tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84606191750876347582024-03-13T16:35:49.099-07:00beneath the surfacejo kehyaianjo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.comBlogger126125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-16526730084923156192016-03-27T15:45:00.002-07:002016-03-27T15:53:34.559-07:00diskudha 2016the old bakery<br />
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<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-42659960145427157202015-04-10T15:03:00.001-07:002015-04-10T15:33:15.037-07:00because i love them.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-3012180355458604972015-04-07T15:42:00.000-07:002015-04-08T15:01:15.667-07:00clarissa beothy - weaver of lead<div style="text-align: justify;">
clarissa's retrospective exhibition at the heseltine gallery is full of light, reflections, shadows - musings on humanity and the soul. for further information there is an article about her life and work <a href="http://www.westernmorningnews.co.uk/Clarissa-Beothy-sculpture-helped-freedom/story-26089304-detail/story.html#Sr0kgpRfUZWAu8yO.01">here</a>. a very moving collection of sculpture in a beautiful space.</div>
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jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-69925178112621656262015-04-04T16:04:00.004-07:002015-04-07T15:57:12.364-07:00diskudha - uncover, discover, reveal<div style="text-align: justify;">
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i have an unexpected day off work which is welcome news during a busy time. it means i can go and experience the diskudha project so i'm feeling happy. diskudha is cornish for uncover, discover, reveal and the project is an art led journey linked by water. and with the promise of cakes what could be better. it's grey and a bit windy with a misty drizzle but this adds to the air of mystery and adventure.</div>
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"catch the diskudha ferry, re-trace old waterways and pathways, listen to captured memories and be inspired by contemporary art." </div>
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.........so this is exactly what we do.</div>
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we board the little ferry in the wind and it carries us up the river to halwyn. the wooden planks of the landing pontoon are very slippery and it's actually easier to slide one wellie in front of the other to keep as much contact with the planks as possible.... a bit like a penguin. there is a basket of damp white clooties (strips of fabric) and a message suggesting to keep one in your hand whilst on the journey and to write upon it something you would like to release and heal at the end. ahead lies an interesting garden with steep paths hare-pin-bending through the trees. at the top we follow signs leading us into the unknown. </div>
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we are taken along a narrow lane and tucked amongst exposed roots of trees on the banks are masses of small ceramic bowls. some have collected little pools of rain water, a few have soil, one has yellow flowers. people before us have left the traces of their passing. every now and then i hear voices. we come upon a post with a wooden box attached, a picture painted on it, covered in wax. from the boxes come snippets of conversations, memories and stories.... tales of things that have been and tales about the places yet to come. someone has scratched a heart on to the damp wooden stake of some of the boxes.</div>
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the clootie is tightly encased in my fist. a thought that i'm barely aware of simmers away at the back of my mind... if i hold it tight enough maybe the warmth from my hand will dry it out by the time i come to write on it........</div>
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we continue until a track branches off the lane past a lime rendered thatched cottage. and from here we cut across fields past some beautiful old trees. one is dead and like a river without tributaries. in contrast it's neighbour is full and rounded with boughs a fine filigree. and in the grey mizzly distance an old ruined church tower emerges cloaked in ivy. a blackened tree stump is painted with tiny constellations.<br />
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i knew we were heading for a church but this was not what i was expecting. as we draw closer it looms tall and imposing. dwarfed by its side is a less ancient compact little church with people wandering around the graveyard. at the top of the track outside a farmyard there is a 2CV van selling hot drinks and cake. a man from the farm takes us through all the ones he's tried. he's had the 'buns' the carrot cake and the lemon drizzle but is saving the chocolate for the following day. i don't think he can believe his luck - a cake van parked up outside his remote farm for four days!</div>
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we take our hot chocolate and cake and wander inside into the warm. for a small church there is a lot to see but we have to keep an eye on the time so as not to miss the last boat back. around the altar lie slabs of glowing sea glass. light shines through from below and breaking waves are projected faintly on the wall behind. these large pieces of glass are cast directly on the sand and are imprinted with undulations, ripples of the beach and the odd foot print. the sand is still embedded on the surface creating a rough opaqueness in places. other pieces stand like gravestones.<br />
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on the walls projections of painted faces shine in the dimness. a glass case is filled with curious figures and a squirrel is illuminated in a stained glass window. outside in the wildness of the graveyard, the concave break of a gravestone with half an inscription leans against the perfect convex curve of a supporting trunk. i unfurl my clenched wrist and of course the clootie is no drier than it was - it's just warm and damp rather than cold and damp. i write some faint words and lean out tip-toed on a wooden chair to catch a high branch from which to tie it. taken by the breeze it billows in unison with all the other tiny cotton messages. this is the pilgrim tree.</div>
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we walk around the tower which is double-fenced. i spot a gate and slide the bolt back but it clangs abruptly against a concealed padlock on the other side. more recorded words in the distance. it sounds like poetry but is muffled in the wind. i look up high to the top of the tower and see that a part of the stone mullion is leaning at a precarious angle. i'd still like to go inside. it looks dark, hidden and exciting. a place from where you could lie on the ground and gaze up to see the night sky framed within fragmented turrets.</div>
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but day dreaming aside, we have to go. we've left in good time so i stop to take some photos of the trees on the way back. i become focussed on the shapes and silhouettes of the branches and those in the distance. i'm walking whilst snapping pictures and trying to catch up with my friend who has gone on ahead. we follow a path and see a big old rusty piece of farm machinery we're sure we didn't see on the way there. things don't look quite familiar. i climb through some brambles to see if the lane is the other side. it is but there's a big drop down. so we back track a bit and weave our way across a field and luckily come out on the lane a little further up. it's hard to run in wellies so we speed walk catching no more than a word from each of the boxes as we rush by. it's all downhill so we make up time and slip and slide down the muddy paths through the garden back to the pontoon. we hear the chugging engine of the boat before we see it and it's good to know it's still there.<br />
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it's stopped raining and we cruise gently back to trelissick. the wind direction makes mooring very tricky and at the point of pulling in alongside the pontoon the wind pushes the boat away. it takes three attempts for the boatman to manoeuvre us in and a big leap from the guy with the rope. fortunately this pontoon is newly planked and not so slippery.<br />
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sometimes you don't need to go far from home to have an adventure.<br />
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sea glass by val ashby - see <a href="https://valashby.wordpress.com/">here</a> for further information<br />
there is a website for the diskudha project <a href="http://draftdiskudha.weebly.com/">here</a><br />
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<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-10937001609126633932015-03-27T16:30:00.003-07:002015-03-27T16:34:10.298-07:00stars and stripes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-80193697313303423302015-03-25T13:22:00.003-07:002015-03-27T16:32:26.649-07:00the beauty of mermaid's purses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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it's a day of diffused sun filtering through a whitish haze - surprisingly bright as the foghorns have been sounding and the shore in the distance is barely discernible. boats are reduced to cut outs - simple flat shapes collaged against the even paler grey of the coast against the even paler hue of the sky. it is as if the day has been formed from nothing more than card in varying gradations of grey and a pair of scissors.</div>
