNnz-lSm6xoEytiQ6yccBvmCfPKx0od5SIoQTQist68WY/s1600/8nov2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUSuQKxfj2f2t6XKaVV7ZjRKs341G8Ue_mC5skJPkYH_oPRL01vp918Amw-rBZg5fzYAZru23gqG4MFdifKDwHMJtecn_3ZJcNnz-lSm6xoEytiQ6yccBvmCfPKx0od5SIoQTQist68WY/s400/8nov2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>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.<br />
<br />
In the warmth of her workshop, Ellie (<a href="http://fleecewithaltitude.blogspot.com/">fleece with altitude</a>) 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.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnw5YMDAZZYqhiWWOEKIyiqgljQ-6kPVDMACekgZUFdkisvOkDixIB-ZhGSbP0R_NLyBhM9vpJQRg3RdUYKyM3XH0WoqMqTgZibrzh1sK6csB6BLmKoVMhbfDSG6xZbEqqO8Xv-iKFB5w/s1600/felt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnw5YMDAZZYqhiWWOEKIyiqgljQ-6kPVDMACekgZUFdkisvOkDixIB-ZhGSbP0R_NLyBhM9vpJQRg3RdUYKyM3XH0WoqMqTgZibrzh1sK6csB6BLmKoVMhbfDSG6xZbEqqO8Xv-iKFB5w/s320/felt.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fruit of the fell</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-92041861333801563542010-11-05T16:17:00.000+00:002010-11-05T16:17:17.721+00:00rain hammer<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJp_9g1ObnHWb4MKJl2G5Vo599SHuXfHWUyLp7u408Ij534aWqxdEg07HDN6wRVCjORGzcHo5d1Kub7iv1aKB0IsJsv62-xV_nm6NbndHKGIqNAHUTK1F_AVZ1Z_tPVJ7ILOX1mSgYVHU/s1600/octshelter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJp_9g1ObnHWb4MKJl2G5Vo599SHuXfHWUyLp7u408Ij534aWqxdEg07HDN6wRVCjORGzcHo5d1Kub7iv1aKB0IsJsv62-xV_nm6NbndHKGIqNAHUTK1F_AVZ1Z_tPVJ7ILOX1mSgYVHU/s320/octshelter.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">October shelter</td></tr>
</tbody></table> The rain continues to hammer down on the already sodden earth. It seems to embed vegetation in some spots and expose new seams and deepen tiny crevasses in others. The combination of wind and rain makes the 'shelter' an heroic misnomer. What remains is a stubborn skeleton of jutting fragments of wood.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginxSIN_HDA9wg70An61iqJ6e9gX_mQwFm8DbB6eG33hPpf6q2sy1uFYmIUIWF9HRAAZW_EvFvW6CYVGVXHbvENDDgrZwopEUfeqftRZiWGNvVWH30-NYCkuIxaabNIh4JUu4erHplWEg/s1600/midlandseaopt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginxSIN_HDA9wg70An61iqJ6e9gX_mQwFm8DbB6eG33hPpf6q2sy1uFYmIUIWF9HRAAZW_EvFvW6CYVGVXHbvENDDgrZwopEUfeqftRZiWGNvVWH30-NYCkuIxaabNIh4JUu4erHplWEg/s400/midlandseaopt.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Midlands Sea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-4237976702580564952010-10-29T13:57:00.001+01:002010-10-29T15:06:58.704+01:00raging October<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqa_wmO6gd_Bw5UPsbvor6LS4vv6WOuyT69F7sS8gKam2XlNPKHCSkLxBqdtuVbK15NS-NbV8jKIBk9dmgYy7Z8A259HjduFYvTjECqbjgpdIRq3uS8x_VQCOsOmx6EUFp-x-MvayGBI/s1600/autbeech.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqa_wmO6gd_Bw5UPsbvor6LS4vv6WOuyT69F7sS8gKam2XlNPKHCSkLxBqdtuVbK15NS-NbV8jKIBk9dmgYy7Z8A259HjduFYvTjECqbjgpdIRq3uS8x_VQCOsOmx6EUFp-x-MvayGBI/s320/autbeech.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>As dusk began, I followed the gill towards the shelter. Wind and driving rain was stripping out the weakest leaves and sending sheets of water surging down towards the South Tyne.<br />
<br />
