Frances Candler Della: 2012

Giusepe Penone

I wrote my dissertation partly on Penone, it was great to go and see his work in such an intimate, space part of the Gagosian gallery.

Intersecting Gaze / Sguardo Incrociato

'Penone’s artful expressions entail a serene and meditative return to an

innate state of being.'

His work is beautiful, the re-creation of the tree's structure in bronze is magical.

The structure emits fragility but the material is grounding.

'The stretching of a branch through space in search of light has the same structure as a glance.'
—Giuseppe Penone

Jannis Kounellis

Introduced to me by Theo Keane.

'Jannis Kounellis came to trust that art’s importance lies in its reflection of the complex web of beliefs and values at the heart of cultural development'

Kounellis was born in Greece and later worked within the Arte Provera movement, using found organic materials.

Garden signs

I took some time to decorate a collection of signs myself...

Children's pottery pieces chilling in the sun!

Half-term creations, glazed and ready to be fired

Beautifully clean tools done by lovely Cynthia at Art in the Park!

Ceramic Garden signs Workshop

Bill and I did a ceramic work shop at Glengall Wharf Gardens in Burgess Park this week.

We were very lucky we had a beautiful crisp day and a great turn out, all the signs being decorated with imprints, scratching and cobalt oxide.

The beautiful garden with its striking Hugel mounds

Lots of lovely winter veg growing!

Just a few of the many signs that got decorated.

They are now drying out in the studio and will be fired in the kiln twice then decal lettering of the garden areas will be added at the end.

Walking back to Art in the Park from Glengall Wharf Garden after a successful day!

Watch this space for the completion and process photos!

Rainer Maria Rilke

TOMBS OF THE HETAERAE

They lie in their long hair, and the brown faces

have long ago withdrawn into themselves.

Eyes shut, as though before too great a distance.

Skeletons, mouths, flowers. Inside the mouths,

the shiny teeth like rows of pocket chessmen.

And flowers, yellow pearls, slender bones,

hands and tunics, woven cloth decaying

over the shriveled heart. But there, beneath

those rings, beneath the talismans and gems

and precious stones like blue eyes (lovers’ keepsakes),

there still remains the silent crypt of sex,

filled to its vaulted roof with flower-petals.

And yellow pearls again, unstrung and scattered,

vessels of fired clay on which their own

portraits once were painted, the green fragments

of perfume jars that smelled like flowers, and images

of little household gods upon their altars:

courtesan-heavens with enraptured gods.

Broken waistbands, scarabs carved in jade,

small statues with enormous genitals,

a laughing mouth, dancing-girls, runners,

golden clasps that look like tiny bows

for shooting bird- and beast-shaped amulets,

ornamented knives and spoons, long needles,

a roundish light-red potsherd upon which

the stiff legs of a team of horses stand

like the dark inscription above an entryway.

And flowers again, pearls that have rolled apart,

the shining flanks of a little gilded lyre;

and in between the veils that fall like mist,

as though it had crept out from the shoe’s chrysalis:

the delicate pale butterfly of the ankle.

And so they lie, filled to the brim with Things,

expensive Things, jewels, toys, utensils,

broken trinkets (how much fell into them!)

and they darken as a river’s bottom darkens.

For they were riverbeds once,

and over them in brief, impetuous waves

(each wanting to prolong itself, forever)

the bodies of countless adolescents surged;

and in them roared the currents of grown men.

And sometimes boys would burst forth from the mountains

of childhood, would descend in timid streams

and play with what they found on the river’s bottom,

until the steep slope gripped their consciousness:

Then they filled, with clear, shallow water,

the whole breadth of this broad canal, and set

little whirlpools turning in the depths,

and for the first time mirrored the green banks

and distant calls of birds—, while in the sky

the starry nights of another, sweeter country

blossomed above them and would never close.

Satish Kumar

In Nature, everything moves in cycles:
cycles of time, cycles of life and, of course,
a cycle of seasons. Things begin, things
grow, things decay and then begin again

I come
to the patio of flowers
my word a song
my thought a flower.
My drumbeat
is an open book.

I praise
the one
who is adored
in every place,
I beg his pity.
War lords, am I right
to seek him?
I, Moctezuma, am uncertain.

Moctezuma, painter of books,
you come
to the patio of flowers
to sing.
Blue-green bird,
you sway on your perch
before god.
Yellow butterfly,
you alight!

Moctezuma cools us
with fans of flowers
where we lie
on these carpets
woven out of leaves.

Children's Creations!

A man and a swan waiting to go in the kiln to become shiny and glazed!

Cobalt and Woodash

Here are a few christmas numbers and some slab building work..need to keep practicing!

Poppy head stars

Coasters ready to be backed with leather.

Garlic Pot

Adam Buick

Earth to Earth - the beginning... from Adam Buick on Vimeo.
Moon

The Beautiful Life of a Potter

Manos, Pottery Studio from Homegrown Swedes on Vimeo.

The Ceramics Studio

I have been visiting the new Ceramics Studio in Bermondsey recently, its been lovely to be working on the wheel again and getting some grounding ceramic advice from Leyla Folwell, who set this wonderful inspiring place up!.. Its a great space and if you are a pro, keen or even slightly interested in Ceramics this is the place to be..