A star is born

Now that 'Practical Basketry Techniques' has taken its first steps out into the big wide world I feel I can give more space on this blog to tracing my own steps and gathering my thoughts as I move on with other projects.  I've been working on a few new lines of enquiry recently, one of which has involved picking up strands from previous work.

NOVA 2012. Photo: Sylvain Deleu

 

One of the strands is my fascination with this hyperbolic paraboloid structure.  It lends itself to different configurations and I'm always wanting to explore new variations, scales, meanings and contexts. I was surprised and thrilled to see that this image of NOVA, my 'portrait in the making' had been used in 'Crafts' magazine as an illustration for the Craft Council's director Rosie Greenlees piece on 'Craft in an Age of Change'.  Reflecting on Sylvain Deleu's image with a blurred human figure in the foreground and a glimpse of a sunlit green world in the background made me want to retrace the making process of this piece.  NOVA came from nature and is an expression of an aspect of my nature yet hangs suspended between both.

The challenge we, the 17 emerging makers from the first cohort of the Craft Council's Hothouse programme, set ourselves for the exhibition 'Portraits in the Making' at Pitzhanger Manor Gallery and House in 2011 was to respond to architect and collector John Soane's reference to Pitzhanger as 'a sort of portrait'.  We left the interpretation wide open but self-portraiture was always an option.  Each of us  started our making process by filling in the dots of an I-statement, 'I am a ...'  Making such a personal statement can be a challenge in itself.  Many makers, when writing their artist statement, feel more comfortable with the third person passive voice which allows them to stand at a slight distance from their own words and actions.  No grammatical sleight-of-hand here though, no blurring of the boundaries between the speaking subject and the self-made object.  We had to stand out in full view.

My I-statement was 'I am a ... STAR'  (my name means 'star' in Latin).  It's been a bit of a challenge all my life.  I always liked the association with the twinkly, shiny things in the night sky and even with the many different ways these objects are represented in verbal and visual imagery. The associations with stardom and celebrity were more problematic.  

But this exhibition was our opportunity to shine. 'Don't hide your light under a bushel!' the old proverb advises.  Furthermore, my lucky star was winking at me on the first site visit when we were told that it would be possible only to hang works on existing fixtures as Pitzhanger is a Grade I listed building.

There in the central domed skylight of the gallery was not only a brilliant star burst but, right in the middle, a hook!  I had my reference point.  Soane was noted for his pre-occupation with light and space that had sparked a revolution in architecture and I also had a literal hook from which to suspend a large scale structure.

I was right in the middle of making and writing up projects for 'Practical Basketry Techniques' with little time to develop a completely new line of work on the scale required.  Madeleine Furness, of the Craft Council Maker Development team has a great phrase for just such a situation - you have to 'manage your expectations'. In this case, make something that isn't overly ambitious given the time constraints .  I hadn't made a large suspended structure before but I had made several wall-hung hyperbolic paraboloids on a smaller scale.  There wouldn't be anywhere I could test a larger prototype. Getting the piece installed would require a scaffolding tower and several willing gallery assistants  - so it would have to work first time.  With the help of Vanessa Moore, the exhibitions officer, we calculated all the measurements and the buildings officer okayed the weight restrictions.  I just needed a lot of big willow.

                                               A bolt of 7' buff willow on my studio floor

300 rods and I needed 200 of the best - time to get sorting.  I also needed to straighten them.  Willow has no 'memory' -  the rods will remain straight once they have been gently coaxed into shape.  It was very time consuming - you don't need to know how many hours!  To avoid repetitive strain I worked on other smaller pieces for my 'Cabinet of Curiosities' in between straightening stints.

Then it was onto the fun bit - spray painting the rods.  Spacing them all out like this  to dry reminded me of a plantation in France I'd used as inspiration for another piece.  I love the making process - it sparks off such a myriad of connections, associations and ideas for future projects.

Then there was more sorting and choosing: this time 180 of the best painted rods.  'Choosing' is a bit of a skilled process in willow work - the eye gradually adjusts to spot the weak, cankerous or discoloured - survival of the fittest!

