In 2012, whilst visiting Canada, I trekked in Ontario's Algonquin Provincial Park [don't let the word 'park' fool you - I'm talking about getting on for the size of Wales], much loved by Canada's most famous artist son, Tom Thompson, and the Group of Seven. In Toronto's City Art Gallery I saw some of the paintings that grew out of their love of the Canadian landscape, Algonquin in particular, and was inspired to turn to my own landscape in Shropshire, England.
Back in 1985, I'd made this small weaving of a vase of elder leaves about to drop, using tapestry to 'sketch' what I saw in front of me before it was no more. I'd no experience of weaving straight onto the loom, having always designed my tapestries in advance, often attempting sample patches first, and was pleased with what I'd achieved. However, the experiment remained a one-off - until my Algonquin trip.
In the spring of 2013, I wove three small tapestries, working straight onto the loom based on memories, sketches and photographs of Algonquin. Could I repeat the success of Elder Leaves and record what I remembered directly onto the loom?
The answer was yes, I could. And if it could be done to celebrate Algonquin, it could be done for my home county, Shropshire, England, too. Shropshire is a beautiful county, situated on the borderlands between England and Wales, a warp and weft of rivers, hills, pools, woodlands and forests, much of which is hidden from the public gaze, only known to those who love it.
Could I bring these hidden places to the public eye, and could I do it working straight onto the loom? No planning, no preparation, simply responding to each pick of thread as it lay against the warp?
One glorious day, high summer, when everything was at its richest and best, I went out walking on Pontesford Hill, six miles south west of Shrewsbury. Two landscapes in particular leapt out at me, both of trees, one of water and reflections, the other of roots running over bare rocks. These images begged to be woven as a pair. I photographed them to keep them fresh in my memory, then threaded up and plunged straight in, blending my wefts, using a mix of wools, mercerised cottons and silks. A lot of unpicking had to be done to begin with, but slowly I began to find my way.
Because of the vertical thrust of this piece, with its colours bleeding into each other, especially in the reflected waters of the pond, it was necessary to weave this tapestry on its side. Here's what it looked like on the loom.
And below is what it looked like as a nearly finished tapestry. Its full size is 64cm x 43 cm. To give an idea of how much work goes into a tapestry, and how slow it is to achieve, the last few centimetres of this piece took two and a half full weeks of flat-out weaving to complete.
Finally - the finished tapestry - Pontesford Hill, 'By Still Waters'. By this time next year hopefully both Pontesford Hill tapestries will be ready to exhibit together.
Years ago I walked through a never-ending
wood, following the path of a stream. The longer I walked, the more enclosed I
became by green and the more the sense grew in me that I had left behind
ordinary life. I had come upon a hinterland, it seemed, where time meant
nothing and space was reduced to the size of a woodland without end. If I had
come across the gateway between life and death I would not have been surprised.
This is not that wood, but that sense
remains of a greenness to be fell into without beginning or end, where depth
and height are one and the same thing, the present and the hereafter, layer
upon layer of good, green growth.
‘The Lord is my Shepherd’ wrote the Psalmist, David. ‘He leads me beside quiet waters.’ This
is my meditation upon those words.
