gert macky

gert macky, originally uploaded by Dru Marland.

Here's the logo for Gert Macky Books, at least until something simpler comes along. I think the chap in the basket may be Brunel. Maybe the woman is Sarah Guppy, Bristolian pioneer of the modern suspension bridge.

I'm ploughing on with the pictures for Inking Bitterns, an anthology of wildlife poetry, to which some really rather good poets have contributed some really nice poems. More details on the poets in question later, though Deborah Harvey, Alana Farrell, John Terry, Liz Brownlee and Alan Summers are in there for sure.

Here are some redwings, on my drawing board at the moment.

It's getting quite exciting; it only occured to me a couple of weeks ago that the anthology might be a good idea, and now I'm trying to get it all done and published in good time for Christmas.

inking a bittern

bittern, originally uploaded by Dru Marland.

Another picture for the poetry anthology. I wanted to do a simple, slightly stylised reedbed. I've used inks for everything. Everything is outlined in India ink, because it is vividly black. I used dip pens because the lines respond more to pressure, as opposed to Rotring style pens which give a line of constant width.

The colour is Sennelier sepia and sienna, with a bit of India ink thrown in for the darker detailing. The ink's brighter than watercolour, but the wash is slightly uneven in places. Maybe I should have diluted it a bit more, and dampened the paper before laying down the ink.

egret triolet

So white a bird, the egret sails
Serene above the Severn mud
That smirches us, but can't assail
So white a bird; the egret sails.
Our boots sink in; we flounder, flail.
We'd rise and follow, if we could,
So white a bird. The egret sails
Serene above the Severn mud.

Westbury primroses

Westbury primroses, originally uploaded by Dru Marland.

Here's a new picture. It's based on a rail trip I made from Southampton to Bristol one March day, having been at sea for some weeks. The landscape was rain-washed and a bit end-of-winter-y, but then I saw the primroses.

I'm collecting nature poems for a small illustrated anthology. Contributions or suggestions welcomed...

new cards for Christmas, or possibly Winterval *cough*

 

I picked up the first batch of this year's Christmas cards from Minuteman Press yesterday. They've turned out nicely, I think!

This one is inspired by Thomas Hardy's poem The Oxen

...and this one is called Christmas on the Cut. Because it's been quite a canal-orientated year for me...

I've got them up for sale in packs of five, on my Etsy shop. If you would like lots, do get in touch and we can try to sort something out! ...I'm learning about selling as I go along, of course....

Arts and Crafts in deepest Somerset

Detouring from the North Somerset Arts Trail with Deb and Catherine, we bounced down one of those tracks that have grass growing in the middle, swung open a gate, and so arrived at the church of St Peter at Hornblotton. Deb and Cath had been before and were very enthusastic; my initial impression was favourable for a 19th century church- there was a warm glow from the yellow-brown stone that went well with the mid-autumnal trees that surrounded it. There's Cath outside the church; in the foreground is the ruin of the old tower, that apparently fell down, which is a shame, as it looks quite fun. Did it jump or was it pushed? (There's a picture of the old church here, on Phil Merryman's web page)

Inside is very exciting! The walls are decorated in sgraffito; the outer layer of plaster was removed while still damp, to reveal the strawberry-coloured underlayer. So there is a subtle three-dimensional element to the decoration and lettering that fills the walls.

And the marquetry is fine and, in the case of the choir stalls, very subtle- each place has a different wild bird inlaid. Here is a kingfisher, choosing a fish

The lectern rotates, to give the two messages that 'the letter killeth'

 ....but ''the spirit giveth life'

I particularly liked the small window in the west wall, with its greens and browns. They're a bit bleached out in this picture; I really must go back with a tripod! -These pictures were limited by the low light levels and my ability to balance the camera on something to steady it....

Saint Elizabeth

Cornelius the Centurion

the Ethiopian eunuch

Zephyr

I wonder how you always find your way back home.
I’m really small, in the back seat of the Zephyr that you drive,
And we’re off to Preston, to the shops. But you went alone
That trip you never came back home from. You were thirty five.

We wandered in the wreckage of our grief for you
That hurts too much to think of, even yet.
When father met and married someone new
I felt betrayed he could so easily forget.

Which was of course unkind. With craftsman’s touch,
He was forever building stuff and moving on,
And drank, as did we all, too often and too much.
And died. I wished we’d talked. That moment’s gone.

I sometimes wonder what you’d think of how things went for me
And then recall the love. That’s what matters. That is family.

I was hugely pleased (and frankly surprised!) that this poem was in the 'commended' category in the Yeovil Literary Prize competition.

 This poem took its theme from a NaPoWriMo prompt by Jo Bell : "write about your parents in a rough sonnet. Six lines on your mum, six lines on your dad - finish with two lines on you. If you want to make it a Shakespearean sonnet, it needs to rhyme ABAB CDCD EFEF GG. But I'll let you off if it doesn't. Some of you will have touched on the subject before - but it's one of the great inexhaustibles, isn't it?"