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but down at my feet things are clearer. the equinox spring tide is receding fast and amongst the dark coppery kelp the milky white and palest celadon of the mermaid's purses are breaking the surface of the water. there are large numbers anchored in twos and threes bound tightly to the holdfasts of seaweed. their tendrils are spun round and round in a big tangled spiral suspending them securely against the rushing tides.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ML9ZjxTKWL1Mp6wuBaIAIi2ACFOGX5Tq2hf7XsMdtM0AVZ3qWfTVy8bYSehL8XwedfaZ4T0qpOkWxHrm30O-D7ScSo6RShesujhlit5VqnneFJ5mEoN9GPMhouO1e0IUvt6zHGmXfsg8/s1600/nursehound+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ML9ZjxTKWL1Mp6wuBaIAIi2ACFOGX5Tq2hf7XsMdtM0AVZ3qWfTVy8bYSehL8XwedfaZ4T0qpOkWxHrm30O-D7ScSo6RShesujhlit5VqnneFJ5mEoN9GPMhouO1e0IUvt6zHGmXfsg8/s1600/nursehound+2.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">freshly laid mermaid's purse - nursehound (scyliorhinus stellaris) - on the red list</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibm01wGlTBjgGNOMXiuXCH3IO_qzw9UtzuIWCJCzF0NiZ5lVpbyzh8rP9o3vR11NHtfecttlWW5voNgP3k2BgritsVq1ft7qJdQXYrKVKf61I8-m3D17ZloP1El6h50iAHcHuLqssDsiIJ/s1600/nursehound+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibm01wGlTBjgGNOMXiuXCH3IO_qzw9UtzuIWCJCzF0NiZ5lVpbyzh8rP9o3vR11NHtfecttlWW5voNgP3k2BgritsVq1ft7qJdQXYrKVKf61I8-m3D17ZloP1El6h50iAHcHuLqssDsiIJ/s1600/nursehound+3.jpg" height="554" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">visible yolk and embryo of the small-spotted catshark (scyliorhinus canicula)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7Y92YRABLR-btb_9dYU4gBpEEazKWuqjtf-eDb253DAojG-W2wpge5b1D17pcUkHwuIBh4xPNdG1V2Dz063EihO682U1iOCwiuxMJw-_hM1iOt9ghimh4z1NB4uscV_mmKX0FJsFVKrx/s1600/nursehound+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7Y92YRABLR-btb_9dYU4gBpEEazKWuqjtf-eDb253DAojG-W2wpge5b1D17pcUkHwuIBh4xPNdG1V2Dz063EihO682U1iOCwiuxMJw-_hM1iOt9ghimh4z1NB4uscV_mmKX0FJsFVKrx/s1600/nursehound+10.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">nursehound case with orange star ascidian colony (botryllus schlosseri)</td></tr>
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most of this season's eggs have been laid alongside those whose hatchlings have long gone. empty inside but the tough keratin walls of the exterior are encrusted with a whole host of new life. each old egg case supports a miniature world looking like a tiny abstract painting. intense bursts of colour sing against a dark ground. a particularly beautiful one is bejewelled with star ascidian - two types of botryllus schlosseri - on one side a translucent yellow with rust-tipped petals and on the other a deep aubergine with pale yellow centres.</div>
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i could spend hours here just looking, looking and looking some more. lost in unbroken awe and wonder i haven't noticed the time or anything around me. i feel bewitched, mesmerised and filled with wonder. the water lapping at the top of my wellies has come too soon. the tide has turned. there is so much more i'd like to see but the water is flooding in fast. i will have to wait until another day, to see them properly that will be another month.</div>
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i tread a reluctant retreat and carry my feelings of new found wonder higher up the beach. as i trace the high tide line there are many dried mermaid's purses shrunken and wrinkled amongst the heaps of crispy weed. most are old. but i'm alarmed to find a few that are fresh with yolks clearly visible attached to holdfasts broken free.</div>
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i gather them together and wrap them in layers of wet seaweed, fill a bag with water and tie them in another bag. i've no idea if they are alive. there are slits in the tendrils which allow water to flow through the egg case but i don't know how frequently this has to happen. one has a large tear across the centre and i fold back the flap and peek inside. i can just make out a tiny embryo attached to the yolk. sadly it has died. i cut it open to have a closer look.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the embryo usually takes 9-11 months to hatch</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovoyoq4lg1423IK1nlbSziA0WpSszA4pssnQUzKUGsQsQK6kSkhQdF1m3NawZxpcizsYzeE-J4gpVL-OGidpbgZ6lQA9GiA_ACJLv0F1gxyobBUsVb0lzqsoK3UDDi9lnNEedWeIx9cws/s1600/nursehound+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovoyoq4lg1423IK1nlbSziA0WpSszA4pssnQUzKUGsQsQK6kSkhQdF1m3NawZxpcizsYzeE-J4gpVL-OGidpbgZ6lQA9GiA_ACJLv0F1gxyobBUsVb0lzqsoK3UDDi9lnNEedWeIx9cws/s1600/nursehound+8.jpg" height="425" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">it hatches when it is 16cm long, can grow up to 1.6 m and lives for at least 19 years</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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i empty my water bottle, refill it from the sea and head home with a seeping bag which drips persistently down my leg.</div>
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i have kept the egg cases in a box of sea water in the garden overnight. the following day i fit the lid firmly in place and head out with strong twine and scissors. today the spring tide is not so low. it has to be a quick trip and although the tide has turned i'm able to take them out a reasonable distance and tie them amongst others. i have to be fast. i position them at the foot of a distinct rock so i can find them again. the wind is chilly and my hands are cold. i see a beautiful stripy case and a ribbon of seaweed covered in star ascidian before i have to leave. the day has clouded over and light rain begins to fall.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVyAPrhwVvlpBiN3fQvslHmkTnGWfRckGmM1eZx5ePJMvWHVw1GeKJQwKbOTMC-zj5kGTLc0rwbIrBTWezX5cKKu2XTX79e0b_41t0sOxGZP6zjlcyEA3E0Y5sfOPLEjNA9AhAqKmhqzVT/s1600/nursehound+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVyAPrhwVvlpBiN3fQvslHmkTnGWfRckGmM1eZx5ePJMvWHVw1GeKJQwKbOTMC-zj5kGTLc0rwbIrBTWezX5cKKu2XTX79e0b_41t0sOxGZP6zjlcyEA3E0Y5sfOPLEjNA9AhAqKmhqzVT/s1600/nursehound+9.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-31330989275080232702015-03-24T09:57:00.000-07:002016-01-11T12:23:29.598-08:00spring equinox - hidden sun<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnzt4BrLoV8tpVmZmJFbPfFSs__HaYaD_7G52JqEGU0x18i-QlfCh4uuMJP3UvuxNQnPA4Z2sEKPuTXQh29n7KmZ4xNMPt3mtNAGfYn0xcXOeK_DfiB29DRnd0_rEcSuh9kxaMrALz0R5/s1600/freya+eclipse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnzt4BrLoV8tpVmZmJFbPfFSs__HaYaD_7G52JqEGU0x18i-QlfCh4uuMJP3UvuxNQnPA4Z2sEKPuTXQh29n7KmZ4xNMPt3mtNAGfYn0xcXOeK_DfiB29DRnd0_rEcSuh9kxaMrALz0R5/s1600/freya+eclipse.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">freya catches the eclipse - photo christopher laughton - check out <a href="http://freyalaughton.co.uk/?p=2215">freya laughton' s blog</a> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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friday<br />
picnic breakfasts with flasks of coffee<br />
gaggles of children marching along the seafront with colanders on their heads<br />
air thick with collective expectation and anticipation<br />
excited chatter and smiles<br />
clock watching and sky gazing<br />
the light gradually dimming<br />
silvery grey over the horizon<br />
waiting and waiting, shivering in a swimsuit<br />
take the plunge and swim out, out to sea<br />
eery atmosphere as if a storm is brewing<br />
subtle shifts, subtle colours, calm and quiet<br />
all is quiet at sea<br />
nothing but the day<br />
a girl in a dress paddles up to her knees<br />
the fabric bunched up around her waist<br />
she wants more<br />
she throws her dress to a man on the shore<br />
and swims out in bra and knickers<br />
<br />
an eclipse to begin the day and later<br />
gin and elderflower with rosemary<br />
seedlings bursting forth from bottles hanging in a window<br />
down a dark alleyway a hidden house<br />
red wine and large chunks of milk chocolate<br />
a line of skulls along the mantlepiece<br />
black and white photographs of things i love<br />
9 heart urchins from ireland<br />
<br />
saturday<br />
the sharpening of chisels<br />
the quiet concentration of 10 people cutting dovetails<br />
spalted sycamore with knots and whorls<br />
later, people of penryn unite with music and laughter<br />
reclaim the roads and dance in the streets<br />
fresh lemonade and an array of cakes<br />
children shower a folk singer with cut grass<br />
a reservoir beckons in the low sun<br />
a bride marries an ancient oak<br />
daylight fades<br />
evening coffee in cafe with black ink drawings<br />
ideas and new plans<br />
<br />
sunday<br />
run and sea swim<br />
low equinox tide<br />
kayakers riding the gentle surf<br />
the beach stretches longer than i've known<br />
unusual creatures are revealed<br />
a baby sea hare mottled with deep red<br />
a wentletrap slides sideways<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
starfish in unbelievably tiny cracks<br />
layers of iridescent seaweed half dry<br />
stretched taught between rocks catch the warm spring sun<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtkjceqblMv6YpTpwE1PJ6kWhF-RLIRUHfBwJEHoB9LYq8TAUqA2XYmWzKM1FCabKr9z9kDb4OhmVf99S3r-zKG9Dmd49q4AehoLJwsn62T_Lp6JrcnB4rwrDbBhPNfbYE-4nrajputH9/s1600/equinox+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtkjceqblMv6YpTpwE1PJ6kWhF-RLIRUHfBwJEHoB9LYq8TAUqA2XYmWzKM1FCabKr9z9kDb4OhmVf99S3r-zKG9Dmd49q4AehoLJwsn62T_Lp6JrcnB4rwrDbBhPNfbYE-4nrajputH9/s1600/equinox+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">close up of a spiny starfish (marthasterias glacialis)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFR9oL1FsAZWb5yRB2_E0He7jpHpSGLX9mF3ctO63hhS9WQAwzK58AfpakfjUPBhi-oly2zuPnWJUPG4GQGopRuZ-mvtHJe_IlDOYzW47EhAp3IBR6tXNXVGqNUgT_zT94XNDMMdh9gvIs/s1600/equinox+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFR9oL1FsAZWb5yRB2_E0He7jpHpSGLX9mF3ctO63hhS9WQAwzK58AfpakfjUPBhi-oly2zuPnWJUPG4GQGopRuZ-mvtHJe_IlDOYzW47EhAp3IBR6tXNXVGqNUgT_zT94XNDMMdh9gvIs/s1600/equinox+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">spiny starfish hiding</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix1LYwO7XRTT13kdJN7b-xpG7B7C1Ca_Y1VHPdtyRF0HFEdmYNps8sZxPhox8Z1mhK4M2ZzX4n23PLxHmZEPaW4nDcQeSFLClahJuWH-r_-FoFhhFvUz8sSb_Bjpf_8MtofVWk0CF5NEXZ/s1600/equinox+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix1LYwO7XRTT13kdJN7b-xpG7B7C1Ca_Y1VHPdtyRF0HFEdmYNps8sZxPhox8Z1mhK4M2ZzX4n23PLxHmZEPaW4nDcQeSFLClahJuWH-r_-FoFhhFvUz8sSb_Bjpf_8MtofVWk0CF5NEXZ/s1600/equinox+12.jpg" width="398" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> bold arctic cowrie (trivia arctica) that kept me amused by <br />
