round? Well yes it does I suppose. Food, heat, light,time to write. All the essentials. I send out a lot of invoices for writing work, and it still gives me a bit of a thrill (people pay me to write ). Today I sent out a slightly different one – to my local bookseller, The Ironbridge Bookshop. They stocked my poetry zine last year and have just sold the last one. Now I’m not going to be retiring to the Bahamas (after commission and the graphic designer’s fee I could just about get a day out in Brum) but this does feel special. There’s something about the fact that someone has walked into a shop, seen my work and liked it enough exchange some of their hard earned cash in order to take it home. It feels like validation I suppose – as though there is a market for my words, and that it genuinely connects with people.
I’ve spent my earnings on two more courses. One is with Spelt magazine all about how to submit to magazines, which I’m obviously doing but I feel I could perhaps do better, with a bit of practical help. The other is a workshop which sounds right up my street both in terms of method and subject. I’m not great in a classroom situation (thank you repressive girls’ school) and struggle to contribute but this workshop seems like it might be just the right balance of contribution and contemplation. My experience on my York CLL course has really shown me how much I learn from a workshop style, and how it builds on everything I’ve read about poetry in the last couple of years.
Things feel good at the moment. I mean obviously everything is terrible, but this tiny poetry aspect of my life feels like a refuge, rather than yet another point of worry. And refuge is, after all, one of the reasons I write.
You can buy Yes to Tigers from Ironbridge Bookshop, or direct from me – just email kathrynannawrites@gmail.com x
Ah I’m sad this course has finished. It’s been a challenge in some ways but I’m glad I stuck with it. I feel like I’m writing with honesty and clarity, as opposed to trying to shoehorn myself into a style that doesn’t fit.
It’s an odd thing this poetry business. Social media means I have the privilege of access to the thoughts and musings of writers whom I admire, and for the most part this is a grounding experience – everybody’s human and hearing other people’s uncertainties and frustrations holds an odd sort of comfort. Constant access to people’s thoughts can also be a sapper of confidence. Human nature is to shout of our success and skulk about our failings, and some days my twitter feed seems jam-packed with people who’ve gathered another prize or successful submission. It’s a rare (and lovely) person who is brave enough to say they missed out and feel that weird sort of happy sad -happy to have tried, sad to have failed.
Having said that, I’m finding the rejections less wounding – I actually start looking for other poem homes the minute I’ve sent mine out, in preparation for the “Thank you for your work but it’s just not right for us” email. . I don’t know why feel less worried by them – maybe I’m growing more critical of my work, more objective? Maybe a tiny success was all the validation I needed.
Mostly though, my experience on these courses has meant I’m genuinely enjoying writing. Not all bits – the time spent agonising about a particular word or whether I need a comma can be infuriating, but the little moment when I sit back and think “I think I’ve got something here” are magic. This invariably fades when I come back to stuff a week later, but hey, I have to grab these little victories.
What’s next and what happened with Secret Severn Artists?
I’m taking a break from my courses next month – my regular copywriting work has been put on hold (thank you Brexit, thank you Covid) so I’m focusing my time and money on building up my client base whilst scurrying around for online agency work. A break also gives me a chance to really review the work I’ve done over these courses – it may even be time to begin putting together a pamphlet/chapbook which I have no idea how to do but I’m sure I can find out.
Finally (this seems like a long post) I’ve completed my work for Secret Severn – you may remember the project had to be curtailed due carefully managed purse strings – nonetheless I wanted to complete the poems for the artists I’d been able to visit. It’s a mixed collection, some that definitely falls into the ekphrastic category, some that is a pure flight of fancy and a found poem that I absolutely adore. I plucked up the courage to send them to the artists, and I was thrilled with their response. It was a real privilege to work with such talented people. It’s a shame the funding was cut for the remaining visits so there aren’t as many different artists as I’d have liked but I’m looking at what to do with the work – I still have an eye on getting a lovely handmade book together that includes some of the images and inspirations alongside the words.
