Nineteen Conkers

I have started a new piece under the Great Pause of Covid - 19.

I have planted 30 conkers in upside down Mahou beer cans, reminiscent of the Verdan Trees which were planted after the First World War. Once growing, they'll be arranged in a theatre, akin to 19th Century Auricula stages, because plagues extend limits like theatre and are physically transformative and disruptive. The next stage of this project is under development, like all things. Let's hope they grow! 

"The theatre restores us as our dormant conflicts and all their powers, [...] for there can be theatre only from the moment when the impossible really begins." 

Antonin Artaud - The theatre and its double

The Verdun trees are Horse Chestnut trees, planted in the United Kingdom in the aftermath of the First World War. Conkers were collected from trees on the battlefield at Verdun, and sent to England to be distributed and planted as war memorials.

Conker Shells

"Oh my goodness! How I have missed your smoothness you gorgeous little piece of vellum you! You are my world and I love you very, very much"... I squeal as my brush caresses the skin with the most delicate of touches. The quiet plucking of harp strings gently fills the space of the darkened room. Tiny beams of bright light shine through the partially closed window shutters forming little stairways to heaven all around my desk. One stairway dances with the plumes of steam rising up from my large tea cup. Travelling in opposite directions they meet in the middle and embrace. 

Conker Shells (Aesculus hippocastanum) on vellum

I rapidly clap my hands and shriek in delight! Another brief moment of ecstasy as a moist blob of paint takes its journey across the polished surface flawlessly. I am home alone, and feel as though I can make as much noise as I like. No one will ever know what is happening in my darkened bedroom. Shutters down I am in a world of my own.

Conker Shells (Aesculus hippocastanum) on vellum

Today is a particularly sunny day. The frosty lawn in the garden below is being hastily thawed and the withered Wisteria at the foot of my window pane is exhausted. In it's last breath it has decided to shed it's seeds all over the driveway. Between brief silent interludes one can hear a loud cracking sound from the other side of the glass veil as the pods crash to the floor, releasing their seed in an explosion of utter desperation. They look like Galaxy Minstrels, but are probably poisonous as ricin. Days like this are glorious, but the intensity of the white light is too difficult to paint in, which is why the front shutter is partially closed. The aperture on the eastern facet is open however, bestowing not only the right type of light, but also revealing a breathtaking view of the Sierra Nevada.

Conker Shells (Aesculus hippocastanum) close up

The snowy peaks trickle down the harsh jagged slopes like milk. From the peaks, the energy of the ice seems to radiate out until it touches the roof tops of the houses that are about 30 minutes closer. Olive wood smoke rises from a chimney and smothers the summit in a shroud of filthy Turner's Yellow. 

Conker Shells (Aesculus hippocastanum) close up

"Yellow! That's what it needs..." I realise as I busily mix the greys for my velvety conker shell. Capturing the textures and colours that cover the walls of this concave vessel has been particularly gruelling, but raptured by the tussle, I am taking much delight in the slog. 

A grand day out for the BBC

Filming with the BBC and Northern Town in the Chelsea Physic Garden

Well I haven't done the best job at keeping things quiet it has to be said, but then I was rather excited. Luckily I have got a green light from the producers to talk about my little bit of news, so here goes... Back in September, when I was living temporarily in my parents flat in Brighton I received an email from Edward Morgan from Northern Town, the production company that made that beautiful and touching short film about the life of Rory McEwen which was used for the exhibition at Kew in 2012. He wanted to let me know that the BBC had decided to commission a half hour programme on the life of Rory for BBC4 and wondered if I'd be interested in doing a spot of filming for it.  Naturally I was more than delighted to help.

Having recently moved the Inky Leaves studio to Spain I wasn't able to invite the crew to my Brick Lane studio, so we had to think of another UK-based location and it was then when I mentioned that the Chelsea Physic Garden is pretty much my 'second' studio. It's where I go for inspiration and I am frequently painting amongst their beautifully planted boarders. After a couple of recces it was decided that Chelsea offered an ideal spot, not only because it was it was a bit different to the usual indoor setting one might use for an interview, but because it is also quite close to Rory's old house in Tregunter Road. 

Conker Shells on Rory McEwen Vellum; gifted to me from Sam and Christabel McEwen in 2012

So now you all know why I took the plunge to paint on Rory's vellum a few weeks ago and why I flew back to Blighty this week... Well actually there were several reasons why I flew to England, but this was one of them. Thanks to British Airways, who were incredibly accommodating and helpful, I was able to bring my portfolio and vellum on board with me alongside my hand luggage. This was really important as the climate in the cabin is much more regulated and my work and materials were thus protected.

I originally thought that the day wouldn't be very long - as it is intended that the documentary will cover his musical career as well. With so much of Rory's colourful life to get in a short space of time, I concluded that I will probably get a maximum of a couple of minutes of air time. Therefore, I thought a couple of hours of filming would have been probably done the trick. Alas, it was surprisingly a rather long day and what was brilliant was I had absolutely no idea at the time. I was enjoying the experience so much that I hadn't realised how the day had flown by. I think we were at the garden for about five hours! We didn't have to do many re-takes - all the one's we did were due to aircraft flying over. There were some pretty cool planes at that because of course it was Armistice Day.

Painting on vellum in the Chelsea Physic Garden

A consequence of me enjoying myself so much is that I completely forgot to take some photographs of the whole event. This is what happens when I have too much fun, I get completely lost in the moment. Luckily, the Director of Photography and digital maestro Terry Wilson from Northern Town, has managed to take some screen grabs for me which I have loaded up on here. It feels a little self indulgent, as you only get me, but we do need some pictures to space out the text... so apologies for not being able to post images of the entire set up but I think you can get the gist...

