One of my projects here at the residency was based around the folklore character named a Kelpie, or Waterhorse. I cast the bottom of a boat in kelp, making a skeleton of the vessel. The timeline made it impossible to cast the entire boat, but it is still the size of the window in which it hung. It is interesting to have to move house with it, a big sheet of woven dried seaweed wrapped in the style of a ball gown, as a friend noted. I cannot leave it behind. Not yet. It is like fragile parchment with it being most beautiful when the light is allowed to shine through it. It is like a shield and a church window in one.
I laughed to myself at the whole struggle to not abbandon it even though moving from one new house to another, and now it traveled a bit by car. There are just some things that are so impractical to be moving around with, yet they bring a peace that justified the act. In a way, the Waterhorse is a net and within it I have caught the sea with its scent and mysteries revealed in its amber light.
I laughed to myself at the whole struggle to not abbandon it even though moving from one new house to another, and now it traveled a bit by car. There are just some things that are so impractical to be moving around with, yet they bring a peace that justified the act. In a way, the Waterhorse is a net and within it I have caught the sea with its scent and mysteries revealed in its amber light.
1 comment:
sounds like something i would love.
also reminds me of many island creations which i insisted on taking home with me even though we were walking for weeks in wind and rain round the hebrides and it all had to be on my back.
it's like you say, some things are worth it. others i was happy to leave behind and hope that someone would find them and wonder what they were, if they were made by the sea or by someone like me. strange little pods and sculptures made from kelp or beach grasses or flotsam.
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