A busy month ahead – I’m still in my own lockdown but I know the pulls on my time will begin to show soon. I intend to make the most of this next month, and hopefully embark on another of Wendy Pratt’s wonderful courses in late summer.
Thank you for reading, please like comment and share, and if you’d like to read more about the Secret Severn Artists (and maybe buy some of their amazing work) you’ll find them here.
Do you remember my decision a couple of months ago to stop taking writing so seriously, publish stuff on here and write not ‘ just for me’ exactly, but without an eye on what I think might be good enough for publication? Since then I’ve continued studying various books, including Stephen Fry’s The Ode Less Travelled and Nine Arches Press The Craft, I’ve continued with various courses, (this month’s is Telling your Story another gem from Wendy Pratt) and love the discipline of writing most days, even if it’s something a bit rubbish. Being in a group of writers with a vast range of experience means I am constantly learning, both from their feedback and from reading their work. It’s one of best things I’ve done to develop myself as a poet.
In deciding to take things less seriously (which I think translates to not worrying about all those rejections), it seems I’ve freed myself to work harder, almost without realising. The combination of all this self-study and relaxing into my work means, three fab things have happened. Firstly I enjoy writing more, secondly I do more writing (every day that I can) and thirdly I’m enjoying a sniff of ‘success’.
My death will grieve foxesI have to be careful here – about my definition of success – am I going back on my decision to be an amateur? Not at all. I want people to enjoy what I write and being part of the Paper Swans Press single poem competition longlist means that’s what’s happened. My poem My death will grieve foxes is something that I worked on, tweaked, and nurtured. I researched hares (and yes, I know there are millions of hare poems, but here’s another), thought about why I’m captivated by them, read all the myths and connotations and followed the poem on its path. I loved writing it and in having it longlisted by a judge whose opinion I greatly respect, I know at least one other person loved reading it. I’ll be publishing the poem on here at a later date, maybe with a bit of unpacking around the themes, but until then you can read it as part of the e-book published by Paper Swans.
As well as my Paper Swans publication, I’ve had another poem sent out into the world this week. Marcescence is a poem wondering about how trees feel about losing their leaves, borne from watching those stubborn brown scraps that seem to cling to the branches all summer. It’s quite an old poem, that’s been through many drafts, but I’m delighted it’s finally out in the world on the wonderful Nine Muses Poetry.
Hares everywhere including this print from Amanda Hillier
Against the backdrop of sadness for those who’ve lost loved ones, those still struggling with the impact of what is a severe illness and most importantly the utter horror in the USA, celebrating these tiny glimmers of success feels wrong, disrespectful. Privileged. And the fact is, it is. I am privileged to be safe, I am privileged to be free from fear of being targeted, brutalised because of my colour. I am privileged to have a home and to have the freedom to write.
Nonetheless, with every bit of validation my confidence grows, my voice grows louder and my ability to fuel change increases. My actions and my words are tiny in the face of the huge injustice, corruption and trials people face very day, but they’re a lot more significant than doing nothing at all.
Thank you for reading, do download the e-book of all thirteen poems that placed in Paper Swans single poem competition. If you’re reading this on social media I’d love you to comment and share to increase my reach, and if you want to comment on here then I’d love to hear from you.
My last visit before the trail was to Mike and Suki White. They’re multi-talented, working with print, clay, and porcelain as well as being part of Wrekin Writers group. Their studio is tucked behind the Belfrey Theatre in Wellington, and it’s shared with several other ceramicists on the art trail.
On the day I visited, Mike was throwing pots, and Suki was working with porcelain paper clay. Mike explained the type of clay he was using, and about “grog”, ground up fired clay that’s used to give extra strength to pots.
As all good artists do, he made throwing the pots look effortless. Having taken up the invitation to have a go, I can confirm it’s not effortless. My attempts were hilarious, but I can see there’s something addictive about the feeling of creating something that manages to be useful and beautiful from a simple piece of clay.
