Creativity Ensconced

Dream House

Ensconced verb [with object and adverbial of place]

- establish or settle (someone) in a comfortable, safe place: Agnes ensconced herself in their bedroom

Origin: late 16th century (in the senses 'fortify' and 'shelter within or behind a fortification'; formerly also as insconce)

Creativity needs a room of its own, as Virginia Woolf wrote - a space in which to lay down paint and pen to paper, to let ideas flow through you into tangible form.  Only after long walks during which it gets to breathe and play.  Where it has been given the freedom to regenerate, to be wild, and to knock you off your feet; will it then need a quiet, clear, almost sacred space within which to take form.  That safe place in which to ensconce oneself in peace and blissful solitude and create.

Not so easily done in our busy lives of working and family and the demands of daily life.  Often it’s snatched moments at kitchen tables, packing away the tools of our trade before the kids come home from school. Or working late into the secret night when everyone is asleep, catching their dreams in the silence.

It’s not just about physical space either, but mental space.  I feel that the two go together anyway, my room gets messy when my head feels messed up.  Living in my parents’ home has many good things about it but I am now living within their lives and all that comes with it.  I am cramped into one room full of family stuff, which is also quite dark being north facing so the sunlight rarely penetrates the window.  I find I suddenly miss my old flat so much, despite the noisy neighbours.  

Filled with this light airy space, my own things around me, a big table with my art materials laid out ready; it proved irresistible - I couldn’t fight the yearning to paint for long.   As spring really takes off I long for those seemingly endless days of the weekends there, filled with walks and writing and painting.  So it has set me thinking about creating a new sacred space in which to work.  Probably a garden shed with a  wood burning stove, that would be just the thing.

However what I would really LOVE is to have a studio like one of these amazing places...

Pitchford Hall Tree House

Storybook House, Kitsap County

Beverly Hills Witch House

Hobbit House, Hawaii 

Horseplay

This week we opened a new exhibition at my gallery, called 'Horseplay - Equine Grace'.  I am not a horsey person in that I don't ride and am quite scared of them; however I find them so beautiful that they bring a lump to my throat.  I would love to see wild horses running together in that wonderful rolling wave, moving as one with manes flying.  For the moment I content myself with sitting in a gallery amidst gorgeous paintings of them.

'Fin' by Yolande Kenny

The show is mainly inspired around the work of Yolande Kenny who paints very personal and emotive horse portraits.  With the use of unusual viewpoints - looking up from close to the horse's head or being literally nose-to-nose, she captures their unique personalities intimately as seen through the eyes of their owner.  Whether painted in oil on linen or drawn in graphite Yolande's skill is in catching the power and gentle strength of these graceful creatures.

'Stance' by Yolande Kenny

I also included Gena Ivanov's colourful watercolours evoking the wild flowing nature of horses...

'Blue Horse' by Gena Ivanov

...along with Ramzieh Baj's more primal and fantastic painting inspired by the Nart Saga (heroic Circassian tales from the Caucasus)  and very controlled print of the famous Desert Orchid....

'Lady Setenaya and the Dragon' by Ramzieh Baj

'Horse in Profile' by Ramzieh Baj

...and Sophie Howard's bronze sculptures, which speak about the strong companionship between humans and horses.

'Sitting' by Sophie Howard

Blodeuwedd

When the burgeoning force of spring meets the ardent heat of summer, our dazzling maid comes into being, to fill the lusting void with the heady perfume of feminine wiles.  Bursting forth, her willowing figure is formed from nine types of blossom - meadowsweet, broom, cockle, bean, nettle, chestnut, primrose, oak and the hawthorn that grow wild across the unsuspecting land.  Woven together by trickster hands, life breathed into her by kingly whims, her birth is as wild woman and her beauty all the more treacherous.

So she, whose destiny is undreamt of marriage, is born a companion to he who cannot take human wife, nor die so easily as man.  For him a blossoming woman made from verdant nature into unnatural ardour, untamed, with her own mind and desires.   Thus the story unfurls its buds into emerging tragedy, for always is free will temptation filled. 

Child as she is of lascivious Beltane, her red heart soon beats deep for a vital young warrior, as youthful and as tempestuous as she.   A potent mix of ingredients, for lovers entwined tie themselves in bonds of foolish acts, driven mad with longing. Together they plot to steal the life of unwary unwanted husband. 

Pretty pleading discovers the secret of death and hunter wields the spear forged over thirteen moons to fell their prey, seeming dead.  But what mystery unfolds when shape-shifter appears: wounded Eagle flying high to the magical Tree of Life. 

How unjust a punishment then when fragrant Face of Flowers is transformed.  Her innate power born of spring days and summer dances, now stilled to abide only in the darkness of the long, silent hours.
  
Now beware all, that bitter owl who cries in the night...

An old story retold by Amber Spring 2011

Seeking Self and Finding Bare Bones II

'Before I die, I want to stand on an ice sheet and in an orange desert and see nothing but vast sky.'

 

I didn't dream of travel particularly; I was a home bird who liked being in England and at most longed to visit the ancient sites of the British Isles and Ireland. I was the last of my (three, younger) siblings to really travel in the true sense of the word. I couldn't wait to leave school and go to Art College so having a gap year was very far from my mind. Also I admit I was terrified of the idea! Despite leaving home to go to college, then moving to London soon after and virtually disappearing from the family landscape in my twenties, I needed my friends and soul family more than they ever knew.

Life moves in waves both destructive and creative. A gradual building up and gathering of people, places, somewhere to work, to call home and then things fall apart and disintegrate in your hands like dust only to pull back and move through to the next wave. Beneath it the sandy beach of your soul undulates and changes, old beliefs eroding and others revealed as treasures - curled shells upon the golden curve of Self.

It is only later in life that one acknowledges an undercurrent of restless energy, of courage and calling. Something reminds you of a story once read long ago where the heroine stood alone in a desert and understood profoundly her own being for the first time in her life. How profoundly that touched you and your young self, but what to do with it? Pocket it away until you have lived enough to need it...



Frozen Lake

Orange Desert

Welcome Spring