Although this was not an evening to dwell for long on the exposed fellside, it was an exhilarating raid on all the senses. The roaring wind, the musky autumn earth, the cold slap on the cheeks and the acid tang on the tongue filled a cornucopia of experience for further artwork back in the slightly warmer and slightly drier studio at home. The shelter has been stripped of any covering, so I shall look forward to finding new ways of marking this place as the autumn deepens into winter.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi043RjO1TCcKJ3ub5OgWxfEXw8c6WXzbddfRB8eV69URtGnOS97tV-JqkgkOBpBUTs58d5pIbhTdlc5C_RTVvtOlihXeF0cOIQv4L62ZSOoX9KtpZfAtlZpkZQovR_H6lE7jtBiaQGhds/s1600/stormshelter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi043RjO1TCcKJ3ub5OgWxfEXw8c6WXzbddfRB8eV69URtGnOS97tV-JqkgkOBpBUTs58d5pIbhTdlc5C_RTVvtOlihXeF0cOIQv4L62ZSOoX9KtpZfAtlZpkZQovR_H6lE7jtBiaQGhds/s320/stormshelter.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Soon I shall rescue what I can and bring items back to the studio. Then I shall make the site ready for the next season and the next year. It has given me so much already, some of it too personal to record in this public place. I shall place the personal in the future artwork; it will only be revealed to those who seek it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt3dJ01sajENQ5S7xoCPiR5EljVSfnD9tYyHVL5TLl_5usWjmm3RaGe8uOBI85_uWZhlEFmPxXs8JSfHFprN2YmYzDhx5UonEBzedcUAYsqfef29bc6p-h2tmeRG8YBMo20HtPMqaklpA/s1600/aut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt3dJ01sajENQ5S7xoCPiR5EljVSfnD9tYyHVL5TLl_5usWjmm3RaGe8uOBI85_uWZhlEFmPxXs8JSfHFprN2YmYzDhx5UonEBzedcUAYsqfef29bc6p-h2tmeRG8YBMo20HtPMqaklpA/s400/aut.jpg" width="313" /></a></div>Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-30164049886295662972010-10-18T10:34:00.001+01:002010-10-18T10:35:57.059+01:00Hunters' Moon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpYCJ5HgVBx925eZybK5TwLz-vYAtwzqpEogx93GHc-FHTm-Xa-BXQsBwOpoMt1a25ZMyMqGlVfwBd6jESBUh69ViwtjzIOegP4OWwbEVl3EXZL8GAiD2UTN6feUqJxbDFt_8j5voKGc/s1600/aut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpYCJ5HgVBx925eZybK5TwLz-vYAtwzqpEogx93GHc-FHTm-Xa-BXQsBwOpoMt1a25ZMyMqGlVfwBd6jESBUh69ViwtjzIOegP4OWwbEVl3EXZL8GAiD2UTN6feUqJxbDFt_8j5voKGc/s320/aut.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The lunar cycle seems so fast; here we are approaching another full moon, the Hunters' Moon. The guns have been out several times around the shelter, and the path has been used by more than me. Grouse bubble in the heather above the gill, and closer to the road, pheasant shriek and start and dash about in perplexity.<br />
<br />
The winds have continued to tease the shelter's covering, and I've spent more time in trying to ameliorate their effect than in making new work. That said, it's a ripe and abundant time for experiencing the visual world and trying to make some sense of it..<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwd8uLOmVsixZDNBOowJ6SiWQywwVUfoT4AA_70DCzoIZ8GK9ZzbAjqPeS-76TT5ZPgAbhse7Fzr9zLWIB9jY6QmVTy-u2PHpS-nDlMjIfmgn7dNFX3c-0dUwQjJjnRO68VrsuaYGbBbE/s1600/break.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwd8uLOmVsixZDNBOowJ6SiWQywwVUfoT4AA_70DCzoIZ8GK9ZzbAjqPeS-76TT5ZPgAbhse7Fzr9zLWIB9jY6QmVTy-u2PHpS-nDlMjIfmgn7dNFX3c-0dUwQjJjnRO68VrsuaYGbBbE/s320/break.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>As autumn rolls on, new life feeds on the old and dying. Transformations continue and the adaptive cycle is in full evidence. This skeletal tree pierces the sky with a heroic defiance for now, but it might not be long before the sky brings a wind that will break it, returning the wood to the earth and her insect armies.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyYNkZh3wdVIyvBXI4_LJgE1MgplPbgXY2i9jN5SXLt3C1rHa7LXFIo3CaQOrPNPIrLK5ATRZrlRSEAw2RtZUPgQQaE7pj0HJRhCzMgNsjuuWUOYl8eUYF54x0jhl6djq1TIAmb1IY9E/s1600/skeltreegif.