There’s no fancy equipment, the finished shape and look of each piece depends entirely on the skill of the potter, and I think there’s something pleasing about this. Rather than something uniform and a little soulless, each piece that comes off the wheel has the imprint of the maker and is inherently unique.
One of Mike’s finished pieces
Suki’s work porcelain paper clay enchanted me. Porcelain is white, delicate and fragile – Suki takes all of these qualities and creates pieces that have movement, and a sense of rebellion. They’re alive with texture, and the oxides she uses mean they have depth and tone. She prefers to leave her pieces unglazed, and the matt finish increases the sense of fragility.
I loved this piece One of Suki’s finished pieces
We chatted about the Japanese practice of Kintsugi, the art of seeing beauty in imperfection. Suki showed me some pieces she’s applied this to, where cracks from the kiln have been repaired with gold, creating a piece with a unique beauty.
Suki’s Kintsugi
I’ve a good collection of material from this visit. I made good notes about the sounds and physical sensations of throwing a pot, as well as spending time looking at the contrasting beauty of the porcelain paper clay.
Over the next week I’ll be going to several workshops as well as spending time in the galleries. This is the next phase of my inspiration gathering and research, where I’m going to capture the responses of viewers to the art they’re seeing. I’m looking forward to this phase, and to seeing the exhibition as a whole.
For details about the Footprint gallery, and the rest of the trail which includes workshops and open studios visit https://secretsevern.co.uk/
Thank you for your kind support and encouragement during this project. It’s great to get such positive feedback. I’m looking forward to the next week, but I’m especially looking forward to being able to hide away with my notes and write.
Please share, comment on the Facebook post, and give me all the likes you can. Thank you x
Do you know how sea urchins got their name? No? Well here goes. Hedgehogs used to be called urchins, sea urchins are spiny (like hedgehogs) and live in the sea (unlike hedgehogs), so the logical name is, of course sea urchins. Why am I telling you this? Because it’s a cheery fact, and it was part of my research for my fifth Secret Severn visit, to Emma Brownlow, a ceramicist based in St Georges.
Emma explained her skill as a ceramicist is about actualizing the image she has of the end sculpture. Part of the joy for her is puzzling out how to make this visualisation into reality, and her work shows an incredible range. She showed me her Shrewsbury pot, a homage to her home town, resplendent with images of the duck race, timbered buildings and the much maligned market clock tower. It’s a three dimensional collection of memories that brings the town to life.
Emma showed me the first piece from her newest project, a series of elemental pots exploring the power and complexity of the earth.
Emma’s makers mark is on every piece she producesA finished sea urchin
I’ve been a bit in love with Emma’s sea urchin sculptures
since I first saw she them, and I loved having chance to see one being made. They
start life as a lump of clay, which is shaped into an urchin-like sphere. They’re
then marked out with what I grandly called dowel (Emma later told me it was a
kebab stick – ceramicists are experts at finding just the right tool for the
job). Spaces for spines are marked out, and texture is added with slip. The
whole process is deceptively quick.
After their first firing, the urchins are ready to be glazed.
Emma uses a combination of colours and takes care to show a hint of the natural
bisque, so there’s an echo of shell shining through.
We talked about the ancient nature of pottery, and I was
taken by the inherently environmentally responsible nature of the process. Emma
showed me how any old clay is reused. It’s smashed up, rehydrated in an old
pillow case, and then wedged, an exhausting type of kneading, so it can be used
again.
Wedging the clay
This was another different visit for me, and it was great to see each aspect of the process, and see the preparation too. The thing that shone out was the amount of love that goes into Emma’s work. She spoke of wanting to honour the sea urchin, and this really comes through, and sits well with the sense of this being an ancient craft.
I came away with a strong sense of what I want my finished poem to look like – it’s going to take a little while to emerge I think, but it’s been yet another level of inspiration for my work.
As ever, please, please help me get the most from social
media. Please like the posts on my pages, add a comment, and share them. It
helps more people see what I’m doing, and helps boost support for my work. Thank
you all so much!