These are my chosen 'desire lines'.  We are star-dust - our blood contains the iron from a zillion dead stars. Had to paint them in the garden as the 4m rods wouldn't fit into the car to get them to the studio.  No time to mow the lawn last summer!

I had to return to weaving on the living room table for the same reason.  Irksome, as I was paying rent on the studio all the while.  Made me smile though when I read another maker's blog recently and she was commenting on how work produced in a domestic environment has a tendency to be domestic in scale and ambition.  An interesting point. (see www.vandacampbell.blogspot.com)

                                     All packed and ready to go - hope the van's big enough.

                                                            Just got it in with mm to spare.

                                                          

                                                                  Unwrapped on site.

                                                                    Together at last.

 I don't have insurance to climb scaffolding towers - shame!

     Emerged! A perfect fit.  At 5.50 metres high it skimmed the floor with centimetres to spare. 

NOVA - the lighter side, brighter than a thousand suns. Photo: Sylvain Deleu

The dark side - fading fast. Photo: Sylvain Deleu

The name:  NOVA  literally means 'new', or, in astrophysics refers to a nuclear fusion of hydrogen and helium on the surface of a white dwarf star causing an explosion of energy which makes it appear to shine extra brightly for a period before fading over time ...........  de stella nova.

PARTY LINE - book launch for 'Practical Basketry Techniques'

After a great time was had at the book signing (and selling!) on publication day at the City Lit - attended by the chair of the Basketmakers Association Bunty Ball - the Practical Basketry Techniques roadshow headed South to Creekside in Deptford for a POP-UP Basketry Exhibition and Book Launch Party at ART HUB gallery.  Hosted by myself and A&C Black (now Bloomsbury Visual Arts) the event featured work by contributors to the book and members of Basketry Plus http://www.basketryplus.org/

 

My self-styled 'super fans', super crafters Karen and Valerie from the Dyslexia Resource Unit at Deptford Green School.

All the best exhibitions open with afternoon tea and home-made cakes these days -  a trend set by Julia Mannheim of the M2 gallery in Peckham.  I opted for tea and cakes when my mathematics inspired 'Show Your Working Out' opened there in March 2010.  See http://www.m2gallery.com/

What better way to launch a basketry book than to gather together some of the contributors' baskets,  including the stunning 'Peacock Pod' by Mary Crabb as shown on the front cover, invite friends and fellow basketers - several of whom had commented on my drafts, tested 'recipes' and shared useful tips - and all get buzzy on caffeine and carbs.  After all, that's what the co-author and I had done most mornings at the local cafe when working on the projects.

 

See the recipe for a Gathering Basket in Practical Basketry Techniques

(perhaps I should introduce whoever wrote the menu to Karen and Valerie!)

One slight problem - baking not really my thing.  M2 gallery artist to the rescue.  The last show I saw there was by maker extra-ordinaire Laura Marley and she had baked the best cake ever -  Brack.  At least, I think that's what she said because when I took it out of the oven I wondered if I'd misheard.  Mine looked like a Brick.

 

TIP: don't be tempted to open the oven too soon to check if it's done - this may cause the cake to sag a bit in the middle - then it'll look even more like a house-brick. 

But it tasted absolutely fantastic and the recipe is so easy, it's the nearest baking gets to making mud pies in the garden.  Here it is for all those who've asked - only slightly tweaked from the original Bero Brack recipe. 

TEA CAKE  (NB these are imperial measures - it's an old recipe)

1 lb mixed dried fruit (I just bought a bag of mixed fruit as I like the bits of candied orange and lemon peel too but you can use a mixture of sultanas, raisins and currants - whatever)
6 oz soft brown sugar (I'm sure other sugars, such as Demerera work just as well)
5 fl oz hot strong tea (I have wondered what it would taste like with Earl Grey...)
1 large egg
8 oz self-raising flour

Method (you do have to plan ahead with this cake as the fruit needs soaking first - a bit like dried willow but not in the bath)

1) Mix together the dried fruit and sugar.  Pour over the hot tea.  Cover and leave to soak over-night.