swinging it's trunk-like siphon at me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUbtk0U4dWPA4Fnahw_d-TVXi_UbYPsAD5ACGKW7u6nxMNWOQ2YBlneGrEgWRiRffDaIFMH1h1PvbcgOhTxgIW896NpSlk7vLv0Bnx5dRwZ2QZbE-oRQC2QtA-ezVLM3pz4pp8-5XCyWDJ/s1600/equinox+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUbtk0U4dWPA4Fnahw_d-TVXi_UbYPsAD5ACGKW7u6nxMNWOQ2YBlneGrEgWRiRffDaIFMH1h1PvbcgOhTxgIW896NpSlk7vLv0Bnx5dRwZ2QZbE-oRQC2QtA-ezVLM3pz4pp8-5XCyWDJ/s1600/equinox+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">on a journey past a hermit crab</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnE0NHGBIz2lH05cX6k2F36PHVJAtWaPer9aVVoPPLrd9xTJ5HdRK5uY6xTp0kMreSFKbCPWLuYEUbIkwTx7xMMySV3FSEn8DlyW8Hroh4TNycsCBzvdomIWsfMcA9FgXld0LUUtxcGWuc/s1600/equinox+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnE0NHGBIz2lH05cX6k2F36PHVJAtWaPer9aVVoPPLrd9xTJ5HdRK5uY6xTp0kMreSFKbCPWLuYEUbIkwTx7xMMySV3FSEn8DlyW8Hroh4TNycsCBzvdomIWsfMcA9FgXld0LUUtxcGWuc/s1600/equinox+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">baby sea hare (aplysia punctuate)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzHSBO-AacpdHGxaOAc2GBp8mcEKq6Bm4kzdYLrIxNFLJss2YTkzT98etAA8UKqu2P8wdZxFE-atPpS0bwt02OXyfGZDgV686iDypiFAw4CQPg65DRgnn-oNcIrjp0wLsz_3JlYBsu9hk/s1600/equinox+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzHSBO-AacpdHGxaOAc2GBp8mcEKq6Bm4kzdYLrIxNFLJss2YTkzT98etAA8UKqu2P8wdZxFE-atPpS0bwt02OXyfGZDgV686iDypiFAw4CQPg65DRgnn-oNcIrjp0wLsz_3JlYBsu9hk/s1600/equinox+10.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">common grey sea slug (aeolidia papillosa)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfOpgMso8ZjmQ-jiQSlbP4jAyx5b-vrNc0AinMNGCUgRz8VzCOXE2dDqX-wZI0iozbS6jFP9Vd_2SD1QTzRwlwWIOaEE39iVEIfM8baccLEK_KLretvOTV2U3annr4p79nYoPalfi4Ayv2/s1600/equinox+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfOpgMso8ZjmQ-jiQSlbP4jAyx5b-vrNc0AinMNGCUgRz8VzCOXE2dDqX-wZI0iozbS6jFP9Vd_2SD1QTzRwlwWIOaEE39iVEIfM8baccLEK_KLretvOTV2U3annr4p79nYoPalfi4Ayv2/s1600/equinox+6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">common brittle star (ophiothrix fragilis)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUDxOs0uY3ChqMzocjJjo6jA11RirINRg55limro9AJscFE4k_Rfv8v_waXKp7gdTrr7vcfYACyV8aDxgPUqjA-Dg9Qws1oEXrwMk_CaRt0HnJNiefq2VT6vHs2DrOJ129JSjFoi1MIy_/s1600/equinox+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUDxOs0uY3ChqMzocjJjo6jA11RirINRg55limro9AJscFE4k_Rfv8v_waXKp7gdTrr7vcfYACyV8aDxgPUqjA-Dg9Qws1oEXrwMk_CaRt0HnJNiefq2VT6vHs2DrOJ129JSjFoi1MIy_/s1600/equinox+7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">tiny stars on a 7 armed starfish - in this case a 6<br />
and a half armed starfish (luidia ciliaris)<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYyqxFbFowtl2qV2_RZ-1OdYrLgXilnetSU2mfpR7qIoJBzaRW7fwMgL_bKD6-qAxkgmstuzLBnOndvC3ClBlrjdPSLhzx5qSPrqE9ifsGhMmDLrUZxqln1zcx0RjFTUvOLALNveihk8o/s1600/equinox+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWYyqxFbFowtl2qV2_RZ-1OdYrLgXilnetSU2mfpR7qIoJBzaRW7fwMgL_bKD6-qAxkgmstuzLBnOndvC3ClBlrjdPSLhzx5qSPrqE9ifsGhMmDLrUZxqln1zcx0RjFTUvOLALNveihk8o/s1600/equinox+8.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">iridescent seaweed drying in the sun</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7jAUfgOTjb0WdoSnb00u9T4vjfQZDp9V0d28xeD0C6vamYTV4Ez8ICKZvZ9xP1Dv7ubkt8KBKLetAVQfZb8VLhp7R6T0ymh3WJ_-XEc51raZNh3pwNfD240iqNn8MJFVTIHhhS76Fc7l/s1600/equinox+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7jAUfgOTjb0WdoSnb00u9T4vjfQZDp9V0d28xeD0C6vamYTV4Ez8ICKZvZ9xP1Dv7ubkt8KBKLetAVQfZb8VLhp7R6T0ymh3WJ_-XEc51raZNh3pwNfD240iqNn8MJFVTIHhhS76Fc7l/s1600/equinox+9.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">shining silver and ultramarine violet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_Ws-y9XQiAHDlg2oIGJCDwxuCoZyun3832g_x5HVEsNv0TSfIT1kPZzjLSL6Ypz44E-_kJI4ezq7v8SlGVgd7m0WqXG7YZyLi3lzSwufusAIvKWiFW2XFloiZOE4GADm4BC55KIDA9sP/s1600/equinox+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT_Ws-y9XQiAHDlg2oIGJCDwxuCoZyun3832g_x5HVEsNv0TSfIT1kPZzjLSL6Ypz44E-_kJI4ezq7v8SlGVgd7m0WqXG7YZyLi3lzSwufusAIvKWiFW2XFloiZOE4GADm4BC55KIDA9sP/s1600/equinox+11.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ahhh - she always catches me.....</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-57224218381798010442015-02-28T12:18:00.001-08:002015-03-27T16:32:26.639-07:00ghost ships<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFYdqacIioMCfgwc2iLCFg1DS0ZPIeUAyYfY0vaVmgCzUOQPMDdei8fEPKbqxHfxo3dIrjO2SHDQGEA0HwjIaqGu-eFkqrHSWi6YQYEU1l8UXLrgztRClZuvvVuZrlO0cwlbOeA4FOsmfB/s1600/ghost+ships.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFYdqacIioMCfgwc2iLCFg1DS0ZPIeUAyYfY0vaVmgCzUOQPMDdei8fEPKbqxHfxo3dIrjO2SHDQGEA0HwjIaqGu-eFkqrHSWi6YQYEU1l8UXLrgztRClZuvvVuZrlO0cwlbOeA4FOsmfB/s1600/ghost+ships.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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after a thin sliver of a new moon<br />
cradled bright within a perfect faint circle of light<br />
bold stars of the sky dancing in formal constellations<br />
grey rain-veiled day - the blurred vision of peering through muslin<br />
a wide expanse of watery sand laid bare by the low spring tide<br />
not a soul<br />
the tiniest heart urchin salt and sand-filled bobbing in a shallow pool<br />
the same tiny urchin buried safe inside a hard crusted bread roll<br />
no lunch - hungry<br />
shy stars of the sea revealed in the gloom<br />
star ascidian and small plump cushion stars<br />
starfish orange and starfish purple scattered<br />
large spiny starfish hidden in the tightest crevice<br />
awkwardly crannied crabs wave a claw in warning<br />
cowies and bowed down kelp<br />
wet legs - wet camera<br />
ghost ships<br />
up on rosemullion two rain washed people<br />
ghost friend<br />
jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-53807684324240011612015-01-20T13:40:00.000-08:002015-03-25T10:09:40.414-07:00gifts from the january sea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cuttlefish, by-the-wind sailors, mermaid's purses and mussel shells</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">crinkly edge of nursehound egg case<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fresh from the sea - beautiful colours</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">love the greeny greys</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">same egg case - three stages of drying</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the sky through a dried by-the-wind sailor skeleton</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my friend found an oyster in a mussel shell!</td></tr>
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jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-65038351288705798042015-01-07T11:06:00.001-08:002015-03-25T10:09:40.420-07:00by-the-wind sailors arrive on new years day<div style="text-align: justify;">
the year has started here in cornwall with tens of thousands of tiny sailed vessels floating in to our shores. beaches from sennen to longrock to poldu and many on the north coast have been covered in stranded by-the-wind sailors (velella velella - a pelagic hydroid).</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4K_j-G5NdAy6LHyi6ecFJ7Urfrs-OA_uORdkH4byL3l9HUvTT4YMFQrZ3MP1SY70YwW4MEfYdkvdeQhZBNvfVOy7SfF61c84y283VzvWJW8AREApNAlO_9d4A3ewbOHfrPCGDQrJCyGZP/s1600/velella+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4K_j-G5NdAy6LHyi6ecFJ7Urfrs-OA_uORdkH4byL3l9HUvTT4YMFQrZ3MP1SY70YwW4MEfYdkvdeQhZBNvfVOy7SfF61c84y283VzvWJW8AREApNAlO_9d4A3ewbOHfrPCGDQrJCyGZP/s1600/velella+1.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">found at longrock bay january 1st - photo by elaine brennan</td></tr>
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these amazing little creatures (which are actually not a single organism but a colony of hydroids) live on the open ocean. they have either a left handed or a right handed diagonal sail which determines which side of the wind they travel. it is made of chitin which is the same type of material as insect wings. most that wash up on cornish shores have a sail that twists to the left.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">probably some of the same fleet at trenow cove 4th jan</td></tr>
