A Dance between Light and Shadow

Removing Colour Gives a New Perspective on Forgotten Places

Up at Crampstone I meet the inevitable rain, but it doesn't matter. From my umbrella I watch its oblique fall, the shifting light, the animated sky. Clouds pass, grey becomes white, begets blue - sun again. There's a richness to be found in forgotten corners where nature runs free.

Welcome to this week’s letter from the moss.

The transition couldn’t have been more marked. For four days, June played nicely, but then we slipped back three months. Too much time has been spent inside looking out at diagonal rain, sleet, and a melange of soft stems, spoiled blooms and wind torn leaves. At times, my walks have coincided with the showers, at others I’ve been fortunate.

I’ve been so deep down this rabbit hole of writing to you about this place that my mixed media work has taken a holiday; it’s always difficult getting back into things after a break.

Strangely I’ve managed to avoid the allure of photography courses except for a very few related to doing something a little different such as handmade books and, yes, writing. Art seems a different matter; one thing the Covid lockdowns did do was open up a new way of studying suited to those who might never have been bold enough to venture into an in-person workshop. I’ve admired Paul Fowler’s art for some time, especially his pencil and ink studies, and am currently enjoying a four week course ‘Land|Marks’. It’s a fascinating insight into some of the techniques that Paul uses, and I’m enjoying experimenting. It’s been good to have this diversion during this unseasonable month. Sourcing compositions has pulled me up and, for now, away from the macro and into another way of looking at and making images of this place. In contrast to the verdance of Spring, this week I’m sharing the dance of light and shadow.

A paean to loss

I walk the lanes with a mix of sadness and recognition. I mourn the neglect: the deterioration of buildings that were once workplaces, crofts, homes; the lack of management of a designed landscape, its trees and features. Yet I recognise that this decline also sings the song of a siren for photographers and artists.

The black eyes of Old Town watch me across a harrowed field. The once grand stables are marked with water stains; rusty rosebay willow herb sprouts from one turret. The still slated roofs of outhouses pitch and yaw like a rolling sea, and lean on the garden wall for support. The gardener’s cottage windows are boarded but surely held a view once loved. I can’t help but walk here without feeling sad.

From: Embers

I recognise too the imperative - the right - of nature: to reclaim, to recover, to rebirth, and the fact that we are the interlopers here. Below blind windows and falling slates new life begins.

Design meets nature and inspires new art

The landscape leading up to the big house also draws me along old carriage drives and between fields and ponds, woodland and moss. Monochrome offers another way of examining the tangle, and at times reminds me of engravings and woodcuts including artist Blaze Cyan’s wonderful interpretations of trees.

Thank you for reading; I value each and every like, comment and share.

If you know someone that will enjoy these letters, please feel free to pass this on or encourage them to visit FLOW’s home page.

Until next week,

Sometimes all you have to do is remember to look down.

All words and images copyright © Michela Griffith except where otherwise noted