A variety of stuff

This painting is so realistic by Chris – it’s her favourite subject

And another couple of horses, this time from Patrica

Some beautiful journal paintings from Dawn (F) and Frances

And from Dawn (S) a study of an old photograph

Some Christmas crackers and presents

Steve is doing another gauche painting in the style of the old railway posters

Colin has finished this beautiful painting

and another couple from Patricia

Another cartonnage workshop

This time we were making a pencil box. It was quite tricky but it has enthused us all to go on to make other boxes in different sizes. Watch this space

Exposition

Last weekend we had an exhibition starting Friday evening with a vernissage and we were then open both Saturday and Sunday all day. We had over 80 visitors and although not very much was sold, the enthusiasm and praise for the work was overwhelming. On Saturday afternoon Jenny Gilbert rounded up her poets and they did a recital. It was fantastic.

Earlier in the week an article about the group appeared  in the local paper. All in all it was a great success despite the awful weather.

Here are pictures of the barn before anyone arrived

 

Cartonnage

Ulrike came and taught us how to make a beautiful notebook with decorative paper. It was so popular that another course is planned for the end of the month.

hares

I hate to say it but I’m starting to think about Christmas

lots of catching up

 

lots of beautiful water colours by Dawn, Jackie and Dawn (no 2)

Anne was painting a picture of her grandson and girlfriend as a present

Gabrielle does some wonderful colourful work

A few from Patricia

patchwork from Margaret

cartonnage from Brigitte

A beautiful painting from Eric

Steve was attempting (and succeeding) in creating a painting in the style of the coastal posters

… and a few from me

 

A couple of poems

In a Shady Nook by a Babbling Brook.  

All large rivers intrigue us –

Our servants since time came upon us.

We harness you to our needs,

You, reluctant, always comply and resign yourselves to us.

 

Smaller rivers seek quiet countryside to hide . . .

Then delight us!

You calm and caress us.

You peel back our days when you flow before us.

 

We pursue a wonder at your clear water.

Moving without hurry,

Untroubled,

You return here.

 

A joy you declare here in these moments.

You demand that we

Be still,

To soak in this serene scene and

Pay homage to this ageless stream caressing its bed of silent stony sand.

 

The stream is Home to delicious intrigues of living creatures.

They are happy in its changing depths,

Its shallow sand pools.

Upon its mossy banks, broken branches hide many mysteries

Of unseen, alone, creatures,

Busy with their business of this day.

Even they pause to take in this scene of magic they call home.

 

Do not simply stand;

Take time to sit, to count your fortune already deposited

Here in these moments.

Please your mind,

Sense your good luck,

Take hold of the colours of this life.

 

The sounds are babbling over the changing layers,

Not still; always gentle.

What luck to visit this haven by chance.

And capture forever this awaking memory.

Look to the cloud above that adds a silent cover to favour this agreeable space.

Then . . .

Kingfisher races your heart

Skimming his river to drink cool life of the day.

Stay oh stay.

by Brian Wilkinson   July  2019 .

 

 

My Mind is Leaking Memory

It takes much longer now to find

Those treasures stored inside my mind

And things I once so carefully wrapped,

I open up but find they’re cracked.

And oh, the dust is settling fast,

Obscuring all my precious past.

That speech, that book, that lovely time –

Where are they now? I see no sign –

But there’s a flash and there’s a shade –

A recollection yet to fade.

I leap to catch it, hold it close,

Breathe life into this half-formed ghost.

My mind is leaking memory.

Soon there’ll be nothing left.

by Jenny Gilbert  

A busy summer

Lots of family and friends visiting this summer. Thomas (5 and a half) loved coming into the art group while he was here. He liked doing junk modelling and painting.

Patricia has been very prolific as usual

Two beautiful paintings from Colin – one not finished yet

I always love whatever Jackie or Dawn do – usually always watercolour

This stunning pencil drawing is from Dawn S

One of our guests, Janet, brought her watercolours with her even though the group was not open  while she was here. She is really improving

I felt the need to paint cornwall

This painting started off as a Cornish landscape as well but it just wasn’t working for me so I painted over it and turned it the other way round. I think I will do this more often !

 

always learning

I am trying hard not to do paintings which are very detailed. It is quite a discipline for me. I love to see atmospheric paintings that are very impressionistic but find that I cannot do this myself. I am still trying and just did this Venice painting. Always learning !!

A poem

The creative writing group worked together to create this emotive poem

 

A View

and there I was a child

digging the deepest hole ever

fighting the tide

and building barricades

to hold back the sea

 

and music played from

transistor radios

 

and there she was my mum

anchoring down the big blanket

between  flapping deckchairs

and brushing sand from

shrimp paste sandwiches

 

and there too were the aunts

knotted headscarves under their chins

peeling hardboiled eggs

toes peeping out from peep-toe sandals

summer coats held close

 

and greensleeves chimed from

ice-cream vans

 

then the sea raced in

and as we moved back

we became condensed

into a smaller patch of beach

like fish in a sardine can

 

“what a lark!”  “Oh Lor!!”

and I don’t know where that came from . . .

 

for here I am a man

pushing the heavy shutters

the morning sun pours in

the milky sea has become a glassy patchwork

a million mirrors moving

 

they are a contemporary dance

bobbin like cotton reels in an industrial mill

like the shrill of gulls

following shoals of fish

 

look over there

a faraway fisherman

anchors down hard

and pulls in his twisted net

 

and over here

a boy bike thrown to the sand

a black shape against

all that light all those lights

 

I can barely see

It’s as if the world has stopped.