You can find out more about Emma’s work here https://www.facebook.com/Emma-Brownlow-Ceramics-714814132207188/ and see her beautiful sculptures at the Footprint Gallery in Jackfield as part of the Secret Severn Art Trail which runs from 20th to 29th September.
I’m fizzing with ideas after spending the morning with Jayne Humphreys a.k.a. The Strolling Stitcher. I spent my time surrounded by fragments of memories, which Jayne transforms into beautiful story boxes, wearable art and intriguing pictures, and left with a host of thought and images to put into words.
Jayne’s workroom
Jayne is influenced by her Grandmother, and by her environment, especially the River Severn. She explains more below.
Jayne is passionate about breathing new life into precious things, and many of her pieces feature things like safety pins and curtain hooks from her late grandmother’s sewing boxes. I asked her how she felt about giving away these things, and she responded gently that she like the idea of passing them on. There’s an thread of continuity though Jayne’s work, of harnessing and sharing the life of things that would otherwise go unnoticed.
One of the most common images in Jayne’s work are swans,which have been a major inspiration to her since she moved to Ironbridge three years ago. There’s an anthropomorphic quality that is enhanced by the story boxes she creates for each piece. Continuing the practical element, Jayne’s swans double as brooches and the story boxes are designed to display jewellery.
A story box in progress
If you look closely at Jayne’s work you’ll see fragments of journals or scraps of receipts. One of the most fascinating things she’s found is a notebook acting as a photo journal from the WWII campaign in Egypt. Looking up at her window I see a flock of house martins made from the deeds of her old house, and inspired by visits to the Squatter’s Cottage at Blists’ Hill. Reinventing finds that would otherwise be lost in a drawer or attic brings a new aspect to make do and mend, and brings a real depth to Jayne’s work.
A quote from the film Cold Mountain is an integral part of this piece.
As befits a collector, Jayne is constantly gathering inspiration for her work. She loves exploring flea markets, which are brimming with fabrics and oddities that are crying out to be part of her creations, and she’s also inspired by the Back to Back houses in Birmingham. Jayne showed me books, chatted about films that have had an impact, and we talked about her travels, most recently to Romania. One of the most fascinating influences comes from the work of Maud Lewis, a folk artist from Canada, famous for her painted house which has been reconstructed in Nova Scotia art gallery.
On a deeper level, Jayne is inspired by visits to the Foundling Museum in London, which tells the story of the first hospital for foundling children. Jayne talked about the tokens mothers left so their babies could be identified, if circumstances changed and they were able to reclaim them. This fits well with Jayne’s eye for rescuing scraps of life that would otherwise be lost in a drawer.
Visiting Jayne has given me yet another aspect to my writing as poet in residence for the Secret Severn art trail. I’ve connected with Jayne’s work on a more personal level, and it’s tapped into my tendency to be fascinated by the things that get thrown away (I sound like a womble don’t I?). The swans in particular have sparked my imagination, and the poems that are bubbling up have a feel of a dark fairy tale journey. I was particularly inspired by the piece above, a swan with a pocket for a poem. I’ve named her, and I’m enjoying exploring her journeys. It makes for exciting writing, and has given me a new swathe of inspiration.
You’ll be able to see Jayne demonstrating her skills alongside Caris Jackson in the Art Zone in Dale End park during the Festival of Imagination on 21st September, and her work will be on display as part of the Secret Severn Art Trail from 20th-29th September.
Thank you as ever for reading. If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read, please share on social media, like any posts you see, and give me quick comment on Facebook – it all helps beat those pesky algorithms.
I’m enjoying my work for Secret Severn so much! Yesterday I spent a couple of hours with Sandy Densem, who’s work I’ve admired for many years. She explores texture and tone and creates pieces that are intrinsically multi-layered. Sandy describes how growing up in Zimbabwe has given her the lens through which she sees the world and it’s fascinating to see this in action.
