The remains of the Ash log sat on the grass outside the workshop, staring at me. I was trying hard not to show any interest, but it knew differently, and was getting quite smug about it. I looked anywhere but out the door, examining every aspect of my little island, before coming to rest on the fragrant blue curls rising softly and hanging briefly in the warm shafts of light before melting quietly away to become one with the void. I got interested and let all distractions fall away as I watched the wonderful patterns rise from nothing, form, swirl, live, dance gaily, and fall back to nothing. I drifted with the smoke, and as it rolled and moved, my thoughts wandered to another place….
…..I’d walked a long way that morning and was already tired as I sat down at the kitchen table, the fire in the range crackling noisily beside me. A very welcome strong, creamy-sweet, piping-hot mug of tea was placed in front of me, and we began to talk. The baguette was sitting on the side board and the bottle of wine I’d carried on my walk was chilling in the fridge – through the window as we looked over the fields to the marshes and beyond to Pevensey the mist began to rise. It rose as though from nowhere, curled, danced, seemed alive, and then faded into the great blue emptiness of a brightening sky. Was this the ‘primordial phantom of romance of some obscure Scottish poet’? No! It was the oracle foretelling of a glorious day ahead.
We flirted with ontological arguments, and cosmological concepts, trying, vainly, to get to grips with Kant, Decartes and Aquinas. We laughed, because the exams seemed so far away and it was too beautiful a day for intellectual gymnastics.
We smoked Old Holborn, drank more tea and let the conversation and our thoughts roam, curl, roll into life and dance in our imaginations, like the smoke rising from the roll-ups resting between our fingers. We watched it, and them, rise in the sunlight coming through the window, and they wrapped us in their warm, soothing comfort, settling our nerves and calming our minds. We turned to more important topics, with a natural ease, open honesty and comfort, free from artifice, that only the company of a true friend can bring.
We made garlic butter, put the bread in the range to heat through, and poured the wine. As we ate, and sipped the nectar of The Blue Nun, She told me All About Eve, and together we Moved Through The Fair, to stand, transfixed, on Martha’s Harbour. We found a Pagan Place, beheld the Church Not Made with Hands and heard The Big Music. We already shared a poet, but she introduced me to others.
We talked of the past, the present, the possible futures, and our hopes; there were no fears. We had ideas, and thoughts of where we wanted to go and what we wanted to do, and we believed we would, though we had no idea how we would get ‘there’ or make any of it real – that, we concluded, would all work itself out. For now, one thing at a time, today, soon the exams, and then………we fell quiet and lost ourselves in the elegant curves and rolls coiling sensually around, and through, the beams of afternoon light……..
The last of the swirling sedative faded into the dying light; the log was still there, patiently watching me. I smiled, gave it a comforting pat as I stepped over it, and entered again that Pagan Place to make plans for the following morning.
As I took down the axe and picked up the splitting wedges I considered the idea; where I wanted this to go, and how I was going to get there, or, at least, some of the way there – some things would have to be worked out as I went along. I would see how it went – no great expectations, and minimal anticipation, no fear, a little trepidation, and some hope. As before – I would roll with whatever was to be.
I made good progress as I had been here before many times, and as I formed the ‘arm-legs’ I clipped along quite nicely, looking forward to the quiet hour when I could do nothing but sit next to the steam-box, watch and wait. I would enjoy the transfixing spectacle of great spirals of steam rolling into, and mixing with, the smoke of a well-earned pipe, to form a unifying whole; I would ponder again some of the things we had talked about long ago. It was a gloriously bright evening – I thought over the ideas taking physical form, and those still solidifying in my mind.
The steaming hot wood bent easily around the form and I clamped it down tight before retiring for the night.
When I returned in the morning it was to a mixed bag of results. One of the pieces, representing a considerable expenditure in time and effort had cracked in two places. So, out of curiosity, and with no little vexation, I examined and compared it to the other. I saw and understood how and why it had all gone wrong. For years I have evaded making the mental effort to understand radial and tangential grain patterns and their properties – I had always told myself that my mind was no longer as pliant as it once was, so why vex it unnecessarily?
Now, understanding was forced on me – it, amongst other things, became immediate and glaringly obvious – no mental gymnastics required. For the sake of 10 minutes mental anguish I now had to spend an hour-or-so reshaping the remnants of the log into an ‘arm-leg’. Still, there was the consolation of another evening by the steam-box. Later, as I sat there, I considered again how, when a few years later I struggled to write a critique of Kant’s Critique, I’d wished I’d made a greater effort in those late afternoon classes and while sitting at that kitchen table.
I could sense the vague outlines of a pattern, stretching back over the years……..I’m a slow learner – what can I say?
I ate garlic bread, drank, again, creamy-sweet tea (condensed milk, it turns out, is not just for Christmas stockings), watched smoke play in the light, shaved beautiful pieces of Ash, and thought about stuff in general. I thought about beautiful automobiles and aeroplanes of the Art Deco era, a Morris Minor, the sweeping arc of a swan’s flight, the flowing path of a human life, of any life; I returned, often, to that day a life-time ago. I revisited old haunts and drew my inspiration, considered aesthetics, form and function – should they balance, or, could one, should one, does one, take precedence over the other? If so when, how, and why? I started to get lost in existential thoughts, only now they were not the play things of my youth; they were the grown up, menacing, teasing, inviting, beguiling ones that can lead to tears, of sorrow and frustration, or great joy.
I laughed – it’s what we did then, and it’s what we would do now, I’m sure. It would all work itself out – one step at a time.
I hoped to make something that was elegant, simple and of an ‘open’ form – that did not create visual or mental hindrances, or unnecessary artifice. But simplicity is not always so simple; elegance is elusive and all too rare; and, ‘open’? What does that even mean? I thought about patterns, iteration and reiteration!
My head hurt!
I was reluctant to sacrifice function for the sake of form and visa-versa. I had been working steadily and was at a point where the next step I took was going to decide if there was balance or imbalance and, if the latter, in whose favour; form, or function? I could feel Kant laughing at me down the ages. I was going to have to do some serious thinking – not just about aesthetics, but also about how I was actually going to physically do this. I went for a walk, drank tea, and consorted with 3 Nuns (an entirely different iteration from that sublime blend of my youth, but none the less surpassing good) – it would work itself out, I was sure….
As I worked on this final stage, the element that draws and binds all together, figuratively and literally, I considered those beings and events, the material and immaterial, the memories that follow me, echo, through time, and have such profound influence – some arise and revisit me with an immediacy that is startling and vivid, while some come gently and unobtrusively. When they arise, for whatever reason, I relive those moments with great joy and gratitude, and there is naturally, no doubt, some sadness. – I hope there is balance, but, if there is to be imbalance, I fall on the side of joy and gratitude over sadness, as I do form, aesthetic, over function.
What can I say? I’m always prepared to suffer some little discomfort for the sake of beauty, and there’s no argument about which is preferable; joy, or sadness.
So, I made a chair. There were, as always, a few things that didn’t go quite as planned, and some changes and adjustments that had to be made – it kind of sorted itself out as it went along – which was nice.
As I sat in it for the first time, late in the evening, a fragrant smoke enveloping us in its comforting embrace, I wandered again up the lane to the kitchen door, and together we entered A Pagan Place and watched the mist over the marshes ascend, like a multitude of angels with wings entwined, and become one with the clear blue emptiness of a magnificent childhood summer-sky.
Not sure I got the balance quite right – but then, I’m not sure it was even possible……..I like it that way.
Echoes – Greenwood Ash Armchair
Echoes – Greenwood Ash Armchair
Echoes – Greenwood Ash Armchair
The chair is exactly as it should be.