Dressed in Fog

Lost Leaves K Howell 2011 Acrylic on Paper 21cm x 30cm

     Trees wear the weather. The moisture in the air traps what little light lingers on these almost mid-winter, snowless days. This is magical and incredibly cold. If I had an ounce of sense, I'd paint burning candles.
     But where does sense get anyone?     
     In the book Don't Ask Me What I Mean (poets talking about the business of poetry), Ted Hughes describes his writing as a celebration of the solidity of his illusion of the world. And this I find heartening, so I pass it on. A wonderful description of the inside out nature of attempting to recreate an aspect of the world in order to understand it.
    

Let it snow?

Window onto Winter IV K Howell 2011 Available at Water Street Gallery

     To my knowledge, there is only one place you can go to purchase both fluffy angel wings and bloodworms. That was the rationale behind crossing the threshold of a garden centre at this time of year. Passage is carefully confined to narrow, winding  aisles branching into hellish cul-de-sacs overflowing with colour coordinated baubles and - brace yourself - snow globes.
     Interesting phenomenon, the creation of snow globes. Shavings of human bone used to provide the 'snow' in the nineteenth century, which was the only redeeming thing I could think of to say to my children whilst trapped there. I may have elaborated slightly, the bone used may not have been exclusively human. But I prefer to think so, so I'm refusing to look it up.
     It's an overwhelming time of year. I need Snow, that's all.
Anyone have a skeleton in the closet?

     For an intriguing take on the snow globe, see here.

Shedding Leaves with Marcus Aurelius

Excuse me, have you dropped something? 

Look beneath the surface: never let a thing's intrinsic quality or worth escape you.

     I have a thing about Marcus Aurelius. I was introduced to his meditations when I was a charming adolescent at the rocky heights of wisdom and humility. Something of his voice must've penetrated my thick skull because I still have his book and he turns up now when I most require his Soundness.
     Men exist for each other, he says. Then either improve them or put up with them. These are fine thoughts to hold on to when things get irritating on public transport.
     Marcus Aurelius understands the Immediate. He appreciates transformation and our tiny role in the greater cycle. Only a little while, he says, and Nature, the universal disposer, will change everything you see, and out of their substance will make fresh things, and yet again others from theirs, to the perpetual renewing of the world's youthfulness.
     The ground beneath our feet is covered with a scattering of gold and copper. Autumn's alchemy. Swirled in the cold breath of approaching winter. Beautiful.
     So it is to Marcus Aurelius that I turn when I see a man out with a turbocharged leaf-blower. What a piece of equipment. The noise! The futility! Why, Marcus? WHY??

Clarity

Limber K Howell 2011 Pastel on Paper 14 cm x 21 cm

  
Mornings have been foggy. Very atmospheric. Quite conducive to contemplating the yogic exercises of trees.
    
I love the rich reduction of autumn. A new clarity in the bare trees. Crisp line and hanging mist. The sharp smell and cold air preparing the way for winter.
   
 Don Paterson, in his Book of Shadows, says:

     The trees in winter, those exact diagrams of all our dead yearnings.

   
It's a terrible thing to be distracted from work by an aphorism.
   

Rupture

Rupture K Howell 2011 Pastel on Paper 14 cm x 21 cm

     Being as it's fireworks season, minor explosions seem to be everywhere. Burning sofas, glittery sparklers and those keep-your-cats-indoors whistling rockets... I thought I'd been ignoring them. But I see that a seasonal theme is inescapable.
     I've been painting this fallen tree quite regularly, it's constantly changing. But today, it was bursting apart in the sun. We've had some spectacular autumn days; and the studio space is getting messy with experiments and work underway. So... flee!
      Today, there were deer. A pair watched me watch the tree. Emboldened by the sunshine and the quiet, they stood about for ages.  I might've been beneath their notice, but their indifferent company was enjoyable.
 

Words with Bite

Oak King K Howell 2011 Acrylic on Board 61 cm x 92 cm

     This is the first of a pair of disparate paintings based on the same oak tree. It has complete dominion over a sloping beech grove, and although it's not exactly a typical 'Frame of Civilisation' oak, it has attitude. Its wild disarray and exposed heartwood are intriguing; its galls are quite incredible.
     I've painted it many times and in trying to research what has caused the galls (disease, bacteria or parasite), I did find some recipes for oak gall ink, used extensively in Medieval and Renaissance manuscripts. The smaller galls produced by parasitic wasps are boiled to extract gallic and tannic acids to make an ink that bites into parchment. Over time, it slowly eats away at the substrate, and leaves a tracery of empty space instead of words.
      The word ink is directly related to encaustic, from the Greek 'to burn in'.  While I knew that many manuscripts were slowly 'eroding' due to chemical reactions, I didn't realise parasitic wasps were at the heart of it.
     It does make typing seem so ephemeral...
      

Just in Case...

Window Onto Winter II K Howell 2011 Acrylic on Paper (Very Small Indeed)

     Water Street Gallery in Todmorden is exhibiting work 'Just in Case', small works in any media presented in a CD case. The clever ruse here is to make art more affordable for the artist to present and for the public to purchase. The exhibition will be running until January and the Gallery details are here.  It's a brilliant idea and Todmorden is a wonderful place to visit. So, Just in Case you fancy a day out...
     My pieces are Windows Onto Winter, microcosmic paintings exploring the structure of a hawthorne tree, the weight of the snow, and the play of light on and through ice droplets.