The day started with the sun actually out - can you Adam and Eve it?! I was so utterly over the moon to see the sun shining through the Autumnal leaves and I wasn't the only one, therefore we begun the day filming shots of me walking around the garden while the weather was being ultra kind. Then, as the misty clouds started to roll in we went into the glasshouse with all the Germaniums and Pelagoniums inside. It smelt delicious. 

Once inside there were lots of other takes and two types of interview - one of me painting and the other not. Alison Grist, the Director, was really wonderful. She was really kind and really helped me throughout the day. I don't know what I would have done without her support, attentiveness and creativity - a seriously gifted producer. Hopefully, with all this assistance and with Eddie and Lily Middleton (Marketing & PR Assistant at Chelsea Physic Garden) filling us up with coffee it has come out well. Throughout the whole day I remember really trying not to muffle, stutter, hesitate or swear (the latter of which, as most of me nearest and dearest can confirm, is really difficult for me. I am no Malcolm Tucker, but the occasional word has a habit of slipping in when I get overly enthralled). Anyway, the production team were pleased with the material they gleaned from the day, so I guess we shall just have to wait and see what they decide to use and how they edit the content. 

Of course, I realise that all of you will be very excited to hear that there is a programme on Rory McEwen coming out and I know that you will want to know when it is being first broadcast. At this current time I don't have an official date, but I know it is likely to be sometime in February 2015 - I will keep you posted. In the meantime I am incredibly honoured to have been asked to participate in this project and really hope that that I have done Rory proud. I am very grateful to everyone in the production team, the Chelsea Physic Garden, the McEwen family, Martin J Allen and of course BA. 

Chelsea have since written their own a article about the day which can be found here.

Saved by Vellum

So it's been an odd week. I apologise for the intensity of my most recent posts, but I think it's important to note as it influences one's work. Since I last wrote I have been seriously trying to deal with something internal. It's not external. It was, but it now no longer is. After frightening myself with my Hosta, I decided to just step back a bit. I went on a lovely bike ride. I am also now embracing my new job of looking after two cats and I've changed my music. Regardless to say, I felt disheartened by something and got a little blocked. I started to feel rather petrified by the AMOUNT of work I have to do between now and Spring. I am not procrastinating (never been much of a procrastinator luckily), but I am feeling a little mired and this has certainly blocked my flow.

So, I decided to get on with another commission... the Ginkgo. It's ok, but I am not really happy with it. I spent a week on it and then yesterday I put it to one side to get on with another commission (bit of an odd one, which I'll explain to you all at a later date). The project involves me having a work in progress on vellum. Luckily for me, I have a piece of mounted vellum. Its roughly A5 in size and was gifted to me by Sam and Christabel McEwen in 2013. I remember that when they gave it to me I cried. How silly. Anyway, for the past year and a half I have stored it in a box all wrapped up in tissue paper. I have got it out on occasion and just started at it. It reminds me of a time when I felt connected and understood by a ghost. It's strangely comforting.

After a half day of painting - drawn in and first layers of paint.

So yesterday I got my comfort blanket out and decided that the time to put some life onto it had finally come. I ordered some 'back up' vellum for the commission the day before, but something within me knew that I needed rescuing from this stagnant cave I seemed to have walked into and I thought about Rory. I needed to paint on his vellum. I needed to take a risk. Completely petrified, it certainly took me a while to actually pluck up the courage to paint on it. First of all I had to nip to the bakery and buy myself a massive chocolate croissant in order to zing up my sugar levels to the point where I became less timid and more gutsy. Then I messaged Dianne Sutherland to ask if I really needed to pounce it (I didn't have any at the time, but it is on it's way in the post) and then I just thought 'it's time to just get on with it'.

After a half day - a sense of scale...

I had two images of what I wanted to paint in my mind - either a sprout or two conker shells. I went with the conker shells as sprout was the wrong size for the vellum I had. I almost choose to paint one shell, but I liked the way the two shells spoke to each other. I was drawn to the masculine-feminine energy and the tension in the space between the barbs from either shell. So, with this in mind, I drew the drying husks pretty pronto and got going. Before I began I quickly reflected on a demo Sarah Gould gave at the Chelsea Florilegium and I remembered how everyone says you need a dry brush. I recalled Rory's teeny brushes in the showcase at the Shirley Sherwood Gallery of Botanical Art and I re-watched Martin Allen at work in the Rory film. So when I started painting I was thinking 'dry, dry, dry' and 'small, small, small'. It didn't really work. I needed a bigger brush (I am now using a 4 Kolinsky spotter brush alongside a 0) and more water than I thought was possible. One thing is for sure, you do need some water to blend everything together. I was rather surprised by this, but I have concluded that it is because I am in Spain that I need more water. We are experiencing very warm weather at the moment and everything is drying out at a rate of knots.

Conker Shells - a work in progress on vellum

So this is what I have managed to do so far. I am happy with it and I am getting into the groove. I find myself forgetting that I am painting on vellum. It feels like second nature. Maybe I was a monk in a past life?! On occasion, I do suddenly remember I am painting on vellum (usually when something marvellous happens to a pigment) and I sit and think about it for a while. I think about the animal I am painting on and where it might have come from. Some people disagree with the whole vellum thing and that's cool, I respect that, but I couldn't think of a better use of my skin. To be culled for my skin, well that pretty harsh, but if I knew that it would make someone this happy and produce something beautiful, and that a part of me would not only be immortalised and treasured, but also used as an educational tool to hundreds of people, well I wouldn't be too upset.

- next post - my thoughts on actually what it is like to paint on vellum... Beyond the normal thing of 'it's tricky' or 'it's fantastic'...