Moments of magic

As we approach September, the early mornings are still warm but there is a freshness in the air that whispers autumn secrets.

Walking through the gardens below the castle on my way to work on Friday, the sky was pure azure blue behind the white stone of the towering keep and bridge, and the sun shone through the green leaves of the trees and ivy casting a hazy glow across my eyes.

 

Two white feathers floated overhead, and a dragonfly dived over my shoulder. One of those moments that was perfectly captured in words in the novel A Single Man by Christopher Isherwood:

 

“A few times in my life I’ve had moments of absolute clarity. When for a few brief seconds the silence drowns out the noise and I can feel rather than think, and things seem so sharp and the world seems so fresh. It’s as though it had all just come into existence.

 

“I can never make these moments last. I cling to them, but like everything, they fade. I have lived my life on these moments. They pull me back to the present, and I realise that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be.”

Do you have these moments?

Yorkshire haunts

Back home after a week of adventure, discovery and unforgettable moments in Yorkshire, and now I must try to keep the magic alive as we return to routine and all those mundane necessities of daily life that try their hardest to distract us.

We stayed in a small converted barn just outside the small town of Helmsley. I instantly bonded with the landscape that surrounded the building, and I already miss it. It had its own spirit, and a perfectly organised community of wildlife. The owl lived in the trees to the left. The rooks gathered in the tree to the rear during the day and migrated over to the trees to the right as dusk approached, squawking away until the sun vanished behind them. The bats lived at the farm, and at the same time each evening began to circle our barn, swooping past the front door and back again where moths gathered in the light. And what was that in the undergrowth..? One evening we saw the most beautiful sunset, with a double rainbow opposite, and on another occasion part of a halo around the sun.

During the week we explored 12th- and 13th-century abbey ruins at Roche, Fountains, Rievaulx, Byland and Whitby, walking in the footsteps of monks, Reformists and of course Bram Stoker, who drew inspiration from the latter site for his novel Dracula.

We visited regal estates such as Castle Howard, featured in both the television series and recent film of Brideshead Revisited; Brodsworth Hall (the interior of which is almost exactly as I imagine Miss Havisham's house to be in Great Expectations - minus the cobwebs and wedding feast!); and the atmospheric Nunnington Hall and its nearby All Saints church, which houses an effigy that rather disappointingly did not turn out to be of the legendary dragon-slayer Peter Loschy, as I had read prior to our pilgrimage.

We also found fossils under the cliffs at Staithes, and ate seaweed offered to us by a passing fisherman, and our mild fascination with the paranormal took us to two haunted pubs, the Malt Shovel at Oswaldkirk and the Golden Fleece in York. Alas, there was no welcome from beyond the grave!

By far the most magical experience, though, was Mother Shipton's cave. As we walked towards it through the moss and the twisted, grasping roots of the trees that make up the last remaining strip of the Royal Forest of Knaresborough - and some excellent modern-day sculptures that are in perfect harmony with their surroundings - with squirrels scuttling and fairies flitting in our peripheral vision, it became increasingly evident just how special a place this is.

Little wonder, then, that it produced such a visionary woman! Ursula Sontheil, or Mother Shipton as she came to be known, was born to a young single mother on a stormy night in 1488, in the dark cave at the end of this forest path, next to a waterfall that turns objects to stone, and she became a renowned prophetess, witch and wise woman.


My Oak King and I couldn't resist a second visit on our way home on the last day, after a final twilight outside the barn, where a golden waning moon emerged from a black dragon's mouth and a distant storm flickered on the horizon, while the bats circled and a meteor flamed above our heads.

Paths of discovery

A couple of weeks ago I embarked on a little tour around some of the artists' studios in Norwich, as part of the annual Norfolk & Norwich Open Studios initiative.

It's one of those things I seem to always miss - either I forget to check the dates and then discover it's been and gone for another year, or it coincides with some other event that has to take priority. Heritage Open Day is another classic <makes mental note to add to diary>. But this year, I succeeded in making an impressive 11 studio and gallery visits, and I'm so very glad I did.