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyYNkZh3wdVIyvBXI4_LJgE1MgplPbgXY2i9jN5SXLt3C1rHa7LXFIo3CaQOrPNPIrLK5ATRZrlRSEAw2RtZUPgQQaE7pj0HJRhCzMgNsjuuWUOYl8eUYF54x0jhl6djq1TIAmb1IY9E/s400/skeltreegif.gif" width="200" /></a></div>Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-64611439362977353212010-09-28T14:11:00.001+01:002010-09-28T14:34:30.081+01:00Atlantic cloud<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN5gCu5pqGvX_ytp0VSd4WJjJcWjV26XpGhCmuOOYzwGQJPzLiisuZ-I4Wesls15epS1V27c2dKNOk4hK10mMRw1_RcROXxPhnjuGI1YTQ7bws8LJYWiqRfRV2kGoc0UlPAkzZXS2gJy8/s1600/atlanticloud.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN5gCu5pqGvX_ytp0VSd4WJjJcWjV26XpGhCmuOOYzwGQJPzLiisuZ-I4Wesls15epS1V27c2dKNOk4hK10mMRw1_RcROXxPhnjuGI1YTQ7bws8LJYWiqRfRV2kGoc0UlPAkzZXS2gJy8/s320/atlanticloud.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It's been more than a week since I visited the shelter. Today, I approached from the north across a felled plantation that is slowly becoming a grouse moor, through wreaths of cloud.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF23V-BlxUs1NvP2Z72daZ3DcwUL9RddlP_jcr1l7_N_nziHA8hcYIh7dUNwqupaRYEwSa0dta0lSdWUq3aV0sKaEIg1KuPBvvI9i39r0AqYA24JiriGo12QK0rP2Jsyu9szjWSYZlDqQ/s1600/atlanticloud2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF23V-BlxUs1NvP2Z72daZ3DcwUL9RddlP_jcr1l7_N_nziHA8hcYIh7dUNwqupaRYEwSa0dta0lSdWUq3aV0sKaEIg1KuPBvvI9i39r0AqYA24JiriGo12QK0rP2Jsyu9szjWSYZlDqQ/s320/atlanticloud2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The wind was barely discernible, and apart from the clakking of startled grouse and the hoarse, rough barking of a deer, the fellside seemed silent. Because I wasn't able to see far through the cloud, I was focusing more on the immediate surroundings with its wide variety of texture and colour.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgCGvT5ax_v4WDNmeSz25D7C7l4mJhWD2SPi4ZgF1BDMm9lbEaLo_CHfHwqoIMs0bX8D9jQc05L6XTl-9rh5R3AtOEchWPPDuftamy0Hnn6PhXwXNEC8BfNsQJ8_KL2BJleYdjvodHMMQ/s1600/lichen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgCGvT5ax_v4WDNmeSz25D7C7l4mJhWD2SPi4ZgF1BDMm9lbEaLo_CHfHwqoIMs0bX8D9jQc05L6XTl-9rh5R3AtOEchWPPDuftamy0Hnn6PhXwXNEC8BfNsQJ8_KL2BJleYdjvodHMMQ/s320/lichen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The ground is sodden but carpeted in a rich mix of mosses, lichen and heather. I came past the water source that feeds the seven houses of Ashgill. The surface I was walking on provides the filtration for that water. I could smell the Atlantic on the air. It was a reminder that these clouds in which I was walking had come from the ocean, lifted by the coast, then the Cumbrian Mountains, over the summit of Cross Fell, to wrap themselves around and brush the heather of this fellside, to seep into the peat, and then to spring back from the ground.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWt9lVtdcbd94qdCaVL_HwPHZdxhgmQPX0I_7z_hWiaB1oht0fMN_FHumYBf8UA6CX8CKzZlsF-9PX7LkEEClBNJc124s097pG6tHdbglNxGokvkTViqsgjogC2ibIj_gxFZYRCj0cNnc/s1600/atlanticloud1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWt9lVtdcbd94qdCaVL_HwPHZdxhgmQPX0I_7z_hWiaB1oht0fMN_FHumYBf8UA6CX8CKzZlsF-9PX7LkEEClBNJc124s097pG6tHdbglNxGokvkTViqsgjogC2ibIj_gxFZYRCj0cNnc/s320/atlanticloud1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-72574644784801622672010-09-16T15:53:00.001+01:002010-09-17T07:48:23.841+01:00turning season<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHC0s9SdSezSlYZwDxPu0uqVNN0rPf-b59vfDJEJpfbVuL5gNW2Nk4Swat6CPGdlkRa9cpTXCtzBN8_S9duJu6K0-Fxuo3351z_XGXaU4g72rPkrTmxVgyEu46Qcn2FszO9eUXrk47nx0/s1600/sepstormasm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHC0s9SdSezSlYZwDxPu0uqVNN0rPf-b59vfDJEJpfbVuL5gNW2Nk4Swat6CPGdlkRa9cpTXCtzBN8_S9duJu6K0-Fxuo3351z_XGXaU4g72rPkrTmxVgyEu46Qcn2FszO9eUXrk47nx0/s400/sepstormasm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Each