"Woodnotes Wild"

There are many intriguing trees on the Berkeley campus. I have my favorites.

I've always thought that such trees have spirits, and Nigel here just embodies that belief in a playful way.

Here's a favorite poem from Seamus Heaney about walking in the woods:

THE PLANTATION

Any point in that wood

Was a centre, birch trunks

Ghosting your bearings,

Improvising charmed rings

Wherever you stopped.

Though you walked a straight line,

It might be a circle you travelled

With toadstools and stumps

Always repeating themselves.

Or did you re-pass them?

Here were bleyberries quilting the floor,

The black char of a fire,

And having found them once

You were sure to find them again.

Someone had always been there

Though always you were alone.

Lovers, birdwatchers,

Campers, gipsies and tramps

Left some trace of their trades

Or their excrement.

Hedging the road so,

It invited all comers

To the hush and mush

Of its whispering treadmill,

Its limits defined,

So they thought from outside.

They must have been thankful

For the hum of the traffic

If they ventured in

Past the picnickers' belt

Or began to recall

Tales of fog on the mountains.

You had to come back

To learn how to lose yourself,

To be pilot and stray--witch,

Hansel and Gretel in one.

--Seamus Heaney

Reindeer and Waves: Clay Play

In progress, but fun.

Sleepy Puck: Two Views

I am not sure why I ended up moving the clay into this shape, into this trickster's face. And, I am not sure why the infamous Puck should be sleeping either.

Wonder what mischief he's dreaming of?

Sculpture mix: freshly formed, drying. The trick now will be to avoid messing about trying to make it better. Sometimes, you do the work, but then just stop; leave well enough alone.

But glazing, now, that deserves a bit of contemplation. Not too much. It is Puck, after all, the spirit of improvisation and play.

Neo-Classic: Playing with Clay

Rough draft w/Glenlivet, Pope's poetry, and Dougie MacLean's Scottish music.

Wet clay. A very forgiving medium. Easy to recycle too. Half-hour break.

I'm thinking about--but ignoring--Denham's lines on the Thames right about now.

I'd been reading one of Martha Grimes' Richard Jury novels, and that character made me think of Virgil, which made me think of Roman river gods, which made me recall the 18th-century poets I've been reading around in too.

None of which matters really, other than to say "I am playing with clay," and that's a good thing. Oh, and to recommend Grimes' Deer Leap, say, or Five Bells and Bladebone.

The next step is to let that mask sit and harden enough to work the features more fully, more appropriately. I've got the basic set, but I haven't decided on the expression quite yet. There's a slight smile at present, but that came second; at first, I was channeling my anger and unease at the world today, but that's not why I pick up the clay. I need to feel my way into this figure, this character. What is he trying to tell me? This is a river god, so I want to listen. I can't quite hear him yet.

"In progress" is a healthy phrase.

King Puck

There's that play by Shakespeare or that novel by Kipling.

(Words to follow.)

The Sleeper in Autumn

("The Sleeper": this mask has to be one of my best pieces. I started this blog with this vision of a dreaming man here. I like to look at and handle this piece--letting my hands "see" also--to remind myself to try harder each time.)

Two Heads Are Better Than One