First came a lunchtime stroll to the Fairhurst Gallery. I'd walked past the sign so many times, but never actually ventured down the little passageway between the buildings, under the bunting, to the entrance. Inside was a display of twisting, foreboding, knarled and evocative tree portraits in mixed media by Alex Egan, who had really captured their essence - not to mention the very reasons why trees are so special to me.

Next on the agenda was the Anteros Arts Foundation, alongside the King of Hearts cafe. It's a venue I know well having attended several talks there and it has the most wonderful atmosphere, so I was eager to explore the gallery space during this event. As it turned out, I was also able to meet one of the resident artists there - Annie Hudson, whose work was on display.

Cliff faces - somehow simultaneously smooth and textured - rose majestically from pastel seas, while others plunged downward like waterfalls; craggy crevices succumbed to coastal corrosion; sky merged with plant life, plant life with rock, and rock with sea. I absorbed it all with wide eyes, before wandering up the stairs to the studio, having failed to formulate any kind of constructive questions or conversation before reaching the door. Luckily, this proved to be no hindrance, and I enjoyed a thoroughly inspiring chat with Annie. I left the building feeling quite excited about life and its possibilities.

 

During the following week I viewed, among others, an exhibition of various artworks inspired by climate change at the Greenhouse Trust (a completely new discovery); a selection of paintings and ceramics at The Jade Tree and the Buddhist Centre; and a whole network of studio spaces at the Muspole Workshops, which housed printmaker Sally Hirst, painter Martin Laurance (whose postcards have made a perfect memento of my visit!), jewellery-maker Hazel Davison and intaglio and relief printmaker Martin Mitchell.

 

So, the moral of this story is: take every opportunity you are presented with to discover new things. You never know what you may find or how it may influence your life path!

 

www.anniehudson.co.uk

www.muspoleworkshops.co.uk

alexegan.co.uk

greenhousetrust.co.uk

www.thejadetree.co.uk/studios

 

Featured painting: Winter Trees by Annie Hudson

The spirit of the forest

Last weekend I felt the call of the forest – more specifically, a patch of Norfolk woodland that my Oak King and I had not visited for some time.

It’s a strange place. I can’t quite put my finger on the reason why, but it feels almost unreal. You know that curious sensation when you reflect on an especially vivid dream? That’s the sensation I have when I’m there. It’s not a bad feeling. Just strange.

Beginning at the church, and its huge ash with knarled, twisting trunk and carpet of bluebells below, we walked along the root-ridden path, past the random, ragged hand-sewn objects that hang from the branches – a spider on a web, a dreamcatcher, something that possibly used to be a dragonfly etc – and the groups of brightly painted totem poles that stand juxtaposed against the surrounding brown, grey and mossy trees.

Ferns were unfurling, bluebells gathered in patches of sunlight, and unblinking eyes peered out at us from the beech trunks.

Crossing the lane at the end and entering the younger Millennium Wood, the mood changes. The canopy is much lower, blossom swirls and fluffy seeds float up from fields of wildflowers. Crops in the adjoining field, just visible through the bracken, glow gold in the sunlight. Then the path plunges back into ancient woodland, down a slope riddled with claw-like roots, past a green pond, and into the freshness of the shade.

Felled trees are consumed by moss and returned to the earth; upturned stumps crawl with insect life; rabbit burrows punctuate the ground; and even the occasional fairy door can be found… if you know where to look.

Wending our way back to complete the circuit, we returned to the Millennium Woods. Past the 'swap box', which currently only contains one or two magazines and drapes of web (we really must put something in there next time), and onward along the path back to the lane.

At which point my Oak King took on my usual role of being over-inquisitive to the point of discovering something quite ghastly. On this occasion it was a squirrel’s tail, formed into a circle and hung from a branch. A warning perhaps? Or a magical charm? Or maybe just an unfortunate accident? I’d be interested to know if anyone else has seen such a thing!

 

Travelling with the Green Man

We're developing quite a collection of Green Men around our house - each with his own distinctive personality and mood.

I've long found myself drawn to him as a symbol surrounded by intrigue and magic, and simply as a representation of nature; his leafy face often providing a calming, comforting influence.

Now more than ever his role comes to the fore - according to Pagan tradition he falls in love with and wins the hand of the Maiden Goddess on May Eve. Their union is consumated, and, as the May King and May Queen, they become a symbol of sacred marriage and fertility - celebrated at the Beltane fire festival each year. As a personification of the abundance of Earth he also heralds the approaching harvest, with some fruit and vegetables already coming into season.