day now there is a difference in the colours of the fellside and its flora. The uniform greenness of summer has gone, leaving the landscape features more sharply delineated and defined, especially when the clouds part and the sun, now much lower in the sky, floods out, leaving a shadow behind every undulation After 24 hours of gales, weaker leaves and twigs have been stripped or shredded and outer leaves are turning golden, yellow or russet as trees starts to rest their growth. Grass has gone from bright green to dull, and some to orange and red. After driving heavy showers the water in the swollen gills is peaty brown. <br />
<br />
The shelter, too, has been stripped of its cover again. the twine and the fabric have been ripped. The wooden supports, though, have held firm.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrri-ecFxAiipkAIrZJJN01G0pdVAd6nDe_p6SQrp46xouZ2PVVoLlSLA5tyNIZcLLGupaKCHO4HrszqGcjsrUPyoeUHBIITlLkygbjqFNrcaLypHQFxyx6lM4N_KkplOQf5uxndfAVY/s1600/sepstormdb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrri-ecFxAiipkAIrZJJN01G0pdVAd6nDe_p6SQrp46xouZ2PVVoLlSLA5tyNIZcLLGupaKCHO4HrszqGcjsrUPyoeUHBIITlLkygbjqFNrcaLypHQFxyx6lM4N_KkplOQf5uxndfAVY/s320/sepstormdb.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>At first I didn't feel inclined to do anything with it; perhaps it was time to abandon the exercise. But as I set about clearing the felled sycamore, I realised that this process was as important as creating the artwork. It was a simlar process, too, in that it is iterative; I construct a shelter, the weather changes it, I repair and change it some more, and so on, gradually adapting to changing conditions. The charcoal remains from my fire had been displaced. It was a while before I deduced that this was by water from the overflowing gill. I looked for my bottle of water, but that must have been swept away. So much seemed to have changed in the space of just a few days that it drew me into an unwitting stream of thought about the polarity of attachment and loss. It was at this point that I decided that I would stick with the shelter and keep on adapting and changing it in response to circumstances. At times I would drive change and at others, be driven by change. Now I found myself with the billhook, hacking off the protruding branches from the top part of the felled sycamore trunk, and finding a place and a function for it in the shelter. As I do this, moss-covered bark peels away. The fallen tree with its moss and colonies of insects will now adapt to new conditions.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJA5rvdTd9m9bDdTSgumUFsVYl3dIkk1uXlwT0NdGvwNgFgffSeX3hcTBs0tHrGrJEUJLx7mTboCjLd1iRgpOTMXgVbYwd9SBfjTAG38cWko-ju0M0CQpXzEyV_JrW3gBsvMdYyy198s/s1600/syc02sq.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJA5rvdTd9m9bDdTSgumUFsVYl3dIkk1uXlwT0NdGvwNgFgffSeX3hcTBs0tHrGrJEUJLx7mTboCjLd1iRgpOTMXgVbYwd9SBfjTAG38cWko-ju0M0CQpXzEyV_JrW3gBsvMdYyy198s/s400/syc02sq.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Close to where the tree stood I discovered another stump. The top where the break had occurred - perhaps many years' ago - is host to a riot of lichen. Perhaps this was a model of for the future of the shelter.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDB1mGKPc-eOPh5KouRPXQFjDWyQpFZhlK0dUJr5ltsG2RW4GO3gVXWyX38-BMZH1zQzziEA-REXP1_ai4e5to3dpVeJ97GLdYEjOnrGJTZyxXg1Qm0gtUjGfF1KvQ0naMSe1v72gRSU/s1600/stump2sq.