Blue Skies

Split Beech K Howell 2012 Pastel on Paper 14cm x 21 cm

      Catching my breath. I'm working on Other Things right now, but this tree caught my eye. It's remarkable. I enjoyed the shapes it gave the sky and the push/pull nature of the split trunk.
     Spring seems to be the right time for messing with new ideas, trying things out and playing. I'm preparing a few canvases as well as boards for variety and have spent more time than I care to quantify looking for the extra staples I'm sure I had. I've decided I like the look of nails better anyway, even if it's labour intensive because I hate shopping that much (Except for shoelaces, paint and books. Obviously.).
     It's a strange relief after preparing work for exhibition and dealing with it as product to go back to the raw material and start from scratch with the vaguest notion of what might happen this time. Like packing a bag for a journey and leaving, without actually buying a ticket anywhere, just thumbing a lift and hoping you don't get picked up by a psychopath. So where am I going? Well, I'll have something to show for myself sometime soon. In the meanwhile, this tree. Call it continuity.

Under the Skin

Grove K Howell 2012 Acrylic on Board 40cm x 61cm

     In view of the weather - strangely tired of the ubiquitous grey, lovely as it is - I've been working on a piece based on a study from last spring. There's a wood I frequent that has some clumps of very young trees. I love visiting this little grove because the sinewy trunks are electric and crackling with growth. Still spindly, they are finding their feet. So to speak.
     This piece is not dissimilar to a polarised light micrograph of human skin with hair follicles. (See here at the Science Photo Library, credited to Dr Keith Wheeler.)
     The landscape we live in gets under our skin - but maybe it was always there? Do we recognise design similarities on some level?
     I'm working on another tree portrait now and a winter take on a nearby grove that are both much darker, so this was an interesting sidestep in anticipation of spring, and the world refreshed.

Spring Ahead (with antlers)!

Cloak K Howell Pastel on Paper 21 cm x 14 cm

     Sometimes tree forms suggest antlered creatures; part tree, part animal.
     Antlered animals are part of the forest, and the seasonal bone growth is both an extension of the essential beast and an echo of its environment. The majestic headdress is shed when the bone is dead and no longer of use.
      The anthropomorphic antlered form is very interesting. I like its Celtic manifestation as seen on the Gundestrup Cauldron, known as Cernunnos. He seems very genial, together and, well, flexible. His solidarity with fellow woodland creatures is most clearly shown by his excellent set of antlers. And while he is gripping that snake solidly below the head, it does seem like the snake might be amorous. Hard to tell with reptiles.
     Covered by vascular skin, antler bone is supplied with oxygen and nutrients from the outside until fully formed. Osteoclasts (A bunch of  cells with a Cromwellian aspect shouting, The bone must die!) destroy the antler bone at the base, resulting in shedding, usually in late winter or early spring in preparation for growing a new rack.
     Antlers are a display of hormonal activity, a tool for foraging, a weapon in combat. They must be heavy, and most human antler systems are removable. But antlers for a day; wouldn't that be fun?

No Dark Things

Pink Puddle K Howell Pastel on Paper 14 cm x 21 cm

    The forest is a realm of transformation, full of uncertainty and possibility. For a few magical days in spring, as the trees are just coming into leaf, it is a place of complete renewal.
    The light is strong, the colours are freshly peeled and there is a tentative vitality to the wood that, as it will become something assured and lush, cannot last. In celebration of transience, I've painted an elusive pink puddle and Unstoppable rush of trees.
     Like Larkin's trees, Last year is dead, they seem to say, Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
    If this sounds like boundless optimism, I've also been (more typically) working on ancient shapes conjured out of dead wood... but those are for another day.