As is the case with many ancient Pagan symbols, the Green Man came to be adopted by the Christian church, and there are now many wonderful gargoyles, bench ends and bosses around the UK that feature his face, such as at Fountains Abbey and Norwich Cathedral.

The first Green Man to come into my life caught my eye in a shop close to Tintagel Castle in Cornwall (a most memorable day trip!). I love his pale leaves, friendly face and highlights of gold. He now watches over my desk and gives me inspiration.

The next (right) was spotted by my own Oak King for his cheeky expression. He has eyes that seem to follow you around the room, and move when caught in your peripheral vision!

My most recent verdant acquaintance was this determined-looking fellow (below), who called out to me on a visit to one of my most favourite shops - Inanna's Magical Gifts in Norwich. I had gone there specifically to buy something to cheer myself up during a difficult week, and perhaps to help guide me. Unsurprisingly I was drawn to leaves and the promise of growth and new beginnings (as affirmed by shop owner Naomi), and this chap's expression was just perfect - reassuring, yet full of plans!

The latter two Green Men come from a huge range made by Jane and Steve Whitehouse at Hedgerow Designs, which I especially love. They are available at Inanna's and many other shops across the country (see hdol.co.uk for stockists).

As William Anderson, author of Green Man: The Archetype of our Oneness with the Earth, correctly said: "The Green Man signifies irrepressible life. Once he has come into your awareness, you will find him speaking to you wherever you go."

Featured painting: Lammas by Amanda Clark

Welcome to May!

Despite the cooler temperature this week, there have been some beautiful mornings and evenings to cheer the soul.

I've particularly enjoyed my early morning walks to work, with sunlight streaming through the river-side willows, still in early growth, and increasing amounts of colour in the flowerbeds and hedgerows. On one occasion I even had a nonchalant magpie stomping through the grass alongside me, with the sun catching his iridescent wings.

Now is the time to live, love and look forward to the coming summer. If you're heading out on any May Day excursions or to Beltane celebrations this weekend, enjoy! And look out for another blog post soon - I think a focus on Green Man lore would be timely, and I feel some jewellery-related inspiration coming on!

Blodeuedd, goddess of the flowers

Spring has arrived, and as leaves begin to unfurl and early flowers bloom, I find myself put firmly in mind of Blodeuedd - surely one of the most enchanting of all characters in The Mabinogion.

And that's saying something; The Mabinogion is, after all, brimming over with enchantment! (Do hunt out a copy if you haven't already. As a 19th-century translation of folk tales rooted in pre-14th-century Welsh history, it's not the easiest book to read, but it's certainly one of the most spellbinding!)

Perhaps it is because this particular tale provides the reader (or listener, in oral tradition) with so many opportunities to use his or her imagination that makes it acutely memorable. We can immediately conjure up in our mind's eye our own image of this Welsh goddess, created from flowers of oak, broom and meadowsweet by magicians Math son of Mathonwy and Gwydion son of Don. Kaleidoscopic, blossoming, verdant, fragrant, beautiful, alluring.

We can feel the intensity and drama of the moment at which her husband, Lleu Llaw Gyffes, is tricked and murdered by her lover Gronw Pebr, Lord of Penllyn, and instantly transforms into an eagle, soaring away into the sky. We can then visualise in glorious technicolour the transformation of Blodeuedd into an owl by one of the very magicians who created her; a punishment for her betrayal.

"You will not dare to show your face in the light of day ever again, and that will be because of enmity between you and all other birds. It will be in their nature to harass you and despise you wherever they find you. And you will not lose your name - that will always be 'Bloddeuwedd' (Flower-face)," are the haunting words issued by an unapologetic Gwydion as he casts his spell.

I first discovered this most cinematic of stories deep in the damp, mist-shrouded Dyfi Valley in Wales - an area rich in Early Bronze Age history and holding many secrets locked away in its imposing mountains. Needless to say this added to its resonance for me! But do find the legend for yourselves, and see what meaning it holds for you...

Featured painting: Summer Breeze by Josephine Wall