Jameswoodward’s Weblog

 I was determined to make a significant   detour during  August to see some public sculpture on Crosby beach and this short piece gives me an opportunity to show off some of my photographs. The journey to Liverpool  was not in vain and  I was able to glimpse again at first hand the sheer genius of Gormley  as a sculptor and public artist.

Another place  consists (I believe 60)  cast iron sculptures of the artist’s own body, facing towards the sea. The original proposal was for the Wattenmeer, Cuxhaven, Germany in 1995 and here is the brief:

“To install a hundred solid cast iron bodyforms along the coast to the west and south of the Kugelbake. The work will occupy an area of 1.75 square kilometres, with the pieces placed between 50 and 250 metres apart along the tideline and one kilometre out towards the horizon, to which they will all be facing. Depending on the fall of the land, the state of the tide, the weather conditions and the time of day the work will be more or less visible. The sculptures will be installed on a level plane attached to 2 metre vertical steel piles. The ones closest to the horizon will stand on the sand, those nearer the shore being progressively buried. At high water, the sculptures that are completely visible when the tide is out will be standing up to their necks in water.”

The  cast  iron   body forms  were displayed  at several  locations  in Europe  but now have found  a permanent home  here  at Crosby beach .  the proposal to do so was controversial  but Sefton Council  in 2007   made a bold and imaginative decision  that would allow the sculptures to be kept permanently at Crosby Beach in place of being moved to New York.

Lt’s look  at some of these sculptures  more closely

The sculptures are made from 17 body-casts taken from Gormley’s   body. The sculptures are all standing in a similar way, with the lungs more or less inflated and their postures carrying different degrees of tension or relaxation.  The                  installation  stretched 2.5 kilometres down the coast and 1 kilometre out to sea, with an average distance between the pieces of 500 metres. They were all on a level and those closest to the shore were buried as far as their knees.

The idea was to test time and tide, stillness and movement, and somehow engage with the daily life of the beach. This was no exercise in romantic escapism.  The  figures  themselves  have a  deep sense of serenity  and thoughtfulness   as they  stare out in the same direction  –  there is a kind of deep  connectedness and attentiveness .  Contemplation, attention  and focus   were the words  that came  most immediately  to mind  as I wandered up and down the beach.  The tide   was moving   swiftly in  and so it was fascinating  to see  some of the statues  being immersed  in water .

 Gormley remains  a master of public art  and I was quite extraordinarily moved by the way in which this art  evokes such a powerful sense both life and death ; of nature claiming  its extraordinary claim on   humanity and sometimes our  powerlessness over  the forces of nature and  perhaps even life itself? It is however  this stillness and contemplation  that I think  is the radical voice  of this work.

When my friend’s mother developed dementia, he was discouraged that each day she seemed to be losing so much.

Then he remembered a saying from Taoism: In the way of learning, each day we gain more and more. In the way of the Tao, each day we have less and less.

So often we go through life, hoping that enlightenment is “right around the corner.” Somehow, like a mirage on the horizon, the future recedes and remains out of our grasp.

Or do we perhaps have the wrong idea about what spiritual “progress” might mean in the first place? Is the goal to become enlightened or to accept a truth about our own “clouding?” Toward the end of a long life, in his eighties, Carl Jung wrote in the final words of his autobiography, MEMORIES, DREAMS, REFLECTIONS, where he invokes the founder of Taoism:

“I am astonished, disappointed, pleased with myself. I am distressed, depressed, rapturous. I am all these things at once, and cannot add up the sum. I am incapable of determining ultimate worth or worthlessness; I have no judgement about myself and my life. There is nothing I am quite sure about… When Lao-Tzu says ‘All are clear, I alone am clouded,’ he is expressing what I now feel in advanced old age…”

Perhaps we all need more astonishment at everyday life.

Remember the saying of the architect LeCorbusier:

“Less is more?”

Jung’s autobiography (edited by Aniela Jaffe), MEMORIES, DREAMS, REFLECTIONS (Random House, 1965) is available in many editions.

On the many-sided aspects of Jung and his influence, see also:

http://msg1svc.net/cuttk/185269/60/27405/5402/0/T/gxdu.html

 (taken by JWW Savill Gardens June 2014)

tree

not even for a moment
do things stand still: look at
colour, in the trees

Seiju, his death poem (d. 1776, age 75)

smile

Then new events said to me,
‘Don’t move. A sublime generosity is
coming towards you.’

You are the fountain of the sun’s light.
I am a willow shadow on the ground.
You make my raggedness silky.

The soul at dawn is like darkened water
that slowly begins to say Thank you, thank you.

Then at sunset, again, Venus gradually
Changes into the moon and then the whole nightsky.

This comes of smiling back
at your smile.

Rumi

On the road out of Oswestry travelling up the Tanant valley you will find a small village, Llanyblodwel, and tucked away the church of St Michael and the Archangel. It is beautifully kept and open each day for visitors. The church is believed to have been erected after the arrival of the Normans and its existence was noted in 1160. The building has survived turbulent centuries of boarder  warfare between the Welsh and English.

