what is it to be british
we're a nation of the faithless. in a majority.
the tv is bombarding us with horrific examples of barbarity in the name of religion. This turn it's in Allahs name. but defending christian values seems to need an equally pious but unforgiving military defense. in our name. in our interests.


bristol feels like a city of churches at times. if you're down low, the spires in an otherwise relatively low level rise city, stick out. 
many have been turned into flats, or offices or places bought by those with money. the irony. the pews are empty but the walls remain.
I was thinking of the idea of keeping your head up/spirits up and how if you literally do that there's the physical reminder of britains faith in faith.
when being an atheist is as common and accepted as being a bearded hipster, i feel it's a shame these buildings are sold to the highest bidder, a shame of our past, or necessity given no-one goes in there in significant numbers.
st michaels church on st michaels hill is on the buildings at risk register.
i've walked past in many times, wheezing up from christmas steps or passing at a pace heading to the waterfront. i've always thought, what a waste of a space, of a refuge. 
mindfulness is a buzz word. making the equivalent of a morning constitutional to settle the mind, big business in self-help books and apps. as a gp at one stage I was referring over 100 people a month to CBT and cousenlling services. some people recognised they were stressed and anxious, others needed more gentle persuasion after a raft of tests eventually confirmed that they were burnt out, not dying of a mysterious illness that google stated otherwise.
bristol is a city of cycling. but i walk. i don't trust drivers (like myself) to overtake fully concentrating. i don't want to breathe in fumes and get to work looking like i've just come out of a sweat lodge. i walk. when i can. and i'm lucky, i've chosen and am able to live where the buildings shape my security and love of this city. arches, stonecarvings, warm bath stone, missing railways stolen for armory, old style lamposts that still glow a nostalgic orange that i remember keeping my awake through my curtains as a child. carrots. that's what i called the wedges of light that would appear after dark on the ceiling by the curtain track. they made me anxious. i was a poor sleeper. did i mention i was anxious. but it was never fed back to me like that. if i could just shut the light out i would be able to go to sleep. but i couldn't. now i can sleep with chinks of white but i need ear plugs instead. still anxious. but less so now. because i walk. because there's something mindful and calming about putting one foot in front of another. i don't want to run to relax. why would getting out of breath make me feel calmer? i've never got that. walking, co-ordination, breathing, avoiding people on their mobiles, not getting run over, 'oh look i never noticed how fucking beautiful those old telegraph wires look against a cobalt sky, oh yes, life's good' these are the actions and thoughts that calm me down.
so, back to the church, on one of my wanders that was needing to happen every day at a time, when frankly, no amount of blue skies and beautiful buildings, kind friends, money in the bank, health or humour could buoy me up i came across a sign. the all saints church at about 7 in the evening was open for prayer. i don't pray. i beg i whinge i don't pray. this weird building, with it's weird phallic spire and it's blackened windows like the filthy depressing outside of the BRI. It intrigued me in.
A bit like a cop car behind you, i've always had an irrational guilt going into a church. but i went in anyway. pushed against some heavy glass doors, more like going into a Gap than a church and it hit me. heavy dusty fragrance in the lungs. you can't rush through that. it's such a weirdly odd but familiar smell it stopped me in my tracks.
in front of you a square glass quadrant with dull concrete paving slabs in the middle. you can see across to a garden beyond.
left into the main body of the church.
no-one there.
i sneak in.
i take a seat.
polished modern seats. pews of any age are never comfy.
it was so much darker than outside. i looked up right and suddenly felt like i'd been dunked under water in the med. bright blue windows. i say bright, they weren't letting light in, but underneath them on the ground floor level more light let in through translucent white windows giving a celestial additional otherworldly feel to the place.
Then I heard it. Gin and tonic on ice. Water under a frozen lake. Crackling a plastic bag. There are lots of things it's sounds like. But it's got it's own rhythm, it's not disconcerting like some unpredictable sounds can be. It took me a while to realise the building makes noises. Like water running down the outside, but it was a dry night.
Later on after many visits, i realised it's the windows. not obviously glass, but they don't appear to move in time with the sounds either.
They're fibreglass and they contract and expand with different temperatures. I now know on a warm day it'll be more of a frenzied crackling when i sit down.
smell, sound colour and calm.
behind the altar a huge join of two unadorned intimidating walls join to form a corner. it looks like a huge upended blank book. Bathstone, warm pale beige yellow depending on the time of day.
the ceiling grey functional concrete with round cornered square hollows in it. repeating across a diagonal. these are designed to optimise the acoustics in a building i value for it's silence but one that is known for it's music.
one of the last times i wondered in, there was an extra noise above the crackling. snoring. likely to be James, a ruddy cheeked, warly volatile scot homeless veteran that will often come in to kip on a pew.


