A day at the Dove

It was the second day of Somerset Art Weeks, a perfect autumn day, and I was stewarding in the Print Studio, surrounded by astounding works of art.
A steady trickle of completely wonderful people.
Chance meetings and deep conversations.
Discoveries.
The dramatic rescue of a trapped dragonfly.
Autumnal nostalgia.

In the foregound: Bron Bradshaw’s piano-hinge books in tall handbuilt pots. The one on the left was made from clay dug from a hole in the field, eight feet deep. The other two were smoked after firing. On the right are some of Bron’s tree-ink pourings above a collection of her small smoked pots. On the left, darkroom photographs by Myfanwy Morris.

Jaisalmer Fort: sculptural book by Caroline Mornement

Sculptural books by Guy Begbie

I love this photo, Mountain, by Myfanwy Morris, and the stories it suggests

Kathryn John’s metitative installation in the Tree house, complete with writing desk, ink, pen and paper

The dragonfly stayed on Jane’s hand long enough for her to remove the cobwebs entangling its wings. Then it flew off!

I did manage to jot down a few eavesdroppings :
September Dove-droppings

Seven summers
a buzzard and rooks
a splodge of colour

five days in a dustbin
too hot to touch
completely burnt

I don’t even know where they are
the precarious trees
colour-coded

she’s taken up rowing
tinkering on the piano
in the darkroom

we’ve got through it
we’ve changed
learned to love the dark

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