Frozen Water 1995

The Frozen Water Paperworks are a body of work first generated by concern (outrage?) over the nuclear tests being conducted by France at Moruroa atoll. I discovered that an atomic bomb dropped on a coral reef could turn the coral into glass.

The constructed paperworks  are cool, quiet, and time has stopped for an instant. The  edges of the paper have become  fissures edged with radiant turquoise blue greens of a Pacific atoll. The silver metallic surfaces echo bomb casing  -  hot  frozen water - shoals of silver fish  -  coral melted into glass and holding fragments of life, the feathers, as amber held vestiges of life during the last nuclear age when the earth was forming.  Nature is holding its breath, there is stillness, man is playing at God.

A series of constructed paperworks with silkscreen and mixed media of feathers and string. The feathers which I have previously used as a personal symbol of the bird and a metaphor of strength and vulnerability, have an added  emphasis in that they here represent nature, beauty and life. The feathers are revered icons of vitality, yet here they are sometimes crushed and restrained, sometimes weathered and tattered remains of a beauty that once was - and they are tied to the gun metal bomb metal silver slabs of paper. The metallic surfaces echo meltdown - coral melted into glass. Knotted string is visually echoing barbed wire (danger there is something happening here, come no further).

The Plight of the Bird 1989, The Evolution of the Bird 1996

My journey started in Avonmouth in 1988 whilst researching the relationship between wildlife and industry for a commission. There I saw four cormorants sitting on a rusted pier, drying their wings in the sun, a functional gesture suggesting a paradoxical attitude of submission and strength: triumph through vulnerability.

These birds were the focus of my 1989 exhibition ‘The Plight of the Bird’, signifying the start of an exploration centred on the development of a bird / bird-woman / feather: icons  adopted as facets of a personal symbol. Certain monoprints from ‘The Plight of the Bird’ accentuated contradictions inherent in their demeanour: pride, aggression, pathos and dignity. These works formed the introduction to a later exhibition shown at the Hot Bath Gallery, Bath, during April 1996,  ‘The Evolution of the Bird’.                                                                                     

This exhibition which developed over the interim 7 years was split into three sections:-

 'The Last Birds' -  monoprint silkscreens printed onto heavy paper, had much of the detail silk screened separately on Japanese tissue which was subsequently collaged onto the base print. This change in surface texture and opportunity to physically distort the images allowed a mode of expression otherwise denied in conventional silkscreen printing. Imagewise these last birds were released from the recurring heraldic sequence which was central to the birds in the former exhibition 'The Plight of the Bird' ; they became skeletal as they disintegrated, falling apart as they confronted a transfiguring force and evolved into the Harpyia.                                                                                                                         

The Harpyia, the bird-women, were the snatchers and personifications of the storm-wind. In a moment of truth and metamorphosis, the  birds decomposed, leaving a core of raw femininity wherein rests  potency - which is not always alluring or polite.  These works tended to be smaller, using a variety of media including different forms of print, paper and selected objects. Some follow the format of ‘The Last Birds’, whilst the series ‘The Man Who Set the Harpy Free, What Will Become of Him Now?’ had a sculptural focus using heavily dyed paper, photocopy, etching, feathers and string.

After the offer of the Hot Bath Gallery show I decided to start work on a third section, 'The Meditation'. This included the 'Phoenix' work, a series of dyed constructed paperworks which were intended to create a conclusion, but instead I found myself with an important starting point. The 'Phoenix' series of paperworks used the neck feathers of a male pheasant, which when tied into dark dyed creased paper had the quality of flames. The work generated a feeling of stillness, particularly when the feathers were used in a formal manner, and from there I started exploring different ways of transforming the feathers within the context of various paper surfaces eventually arriving at constructed paper / silkscreen works.

Paperworks, Graffiti Gallery, 1982 - 84

When a second solo exhibition was scheduled at Graffiti Gallery (which by this time had relocated to James St W1) it was assumed that it would once again be a silkscreen print focussed show of colourful edition based works.

I think it may have been a reaction to the intense period of work connected with the Israel Observed show that made me want to explore other media, just for a while, and my interest turned to hand made paper and the printmaking technique which sat most comfortably with it which was etching.

During this period of time I was living in a very small terraced house in Turnpike lane in north London, with a kitchen which was minute, but somehow I managed to pulp the paper in my soup blender, have the kitchen sink as a vat, ‘lay’ the paper on boards on the draining board and take them into the garden to stand on using my weight as the paper press. It was an experimental period and I knew there was plenty of time to concentrate on the Graffiti show, so spent my time learning etching and developing the paperworks.

It was during that time a vague childhood memory started following me around, gradually becoming more substantial. I was 4 or 5 years old living with my parents in a post war prefab in Enfield. The prefabs were white boxes, and each one had an open covered porch which was supported by a timber frame. They were lovely warm places to live in, beautifully designed. I had been put to bed in my safe snug world and had fallen asleep, but was woken by shouts in the street and a glow penetrating the cotton curtains. I got out of bed, pulled the curtains and watched the prefab opposite burning down. It was my first view of violence, the ferocity of the flames, the sounds of the destruction. I wasn’t frightened. I was fascinated. Eventually I went back to sleep. Morning came, my mother  woke me up and the curtains were already open. When I looked out there was a blackened heap of debris where the prefab should have been, the only thing standing was the charred timber frame of the porch which for some reason hadn’t fallen down. It was not a dream. The world had changed and I didn’t feel safe anymore.

I ran out of time. Having become so involved with the paperworks, there was no way that I could get together a silkscreen based exhibition ready to open on January 8th 1984, however I had a substantial paperworks exhibition which didn’t include any editioned work and not only was not colourful, it was primarily black. Nancy Patterson who was presenting the exhibition at her gallery, as well as being concerned about the turn of events was brave, and the exhibition went ahead regardless. And did very well. Thank goodness.