I was teaching my students how to paint ivy leaves yesterday. Ivy is a difficult plant to paint, with its dark, grey-green colour and white veins. I like how it often has a purple or crimson-ish stem which, if you look carefully, seems to twist around like fine snakes weaving in and out of each other.
Once apon a time I used to live in a basement flat with a garden, at the end of which was the railway track carrying the Piccadilly and District Line tube trains into London. There was an ugly concrete wall separating my garden from the long drop down to the track on the other side. A great mass of ivy grew up and over this wall in a fairytale fashion. I tried to encourage this ivy, but one day the railway workmen cut it down and threw it over to my side of the wall.
Upon landing, the ivy curled over itself and formed a long tube. My dog Monty (a small terrier) loved investigating this tube and rummaging through it. Over time, the ‘ivy parcels’ continued to arrive and, eventually, my back garden became a maze of tunnels. I was impressed at how the ivy managed to stay alive, and indeed thrive, albeit in this tubular form.
From 20th March till the 31st, the founder of the Library of Obscure Wonders is having a solo exhibition at Hundred Years Gallery in Hoxton, London UK. Very near Hoxton station. There will also be events connected to the exhibition including a live improvised music and drawing session on Saturday 23rd, starting at 4.30pm. Bring your own drawing materials.
Enrolment deadline approaches for the Imperial College Monday evening class.
Drawing and Painting from Nature uses nature as the starting point for making rewarding and expressive art. Not only does nature inspire us to make art, often we find ourselves feeling closer to nature through the act of making art.
On this course we will learn some of the technical and creative skills associated with different approaches to drawing and painting from natural objects, and discover some of the history behind this kind of art.
Tree in the winter, with tough ivy and ferns growing on its trunk and branches. Jo Fisher Roberts
The cat (her name is Miss) and I sit by the window staring at the tree outside. She’s watching the magpie. I’m watching the branches and how they form intricate patterns against the grey winter sky.
Branches are for the effective distribution of nutrients throughout the tree. The recent history of a tree can be told in its branches as you can tell where buds have died off, and where others have survived. An oak tree branch is strong and grows almost at right angles from the tree. You’ll see that the buds on the lower side, where there is less light, tend to have died off, whereas the ones on the upper side divide off. In some instances, though, the branch will not follow the pattern you might expect, but will branch out in an unusual direction in search of space or nutrients. The oak’s branches always remind me of frilly petticoats; its large stern splits into smaller and smaller bobbly twigs, and I can imagine its lace-like leaves as dancers twirling their skirts about.
I’ve bought myself a little book on something called ‘Li’ – dynamic form in nature. Li is presented as the Chinese concept of organic patterns. These patterns, rather like platonic forms, can be found throughout nature and seem to form building blocks throughout the natural world. Nothing is dead, but dynamic patterns are embodied in all living things, as well as in human relationships. The book states, “Physicists have long abandoned older notions of a static material substantiality in favour of a view that regards substance as the product of energetic forces that are ceaselessly at work in the universe”.
This reminds me somewhat of the days when I used to teach geometry. Plato had this idea of form as you probably know, absolute shapes that were beyond the here and now and which all things were based on. This is problematic for me, one reason being that it seems to create the idea of static perfection as the ideal, what one should aim to achieve. Nature is dynamic, forever changing. This is why I like the sound of Li; the patterns are forever changing. I have tried using geometry in my drawings of nature, but I found it makes them look too static. These days I seek that sense of life and vitality that some artists manage to achieve in their work.
Yet there are building blocks that appear over and over again in nature: the hexagon that the bees use to build their honeycomb, the spiral that the fern unravels from and which the snail lives in, the chameleon’s curled tail…
Gardening again today. A crisp November morning, I’m pleased to leave my flat and walk outside along the leafy roads to the Almorah Community Centre. A cold blue grey sky is lined with the golden leaves – sycamores and lime trees.
The Almorah garden group huddle around a table in the centre of the hall, discussing our plans for the garden. After coffee, we go outside. Today I layout where the pond will be and mark it. There is no spade at present, so I outline the pond with sticks, a trowel and my hands. My mum said last summer that she loves digging the earth so much that once she can no longer dig, she wants to die. A rather dramatic love of digging, but today I can understand it. There is something very enjoyable about pushing and plundering through mud, this rich dark soil, full of so much life and potential. “Mud, mud, glorious mud!”…
One warm evening in the summer, I found myself looking after Marina‘s tomato plant. She was on holiday somewhere exotic, I was looking after her plants while she was away. It felt rather exotic on this balcony in Dalston London, so hot and with so many plants and oh so many red juicy tomatoes, I just had to sit down and draw them before I ate them. They were delicious!
I don’t know why she calls it a killer tomato plant. Maybe I’ll find out…
Today I am weeding at the Almorah centre. This is a small community centre with garden at the end of Almorah Road in Islington, London. I discovered it a few years back when I was exploring the area.
When I first saw it I thought; “if only I could do my art classes from there!” It is five minutes from where I live, and has a great garden for drawing plants and wildlife in. Nothing much was happening there at the time. I tried to contact the centre but didn’t get any response and it was looking somewhat abandoned.
Then a week or two ago a I saw a sign up on the wall of the centre. It said it was reopening and needed people to run classes there. Of course I jumped at the chance. Today I was there at the centre weeding that same garden. I’m going to be holding art classes there. I spent the day digging up weeds in the entrance. It’s such a lovely place. I really hope this works out.
There were weeds growing up amongst all the paving slabs and I was digging them up with my hands. I was surprised at how much life was there, how much had grown in the short amount of time it was left unused. The place hasn’t been used since activities there were stopped due to Covid. Now there was a whole ecosytem growing amongst the concrete slabs. Ants carrying tiny seeds from one place to another, spiders swinging across the walk way, a small black slug curled up on a leaf, and one very long red worm racing across from one side of the concrete to another.
And I feel bad destroying part of this new ecosystem. I suppose it has to be done so people don’t trip over on the way in, a question of balance. I remember how my mum used to grow herbs between the cracks of paving slabs so that when you trod on them you got the smell of the herbs.
There is a large weed growing up by the entrance gate. It has dark leaves and light violet/purple flowers. Bees are buzzing round the flowers. I can’t bring myself to tear this one out of the ground, not whilst the bees are so busy there. I’ll leave it behind and hope that the other volunteers and visitors will appreciate the flowers like I do.
Later that day:
I did do a quick sketch of the flowering plant and when I got home looked up this lovely blue weed. Turns out it is called a Blue Aster, or Lady in Blue, it is often popular with gardeners because if flowers so late in the year. It is a much appreciated herb in many places. Its flowers can be eaten and go well in salads, its roots can also be eaten to relax the lungs and help coughs and colds. It is thought to be a lucky plant and represents new beginnings.
Well I’m starting a new beginning here at the Almorah Centre so I’m very glad I didn’t chop it down!
My classes in drawing nature at The Almorah Centre start on the 19th October, 6 till 8, and continue once a week for eight weeks. They cost £18 a class, £15 if you are on a low wage or unemployed. Contact me on jofisherroberts@icloud.com, 07531065040, or just come along.
The Library of Obscure Wonders 