Next day pre-heat oven to 160 degrees, 150 if fan assisted or Gas 3.

2) Beat the egg into the fruit mixture which should have plumped up nicely.

3) Stir in the flour. The mixture will resemble damp top soil - don't despair!

4) Grease and line the bottom of 2lb loaf tin with baking parchment.

5) Spoon in the mixture.  Bake for 1 and a half  to 1 and three-quarter hours until firm (or until a skewer comes out clean). 

6) Cool.  (I didn't realise at first that this was an instruction - it should perhaps read 'leave to cool'...)

But this really is the coolest, most laid-back cake recipe ever.  Apart from chocolate crispy cakes which are my usual no-bake standby.

CHOCOLATE CRISPY CAKES (the slightly healthier, grown-up version)

2 medium sized bars of dark chocolate - melted.
A few handfuls of wholewheat bran flakes - crushed very slightly.
Dark chocolate chips - as many as you like.

Method
Mix bran flakes and chocolate chips into the melted chocolate until all are well covered.
Spoon into individual paper baking cases (makes 12-15)
Cool!

I confess that, flushed with the success of the Brack, I did also go on to make Coffee and Walnut Cake and  scones.  Everyone told me they were delicious.  I wouldn't know as I was so busy signing books that by the time I'd sold out all the cake had gone.  Never under-estimate the art/craft-loving public's capacity to consume cake!  They seem to be rather fond of basketry books too.

 

A party celebration - sharing food with friends -  is a fitting way to mark the publication of a new basketry book.  Basketry has a long association with the gift of food, so fundamental to human social activity, and gift baskets were often made to mark significant rites of passage such as births, marriages and deaths. 

 

Cool-spotting: isn't that an-magazine's #1 blogger - artist Kate Murdoch?

http://www.katemurdochartist.com/

I've had some lovely emails giving feedback on the book:

'A good looking, good natured book ...',
'It's much bigger than I expected ...'
'The book is splendid, very clear, excellent photos ...', 
'I must say I had not expected it to be so large ...'
'It looks very fresh and lovely and has a nice tone ...'
'I was reading your book in the early hours of the morning and have resolved to make a wound core object  ...'
'It's a big book Stella!'

They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover - I'm so glad this one isn't judged solely by its size!

GIRL'S OWN STORY

I really enjoyed myself last week setting up a showcase at the City Lit to publicise the book signing I'll be doing there on Thursday 16th, 1-2pm, Room 414, Fourth Floor.  It took me longer than expected as I had so much interest from people coming up and asking questions while I was doing it.  It was great to have the opportunity to talk about the book and the range of basketry courses on offer at the City Lit.

                                             It took longer than expected to clean the glass too!

I'd spent time in the studio beforehand making some plaited pieces from the final set of book proofs.  They were printed on such good quality glossy paper that it seemed a shame not to use them.  What better use than to make basketry to show some of the techniques illustrated in the book.  I did include a few extra plaited items that are not in the book just because I love plaiting.

I'll be making more of the bead-like balls.  So satisfying to make and I love the riot of colours. 

The red stake and strand basket was a prototype that I made in 2003 for the final show of the Part One City and Guilds Basketry course  that I began in 2001.  Most of my other show pieces were non-functional as I'd spent much of the course trying to avoid making actual baskets.  But after several sessions having to make a dyed centre cane shopping basket to someone else's recipe I decided to design one of my own.  I love vintage baskets from the 1940s and 1950s and the interwoven wavy-line design was inspired by one in my collection. 

Here it is with proof pages from the book temporarily woven through it.  It just the right size for a City Lit prospectus - or a copy of Practical Basketry Techniques! 

It's something of a contradiction that I ended up writing basketry 'recipes' for the book (traditionally, the instructions for making baskets were known as recipes). Following a recipe for someone else's design is just one way to learn the basic techniques but not the only one.  It is quite a useful discipline though to record the materials, the techniques and the making process along with what works and what doesn't even if it doesn't end up as precise recipe.  I got several commissions for this one in different colours so was glad I'd kept a record.