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i love the deep indigo blue of their jellyfish-like base. they use these blue pigments to screen themselves from the sun's radiation. their predators include sea slugs and violet sea snails (janthina janthina) which are born male and develop into females over time.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsa0hQOsfEJJzD5IXze9_ras4BBGWX8eZ8YZzFuL-68iXLZo9wzQVV_6yvKhRGe0rDcArGhIn6WY1RBpGWEyw1aEK_PUTk2IkNzvpTNU4iqgDL85LKsekgzNi-eg1oQ_iQKdncJ7wXPba0/s1600/velella+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsa0hQOsfEJJzD5IXze9_ras4BBGWX8eZ8YZzFuL-68iXLZo9wzQVV_6yvKhRGe0rDcArGhIn6WY1RBpGWEyw1aEK_PUTk2IkNzvpTNU4iqgDL85LKsekgzNi-eg1oQ_iQKdncJ7wXPba0/s1600/velella+3.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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a couple of years ago i had an idea for a piece of work i wanted to make using the dried skeletons. these become opaque and papery as they shrink and dry. i've still not been in the right place at the right time to find more than a few handfuls but gradually i will collect enough to work with.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqezWwbgQ4RWYzrylmQzlsN1m1H_3lwigMrzrNIpey31eOIxbZKtgjSyL-2IpeJA47fMgpo70IZcLZRm0uEMotRApiqsE4I_p37wJp348-C8P6q2V2FV4Scvg4ewKFldAYK1_IcneCXBKB/s1600/velella+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqezWwbgQ4RWYzrylmQzlsN1m1H_3lwigMrzrNIpey31eOIxbZKtgjSyL-2IpeJA47fMgpo70IZcLZRm0uEMotRApiqsE4I_p37wJp348-C8P6q2V2FV4Scvg4ewKFldAYK1_IcneCXBKB/s1600/velella+4.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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i was hoping it might be possible to extract the blue pigment but like other experiments i've done drying jellyfish it just turns into a dark smelly sticky mess and the pigment turns brown. some do keep a purpley hue when dried whole.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKhISHuRz_RaoN2vKoW1lubAWLFnW4HXidmIIXrTgF-fCMt88VMatVrpxCArZ2CM7adSCifVaqvURcD0h1Na1kxVkY1ok30Gy-zgaqhyphenhyphennGZZPHMMNS2hAKHECBpDlkRjcmEG51y3Vt26U_/s1600/velella+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKhISHuRz_RaoN2vKoW1lubAWLFnW4HXidmIIXrTgF-fCMt88VMatVrpxCArZ2CM7adSCifVaqvURcD0h1Na1kxVkY1ok30Gy-zgaqhyphenhyphennGZZPHMMNS2hAKHECBpDlkRjcmEG51y3Vt26U_/s1600/velella+5.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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so i laid them out in rows and as they began to dry i undressed them to remove their skeleton. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivd8bZpHPXTO4oXGEGsJnFdVR9GQPK5U_BMcFywZSdzdLB-76kfPrL2VNqcYeNrn6iQmQBY0m0aZjicKQk9s6UGF37OwG7snHDWj8N8nYanWlpUAuM7NV5q1-cc0kNcoUg9esWxyzTEakA/s1600/velella+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivd8bZpHPXTO4oXGEGsJnFdVR9GQPK5U_BMcFywZSdzdLB-76kfPrL2VNqcYeNrn6iQmQBY0m0aZjicKQk9s6UGF37OwG7snHDWj8N8nYanWlpUAuM7NV5q1-cc0kNcoUg9esWxyzTEakA/s1600/velella+6.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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this was so much fun that it was virtually impossible to leave the house to go to something i really wanted to go to. when i returned home i eagerly continued until midnight.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVb6Z-ywk6IAW7j7oW03NdetUBP79juLjk4fb0Q5dM8Aihk58ClPYA-xNFUYVFPobmWfOfnmPC5ihr5T_m9jVYr7Aaokj6Jx8Dn1Ck2agdsnvOq0gmVazDDyKcaQhOneAXMZa53nSbVkT_/s1600/velella+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVb6Z-ywk6IAW7j7oW03NdetUBP79juLjk4fb0Q5dM8Aihk58ClPYA-xNFUYVFPobmWfOfnmPC5ihr5T_m9jVYr7Aaokj6Jx8Dn1Ck2agdsnvOq0gmVazDDyKcaQhOneAXMZa53nSbVkT_/s1600/velella+7.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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once they are dry there is a beautiful veined texture like a finger print. and their de-hydrated skins also leave their mark upon the paper.</div>
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for further information about velella velalla there is a nice little youtube film - 'the secret life of the velella: adrift with the by-the-wind sailor" <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJGO_bSsR3w">here</a>.</div>
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jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-62098282460571947402014-11-15T11:59:00.001-08:002015-03-27T16:32:26.644-07:00outside the box<div style="text-align: justify;">
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the lorry stops in the road calling the traffic to a halt. a massive steel arm cranks upwards and outwards. it swings across to the pavement and a giant crab claw lowers a huge white woven bag to the ground. half a tonne of lime mortar has arrived.</div>
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i'm re-pointing my wall. hours and hours of digging and scraping with increasingly smaller and sharper implements has whiled away many days. it's felt like something between giant dentistry and cleaning the mud out of a horses hoof - many horses, many times over.</div>
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i hammer up bricks and pack nooks and crannies with 'gallets' or 'pinnings'. i ease mortar deep into the gaps until they are flush and filled. 5 hours, one bag of mortar down, at least 20 more bags to go..... it's slow but satisfying. this is something new. i've not done it before. it reminds me of working with soft clay and the tools are similar to those i've used in pottery and sculpture. and i'm mulling thoughts over in my head.</div>
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i'm feeling very angry after reading an article where education secretary nicky morgan has warned young people that choosing to study arts subjects could "hold them back for the rest of their lives". coupled with falmouth university's recent decision to close its contemporary crafts BA, art and environment and theatre courses, i'm feeling disillusioned. but i'm also feeling more determined and sure of my future plans.</div>
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it's incredibly sad that our education establishments have become big businesses where the drive for profit comes at the expense of learning. initially i thought it was about money. that contemporary crafts was too costly a course to run. that felt disappointing. but i quickly realised that if falmouth university were really concerned about the course, they would be campaigning to save it themselves. so, yes it's about money, but it's also about value and that is more dispiriting.</div>
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i could write so much about the value and benefits of craft - the exercising of logic and problem solving; body/brain co-ordination and manual dexterity; the deepening of our connection with ourselves, our past, our heritage and our environment; our vastly disregarded need for aesthetic beauty, spiritual and emotional/mental well being; and yes, in our current system - economical benefit (especially in rural areas like cornwall). and all of this seems to be enormously undervalued, yet i regard it as being of vital importance in a very fundamental human way.</div>
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to cut these courses seems incredibly short-sighted. at a time where there are floating islands of plastic choking our marine life, loss of species, habitats, wild places through the exploitation and exhaustion of natural resources, surely 'art and environment' is one of the most forward-thinking, progressive courses? especially being based here in falmouth with it's rich maritime history and natural beauty. and that's just the environmental crisis. looking at social issues with pressure on food and housing for an increasing population - surely many of the skills learnt on crafts courses are transferable creating independence to do such things as repair homes, bake bread etc. why not create courses that are unique to falmouth - that reflect and celebrate cornwall and it's unique heritage and landscape? courses that fulfil a deep human need that is timeless and sustainable - surely that is a better investment?</div>
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it seems that to take away such courses (with the potential for other arts subjects to follow) is to take away our self-expression, self-sufficiency, our playful, free-thinking, creative resourcefulness. without this we are numbed and dumbed and easier to subjugate.</div>
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when i studied at art college i became involved in running a food co-op as an alternative to supermarkets. i believed (and still do) that big businesses shouldn't control and profit from our basic need for food and survival. i regard making and creating as another primal need and tantamount for the health and survival of our society. never did i think that one day i may see the necessity to set up independent art courses as an alternative to art college.</div>
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today my cousin delivers two old wooden boxes to my studio. one is locked. my grandfather died aged 101 in july. as a young child his woodwork shed was my first introduction to tools and making. he built furniture for our bedrooms and he built boats. i feel privileged to have inherited these tools - works of craftsmanship in their own right. i also feel thankful that i know how to use them. i believe that to cut craft education and facilities in schools, colleges and universities severs a vital link to our past and denies us access to our ancestors and our roots.<br />
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to show your support please sign this petition to campaign against the proposed closure of contemporary crafts at falmouth university - click <a href="https://you.38degrees.org.uk/petitions/oppose-falmouth-university-closing-the-contemporary-crafts-degree?bucket&source=facebook-share-button&time=1415309966">here</a><br />
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and to join the very active facebook group you can find the link <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/596508333811114/?pnref=story">here</a> </div>
jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-29210860352015296392014-07-30T14:06:00.001-07:002014-07-31T15:32:22.633-07:00the falling tide<div style="text-align: justify;">
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'the falling tide' is a collection of work, which celebrates my relationship to the sea and shore. particularly inspired by swimming and beachcombing, i seek to capture my emotional response to this part of my life. i use natural pigments, some of which are collected locally and ground down into a fine dust, on boards layered with gesso and edged in reclaimed lead. </div>
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i collect objects imbued with sea-worn beauty: sun-bleached and fragile, their stories untold. i love both the element of discovery and fine details of these finds: the subtlest colours, tiny patterns, fragmented shapes, textures and rhythms. i strive to convey this visual language within my paintings with sensitivity. for me, this is the poetry of the sea.</div>
