The hazel hedgerows of Forge Road

Just under an hour on the train from London Bridge is a small station called Eridge. Get off there and walk down the lane next to the railway and you soon feel like you’re much further from the capital than you really are. I come down here on the way to Harrison’s Rocks, the sandstone crags that provide the nearest proper rock climbing to London, but it’s so beautiful it’s a fine destination in it’s own right. As you walk down Forge Road on the way to to the crag you pass some lovely hazel hedgerows. I never tire of this walk, it’s magical whatever time of year and whatever the weather. Here are a few pics taken over the last year walking up and down this lane, some i’ve tinkered with a bit in Photogene –

The hazel hedgerows in June last year

And last winter

Beautiful frosty leaves early this Spring

A tree swallowing a boulder at Harrison’s Rocks

Wonderful skeletal shapes in March

And here’s a painting I did last year inspired by the hedgerows

On Saturday we went down to Harrison’s for a climb. It turned out to be a gorgeous hot, sunny day and we had a ball. The climbing was great fun, the routes quirky and challenging, and the countryside at it’s most swooningly beautiful. I’m feeling inspired again to do some more paintings about Forge Road and Harrison’s Rocks, this time exploring collage to do landscapes. I think Derek Jarman once referred to this county as ‘poor ruined Kent’ but it was looking fine and dandy this weekend – and he chose to live there so he must have known a thing or two 😉

Foliate Heads – Little Green Men

Foliate Heads, or green men have always fascinated me, ever since I saw one peering out at me from some carved fronds of oak leaves in an old stone church when i was a child. Although the carving was over 600 years old, the leafy face seemed more alive than the dreary service going on around me. William Anderson, in his book .The Green Man’ described them as a symbol of ‘irrepressible life’ which sums them up best for me. There are a great many books tracing their origins and meanings but, whatever our ancestors were thinking of when they carved the first heads with the leaves sprouting from the face or spewing from the mouth all those hundreds of years ago, they still touch many of us now, just as powerfully. In our ‘modern’ age, too, they represent out link with the natural world, a relationship that can seem strained or even broken at times.

I enjoy drawing them often, sometimes as rudimentary squiggles  in the margins of papers during long and tedious work meetings, sometimes over and over in sketchbooks; all you need is a couple of eyes and a sprig of greenery and you’ve got him, or her – no two are the same, each has it’s own character, no matter how many you draw them. They’re like snowflakes, billions of repeated, similar shapes, but each one unique, never to be seen quite the same again.

Since the proliferation of these characters all over churches and cathedrals throughout the twelfth and thirteenth centuries the green man (and woman, although there don’t seem to be so many of them for some reason) has never really gone away and over the last few decades has enjoyed renewed flowerings now and again, each time popping up in new and intriguing guises. From the 1940’s, for example, John Piper, forsaking his earlier experiments with pure abstraction, fused simplified, geometric shapes with his highly successful development of a dramatic and romantic representation of the British landscape and architecture. He went on to created foliate heads in paint, ceramics and stained glass during the second half of his career, such as the Foliate Heads II below from 1975.

Some years later, the green man popped up again in the brilliantly realised and much more overtly political graphic novel character, ‘Swamp Thing’. Swamp Thing  is definitely my favourite incarnation of the green man of recent times. As a character in a graphic novel, especially during the period when Alan Moore was writing for the character in the ’80’s, we get to know him well, and we become absorbed in his story which is set in our own age, not the distant past or some mythical realm. Swamp Thing was different to many previous realisations of the archetype; he walked the earth, interacted with the world, and had an emotional, romantic and sexual relationship with another human being, Abby. Here are a few frames from the story ‘Rite of Spring’ published in 1985 – you never got this kind of thing going on with the Green Man before!:

Over the last few months I’ve been taking great delight in a series of foliate heads that Clive Hick-Jenkins has been producing to illustrate a new book of poetry by Marly Youmans. Clive’s paintings, drawings and maquettes are always staggeringly good and his bold, yet subtle green men are no exception. Earlier this year Clive also found time to coordinate an open exhibition of maquettes which he showed on his wonderful blog, http://clivehicksjenkins.wordpress.com/.

Clive was kind enough to include a sort of foliate head I did for the exhibition. Making this piece renewed my interest in the subject and really fired up my enthusiasm for using collage. I’ve been working through a few ideas for creating some green men collages and the first couple are below: I can see myself spending quite a bit of time developing these over the coming weeks so lots more will be popping up here…..

Hawthorn – it’s frothy man

I woke up early on Bank Holiday Monday morning to see this strange glowing disk climbing into a sky that was a weird bluish colour. Apparently, in the olden days, this used to be quite a common sight! How times have changed, in more ways than one; back in the day at that hour of a Bank Holiday Monday I’d just be coming home from a night out, usually in a minicab, crossing Tower Bridge and exclaiming ‘oh, what a beautiful sunrise – ah, no, that’s just the hallucinagenics’. Nowerdays, though, I’m up and out with the camera to take pictures of flowers and do some sketching, which is, I have to say, much more enjoyable, although admitting as such is not very rock’n’roll, I know.

So  I wandered down the road to Stave Hill Ecological Park in Canada Water, just a stones’ throw from Canary Wharf. Stave Hill is a very well planned and managed urban nature park. It’s quite small but packs in loads of interest and feels like ‘proper’ countryside – seeing as most of our rural countryside is pretty heavily managed as well, it might as well be. It’s certainly beautiful, and in the bright, early morning spring sunshine, the fresh green leaves and blossom looked wonderful.

I saw a path through the trees and took the following photo –

Stave Hill Park, Bank Hols, 2012

It looked a bit like Graham Sutherland’s painting Entrance to Lane which he completed around 1939 after spending time in Pembrokeshire. I was struck how import and powerful these tiny fragments of green space are; people living in the centre of London can come here and get something similar to a place that inspired one of the great neo-romantic masterpieces of the 20th Century.

Entrance to a Lane, Graham Sutherland, 1939

But what really got my juices flowing at Stave Hill was the Hawthorn blossom. I’ve always adored Hawthorn and the sight and smell of it has been one of the most vivid springtime experiences for me every year.

National treasure David Hockney obviously thinks so too as he devoted a whole room to these small trees in flower in his recent stupendous Royal Academy show. Here’s one of the more exuberent canvases, Hawthorne Blossom, Woldgate No. 6 . These smaller canvases where he really lets rip were some of my favourites in the whole show.

Hawthorne Blossom, Woldgate No.6, 2009, David Hockney

At the sight of all the creamy flowers covering Stave Hill, a phrase popped into my head that has been lodged there ever since I was a child in the ’70s –

The Cresta Bear, 1970s

I think the creator of the Cresta Bear was the great John Webster. It was advertising that worked; I loved the bear so I wanted the drink. What’s more, it’s stayed with me all these years and had me saying out loud on meeting a fine hawthorn bush one morning ‘it’s frothy man!’