P.Wharton
After life
Night Owl
Night Owl has always been more of a sleepwalk than an artwork. A fragment of unconscious expression, born out of grief in the early hours of that morning. A dream.
I've always been a very light sleeper. If you were to whisper in my ear as I slept, you would wake me.
It was around 2 a.m. when I was awakened by the hooting of an owl from outside my bedroom window. I recall thinking, as I got up to look through the window, that we don’t have owls this far from the woods. As I approached, it hooted again, so I hadn’t dreamed this. I looked through the window into the dark and saw nothing but leafless branches. Then nothing. Silence. So I got back in bed and drifted back to a restless sleep with my loss.
Usually, whenever I dream about my mother, I am instantly awakened by the same thought: This must be a dream because you are dead. But on one pivotal occasion, I didn't. I was aware of it without thought.
It was as if my mother and aunt had come to tell me they were fine, I would be fine, and they were moving on. I wasn't told this. I hadn't thought this. I just felt it. And I was presented with the notion that this was to be shared for the sake of someone else. Then I awoke, sparked to create something.
So as most slept, I silently cobbled together Night Owl from unworked offcuts of wood, with provisions for this story to be shared. There’s something of a vulnerability about it that still hits home.
If there is a Rosetta Stone as such to all this, it was my artwork, as it knew where I was when I didn't. Philip Wharton.
Night Owl. Medium/wood /Acrylic paint/H85cm X W28 X D28CM.
Of remembrance
This piece was sparked by the many empty portrait frames crammed into charity shops boxes everywhere. Many, if not most of which once housed loved ones now passed.
It was this sense of absence and loss that drove me to create a space of remembrance of similar presence using the picture frames like classical columns.
The glazed crystal like structure and shimmering water beneath is about projected reflections throughout the structure bringing about a sense of peace.
Medium/Wood glazed structure. 27/9/2014/20:10/W42cm/Height40cm/D32cm.
The Wheel of Mourning
When I was asked by Dorothea Stockmar, German writer and artist, if I would be interested in producing a work inspired by her latest book, *The Wheel of Mourning*, the following came to mind.
A grief-stricken home. A mother, a father, a sibling, amidst this ever-present absence, frozen in time, much like the human casts of Pompeii, from which I drew inspiration for these forms.
A mother of unyielding grief, with an upturned portrait at her feet, her back to the world. A sibling cast amidst this ever-present absence: the presence of their absence, the presence of our absence. An exhausted father with a portrait of their son, the lost, a leaf in his hand from the cherry blossom tree they planted. The lost.
Live for them, so they may live through you. Ever-present.
Medium/wood/air drying clay/fibreglass/casting resin/copper/paint/varnish.
W70cm/H50cm/D70c
Dorothea Stockmar
https://stockmar-kunst.de/
Presence of Their Absence.
By P Wharton.
A contemplative 7-minute journey, "Presence of Their Absence" weaves discord and harmony to evoke the fluid, drifting nature of grief across time. With a steady 60 BPM tempo, this composition invites deep engagement, fostering personal reflection, musical improvisation, or imagery inspired by absence.
A carefully layered soundscape of strings vocals and ambient textures creates an immersive backdrop. For the best experience, listen with headphones or a stereo system, ideally with enhanced bass and softened treble to warm the sound.
Composed by P. Wharton for StaffPad on iPad, this 7-minute piece (108 bars, 60 BPM) is available as an MP3, with the score provided upon request.
To view, click Dropbox link or image below.
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The Wheel of Mourning.
By Dorothea Stockmar.
DOROTHEA STOCKMAR. About. • German writer and painter living in Celle and Berlin. • death and grief counsellor focusing on symbolic-creative impulses for healing grief. • trained in the field of Art Therapy.
“Dorothea Stockmar’s book of symbols reflecting grief is the
fruit of her being both artist and bereaved mother. It is full of
helpful insights. When grief is unspeakable in words,
common symbols and metaphors can help to express
personal anguish and, sometimes, give glimpses of future
hope. Dorothea’s chosen symbols voice her own experience
and are deeply meaningful. They will also prompt each
reader to reflect on their own unique collection of symbolic
images of loss and hope. The book can itself be a compass
and companion on the long and arduous journey of grief.”
Dr. Margaret Brearley
Dorothea Stockmar.
Into The Light
Into the light is based loosely around an idea of mine entitled Too many that I can't make due to a lack of both budget and large enough location to build it.
INTO THE LIGHT/wood /Acrylic paint/W68cm H43 D6cm
Well, there is something!
In my youth the first thing I headed for in my local museum was the Egyptian mummy. I never imagined a dead person. I used to look at the face and think, that person used to eat, drink, talk in a strange language. Have a family. They used to walk and go about their daily life as I do now. And as do their descendants right now. It was like looking at yourself in the past.
I had this weird dream when my uncle Kenny died
My uncle Kenny didn’t believe in god and said as much many times. On his death I dreamt he was up a tree surrounded by complete darkness but for a spotlight above highlighting him, the surrounding branches, base of the tree and me.
I looked up at him and asked,
“Well, is there a god?”
He replied thoughtfully,
“ Well, there is something!”
And that was it.
Back to the sculpture
The white angel to the right, a sense of spirit. And the black totem of sorts to the left representing the tree in my dream.
At the top of the tree is a light (hole)
Up the tree on a branch is a figure (my uncle)
And at the base of the tree looking up is me (the notch)
And the glass case, the mummy.
Medium/oak/pine/ply/glass
W29cm/H13 cm/D29.5cm
Uncle Kenny
Artist/Photographer/Philosopher/Astronomer/Programmer/Sci Fi nut/Visionary/HGV driver.
Phoenix
In this piece I wanted to pay homage to La Doncella The Maiden
The logical side of my thinking that sees this Incan ritual as shamefully barbaric is always kind of side tracked by the presence of I'm missing the point! And it's at that point she lives on?
The movement in this piece is an awakening. Not an end. And through this, La Doncella lives on.
Medium/clay
W28.5cm/H8cm/D9.5cm
Sleep/Live/Die
Medium/plywood/W64/H34/D10cm
Print