Actually, here's a confession, I've never been very good at following recipes be it for baking cakes, knitting or crocheting sweaters or sewing-up a dress pattern.  I've always preferred to make my own designs - sometimes with 'interesting' results.  There's a world of difference though between a happy accident that leads to a delicious creative breakthrough  and a disastrous, half-baked innovation that gives you indigestion - my attempts at free-form baking tending to veer towards the latter!  Making mud pies in the garden was always more my thing.

In the book we demonstrate a range of basic construction techniques that can easily be adapted  to different materials, forms and functions.  These techniques and the tips for working with them are just the starting point.  Some people are of the view that too much emphasis on technique, particularly good technique, can stifle individual creativity, freedom of expression and innovation.  Not so.  A desire for creativity will always seek and find expression - techniques are just a means to an end and the more help you can get from those who have been there before the quicker you can get along and do your own thing. 

That's why the City Lit is such a great place for Adult Learning.  Fantastic tutors, a supportive environment with an ethos that nurtures and encourages creativity and lots of lovely, friendly fellow students.  For me this book signing event will be like coming home - to say thankyou. 

TIME LINES

 

One of my favourite materials - red dogwood (Cornus alba Sibirica) - it warms the heart on a wintry day.

It's been great to spend time in the studio this mild and sunny winter.  The heater's been serviced and it's quite toasty at times.  Very different from last year's bitterly cold snap when, apart from a few chilly forays into the local park taking photos for the materials chapter, I spent most of my time at home on the lap-top researching and writing the text for 'Practical Basketry Techniques'.

Now, with publication  less than three weeks away, I've been busy sorting out work for a showcase at the City Lit  - the centre for adult learning where I did most of my basketry training.  The Visual Arts and Publicity Departments there have been wonderfully supportive and, in addition to the showcase, have invited me to do a book signing session on the actual day of publication, Thursday 16th February. They'll also be running a fun competition to win a copy of the book - kindly donated by the publishers A&C Black.  More on this later.  If you're reading this after 6th Feb. you might be searching for the winning answer.  Read on ...

It's all got me thinking about my time at the City Lit and what a life-changing experience it was for me.  I started my two year City and Guilds in Creative Basketry in September 2001 - just days before the catastrophic events of 9/11.  Who can ever forget what they were doing on that day. 

The Part One City and Guilds was a highly structured course which, in addition to introducing all the major traditional basketry techniques; coiling, twining, stake-and-strand, plaiting and looping, also focused in depth on three commonly used  materials - willow, cane (rattan) and rush.  We were encouraged, however, to use as wide a range of materials as possible and to experiment with and combine them freely.  We were fortunate in having gifted and inspiring tutors, including Mary Butcher, Joanne Gilmour, Shuna Rendel and Polly Pollock, who also had their own contemporary basketry practices.

Contemporary basketry by Mary Butcher.  Illustrated in 'Practical Basketry Techniques'. Photo: Jacqui Hurst

An equally important aspect of the course was the research for Prepared Working Designs.  Several of my fellow students questioned the relevance of the design element, especially as we started with a hefty six week design block.  While others were champing at the bit, desperate to get their hands on a basket, I was loving it.  Looking back, for me, this was the perfect way to begin the course as it re-connected me with drawing and mark-making in the widest sense.  There was no insistence on an end product - personal research, experimentation and exploration were the key concepts.  On the first day I sat across a table from Daniel who was doing post-gratuate studies in Fine Art at the Prince's School - moonlighting in basketry!  We giggled like two messy kids on the naughty table as we revelled in all the cutting out, sticking and colouring in.

When I did finally get to make my first basket  though (an open weave, bias-plaited container) I almost cried for joy. Suddenly every other thing I'd ever done, including studying sculpture at art college after leaving school, made sense and it felt as if at last I fitted my skin. 

Painted and Plaited spun paper (with hex-weave, bias plait and windmill plait) - not quite my first basket but it uses similar techniques and the 'loose ends' came to be a feature of many subsequent pieces 

A re-configurable willow piece  from my Part One final project using buff and brown willow, plastic washing line and spray paint.  Not so much loose ends as an absence of traditional bases and borders.