all saints
not the shop
but the building,
 is a church that was bombed in WW2 on pembroke road clifton

scratch and smoke

1. 

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

These are scanned A4 watercolour smoke drawings.
Starting point to my project.
Following summer work developing ideas and works for a residency at All Saints Church, Clifton.

THe use of incense in the church, spirtual connotations of transformation and the movement embodied in smoke and incense interested me.

Looking at these now and photos I took of the interior of the church I can see how these link in also to soot marks above the heaters in the church.

Traces of things no longer there.

I like the subtlety of the marks

Using the candle to paint like a brush was a technique that was initially tricky to master.
It had to be done outside. 
I soon learnt to use a face mask!
Tilting the paper at 45 degrees to the upright candle flame produced the right amount of carbon residue that would mark up the paper.

Marks like feather were produced by carefully moving the candle in brush stroke like manner against the paper.


The feathers seem the most obvious reference marks.

After a tutorial discussing these, it's become apparent, that they have a photographic type quality, I think the shape of the paper, aswell as the depth of the black references this.

THis isn't so surprising given I've always been drawn to black and white photos from the past, whether Ansel Adams and Sally Mann 
one a landscape photographer whose breadth of tones and scale amaze me, the other a contemporary photographer who usually uses human subjects as her focus.

Moving forwards I need to decide where to go with these.

My favourite piece remains no. 8, I love the depth and vertiginous sensation of this. I didn't recognise a possible suggestion of a face in the ring, which is entirely accidental. I'm not sure I like this as it detracts from the more stark abstract qualities to the piece.


numbers 1-3 were more like a graphic design and could see how they were referencing Emma McNally's large scale more intricate and intriguing works in graphite.

We're all going on a boar hunt..

water pool. part of Buckeridge installation.

bewitching sound installation in the forest by Browen Buckeridge was the highlight of this short-run exhibition showcasing the work of resident artists in the stunning location of Lydney Park Estate.

Shuttled around in a 4x4 and trailer, visitors were a mix of local well healed friends of Rupert, owner of the estate, art supporter and artist in his own right.

Buckeridge's Piece involved walking and jumping with a start, in response to a perfectly edited 'conversation' and sound piece around the forest.

Wearing a pair of earphones cancelling out any other noises, a soundpiece played using binaural recording. An eery combination of hearing footsteps, causing a instinctive need to compulsively check behind you. THe footsteps were part of the approx 10 minute soundpiece that also included real recording of a wiccan ceremony that was performed at the site of the exhibit.

After being told about the rampant numbers of wild boar, it felt unnerving having you natural hearing senses dulled by a soundtrack of someone elses footsteps cracking on twigs and of a wiccan seance being performed. Drum beats, encantations, all very pagan, all very moving in the context of it being heard in such wild place.

No traffic sounds, just surrounded on all sides, by tall firs, letting enough of a warm blueskied autumn day light to trickle through and take enough edge off the experience to make it, evocative and not fully creepy.

Chance to see Susan Hiller's piece that I've only read about before. Moving installation about NDE (near death experiences) with hypnotic use of film loops and blue screen on TV monitors.

http://www.mattsgallery.org/

shades and triangles

  



















                                                              

charcoal circle layers

layers of charcoal circles
made by twisting incense remnants
possible will do watercolour wash on top
not sure about the cross, too many references
aiming to have a circular paler area that glows in comparison to darker layers
makes a right mess, charcoal gets everywhere

Smoke circles

 

A4 smoke circles



 

close up on smoke on watercolour paper