  Nothing could quite prepare me for the surprise that unfolded inside the church. John Parker, the vicar of the parish in the middle of the 19th century elected to be his own architect stimulated by the catholic and Gothic revival. The church as it stands is virtually his with a mediaeval core – but marked by an extravagant Gothic style which is used with exuberance and conviction. Take a look at some of what he did:

the parish could not pay for the repairs  so John Parker resorted to his own pocket in return the being granted a free hand with the design and construction. The story goes that local people gave willingly  of the time and labour and were awarded with and enlarged and highly decorated monument which incorporated a new tower. Parker built a new vicarage and schoolhouse  or in this elaborate Gothic style. He proved himself to be a capable and multitalented custodian.

This work was restored  in the 1960s and again  earlier this year. The result is quite spectacular and happy edition one of my vacation surprises – it was a real delight to  glimpse a parish church  loved and cared for with a real atmosphere of prayer and devotion. It’s well worth  a detour  if you find yourself in  those parts.

Aberystwyth is the principal holiday resort and administrative centre of the west coast of Wales. It is also home to the University of Wales Aberystwyth and the National Library. This excursion was especially worth the long journey across the hills through the rain to be greeted by wonderful blue skies. This brief  piece gives me an opportunity to share some of my photographs.

The town is nestled between three hills and two beaches, and hosts some castle ruins, a pier and a harbour. The surrounding hills hold the visible remains of a iron age fort and also a monument to Wellington and once climbed offer stunning views of Cardigan Bay.

Aberystwyth is a University town with some seven thousand students, ensuring it a vibrant throughout the year and not just during summertime. Incidentally, there are now ‘only’ fifty pubs left in Aberystwyth!

The seafront hosts Victorian / Edwardian buildings mostly 4/5 stories high. The wide promenade protect the buildings from the revenges of the Irish Sea and offers space to sit, soak up the sun and view the surrounding hills and mountains which in winter are often covered in snow. On a clear day you may see the tallest mountain in Wales, Snowdon.

The harbour was once one of the busiest in Wales and is fed by the rivers Ystwyth and Rheidol (which incidentally, is the steepest river in Britain).

Geographically, Aberystwyth may be considered isolated from the rest of Wales. However, this isolation made it necessary for the local people to look after themselves and over the years it has acquired more resources than a town of this size would normally have.   Do put Aberystwyth  on your  list  places to visit  – and wonderful  Spanish restaurant , second-hand bookshops  and the  University Art Gallery  add to its  splendour!

A bright day took the car South and West towards Montgomery and the glad open door of St Nicholas Parish Church built in the early 13th century.

 You can see the effect of the blazing sun on this Welsh Shropshire border town!

The most conspicuous object in the south transept is the splendid Elizabethan canopied tomb  of Richard Herbert of Montgomery Castle who died in 1596. He was father of a family which included two very famous sons, Edward I Lord Herbert of Cherbury  and George Herbert the Anglican poet and divine.

Well preserved and under the canopy lively effigies of Richard  and Magdalena.  He is in his armour and she in a richly embroidered dress. Behind them other kneeling figures of eight of the children and underneath is shrouded corpse  – a reminder of our destiny.

It was good to be connected for a short moment with George Herbert and to give thanks for  his glorious , insightful and beautiful poetry .

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard’s.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn’t fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they’d keep, knew they would not.  (Seamus Heaney)

I travelled up to London during my summer holiday to attend a wonderful celebration of marriage of Robin and Sezgi Amos at St Mary the Bolton’s in Chelsea. It was a sunny day and I managed to arrive at the church early to catch up with friends. As I wandered around the church building I looked through one of the windows on the north side of the church to discover this shot of colour  which really intrigued me  !

  I thought that I recognised the distinctive images of a Craigie Aitchison and indeed I was not disappointed. I am familiar with his work and a great admirer of the simplicity and depth of colour in his paintings and wondered to myself as I moved inside of the church how successful his work might be executed in the glass. Here are some of my pictures:

St Marys shares this information about the window:

‘The window, Crucifixion 2008: A Memorial Window, was created by the stained glass artist, Neil Phillips,  following a design Craigie set out for stained glass. Craigie had been planning a collaboration to produce a window for the church at the time of his death in 2009 and the finished piece is a fitting testament to his huge achievements as an artist.  Among those who gathered for the dedication were the Deputy Mayor of Kensington and Chelsea, Councillor Elizabeth Rutherford, and the President of the Royal Academy, Christopher Le Brun.The window was to have been Craigie’s first stained glass window in a London church, the city where he had lived and worked for almost the whole of his adult life.  The project was initiated through Craigie’s friend and champion, Edwina Sassoon, who is a parishioner at St Mary The Boltons. Though Craigie sadly died during the discussions, the executor of his estate gave permission for the design to be adapted by Neil Philips after Craigie’s death, in recognition of his enthusiasm about creating an artwork for St. Mary’s. The window now stands in his memory for visitors to enjoy.’

This work, and incorporates familiar motifs such as his customary star, the Italian Cypress tree inspired by his second home in Montecastelli, and his beloved Bedlington Terrier.

The tree and dog act as Christ’s comforters in his final agony on the Cross.

A wonderful discovery –