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these same patterns and rhythms are echoed on a larger scale. as the moon pulls the tide every scattered strand line embodies the passing of time. that which lies hidden beneath the salt water is revealed. the boundaries between land and sea constantly shift.</div>
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this work is about discovery and exposure, transition and change, cycles and connections; and it's about finding the space for stillness within this movement and change. it's about facing things, finding the courage to be still, to listen to oneself and reflect. i believe it's important to be curious and to explore, to leave no words unspoken, no stone unturned, but to do so with the lightest of touch.<br />
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"i'll call you, and we'll light a fire, and drink some wine and recognise each other in the place that is ours. don't wait. don't tell the story later.<br />
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life is so short. this stretch of sea and sand, this walk on the shore, before the tide covers everything we have done."<br />
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(jeanette winterson - 'lighthouse keeping')</div>
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<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-79851032543416073482014-06-29T13:53:00.004-07:002014-07-18T11:00:10.497-07:00catching thoughts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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june has been a month of trusting. not knowing and trusting that not knowing will lead to knowing.</div>
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lead from the roof of a crumbling georgian town house built in the countyside - traded for hours of painting window frames. that lead has been scrubbed and hammered and persuaded into position around boards. these bound boards have been layered with chalky gesso and sanded in the heat of the midday sun in a garden. morning and evening sea swims. lots.</div>
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this collection of white boards stand like gravestones, unwritten and leaning at angles around the room. they surround me. they daunt me. i gather them together for a group photograph - a large family of differing shapes and sizes. i need to learn them, to get to know them for they are new to me.</div>
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thoughts flit and fly and some are caught, pinned down for closer inspection. examination. the river is walked at low tide. procrastination. bones of birds and ribs of boats are found. a rusty orange is dug from the bank and further down an assortment of verdigris nails lie exposed in the mud. two rusty keys and a mermaid's purse but no sign of the mermaid who left these behind. what was lost is found. that which was concealed is revealed. </div>
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a single heart urchin hangs on the wall. sunlight shifts and flickers on its bare white shell. symbolic of a love and loss. fragile and delicate it pulses persistently through my mind and paintings. the most beautiful thing. swimmers dive through graphite seas and the corroded disc of a can holds a handful of rust-stained cowries. that's all there is. that and music. a lot of music.</div>
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'the falling tide' - notes for my exhibition</div>
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-isles of scilly - heart urchins whole - heart urchins broken - rare whole heart urchin broken - treasures to be found on a spring tide - revealing what's normally under the sea - what's hidden is brought to light - exposure - honesty - truth - peeling back layers of the self - discovery - the unknown - self-discovery - from unconscious to conscious</div>
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-looking - seeing - investigating new things for the first time - walking where i normally swim - exposure of the foreshore - land unowned by anyone - freedom</div>
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-the edge - where water meets land - physical boundaries - ever-changing - personal boundaries - fine tuning - adjustment - poor mental health most resistant to change - good mental health least resistant - liminal space (jane) - place of transition - not knowing</div>
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-the pull of the moon - full moon/spring tide - the changing landscape - reflection - solstice fire - stories - 'fiery skies of far away' - silver sea - night swimming - dreams </div>
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-clarity - space - the courage to be still - to listen to oneself - to reflect - the tide of life</div>
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"i'll call you, and we'll light a fire, and drink some wine and recognise each other in the place that is ours. don't wait. don't tell the story later.</div>
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life is so short. this stretch of sea and sand, this walk on the shore, before the tide covers everything we have done."</div>
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(jeanette winterson - lighthouse keeping) </div>
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<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-39971994837923276712014-06-10T16:21:00.001-07:002014-06-10T16:29:52.807-07:00secret beach in may<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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(with scratches on a roe deer hoof)jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-26045382316870228532014-04-22T12:07:00.001-07:002014-04-22T12:41:35.666-07:00beautiful stripey zebra cowrie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirI3kvzEMgzYTJ1SH1jfJA3b5TofYvvkmbiDRdHJJ5RsPfSzK01kzfDAJ4DK0RoGgXIUvdhwbSys1Y4mELN8-HqToBvoHLhvS711ysJAFX_S-3vn-bcokSWErA2QUGTjNshFNYCod43Sp5/s1600/stripey+cowrie.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirI3kvzEMgzYTJ1SH1jfJA3b5TofYvvkmbiDRdHJJ5RsPfSzK01kzfDAJ4DK0RoGgXIUvdhwbSys1Y4mELN8-HqToBvoHLhvS711ysJAFX_S-3vn-bcokSWErA2QUGTjNshFNYCod43Sp5/s1600/stripey+cowrie.png" height="476" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-57000289758685439502014-04-21T04:34:00.000-07:002014-04-21T04:44:27.860-07:00miniature world on a mermaid's purse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-9260643091847822962014-04-20T02:54:00.000-07:002014-04-22T12:41:22.400-07:00mermaid's purses<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfJM7gt0eztMi1Q6ZUWm1K9ns23jwv2F12i-Cf27es53dLMyptEE0x7y1EwrQ1XaLV2Csi84Q72aMHRAc3JtKRIsg1kUtr2eE_55l6peiNIoyM7ZbZDemzjeoyMjIxJPObequ9nZmZ-Z5b/s1600/mermaid's+purse+large.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfJM7gt0eztMi1Q6ZUWm1K9ns23jwv2F12i-Cf27es53dLMyptEE0x7y1EwrQ1XaLV2Csi84Q72aMHRAc3JtKRIsg1kUtr2eE_55l6peiNIoyM7ZbZDemzjeoyMjIxJPObequ9nZmZ-Z5b/s1600/mermaid's+purse+large.png" height="520" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">back and front of a nursehound egg case covered in beautiful colours</td></tr>
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mermaid's purse </div>
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by freethinkersanon</div>
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i was also born out of the sea, out of rocky oyster shells and polyphemous waves,</div>
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under gulls riding changes in the wind. tied</div>
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to coral, to warped twigs in green light, cartilage congealed</div>
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into a diamond-winged body, brown above and ghostwhite below, and a trailing tail.</div>
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swimmers all of us. what I couldn't see from my point on land i connected</div>
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to things i recognized. it rained. water met water, a million drops disturbed</div>
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the surface.</div>
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but the fish only feel it when the waves grow heavy enough to drag</div>
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them into the air. they feel it always. even fused to their element</div>
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they breathe the threat</div>
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above. where</div>
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i walked gulls ran at the waves, caught quick bites, and picked at tidal remains. no</div>
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sun</div>
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breaks. not since my birth has the sun come</div>
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through to here, and the cold water runs wild and foul abandoned</div>
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to itself. i never noticed the currents above and below that shook me in</div>
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the tasteless pouch of comfort and unliving,</div>
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my dark home. the light broke, called me to follow, and my world split and was carried</div>
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upward to the gull cries and foamy strings playing on the surface. i catch</div>
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it as it comes in</div>
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with the waves: a black leathery rectangle with wiry</div>