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDB1mGKPc-eOPh5KouRPXQFjDWyQpFZhlK0dUJr5ltsG2RW4GO3gVXWyX38-BMZH1zQzziEA-REXP1_ai4e5to3dpVeJ97GLdYEjOnrGJTZyxXg1Qm0gtUjGfF1KvQ0naMSe1v72gRSU/s400/stump2sq.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-64072145937718258392010-09-06T20:38:00.000+01:002010-09-06T20:38:37.548+01:00sycamore downApproaching the shelter this morning, I was wondered if anything new could happen. This exercise was getting a bit too familiar and I wanted to be surprised. I was not disappointed. The severe gusts of overnight wind had overpowered the dying sycamore to which one end of the hammock was attached. It was felled, breaking one of the hammock's beech braces and severing the rope.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpGk_ZqqpysSHyxApjQbwn4vrkISGsaXIP-Vy_xc2WnS_U-H_LT_IQJrGOSg9Dcfc2KIIPPqgZ0AIdaNP_-4-6pMZulmJHdZvfcXpHfxK3hndqg2RgpECNYMykiGf4-xAfk5xnINHnfwM/s1600/sicksyc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpGk_ZqqpysSHyxApjQbwn4vrkISGsaXIP-Vy_xc2WnS_U-H_LT_IQJrGOSg9Dcfc2KIIPPqgZ0AIdaNP_-4-6pMZulmJHdZvfcXpHfxK3hndqg2RgpECNYMykiGf4-xAfk5xnINHnfwM/s320/sicksyc.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It's provided me with some useful wood to saw, to hew, scorch and burn. The immediacy of this natural catastrophic event is exactly why I've made this wild studio. However, it's a distraction at the moment. As the season changes to late summer and impending autumn, I want to record the way that the gill itself changes from its highest point to its confluence with the South Tyne. I'm doing this through photographs and drawings, and I'm expecting it to provide the most meaningful content.Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-78870248353982233592010-08-23T17:10:00.001+01:002010-08-24T07:53:41.577+01:00from the top<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG8vpdSOWZFtteeBssiOq1YXMfLVvEKyTJn59svq0xjpqo-KIXAazlsie8Pqg0iSLbPzpZnmE3rowAZEmLXXA6DK55IKxEqzPkBQRlMBaOpakcRmeVcryYrzLdWA2Yd_3LDtdpiZspboo/s1600/windybrowtopopt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG8vpdSOWZFtteeBssiOq1YXMfLVvEKyTJn59svq0xjpqo-KIXAazlsie8Pqg0iSLbPzpZnmE3rowAZEmLXXA6DK55IKxEqzPkBQRlMBaOpakcRmeVcryYrzLdWA2Yd_3LDtdpiZspboo/s320/windybrowtopopt.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Above the gill is an area marked on the map as Windy Brow. It's an apt name. The brow forms the border of a rough and disorganised plateau which spills from the northern slopes of Burnhope Seat, where wind and water scourge the rock, peat and plantlife. Often, the horizon between earth and sky is as indistinct as the difference between the surface and the peaty shale and hard rock of its underground world.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBUUS0DCb2yCFH7pppsDLSRHf74LppTsRU7vrPd8u-ZILvC4qdXwQ-bkIz0W5OP6Rg8dtv14tswDuMKk3pP_8vvj9o7ewGjGXVOrfnGz6jdmBUTmggeho1Y_muR4OrpcYzQdf6VpUsro/s1600/gillshelteropt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqBUUS0DCb2yCFH7pppsDLSRHf74LppTsRU7vrPd8u-ZILvC4qdXwQ-bkIz0W5OP6Rg8dtv14tswDuMKk3pP_8vvj9o7ewGjGXVOrfnGz6jdmBUTmggeho1Y_muR4OrpcYzQdf6VpUsro/s320/gillshelteropt.jpg" width="236" /></a></div>As you approach the top of the gill, you get a sense that the elements are becoming more resolved; that light, water and earth begin to take on more distict forms.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheaHRccUS3XLsmvR8HjMHMxEp39oUvX_UCLWr1RBEdE8PCmoSfZ-v2ekbj7mBkdRi-FCQizgZdMfH2rTL_ZNHpU0_QKP-fQjSYk6I4XO6mIL4PSLa4yd5yfdi9zgcgug_f8ZZWz8hS_AI/s1600/gilltop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheaHRccUS3XLsmvR8HjMHMxEp39oUvX_UCLWr1RBEdE8PCmoSfZ-v2ekbj7mBkdRi-FCQizgZdMfH2rTL_ZNHpU0_QKP-fQjSYk6I4XO6mIL4PSLa4yd5yfdi9zgcgug_f8ZZWz8hS_AI/s400/gilltop.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>There's a kind of triumph when water gushes out again from a dark channel in the earth, glistening and dancing over rocks and between tree limbs. The water washes out minerals and fertilises the surrounding sodden ground, stimulating fresh new growth and attracting insects, small reptiles and birds.<br />