Painted and bias plaited paper baskets from my Part One final show - illustrated in 'Practical Basketry Techniques'.

When that course finished in 2003 I had to wait another two years until 2005 before I could begin the 'Level 3 City and Guilds Diploma in Design and Craft (Constructed Textiles) in the context of Basket Making' - a bit of a mouthful - we just called it Part Two!  In the meantime I'd been developing and exhibiting my own contemporary basketry.  The diploma course introduced more advanced techniques such as twill plaiting, mad-weave (so-called because it's so complex it drives you crazy!), complex linking, square willow work and ever more tortuous borders, fixtures and fittings.  There was more research and writing too in the form of a Research for Design Project and an Illustrated Study on an aspect of traditional basketry.  I chose as my topic the painted, twined basketry of the Yanomami women of the Amazon rain forest. 

I'd begun to paint on my materials on Part One - spray paint being my favourite medium for its immediacy and quick drying properties.  There was indignation from some fellow students when I spray painted buff willow for one of my final project pieces (see above).  It was as if I'd desecrated hallowed ground.  Why would one want to hide the natural beauty of the  material?  A question I continually ask of myself with differing answers depending on what I'm making.
 

Details of stencilled willow - the bright orange is the natural colour of a variety of Salix alba grown organically by Lois Walpole. 

I continued to develop and experiment with surface mark-making all the way through the course.  Most of the drawing or painting included text or notation of one kind or another - mostly barely decipherable writing or lettering but sometimes numerals and abstract symbols.

TRESPASS 2007: Red and Green dogwood with painted buff willow. Photo: Trevor Springett

I studied Communication Studies in the 1980s and went on to do post graduate research in Critical Linguistics and Discourse Analysis before finally lecturing in a Social Sciences Department.  Not long before I left academia I'd ended up on a research project studying the culture and discourse of  mathematicians.  Part of my 'going native' on the ethnographic side of the project meant having to attend a whole course of lectures on abstract algebra and propositional logic in a department of Maths and Computing Sciences.  For a maths phobic like me it was like being stranded deep in an impenetrable jungle of mind-boggling incomprehensibility without access to clean water or  insect repellent.  All a far cry from basketry it might seem.  Help, I'm an artist really - get me out of here!

Blue Jewel 2011 - Spiral plait.  Photo: Ester Segarra 

But, actually, as I later found out, not so very far removed from basketry at all, as many of the plaiting techniques I encountered and took to like a duck to water have an underlying mathematical basis.  In fact several ethno-mathematicians are now studying basketry for the light it can shed on our most basic human understanding of number and geometry.  For me basketry is like a three-dimensional, geometric play-school.

Plaited vintage printed steel tape measures - I made my first one in 2003 and wore it to the private view of the Part One Final Show.

Detail of Bloom 2009 - red dogwood and cotton cord illustrated in 'Practical Basketry Techniques'

One of the forms I often return to is something I discovered by accident - just playing around with, combining and manipulating materials and techniques in an intuitive way - a hyperbolic paraboloid structure. The sub-editor of Crafts magazine worked with my cohort on the Craft Council's Hothouse Programme for emerging makers. Unfortunately for me his passion for non-Euclidean geometry was matched only by his disdain for the use of pretentious, out-dated buzzwords - such as hybridisation. 'If you must use buzzwords at least make sure they're current!'  He suggested I don't try to explain the maths of this particular structure as I clearly don't know what I'm talking about.  Fair cop! I don't.  However, my hands seem able to grasp it and my work gets no end of interest from engineers, architects and mathematicians.  The forms and techniques speak to them in a language they understand and gets them talking to me about the work rather than the other way round - which is a huge bonus.  I made an 18 feet high version for the Gallery at Pitzhanger Manor recently.  I called it NOVA (new star) partly because my name means 'star' in Latin.  We did a workshop for a group of 5-11 year olds and one seven year old budding astro-physicist, fluent in Latin, explained more about nuclear fusion on the surface of a white dwarf than anything you'd discover from Wikipedia.  So, I'll be keeping quiet about this one too. 