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arms at its corners. it's a mermaid's purse, still thick with the smell of the sea.</div>
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on the sand</div>
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nearby, half-sunk in foam and nearly invisible where it lies exposed,</div>
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is a skate</div>
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thrown onto the beach by an earlier wave, tail still</div>
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touching the tide as it goes out.</div>
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i skim the bottom while threatening shadows of gulls pass over</div>
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my body blended with the background. only touches of white where</div>
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my wings curl over reveal</div>
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me, and the waves protect me for now. i prowl for the dead, scavenging for leftovers</div>
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of storms, starvation,</div>
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and the hard black tides that strand and take back.</div>
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an offshore squall washed up blowfish, foam, and bubbled tresses of seaweed.</div>
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a strangled heron</div>
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lies spread in flight on a pile of driftwood, cracked beak pointed toward</div>
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sky-blue crabs clustered in a collective grave. a rust-skinned hook threatens nothing,</div>
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though it lies close to a fish still and silver in the gray light. all around</div>
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are fragments of sponge and coral. a string of bleached and broken shells has settled</div>
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into a ridge to hold</div>
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the water as it comes in, puts its arms out to the things in its reach, and pulls</div>
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them close. when</div>
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i broke from the blackness it was freedom, it was the beginning</div>
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of the new tide.</div>
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the wind dies</div>
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suddenly and the sun pushes through. from over the water, for a moment,</div>
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it becomes</div>
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the same sun under the water, rays reflected into sea urchin spines.</div>
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the farthest</div>
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waves turn blue then, as they approach, they change to aquamarine,</div>
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shedding skin</div>
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and mingling with white. they roll in. smoky quartz</div>
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carries the beat of sand against sand. they reach forward,</div>
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and water curls</div>
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over land, over itself. its edges end, then begin, in the moment when the foam reaches</div>
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the highest point and remains trembling in the wind.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaKYquJO801g8sJE-RuKe9qQQmEcGfgm3t8v-jE5bXyKVKe4iEZBNCWBR3fcjqDXBzNliamwIvoTBKLYNT_AKhVtpvRwy-pnekyVOztrMxPf1UqUkfUjfxUPGVM_TTSVK5-rHpmaz2e-B/s1600/mermaid's+purses+4.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOaKYquJO801g8sJE-RuKe9qQQmEcGfgm3t8v-jE5bXyKVKe4iEZBNCWBR3fcjqDXBzNliamwIvoTBKLYNT_AKhVtpvRwy-pnekyVOztrMxPf1UqUkfUjfxUPGVM_TTSVK5-rHpmaz2e-B/s1600/mermaid's+purses+4.png" height="260" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">nursehound egg cases. you can report any finds to the 'great egg case hunt' online at the shark trust</td></tr>
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<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-55564680670405925152014-04-16T15:05:00.001-07:002014-04-16T15:05:36.853-07:00red and green under a blue blue sky<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-86225862801999065292014-04-09T10:26:00.001-07:002014-04-11T01:10:16.920-07:00the red scarf<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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i flick and swish the scarf as i do every time before i put it on. there is still a thin puff of dust that wafts gently into the air even after the vigorous shaking and swotting of the night before. i sweep back my hair and tie it tightly. </div>
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a little while ago i was doing some painting and decorating work. when i started on the ceilings i got fed up with paint falling into my hair so i rushed into a charity shop one morning and grabbed a red scarf. it has white dots on it and is a bit piratey. </div>
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last night as i lay in bed exhausted after pulling the last and most awkward section of the ceiling down, it occurred to me that maybe i won't have to wear it anymore. i've got so used to it that i haven't really given it much thought. and then i had a little flashback to when i found it in the charity shop. i was in a hurry and i had a split second thought that i couldn't buy it because it was exactly the same as the one my mum used to wear. there were few other choices. i decided it was the best. and i've been wearing it for building work ever since.</div>
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i used to come out of primary school and scan the rows of waiting mothers for the red scarf. i think my mum used to wear the scarf because the rain would make her curly hair frizzy. also we lived on a farm, there was a lot of dirt and she was outside much of the time. often she arrived at the school in wellies, a big muddy anorak with straw and baler twine-filled pockets. and sometimes in the old farm land rover with an open back. as children we loved this as you could lean out into the full force of the wind. one day, i kicked back a pile of fertiliser sacks and found a dead sheep. the downside to the land rover was that we could always get to school in the snow. thankfully most of the teachers couldn't.</div>
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but as i grew older i became self-conscious. i remember feeling so embarrassed by my mum's red scarf and i just wanted her to look like the other mums in the village. all these years later i've been wearing the same red scarf with as much carefree abandon, unconcerned by how it looks - just that it's a good practical solution to staying clean.</div>
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so after tying the red scarf i reach for the dust mask. my breathing sounds loud, laboured and heavy. i have mental associations of intensive care and diving. with the safety googles that instantly steam up, i feel that i'm about to go snorkelling. rather than waddling into the sea i climb up the ladder and squeeze through a gap into a tunnel of dust sheets. i'm above the alleyway and it's suddenly very silent. a thin film of dust obscures the outside of the googles and i feel that i'm swimming in deeper water. the sun shines through the orange sheet casting a strange burning glow. my head is pressed against a beam, an entire round tree trunk that looks incredibly old. it feels unnerving and unsafe to have so many of my senses obscured. i have partial vision through the right hand side of the goggles and as my hammer strikes the ceiling the dust thickens. i can't actually see the tools so i grope around feeling for them. the bits of dust covered lath look like the crowbar and when i think i've found it, i haven't. i wonder if this is what everyday life is like for a blind or partially sighted person. as the dust thickens i feel i am at the bottom of the ocean. i can only hear my breathing but i can't see a thing. </div>
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later, when i come to shovel the dust into bags i make out a strange object amongst the debris. it's a bone. i've found lots of bits of bone in the fireplace but they've all been small. this one is much larger. i'm wondering what it has come from and why it was in the ceiling.</div>
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jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-74628348981539042382014-04-05T03:36:00.001-07:002014-04-05T03:39:06.094-07:00cowrie of mourning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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i found a black cowrie! unbelievable. i didn't even know it was possible until i read jane darke's book 'held by the sea'. jane is an amazing artist and film maker. her book is an incredibly moving account of her struggle to come to terms with the death of her beloved husband. nick darke was the fabulous cornish poet, playwright, lobster fisherman, wrecker and beachcomber. </div>
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"we were then the only ones who went to the beach below, except for foxes. we never met anyone else there through the winter.</div>
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there's another way down, equally difficult, a slippery, narrow path runs diagonally down a long stretch of cliff at pentire steps, the east end of bedruthan. the sand shifts in and out. sometimes the drop at the bottom is a few feet, sometimes twenty five. the sea can move thousands of tons of sand in, or out, in a night. it's a good place for wood to collect. i have a 'necklace' shell from here, the only one i've ever found and a black cowrie, also very rare."</div>