Summer Trees
Much of Sandy’s work is inspired by trees, expecially the
mighty Baobab. This is a tree that lives for thousands of years, but if it’s
knocked down can fade away in a fraction of the time. The pull between permanence
and fragility is interesting thread to me and it’s reflected in the range of
materials Sandy uses.
Twin Baobabs
For yesterday’s visit we focused on creations built from
collage and print. Sandy begins with lino and tissue to conjure her starting
shapes, then uses oils, water and oil pastels to layer, define and refine the
images. The layers reflect what Sandy describes as an internal landscape, and seeing
her work build and grow was a captivating experience. I was amazed at how
quickly she works, and how much work is that combination of instinct and deliberate
action that gives an artist their own style.
Tissue and printingDrawing out the shapesHighlighing the spacesTexturesBaobab and beech trees
We talked about Sandy’s recent work in Uganda as part of the Xavier Project, which provides sponsorship to refugee children in East Africa. She showed me her concertina sketch books, produced by the light of a mobile phone, as well as artwork produced by her students which she hopes to auction as part of a fundraising exhibition.
Concertina sketch book
Sandy explains, “I’m originally from Zimbabwe, where I
lived most of my life. I’m fortunate to have been born with the right to a British
passport, unlike so many millions of others who now spend their lives in the
‘no-man’s land’ of refugee camps around the world.”
Sandy’s produced a
series of works called Migration,
that are rooted in the refugee crises around the world. There’s an intensity and
pull to these pieces that I want to spend more time with, and I’m already
putting together plans for another visit.
Migration
From background, to process, to product, for me this was a writer’s dream. Ekphrastic poetry is a joy to create, and I’ve come away with layer upon layer of notes to fashion into finished poems. A good day.
As ever, please share this if you’ve enjoyed reading it, whether you’re on twitter, Facebook or you just want to reblog. It’s a great way to support me and build interest for this project and for the art trail.
My second visit for Secret Severn Art Trail was to Amanda Hillier in Coalbrookdale. If you’ve been to previous trails you’ll recognise Amanda’s distinctive lino prints and some of the landscapes she’s inspired by. Much of her work mirrors the unique landscape of Coalbrookdale where industrial architecture and natural features sit side by side.
Seedpods against the backdrop of Coalbrookdale viaduct by Amanda Hillier
As well as gaining inspiration from Coalbrookdale, Amanda escapes to the seaside. She challenges herself to create quick sketches of structures and rock formations, perhaps imposing a time limit, or working in shades of just one colour. She uses her sketchbooks in the same way as I use my notebooks (and scraps of envelopes when I’m not organised). Thoughts, ideas and impulses are captured, before being distilled into the final piece.
My morning with Amanda was spent seeing the re-imagining of a fragment of seaweed collected from Aberdaron. Amanda explained how the pieces are created in reverse, and showed me the carving of the lino, as well as the process of printing. It’s a process that owes a lot to Japanese woodblock printing and uses many similar tools and techniques.
I felt quite different today, compared with my visit to Both in Stitches and I think it reflects difference in process. I’ve come away from this visit with a strong sense of how I want my finished poem to be. The rhythm of the poem is there – I want to mirror the feeling of the print roller and ink on paper, and I’ve got a strong theme. I’ve already written a very rough draft, and the essence of the poem is there. This is a contrast to my work earlier in the week, where I was seeing the preparation and groundwork for a long term creation. My notes for that visit are more measured, with threads of ideas gradually coming together.
