After life

Night Owl


I've always been a very,  very light sleeper.  If you was to whisper in my ear as I slept,  you would wake me.


It was around 2am when I was awoken by the hooting of an owl from a tree outside my bedroom window. I remember thinking we don't have owls this far from the woods. I looked through my window into the dark and saw nothing but leafless branches. I hadn't dreampt this as I had heard the owl hooting as I approached the window. Then nothing. Nothing. So I went back to sleep with my loss.


Usually,  whenever I dream about my mother, I am instantly awoken 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 an 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 this. And was presented with the thought that this was to be told for the sake of someone else. Then I awoke, sparked to create something.


And in the early hours of that morning (as most slept) I silently cobbled together the figure of Night Owl from uncut off cuts of wood, with provisions for this story to be told.


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.


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 around her latest book The Wheel of Mourning, this came to mind.


A grief-stricken home. A mother, a father, sibling and the echo of an ever present absence. All momentarily frozen here in time. And very much  like the human casts of Pompeii from which I took inspiration for these forms.


A mother of deafening denial with an upturned portrait at her feet has her back to  a displaced sibling. And an exhausted father with his son, the fallen , to hand with a leaf from the cherry blossom tree they all planted.  The fallen. 


As the sibling, I felt adrift in this ever present absence. The presence of her absence. The presence of our absence.  


The echoing sibling figure is the ever present absence that surrounds us. 

Live for them so they live through you. Ever present. 


Live for me. Love you. 


Medium/wood/air drying clay/fibreglass/casting resin/copper/paint/varnish.




Presence of their absence. MP3 music By P Wharton


Presence of their absence is a meandering process of discord and harmony.  Grief adrift  time if you like.  


The pendulum Tempo is set at 60 and runs for just over seven minutes.  I’d hope that I have left  enough scope for others to occupy it with their own musical improvisations, thoughts and imagery of the given subject. 108 bars. Written on StaffPad for Ipad. Music score on request. 


Particular attention has been made to the soundscape of  instruments subtly resonating in the background of this piece.  And either headphones or a stereo system may better convey this.  Or add more bass and less treble as the reverb is cold and harsh. 


To view, click Dropbox link or image below.




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



The Wheel of Mourning by 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. 



W29cm/H13 cm/D29.5cm

Uncle Kenny

Artist/Photographer/Philosopher/Astronomer/Programmer/Sci Fi nut/Visionary/HGV driver. 



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.