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i haven't been able to find anything about black cowries anywhere. i went to a brilliant talk and slideshow (SO much better than a powerpoint presentation!) at the poly - 'oceanic visitors: from whales to sea beans' by marine biologist dr paul gainey. i loved it. he showed us pictures of the most amazing things washed up on our beaches - and knew the latin names for everything!</div>
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there were BIG fishy things that come from far away places and are measured in feet! some of which have squinty, grumpy, crunched up faces, rows of sharp, crooked teeth covered in bacteria and come with their own parasite fish suckered on.... thankfully they don't show up very often (the chinese crab that measured 3ft from front claw to front claw for example!) and there were tiny tiny beautiful things too that somehow manage to make it to our shores from halfway round the world and be found.</div>
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recently i've been snorkelling with the hope of seeing a seahorse! i've asked lots of people about them, where to look for them, been warned they are so endangered that it's illegal to tell anyone if you do see one, been told i will never see one...... i was so excited to hear paul's stories about seahorses. one day he found a long-nosed seahorse from a boat near st mawes (maybe i've broken the law?!!!) he didn't have the right camera and wanted to photograph it so he scooped it up and took it home. it lived in an aquarium in his living room for a week where he fed it brine shrimps. pointing to the artificial strands of weed in the picture he said with a smile 'i even gave it some plastic eel grass - see, i'm not a mean man you know!'</div>
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paul was also a good friend of nick darke and showed slides of nick's fishing buoy collection. he is fascinated by the fishing gear, lobster tags and sea beans that reach north cornwall via the north atlantic drift. nick and jane made a fantastic documentary called 'the wrecking season' where they trace a lot of these finds back to their owners in places like novia scotia and maine. </div>
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so at the end of the talk i went to ask paul about my black cowrie. he said he hadn't seen one before and that it was probably some kind of melanoma that had turned it black. so the mystery continues......</div>
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<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-50784086015237238062014-04-04T11:34:00.003-07:002014-04-04T14:47:07.516-07:00above the ceiling..... below the floor.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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a mummified rat fell down with the ceiling!</div>
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i found these little 2 inch tall pots when i was planting the crocuses</div>
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jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-26662697988677904782014-03-10T01:56:00.001-07:002014-03-10T02:02:21.835-07:00dust<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"we come spinning out of nothingness, scattering stars like dust". rumi</div>
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dust. i haven't got much to say about it other than there's been a lot. in my eyes. in my hair. in my clothes. and even in my ears. </div>
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i've nearly finished pulling the ceiling down. heavy slabs of compacted earth and animal hair have been sailing past my head and exploding into fine clouds as they hit the floor. </div>
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where little bits of ceiling have been hitting the rubble sacks i noticed tiny meteor showers and celestial lights bursting against a black night sky. </div>
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little cosmic dust poem</div>
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by john haines</div>
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out of the debris of dying stars,</div>
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this rain of particles</div>
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that waters the waste with brightness...</div>
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the sea-wave of atoms hurrying home,</div>
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collapse of the giant,</div>
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unstable guest who cannot stay...</div>
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the sun's heart reddens and expands,</div>
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his mighty aspiration is lasting,</div>
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as the shell of his substanace</div>
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one day will be white with frost.</div>
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In the radiant field of orion</div>
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great hordes of stars are forming,</div>
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just as we see every night,</div>
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fiery and faithful to the end.</div>
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out of the cold and fleeing dust</div>
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that is never and always,</div>
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the silence and waste to come...</div>
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this arm, this hand,</div>
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my voice, your face, this love.</div>
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jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-92088072588110419552014-02-24T11:58:00.001-08:002016-01-11T13:16:31.252-08:00walking the coast path - bude to morwenstow - an adventure!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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we drink tea in the cafe on crooklets beach and begin our walk at 10am. we've been planning this trip for the last three saturdays and finally we have a lovely storm-free day with morning sun and a gentle breeze. there are three of us and a gorgeous little white dog with fur as soft as a cat. i'm told she is from the pyrenees where her father was a circus dog. he was killed by a wild pig before she was born. then at the age of two her mother was also killed by a wild pig. now at 15 she is as fit as ever but her little legs can't match our stride. </div>
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we haven't gone far before we come across a pregnant sheep that has collapsed in a field. we take a small diversion to find the farm and leave a message for the shepherd. not so much further on we find a sheep that has fallen off a steep edge and is lying half dead with blood streaming from its eye. it's hard to know what to do as there is no farm in sight. as we are considering options a pick-up arrives and a farmer and daughter brutally drag the sheep down the hill, through the stream. it's bent-back head bashes against the rocks. they hurl it into the back of the pick-up where it lands on its back. he drives off and it's legs are shaking in the air. it's so horrible to watch and we are all saddened. </div>
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the landscape echoes our feelings. jagged black rocks stand in rows like knives. the beach is ink-black stoned and bare. the cliffs are sharp with big overhangs and our path teeters on their edge. it's a harsh and barren landscape. hostile and menacing. spectacular and dramatic.</div>
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onwards we wander until we climb down to stanbury beach and have our picnic. again it's black and to my joy it's littered with fishing buoys and driftwood in large quantities. after soup and a sandwich i gather a large pile of wood. but my excitement turns to dismay as i start to discover seabirds. the beach is a cemetery of beautiful birds dashed against the stones. there are mainly guillemots, great northern divers, lots of razorbills, a couple of shags, a couple of fulmars and a puffin. there must be more than 50. the aftermath of the storms.</div>
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i sort through the wood wanting to take it all. i compromise and select just a large and heavy bagful! time is ticking by and i'm determined to get to hawker's hut. the eccentric clergyman, poet and antiquarian, parson hawker (1803-1875), built this tiny hut from driftwood and old ship's timbers. and apparently he spent many hours tucked away inside smoking opium and writing poetry! "other eccentricities attributed to him include dressing up as a mermaid and excommunicating his cat for mousing on sundays. he dressed in claret-coloured coat, blue fisherman's jersey, long sea-boots, a pink brimless hat and a poncho made from a yellow horse blanket, which he claimed was the ancient habit of st padarn. he talked to birds, invited his nine cats into church and kept a pig as a pet". what a man!! the entire interior of the hut is carved with names and dates, some as early as the 1890s. i'm envious of the solid oak timbers and fantasize about beachcombing in hawker's day. my bag of soft pine is a disappointing modern day equivalent. but thankfully it's a lot lighter.</div>