<br />
The act of reflection since my last trip to the shelter has been essential in the completion of these three paintings.Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-57673314422946042202010-08-19T19:05:00.002+01:002010-08-19T20:12:55.150+01:00Mares' Tails<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLekdvUtO-9ZaMK2X1kHTjKFxcmgEmaFCeYEzz9bG2LYk8MyfUcrDOwN8YG766plK2dPIPB4qMu9rqT2H4av-A3Dj1Fn-5MDPUBE5Q56Vsn32zBLAWADK18qBUGNUIH75y1NlM0TIZCz4/s1600/marestails.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLekdvUtO-9ZaMK2X1kHTjKFxcmgEmaFCeYEzz9bG2LYk8MyfUcrDOwN8YG766plK2dPIPB4qMu9rqT2H4av-A3Dj1Fn-5MDPUBE5Q56Vsn32zBLAWADK18qBUGNUIH75y1NlM0TIZCz4/s400/marestails.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Yesterday I went to the shelter with a small tent and stayed overnight, returning at midday today. It was an interesting experience but it didn't produce much in the way of immediate artwork - which had been my intention. Instead, most of my time seemed to be spent keeping warm, dry, safe and comfortable.<br />
<br />
Laden with a sack containing tent, doss-bag and sleeping mat, kettle stove, camera, torch, art materials and some fruit and coffee, I walked up to the top of the gill arriving around 8pm. It was breezy so no midges. I had to set-up the tent immediately and gather enough firewood to see me through the first couple of hours of darkness. As soon as I started it became clear that I would be here for the experience, rather than the production of art. With the light fading, the lively sky was the main focus of attention.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebFZawTm3PoyZTDA8iabHggVlkq8_6AoQV1hSz8SejSdTIo06Gp-rsNGo4ew8fRGNpeHl7jdpsdj9wHoZvSeaH4UROi-FaYuWcxh9UXxxJ3Rv3RALk8fVlaqF2V5ivgxQXsF0JN8b7P0/s1600/moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiebFZawTm3PoyZTDA8iabHggVlkq8_6AoQV1hSz8SejSdTIo06Gp-rsNGo4ew8fRGNpeHl7jdpsdj9wHoZvSeaH4UROi-FaYuWcxh9UXxxJ3Rv3RALk8fVlaqF2V5ivgxQXsF0JN8b7P0/s400/moon.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>The moon made a brief appearance before disappearing all night into the plumes of cloud formed as the moist air hit the Cross Fell massif. This photo was taken with a slow exposure - the sky looked a lot darker than this at the time. As the light faded in the north-west, the stars made an appearance about as brief as the moon's before the cloud thickened. I watched them for as long as I could from the supreme comfort of the hammock, occasionally swathed in woodsmoke from the fire, before they disappeared and the sky was only distinct from the ground by being slightly lighter. It was not until dawn that sufficient low-level cumulus from Cross Fell cleared to reveal once more the mares' tails. There were two distinct layers of them, and I imagined a third layer even higher, each going in a slightly different direction. It can sometimes be difficult to remember that the sky is in three dimensions, but here was proof in all its raw beauty. As the morning sun climbed it reflected off the clouds in the east.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZWVFiemUYXKPbBqYxIQklp7jeMTJZS8yoeNMJw8YCbQN_-YQp_mK_rzYQ8BEqqbbKcjl-9R7uou-fc5kI8P_m_AaZOa9-HWjtToXJbHOMA1Mwi5SOD3wLm3tFOrOIP-pHmoQo7-Fgick/s1600/mackeral.