Things I’ve learned, like being sure that the form I choose mirrors the meaning, are bearing true, and helping to guide what I write. I think writing about something that isn’t entirely driven by personal emotions or strong beliefs is tapping into a different set of skills, which is another level of development as a writer. I can’t wait to see how the language and rhythms of the pieces will develop. I know I’ve already got two very different poems brewing
Amanda is running family friendly lino printing workshops as part of the Secret Severn Art Trail which you can book through this link ticketstelford.com/whats-on/festivals/
You can find out more about Amanda’s work as well as buying her beautiful prints on amandahillier.co.uk/and keep up to date with Secret Severn Art Trail here facebook.com/Secretsevern/
I’ve had the best morning. My first visit as poet for Secret Severn art trail was to Both in Stitches, a collaboration between local artists Jo Clarke and Angie Silkstone. Their work is a blend of embroidery and painting and they create pieces that reflect the unique landscape of Ironbridge Gorge. This was an industrial area that is fast returning to a place of natural beauty and work like this that marries the two is something that interests me a great deal. A thread that seems to be running through my research is developing from my reading of Colebrookdale by Anna Seward. This is a poem that rails against the damage of the landscape at the hands of the ironmasters. Three hundred years on, the industrial landscape is being replaced with housing and curiously the same sense of mourning, especially in the case of our beloved red brick cooling towers, is emerging.
Back to today. I was nervous – my plan for this role is what
could be called loose, and those who know me well know I am a planner and list
maker, rather than someone who’s happy to just see what happens. I’ve no choice
in this though, and I kind of like it.
I’ve had the normal fears of anyone starting a new project,
can I do it? Am I good enough? It turns
out I can do it and I might well be good enough. For Jo and Angie, today was
all about preparation, measurement, planning and cutting. They’re creating a piece
inspired by the Coalbrookdale Viaduct and seeing the level of precision
involved in translating this structure to calico was a joy. I’ve three pages of
notes, focused on the sounds, the small actions of expert hands that are going
to make this piece happen. I feel privileged to have been able to see the start
of this creation, and I’m hopeful I’ll be able to go back a couple more times
to see the progress. I’m pinching myself a bit that I’m part of this, and able
to combine my love of visual arts with my love of language.
I’ve several more visits, to lino printers, potters and painters as well as graphic artists and collage makers. If each one is as good as today, I shall be delighted.
If you’ve enjoyed reading this, please, please like, and share. If you’ve got chance to comment on the facebook post that’d be even better. Thank you as ever for your support.
I’ve had my first meeting in my role as Poet in Residence
for the Secret Severn Art Trail. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous –
those who’ve worked with me will remember my absolute hatred of meetings, and
my tendency to turn into a disruptive child when forced to take part.
It turns out I feel quite different when I’m talking about writing. It’s not confidence as such, I still feel flits of nerves and waves of impostor syndrome. What it is an absolute love of what I’m doing. I know how much language, song lyrics and poetry mean to me, and I know how much it can move people. If anything I write moves anyone even the smallest amount, I am delighted. To be able to combine this with visual art, and to have the chance to explore the impact on visitors to the trail excites me. And I think it’s that that excitement means I don’t hate meetings. I’ve sent my first set of emails to artists to see who wants to be involved, and I’ve had a lovely response. Many people are almost as enthusiastic about it as me (if a little baffled), and even the ones who can’t get involved for one reason or another are interested and supportive.
The other part of my writing week has been less cheerful. I’ve had to make the difficult decision to withdraw my work from a publication. It was a difficult decision for many reasons. This particular poem is one that means a lot to me and the project it was going to be part of has great personal significance. As a writer, I was going to be published alongside people I greatly respect, plus this and was the first the first time I’d been invited to read at an anthology launch. Sound good? I was over the moon.
Since my work was accepted in December, there’s been various confusion about whens and wheres, and slightly odd communication. I finally I reached a point where I felt my work deserved more care than was being given to it. I believe I’ve made the right choice, although a tiny part of me is worried I’ll end up on some kind of editor’s blacklist, and another part of me that simply wants to see my work published. This is the first time I’ve encountered anything but kindness from an editor-usually even having work rejected is done with utmost care. It’s been a valuable lesson.
Cheese pac-man. Just to make you read the next paragraph.
Finally, a word about liking and sharing. I did an experiment
last week, and messaged people, asking them to react/comment on my post. It made
a huge difference to how many people saw it overall. If you can, could you
comment on this and share on Facebook, retweet on twitter and like/comment/do a
little dance on anything else you see. I hate social media, but it appears to
be essential. Thank you, folks.
Kathryn Anna Marshall 