Nova 2011 by Stella Harding. Photo: Sylvain Deleu

Communicating ideas about ones own work can sometimes be more difficult than giving a lecture on Foucault's concept of power in five bullet points.  I like to think though, that having done the latter for a few years with some degree of success has proved a good grounding for writing clear instructions on how to do a three rod wale.  No experience wasted.  Time will tell .........

A New Line

Making is the new thinking (just thought I'd mention that). 

                                                              Stripping willow bark

Another great workshop with Hertfordshire Basketry last Saturday, a follow-up to last summer's bark-stripping fest with Maggie Smith.  It was June, the sap was high and this was one of the most enjoyable workshops ever and an epiphany for me as I'd never stripped bark before.  From choosing a log and making the first tentative incision to the deeper cut with a keen blade, from the careful prising with an improvised bark spud to the probing and gentle massaging with sap-soaked fingers, from the gradual emergence of the milk-white heartwood to the final release of the bark with a satisfying slurp I was hooked on the whole sensuous process and will never look at logs the same way again!

                                   Rolls of freshly stripped willow bark - photo: Norma Adams


Getting hands-on with raw materials and processes like this is what I find so compelling about basketry.  It also vitally informs my understanding and appreciation of any finished works.

This time we brought along our dried bark and Maggie showed some techniques and shared some of her top tips for making bark pouches and pockets - small forms that were achievable in a day.  In the morning, after soaking the bark to make it pliable again, she talked us through the health and safety procedures for safe handling of the razor sharp bark cutting tools.  Finer bark is best for plaiting and after only a few seconds of pulling it through the cutting blades we  ended up with piles of long, narrow, even-width ribbons which looked exactly like fresh tagliatelle pasta.  (I've tried plaiting with fresh pasta - it's much too brittle - not a patch on bark.)  Maggie gave us more tips for handling the material she'd picked up from two world-renowned bark workers, Dorothy Gill Barnes and Joan Corrigan, and by lunchtime we were all on the way to finishing our pockets.  I decided to leave mine unfinished - I've always loved the aesthetics of loose ends - like a promissory note for further inspiration.

 

Plaited willow bark pocket.  See a similar bias check-weave plaiting technique in 'Practical Basketry Techniques'

 

One of Maggie Smith's 'willow exploration' pieces from the Assembly showcase of 'Practical Basketry Techniques' Photo: Trevor Springett

Maggie's been passionate about willow and bark since completing the Advanced City and Guilds Diploma in Basketry at the City Lit in 2002.  I finished my Part One Diploma a year later.  She now grows her own willow on her allotment in Northamptonshire and collects bark from other coppiced trees, such as eucalyptus,  from her own and neighbours' gardens.   Nothing is ever wasted - she uses every scrap of root, twig, bark, bast, leaf and shaving.  The by-products of one process, such as skeining, can be used for another such as cordage and Maggie's even perfected a way of creating willow paper from the very finest floor sweepings.

After lunch we moved on to making pouches with some of our thicker, rougher-textured bark.  Assembly techniques such as stitching, pegging, lashing and wrapping are perfect for this and you can be as quick and dirty or painstakingly fastidious as you please - there's a technique for every temperament or time-scale.  I used stitching and found  the finer leftovers from the mornings plaiting made perfect stitching material.  Random looping with more fine strips filled the sides of my pouch and in no time at all - Ta-dah! my bark pouch was done.  Ta-dah! as Maggie explained, is an exclamation much used by Joan Corrigan and perfectly describes the moment of joyous revelation when all the materials,  processes and techniques, including the processes of preparation and design, come together and one has made something as if by magic.

 

Ta-dah!

 

Well, almost by magic.  It's the special magic of making that comes from not having to think too hard about the processes and techniques because they've become almost second nature - invisible - like the air the maker breathes.  The hand is able to grasp what the mind can let slip.  Handmade objects have a magical quality because they've been touched.  Gifted and inspiring makers like Maggie are able to share some of this magic, partly by making works that, literally, bewitch the senses, partly by revealing, communicating and engaging others in the enchantment of material process and techniques.  