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZWVFiemUYXKPbBqYxIQklp7jeMTJZS8yoeNMJw8YCbQN_-YQp_mK_rzYQ8BEqqbbKcjl-9R7uou-fc5kI8P_m_AaZOa9-HWjtToXJbHOMA1Mwi5SOD3wLm3tFOrOIP-pHmoQo7-Fgick/s640/mackeral.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>The overnight rain had soaked all the wood, of course, but there were enough dry twigs on the inside of the shelter structure. I placed them in the base of the kettle and put some lighter fuel on. After a few sparks from the steel, there was a small flame and I slowly added wet wood until I had a healthy heart to the fire. I decided that since I was boiling the water that I'd use it straight from the gill. This I did and apart from the odd ground of coffee (I had no strainer or extra cup), the drink was a delightful way to start the day. Luckily, the showers stayed away as well. I did this drawing of the kettle.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2V_fuJJpDW5wbMe6ZKQv-rL0lJwqhoiOF99PyGYDNyNh4V-Fby_GBV89LhcgFg1-_USRkKep5vQ-fZKcdfqZ2m19FFHtwxb2qH1a95RE8xohKT9ifJbIdQ6OSIGyjIDbasjhPIMQjt0/s1600/kelly.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2V_fuJJpDW5wbMe6ZKQv-rL0lJwqhoiOF99PyGYDNyNh4V-Fby_GBV89LhcgFg1-_USRkKep5vQ-fZKcdfqZ2m19FFHtwxb2qH1a95RE8xohKT9ifJbIdQ6OSIGyjIDbasjhPIMQjt0/s640/kelly.gif" width="456" /></a></div>It seemed a shame to stop at one cup, so I boiled some more water and had another, using the rest of the water for a wash in my little pond. (I wished I'd remembered to bring a towel). Spending time doing these domestic things took my mind off what I had come here to do, but it felt OK to just enjoy being here in the fresh morning breeze.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-lXTfNXK5y8a65_qY1zifBMMw9r6zXJPNC1eVqN_syJCcNF9t7Vx-T3MUqnoroZN-YCskUuvh-6XtY_sFQdGhVcsBDkB4_clzgW0VJLkWrIHHd2LCckVWU2W6wfX1Ec-CiN2UsQ-aVBE/s1600/mesmoke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-lXTfNXK5y8a65_qY1zifBMMw9r6zXJPNC1eVqN_syJCcNF9t7Vx-T3MUqnoroZN-YCskUuvh-6XtY_sFQdGhVcsBDkB4_clzgW0VJLkWrIHHd2LCckVWU2W6wfX1Ec-CiN2UsQ-aVBE/s640/mesmoke.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I must have messed around looking at plants and rocks and running water for more than an hour, although I had no way of knowing since I hadn't brought any means of telling the time. That was good, too, being led by the length and direction of shadows. Apart from seeing some car headlights last night heading up to Hartside and the sounds of distant airliners, I had no inkling of the rhythms of other people. That's not to say that I wanted to be alone. It suited this exercise, but I would have loved to have shared the warmth of the fire and the tent, and the hot drink, with some good company. To have been with someone else who felt the same way would have more than doubled the value of the experience. Humankind is gregarious by nature; we are herd animals, and a warm fire and shelter are good incentives for companionship.<br />
<br />
I had decided that I would map this gill in its entirety, starting from the top, so I went to where it springs from the ground and did some drawings. Because of the breeze and the rain, I didn't really record what I was seeing as well as I ought, so I'm now hoping that my memory serves me well for work in the home studio. In the meantime, here's a rainbow to nurture that hope.