Lark Ascending

Anne’s room captures the breadth of the grieving process in textural detail as a body of works move the viewer from dark to light and static to fluid. Traveling across the works through some of those dark things. They speak of fingers pressing paint into canvas and paper, rubbed raw as though they have been digging in the earth.

From Cerebral To Tactile

Anne states “I am aware that there have been a few moments when I have realised that something has somehow ‘moved’ or ‘changed.’ I am a very cerebral person and words are important to me so this process has accessed something different and deeper... It has reminded me that I enjoy the creative process. Tim was extremely creative in many areas of his life so participating has enabled me to think about those aspects and to ‘draw near to him’.” This reflection encapsulates Anne’s own understanding of how the process has impacted her and shifted her relationship with her husband Tim. By considering what to make and how to work with materials she has been given time and space to think about the meaning of her husband’s life, considering the things that were important to him and translating them into her own life. As well as being an Anglican vicar Tim was also a composer and it is this element that Anne has been interested in capturing. The pieces hold a kind of textural musicality that she identifies with in an intimate way. She has in a sense translated the music within the pieces themselves. The movement within the pieces that Anne refers to and the thickness or thinness of the whiting function as textual crescendos and diminuendos within the collection, which reflect how her own emotions grow and soften over time. The limited colour palette of black and white emphasises the textures and focuses the eye upon the contrasts. There are two main inspirations that embody the works: Vaughan Williams’s The Lark Ascending a piece of musical composition that Tim loved in life and a poem from Prudentius that was spoken at his graveside.

Prudentius in Canvas

Take him, earth, for cherishing, to thy tender breast receive him. Body of a man I bring thee, noble even in its ruin. Once was this a spirit’s dwelling, by the breath of God created. High the heart that here was beating, Christ the prince of all its living. Guard him well, the dead I give thee, not unmindful of his creature shall he ask it: he who made it symbol of his mystery. Comes the hour God hath appointed to fulfil the hope of men, then must thou, in very fashion, what I give, return again. Not though ancient time decaying wear away these bones to sand, ashes that a man might measure in the hollow of his hand: Not though wandering winds and idle, drifting through the empty sky, scatter dust was nerve and sinew, is it given to man to die. Once again the shining road leads to ample Paradise; open are the woods again, that the serpent lost for men Take, O take him, mighty leader, take again thy servant’s soul. Grave his name, and pour the fragrant balm upon the icy stone.