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we leave the coast and cut inland to morwenstow church. the gravestones are heavily patterned with lichen. it's past 4pm and we have a long way to go to get back to bude. the little white dog is carried to speed things up. we pick our way through a network of footpaths leading us past old stone farms untouched by time. we have discovered a very authentic part of cornwall. it's intriguing but there is no time for curiosity on this visit.</div>
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night falls and i'm beginning to feel a little responsible for the fact that we are NOWHERE near the end! i definitely underestimated how long it would take and on top of that i got a bit distracted with beachcombing! carrying a dog and a bag of wood throw an element of endurance into the mix. it's hard to see where the footpaths begin but somehow we manage. i've been surprised by how little mud there's been..... until now! the puddles in the squelchy mud reflect the sky enough to show us something of the path. my torch is faint but good enough to make out names on signs. we have to do a little back tracking but eventually we see the car welcoming us - a shining beacon of comfy seats. it's gone 8pm and we're very very tired. we have walked solidly for 9 hours. we stumble into the nearest pub bleary eyed and caked in mud. the dj is just setting up for the night's entertainment. i feel a little out of place. we joke about dancing. just standing up again feels like it could be a challenge.</div>
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<br />jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-91525800624533252572014-02-21T02:30:00.001-08:002014-02-24T11:47:28.916-08:00slowly slowly a studio is emerging.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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a little like the waking tortoiseshells in my previous post things are slowly coming together with my new studio space. they had to get a lot worse before they could get better. in january water started to come up through the floor and having chipped up most of the lino tiles and stripped everything back to a bare shell i could begin to see the source of the problems - always a risk when you delve deep behind years of remedial bodging - that you will discover things you didn't want to find!</div>
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february has been a crash course in damp. i've spoken to lots of people about damp, read all about damp, picked my way through many conflicting opinions and sought out a couple of damp experts. my biggest hurdle has been knowing whose advice to follow. i now understand a lot about traditional building materials, techniques, breathability and ventilation. i also understand the basic principles of modern building. the problem is when the two collide and there is a bit of both. i have a traditional granite wall but a thin and badly cast floor of concrete laid on bare earth. under the window bays i dug out sack after sack of damp earth and on one side hit concrete. the other side i just continued to dig and realised there had once been floorboards laid onto bare earth! they crumbled to dust as i tried to pull them up. now i have an indoor garden!</div>
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i have also realised that i do not find most builders very helpful. i have an idea of what i want to achieve and run it by a builder and am hit by a wall of nos, 'oh no you can't do that..... NO..... this is what you want to do'. and when i ask why not i'm told that that's just not how it's done. full stop. but slowly i'm weeding out my type of builder. that is a builder/artist. someone who knows about materials and how they work. someone who can think beyond the bounds and conventions of the building trade. i've been fortunate enough to meet a brilliant guy who is a builder but studied fine art sculpture. he was apprenticed to a builder (his dad) at 16 and went on to cast full size people (mostly himself) using building materials - concrete, bricks and resin in his work. i ran lots of my ideas by him and he said YES..... of course you can do that if you want to. at last i had found someone i could trust to chop out and rebuild the bottom section of my wall where the timbers had also been laid onto bare earth. this was a job i didn't want to do as it involved acro-props and maintaining the structural integrity of the building. fortunately it transpired that the wall everyone had told me was load bearing (after i'd already sawn out a big section !!) actually wasn't taking much weight after all (phew!)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">daylight under the wall!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a structural engineer's nightmare</td></tr>
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i've also had great advice from a friend who is a timber framer. he favours traditional methods and natural materials and has a sculptor's approach to building. like me, he doesn't like plastic and chemicals or thinks that it's necessary to use them. another friend is a lime plasterer and artist. he has introduced me to the cornish lime company who are passionate about reviving lime as a building material and dedicated to informing people about its benefits. they provide clear information on the different types and uses of lime, natural paint and finishes and much more.</div>
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i am committed to using sustainable, natural and recycled materials. i only want to give my money to companies who are not causing environmental damage. i do not want to fill my space with products that leach chemicals into the atmosphere. this mean putting a little more thought and research into things. and everything takes a little longer. but it's totally worth it.</div>
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so now with enthusiastic advice from the builder/sculptor i've started to take the ceiling down. this involves getting filthy - years of dust and soot and soil - MORE soil!! just how does that much soil get above a ceiling?! when i unblocked the fire place i ended up with a huge pile of granite and 55 sacks of sooty soil. i weighed one bag and estimated over a tonne of soil. the granite was claimed on free-cycle. the small and medium pieces went to a woman who is building a little wall around her pond. the large and extra large-too-heavy-for-me-to-lift-off-the-ground pieces have found a new home with an archeologist who is building a fire pit in his garden. it must be a big one!</div>
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so, onwards with the ceiling. the small joy of embarking upon this task is the knowledge that, within the main area, when this is done there really is nothing else i can possibly take out without demolishing the building itself! and amidst the dust and grime there are funny moments. balanced on the top rung of the ladder i levered a big piece of plasterboard off on three sides, closed my eyes as the layers of dust and soil slid past my head. i looked up thinking there was still more to come and was actually hit on the head by a porn magazine! that must have been stashed away beneath the floorboor boards for a few years. do i mention it to the neighbour i wonder?</div>
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jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8460619175087634758.post-86004190553606692022014-02-17T03:32:00.000-08:002014-02-21T11:07:39.209-08:00a touch of sunshine amidst storms<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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i swim and jump and ride in on the waves. the sea does not feel so cold. i dry in the sun against the warmth of a granite wall. the couple next to us pull a large cafetiere filled with steaming coffee out of a wicker picnic basket. breakfast on the beach.</div>
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sun pours in through the studio window. a hare speeds past my feet. i try to see its eyes but so fast - it's gone.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgigSjun5ktlhyphenhyphen0RUqB91xE8kEvyNJH1ueBqkELZmZsKyqBtBa3FvEroRu0y2rvlbgFPMTsp6P3SzBFzCT7BsKf4LQsMI6LamJohjavlZZY1okNKg2GCLMFVxhHJzKDafWYpBqPaKkxpeEp/s1600/sunday+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgigSjun5ktlhyphenhyphen0RUqB91xE8kEvyNJH1ueBqkELZmZsKyqBtBa3FvEroRu0y2rvlbgFPMTsp6P3SzBFzCT7BsKf4LQsMI6LamJohjavlZZY1okNKg2GCLMFVxhHJzKDafWYpBqPaKkxpeEp/s1600/sunday+3.jpg" height="256" width="640" /></a><br />
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two waking butterflies have found my indoor garden. they unfurl stiff wings. opening and closing and shaking over and over. one flies to the window. i rest a finger beneath it and it perches there, wings outstretched. i stand in the doorway and hold my hand to the sky. an ascending spiral of orange against an intense blue.<br />
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soaking in the sun after hibernation.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0YTOT0FFX1FUkXZiMbjBJ_hfodrt7_6Wno9kmBQBHp667b3sPfhLQysnFlSIo7i53LMtLhnSVNU7Tf1TbTZVfgsVbpA24z0E3C0subf0XswMo_13VeQ_aC9ps3TJlMyqQNRLBPZPl7yeG/s1600/sunday+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0YTOT0FFX1FUkXZiMbjBJ_hfodrt7_6Wno9kmBQBHp667b3sPfhLQysnFlSIo7i53LMtLhnSVNU7Tf1TbTZVfgsVbpA24z0E3C0subf0XswMo_13VeQ_aC9ps3TJlMyqQNRLBPZPl7yeG/s1600/sunday+5.jpg" height="256" width="640" /></a><br />
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yesterday i planted crocuses. i dug a bulb sized hole and unearthed an inkwell. today i run it under the tap and see it still contains a dried pool of ink. buried under my floor for many many years. the glass is iridescent and shimmers with a rainbow in this february sun.<br />
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jo kehyaianhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11326920028911779302noreply@blogger.com0