Pauline Hughes Ceramics
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Large Sgraffito Head

I love the process of sgraffito, it feels so primal. Scratching at a surface to create a mark is like returning to the cave and picking up where our ancestors left off. The cool inky black  surface of the sgraffito tile resembling the dark depths of underground.  You have to scratch to reveal  the light and, the image that lies mysteriously beneath the surface. It is totally addictive. Once the first mark has been drawn it is difficult to stop. Delicate lines are created by the circular motion of sandpaper, as fine and as complex as a spiders web. Needle files ‘bite’ crisp, luminous grooves that glow from the darkness. Everyday objects beg the question, what mark would that make ?. As a result  forks, toothpicks, skewers and nails all find their way into the studio to experiment, explore and excavate with. Surprise and dissapointment present themselves in equal measure. The pieces shown here are just beginning to ‘scratch the surface’ of this ancient technique. Not yet fired and, still raw they are as inviting as an expanse of cave wall itself.

Two Sgraffito Heads

Sgraffito Tiles

Emily Young Sculpture

One of  Emily Youngs claims to fame is having inspired Syd Barrett (of Pink Floyd) to write ‘see Emily play’ after he dreamt about her dancing. Not that this remarkable women requires any reflected glory, being a hugely talented individual in her own right and the creator of startling works of  beauty. Commencing  as a painter she arrived at sculpture by experimenting with a few pieces of stray marble left over from a kitchen re- fit and within that process found her true passion. She is driven to reveal the deep mysteries held within the material that have formed by ‘dust settling, water dripping, forces pushing and minerals growing’ over the ages. It is amazing to think how long these stones have taken to form. One hundred and forty million years for Dorset stone whilst others, a staggering three and a half billion years.  These stones that tell the story of the earth she shapes to also tell the story of humanity. ‘We can only put our thoughts, desires and passion and pain onto our chosen materials and they will tell future generations how we felt.’

Emily Young Sculpture

Her heart and soul lie in these pieces. The stones are her messengers. Complex, multi-layered and enduring like human nature itself.  Through stone we become immortal, our voices carried into the future.   A visitor to one of her exhibitions wrote;

Tread silently here

And think softly

Lest you disturb the presences

That Gaze back to the beginning

And look forward to the end.

Make the time to go and experience the pieces that inspired these words. Go to  http://www.emilyyoung.com/ and immerse yourself in the breathtaking beauty of these sculptures and feel a sense of belonging not only to the earth and the universe but to humanity itself.

Emily Young Sculpture

Frida Kahlo

This week I had the pleasure of discovering the poetry of Pascale Petite and, hear her recite one of the poems from her  ‘What The Water Gave Me’ collection. This series of fifty-two poems explores the paintings of Frida Kahlo and gives a voice to their emotional landscapes.  The intensity and beauty of her words reveal Frida’s physical and emotional pain so acutely that it takes your breath away. Pascale unflinchingly removes each painful layer of Frida’s life and lays it bare on the page, exposing the bruised and broken heart that her paintings sprang from. Frida painted her pain beautifully, with ’the blue sting, the red ache’. Pascale’s words  bring the woman behind the painting alive and in doing so makes the painting ever more human and heartfelt .  I have chosen the first and last poem from the collection. The beginning of life and, death.

What The Water Gave Me (I)

I am what the water gave me,

a smoke-ring in a jar,

the braided rope

my ladder to-the-light

my shivering bird-heart

caught,

my mouth a bubble

of not-yet-breath,

while in my nuclei

two spirals dance,

my budding body sheathed in pearl

as I learn,

even before birth,

to doodle in the dark.

What The Water Gave Me (VI)

This is how it is at the end-

me lying in the bath while the waters break,

my skin glistening with amnion, streaks of starlight.

And the waters keep on breaking

as I reverse out of my body.

My life dances on the silver surface

Where cacti flower.

The ceiling opens and I float up on fire.

Rain pierces me like thorns. I have a steam veil.

I sit bolt upright as the sun’s rays embrace me.

Water, you are a lace wedding-gown

I slip over my head, giving birth to my death.

I wear you tightly as I burn-

don’t make me come back. 

Lucian Freud

It was my boyfriend who told me that Lucian Freud had passed away. He had heard it on the late news and had woken me up to tell me as he climbed into bed. He fell asleep, I lay awake. In the darkness it felt like the world had somehow slightly diminished, narrowed. I closed my eyes and imagined myself  lilliputian size so that I could explore the fleshy landscapes of his subjects. Sue Tilley came into view. A glorious island of flesh with her broad bodily acres contrasting beautifully with her mysterious, sensual clefts and folds. Her skin tones changing from pinks to mauves to blue impasto ridges to be read by the hand like braille.

From front to back I travel. 

Naked Man, Back View. Leigh Bowery

To the back of  Leigh Bowery. In my diminuative guise it is imposing. A muscular glacier, its sinews standing proud and defensive.  An active, rippling  land mass that  wrong foots me at every turn. Overpowering and expansive it is a relief to feel the stubble that crowns the smooth, bald head. To take refuge in the hollow at the nape of the neck. This is how I  travel Freud’s paintings alone in the dark. This is how I understand the pure physicality of his work. This is how I hope to fill and, expand the diminished space that his passing has left .