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg74pszGokV2C01yHcoxgME-n1gmTvzRfDWuOkhN8z77r3dTBpslwBLWiIhBsHzdUl89LIKo2QwyWZOk4nfvatJGy3iz4jrgl1SkBg5_IbZlqu4vi3sDD_l3wOMY1Sjc2JCZUkb-3IcxX0/s1600/rainbow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg74pszGokV2C01yHcoxgME-n1gmTvzRfDWuOkhN8z77r3dTBpslwBLWiIhBsHzdUl89LIKo2QwyWZOk4nfvatJGy3iz4jrgl1SkBg5_IbZlqu4vi3sDD_l3wOMY1Sjc2JCZUkb-3IcxX0/s320/rainbow.jpg" /></a></div>After taking the tent down in the rain and packing everything up, I walked back home, sensing that there's still a lot to absorb from the experience before it results in any meaningful artwork.Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7658186721627331510.post-30747472371922126772010-08-17T10:39:00.001+01:002010-08-17T10:52:51.246+01:00out of shotThe guns were out a few days' ago, heralding the start of the shooting season. By the sound of it, there was a drive not far from the shelter, so when I went up yesterday late afternoon I was half expecting to find some damage. Thankfully there was none. It was quiet; Cross Fell was slightly misty set against a milky sky. No strong shadows or distant colours. The ground and the air smelt fresh, more savoury than sweet. This evening seemed more masculine than feminine.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7cquv7g5-2WjgfXzwq2a6kpzoWGNUG_eD0wioVhY3-n2g8raUvXT-cSl6sV7e4ZcNhWKbHlqZj2_bJo17NbKFDyyEsjkVHCwbZObfbULOTDHzY0w0uUVEZtkds5gU_Qb3iqnL8y2zVaY/s1600/yadtree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7cquv7g5-2WjgfXzwq2a6kpzoWGNUG_eD0wioVhY3-n2g8raUvXT-cSl6sV7e4ZcNhWKbHlqZj2_bJo17NbKFDyyEsjkVHCwbZObfbULOTDHzY0w0uUVEZtkds5gU_Qb3iqnL8y2zVaY/s320/yadtree.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>I took some time observing the tree/earth/water interface and made some colour exercises. Having chosen not to bring my camera, I was forced away from the comfort of the lens and the instant image. I'm beginning to find that observation without drawing, although a lot less intensive, is still a valuable exercise and informs my practice back home, as illustrated in these paintings above and below. Visual memory is an important attribute for a visual artist, but it's one that needs regular exercise, particularly with age.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8A9tlncIw-pkkAHR805podzy3imCq4m-CxTD4Zwjza461UtiAMvrz_DSMj4yN7m5vGp6DNKVGjRVKqcWQZaP6NWkPK_eyj7lxNiQnqzZIM1mwM2Mx0A8eoadm2F_TfuznByJiRVAJXl8/s1600/shelter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8A9tlncIw-pkkAHR805podzy3imCq4m-CxTD4Zwjza461UtiAMvrz_DSMj4yN7m5vGp6DNKVGjRVKqcWQZaP6NWkPK_eyj7lxNiQnqzZIM1mwM2Mx0A8eoadm2F_TfuznByJiRVAJXl8/s320/shelter.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>As I lay in the hammock looking up at the trees against the sky, two kestrels flew into sight embroiled in a mid-flight argument. One settled on the branch immediately above me. I wasn't keeping particularly still and the bird paid me no attention, and although I was slightly concerned that I was in line-of-fire if it chose to release its bowels, it did feel a privilege to be sharing the same environment so easily. It stayed for several minutes. I played the strings of the hammock and I could feel the vibrations run through both trees. I'm sure the bird would have felt them. The thought struck me that I could record these and other sounds and assemble them into a digital composition. It would be another way of expressing the harmony that I often experience here.<br />
<br />
I attempted some more drawing, but the strength of the sun had waned as the evening came, and without a wind the midges were feeding on my face and upper torso. They were such a distraction that I gave-up, packed-up and walked home with my ears burning and my wrists and elbows itching.Jules Cadiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00593280294839350840noreply@blogger.com0