Willow explorations by Maggie Smith can be seen at the New Ashgate Gallery in Farnham where she is taking part in a Basketry Focus Exhibition with Mary Crabb and Stella Harding until 28th January.  See http://www.newashgate.org.uk/ for details.  She also has work in a Craftspace touring exhibition 'Made in the Middle' which opens on February 11th at MAC Birmingham. See http://www.madeinthemiddle.org/

 

SHORE LINE

A new year's Bank Holiday and a rare day out together for me and my partner Robert Cooper as we try to resolve our 'live/work balance' a little.  We fancied a bit of sea air, estuary actually! so headed for one of our favourite shorelines - shh, it's a secret location - if you read on I'll have to kill you! 

The site of a nineteenth century rubbish tip where barges from London would dump and then burn their cargoes on the beach, it's now a  magical, shape-shifting place - drawn, pulled and turned by moon and tide and by the shovels of illicit bottle diggers who excavate deep into the estuary mud hoping to find rare gems of painted pot lids and lemonade bottles.  We come in their wake, searching for a different treasure; broken pot shards, fired and fused glass and clinker and, in my case, body parts.  I'd been told stories of the place by Robert and his ex-student who lives nearby, so I was primed for what might be found there.

When we first visited I was determined not to be seduced by its abundance and approached the shoreline with a circumspect eye.  Robert goes into feeding frenzy in places like this.  An inveterate mudlarker, frustrated archaeologist and collagist he would happily fill carrier bags full of stinking 'rubbish' to pore and ponder over and re-collect in the studio.  (See http://www.robertcooper.net/ for examples)

There's so much concentrated visual information that it takes a while for the eye to focus.  The first things to come into my line of vision were the most familiar - blue and white china shards - almost irresistible, but I have a large collection from other shorelines which I've always intended for mosaic in the garden - one day.  Next, the myriad broken glass bottle necks - so many different shapes, sizes and colours many with the iridescent, rainbow bloom of long immersion in briny mud.  We'd not long before been to Collect where we were intrigued by Hans Stofer's necklaces made from re-cycled bottle necks. Here they were without the price tag - a pick-your-own, DIY version anyway. Then the cup handles, how much tea had once slopped around their shattered bowls?  A nation of tea-drinkers in microcosm. 

Funny how everything comes in useful sometime - some of these bits of blue and white provided inspiration for a plaited paper basket project in 'Practical Basketry Techniques'.

Robert was off the leash and way down the beach as I continued to pick my way through the sedimented  history of glass and ceramics trying to remain aloof.  'I'm not taking any more rubbish home.  We've got more than enough as it is.'  Oh, and then I saw it.  White, smooth-cheeked, with soft curls and soulful eyes - a child's head.  I picked it up and all resolve was lost in the enchantment of the find. 

We've returned again and again. Robert with a mission to find bases or egg-cups or handles or lumps of slumped glass and crazed ceramic - the Victorian beach fires having acted like a secondary kiln firing on all the transfer-printed earthenware, porcelain, stoneware, metal and glass.  I've now trained my eye to search, not for the familiar geometric regularities of circular handles, cylindrical bottle necks and triangular shards but for the anomalous curve and curl of an elbow or hairline, the muddied fingernails of a child's tiny chubby hand or the slim ankle of a Dresden shepherdess.  A fragment of a smile or the unblinking eye of a china doll half buried in green slime is cause for a triumphant shout; Robert! I've found another body part!

A day's finds - scrubbed and cleaned.  The dogs are Robert's - he has an eye for dogs.

I discovered whilst researching the history and traditions of basketry for 'Practical Basketry Techniques' that indigenous Australians made baskets to contain the bones of dead babies.  These shattered body parts from the shoreline have also made me think of the derivation of the term 'basket-case' and how I might incorporate some of the body of basket making history into my work.  But that's another story .................