Piet Mondrian

I have a huge liking for Piet Mondrians work. With its pure colour and ordered lines it has a purity of vision that offers the mind a calm sanctuary from the chaos of 21st century living.  That was until Mondrian set foot in New York in 1940. He had left Europe to escape the political storm clouds that were gathering in the hope of finding a new land of optimisim and energy that would inspire his work. Taking up residence in the centre of Manhatten Mondrian forgot his ill health and advancing years and threw himself open to all the city had to offer. By day he soaked up the sights and, by night its sounds in the Jazz clubs. This serious man who was often mistaken for a priest or, a scientist would dance all night to the disjointed music only sitting down when ‘ he heard a melody’. In the early hours he would walk back to his studio filled with the strident and boisterous sounds and translate it all onto canvas.  Broadway Boogie Woogie was born .

Broadway Boogie Woogie

This painting represents the vibrant, beating heart of modern New York and Mondrian had his finger firmly on its pulse.  Along the grid flows the life blood of the city. The cars bumper to bumper, bathed in a yellow neon glow. This is how New York  ’feels’ when you walk its streets and how it ’looks’ as you peer down from vertiginous buildings. Mondrian’s vision of New York dances before our eyes just as he danced and found his Broadway Boogie Woogie groove.

Miro Bird

Congratulations to  Phoebe Caldwell who has won the ‘Aerial Acrobat’ competition  and, a big thanks to all of you who entered. There will be another draw in a couple of months time so do try your luck again.

Paloma Blanca

‘You have an interesting face. I would like to do your portrait. I have a feeling we will do great things together.’  Thus began Picassos eight year obsession with Marie-Therese Walter that resulted in what are arguably some of the greatest works he ever produced. The irony of this situation is that as the work poured out from Picasso and took its rightful place at the centre of  twentieth century art, Marie-Therese was kept a closely guarded secret and remained so for the duration of their relationship. So the question has to be asked, why ?. I cannot believe for one moment  that Picasso was afraid of either  his wife’s scorn or, the dissaproval of  polite society that may have been scandalised by their age gap. She was seventeen he, forty five. The answer for me lies in the extraordinary series of prints Picasso created between 1930 and 1937 that make up The Vollard Suite. Cast your mind back to a time when you have been completly and utterly consumed by love and the desire to be with that person twenty four seven. Remember how everything else pales into insignificance as the world shrinks to fit just the two of you. This is how I see Picasso and Marie-Therese in the Vollard Suite prints. Hiding from the world in their own private idyll. 

Le Repos Du Sculptor Devant Le Petit Torso

In the ‘Repos Du Sculptor Devant Le Petit Torso’ we can see clearly that Marie-Therese is so much more than a muse and model. She is tenderly embraced by the artist, cherished. This huge beast of a man with a head the size of a bull and hands that look like they could crush rocks lies naked and vulnerable in postcoital bliss.  The object of his desire he has placed on a pedestal. Both in his art and in his life.  Marie-Therese in all her youthful glory, for all the world to see.

Le Repos Du Sculpteur 2

Again in ‘Le Repose du Sculpteur 2′ Marie-Therese takes centre stage, stretching her voluptuous body nearly the whole length of image. She dwarfs the artist and her majestic, sculpted profile watches over them like a benevolent goddess. They are in arcadia with wreaths of flowers in their hair. The world outside the window is empty and bare and offers nothing to tempt them away from each other.

Bust of a Woman. Marie-Therese

There is no doubt in my mind that The Vollard Suite tells the story of Picasso’s deep love and passion for Marie-Therese. However it is the sculptures he produced of his beloved muse that really move me. Here she is, luminously beautiful, shedding light over Picasso’s darkness. Looking at these works it is difficult to believe that the love affair could ever have ended. However after the birth of their daughter Maya, Picasso’s interest started to wane.  She had reigned supreme for eight years and despite moving on to other women Picasso never completly cut all ties. His prediction had come true, they did do great things together and the world is a richer place for that.

Aerial Acrobat 2

The Cutting Edge is a new page on my web site dedicated solely to my collage work. The pieces on display are the first in a series called ‘Aerial Acrobats’ and have been inspired by watching the dynamic and colourful displays put on by birds during this glorious spell of weather. They also pay a respectful nod to Georges Braque and his paintings that beautifully capture the elegant rhythms of birds in flight.

To mark the launch of the new page I thought it would be a bit of fun to hold a ‘Collage Competition’. If you would like to own one of the ‘Aerial Acrobats’ just register your name at sculptingpaper@aol.com and I will put your name into a hat. On the 9th of July I will draw out the winner and they will be free to choose any image they like from the set. Each piece is mounted, signed and ready to hang. To view the collection just click on the link http://www.paulinehughesceramics.com/the-cutting-edge/ and enjoy !. 

Aerial Acrobat 3

Wild Geese 

You do not have to be good. 
You do not have to walk on your knees 
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. 
You only have to let the soft animal of your body 
love what it loves. 
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. 
Meanwhile the world goes on. 
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain 
are moving across the landscapes, 
over the prairies and the deep trees, 
the mountains and the rivers. 
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, 
are heading home again. 
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, 
the world offers itself to your imagination, 
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place 
in the family of things.