It’s about what I bring home with me. Not where I’ve been.
In my pocket a shell that I’ve been turning over and over, in my bag feathers, in my hand twigs, gnarly Ash branches, lichen covered sticks or pine branches, probably leaving a trail of my wanderings. More - seed pods, pinecones, pebbles, sometimes rocks too big to carry comfortably but I am compelled bring them back, nevertheless.
And what am I doing? Collecting objects I find beauty in, bringing nature into my home for the times its lost to me. Making a nest. If I imagine this in my bedroom it would be an untidy affair, with heavy stones and rocks making foundations around the skirtings, branches and twigs reaching up to the picture rail, wrapping round my dressing table, over the chest of drawers until the scenes on the wallpaper fade, become obscured and the new swirl and texture take over.
Threaded into this bright autumn leaves that caught my eye, pinecones, spilling their seeds onto the carpet, feathers, some dense dark colours others patterned and light. Seed pods, some have already scattered their contents, others are full and waiting for the right moment, long and twisted or short and fat with future growth.
This is a daydream, a fancy, but I do bring these things back with me and I store them in my workshop or scatter them around the house, then I start to build them into my pottery. Nests, boxes with birds sat on the lids, a crow holding a candle to light the room and strange benevolent creatures following our days.
I would like to never be far from what nature can show me, I would like to talk endlessly about our relationship with the world and our place in it. Using these markers of the natural world is my way of starting the conversation, looking back to traditions and describing what we have now, but always looking forward to how we can change things.