It is my little oasis, messy but it is mine.
Thursday, 26 November 2015
Saturday, 7 November 2015
Saturday, 3 October 2015
Isn't it wonderful. This is the interior of the Speigel tent, one of the last 10 in existence. The tent is currently in the Market Square, in front of Nottingham's Council house. During the month there are a whole range of festivals, from the Goose fair to music. This tent is hosting events for some of the festivals. So in the day it is the home of Game City, with its electronic medieval jousting and then at night it reverts to burlesque, music and more.
To sit inside it is magical, full of light and mirrors. The space is warm and feels special, you can imagine it with crowds waiting to see the shows. It has travelled and the mirrors retold the stories of several continents and many voices. If you are here, or near enough, come and see. Take a seat and have a drink, then let your imagination drift and fill the space with stories.
|The Nottingham Post picture of the tent being put up.|
Sunday, 16 August 2015
I have been working on this for a while, being both fond of ravens and of Norse Myths. Hugin sits in front of Munin, who makes his presence known. They are perched on a picture stone, this one being based on a Gotland stone that tells the story of Thor. I don't think the runes will make much sense as I didn't copy them accurately. Behind the birds is the beginning of a Yew tree, to represent Odin.
There is something very meditative in using just a pencil (propelling pencil with HB and 2B leads).
Wednesday, 15 July 2015
Sunday, 5 July 2015
Sunday, 17 May 2015
Even in the city there are wild places. Seeking out hollows and hidden holes can lead to the discovery of treasures.
|Behind the brick there are hives of bees, slowly waking up to spring.|
|To the side is a sea of garlic and lace.|
|Already the nettles are being used as cocoons, wrappings of silk hiding the transformations going on inside.|
|There are secret doorways.|
|Frames of iron keeping the wild at bay.|
|From the acorn, the oak starts small.|
|Some times there are escapees from the tamed gardens, finding a new home in the midst of brambles.|
|Golden heads, shaking out the manes.|
|Paths through the trees.|
|Waves of sound come from holes in the bark. Hiding the fledglings from prying eyes.|
|and lacy hats.|