Early morning art with Carolyn Stubbs

Sculpted paper birds cr Carolyn StubbsThere are few places or times more enticing to me than a coastal area soon after dawn. Through much of her artwork, Carolyn Stubbs evokes this setting with heart-aching grace.

Part of it comes from her subject matter – many of which are wading birds the like of which frequent southern England shorelines. It’s clear that Carolyn’s love of these areas drives much of her work, as does her ardent ecological stance.

“I think that giving a visual focus to the plight our planet shifts perceptions in a fresh way so that people may begin to take notice,” she comments. “We are overwhelmed with communication at so many different levels – there is only so much we can absorb at any one given time. Looking at imagery can open us up to more soulful thinking, hopefully touching our hearts.”

Curlew cr Carolyn Stubbs

Curlew © Carolyn Stubbs

Despite a life-long love of art, it took Carolyn a while to come to it professionally. “At school, art and English were my best subjects and my teachers actively encouraged me to have a career in the arts.  However, I wasn’t supported in this by my family and reluctantly opted for a career in nursing,” she says. “All through that, however, I spent my spare time painting and drawing.”

It took a near-death experience to remind Carolyn to take control of her life fully, however. “It wasn’t until I contracted Tuberculosis from a patient, and almost didn’t survive, that I decided to prioritise my life and do what I’d always wanted to do – art!”

Carolyn has since gained a degree in Art & Visual Culture (BA Hons) and an HNC in Graphic Design. “These were taken when I was a mature student. It was a great experience, collaborating with others of all ages and backgrounds.”

Carolyn finds inspiration in the natural world, especially “vulnerable species such as delicate birds, our fragile eco system but also people, cars (I have a rusting project on the go!) and places that many are unaware of – particularly wildernesses, and broken parts that were once whole.”

Lapwing cr Carolyn Stubbs

Lapwing © Carolyn Stubbs

In order to do her subjects justice, Carolyn devised a new form of artwork, which she calls sculpted paper.

“When I was doing my HNC Graphic Design course, there was a call for the students in my course to enter our work in a ‘Designs on Nature’ competition,” Carolyn remembers. “The brief was to design a range of stationery that had a theme to it. I decided to try creating a couple of hens in a different way. I tried the collage technique but wasn’t pleased with the result. I experimented with cutting out paper finely to fill the image I’d drawn. It worked!”

Carolyn received an award for her entry. Following her success, Carolyn refined the technique by using a scalpel to cut carve out very fine segments and layering them up to gradually build an almost 3D image, which she then coats in protective artists’ varnish.

“With the sculpted paper I aim to reflect the birds’ fragility and vulnerability,” she explains.

I also find myself drawn to Carolyn’s photography, particularly her ‘mudscapes’.

“For me, photography goes hand in hand with my other work,” she says. “Photography captures moments in time that a painting couldn’t.  It’s the immediacy of the picture, the fact that this image will never be seen again. I’m concentrating on our unique world, bringing awareness of the incredible diversity and qualities of our landscapes that are often ignored, or forgotten, like the mud of the Severn Estuary.”

I find the imagery unexpectedly serene and contemplative – ideal for hanging on the wall of a writing room!

Find out more about Carolyn’s work at www.carolynstubbs.co.uk.

Are you an artist or do you know an artist who would like to be showcased on SkyLightRain.com? Get in touch at judydarley (at) iCloud.com. I’m also happy to receive reviews of books, exhibitions, theatre and film. To submit or suggest a review, please send an email to judydarley (at) iCloud.com.

Poetry review – On Becoming A Fish by Emily Hinshelwood

On Becoming A Fish by Emily HinshelwoodIn this collection of finely drawn poems, Emily Hinshelwood invites us to accompany her on a series of meandering strolls through the coastal landscapes of west Wales, and presents a series of impressions it may take eons to erode.

Footprints in the sand “collide, converge/in silent riot of unmet strangers”, “sounds of birds/run like wet paint/across the sky”, a journey to a lighthouse ends with a walk home “followed by that empty sweeping beam”, a duck “dives down past walls of limpets, ‘dead man’s fingers, spider crabs/anemones,” the ocean reeks of “the breath of saints,” and “the face of Saddam Hussein flaps in a hedge.”

There’s a delicious intimacy to Hinshelwood’s words, enhanced by her humour and evident fondness for the places included in this tour of Pembrokeshire. With the poet as our guide, we embrace enticing rock formations at Saundersfoot, watch gleeful ghosts run “long-knickered into the sea” at Tenby, observe swans “floating/like love letters, open only to each other” under the Cleddau Bridge, sneak a peek at a girl’s prayer for her goldfish at Caldey Island, greet a snake at Shrinkle Haven, bear witness to the disintegration of a wreck at Mill Bay: “Salt cuts lacework as/the stiff body is eroded rib/by rib.” We even join the poet and her daughter in counting dead birds at Skomer Island: “use the binoculars/to see their twisted spinal columns in grotesque detail…” Continue reading

From Cabot Tower to the towers of Hong Kong

orange stained sky, Hong Kong cr Susan LavenderThis week I received the exciting news that one of my stories has been selected to be performed at a Liars’ League literary night in Hong Kong! How’s that for international?

Liars’ League are a series of events across the globe, with the strap line: ‘Writers Write. Actors Read. Audience Listens. Everybody Wins.’

Can’t argue with that!

My story Night Flights, which explores the somewhat dark and twisted relationship between a brother and sister, takes place entirely on Brandon Hill and up Cabot Tower in Bristol. The idea of it being shared with story-lovers in Hong Kong is somewhat mind-blowing!

As part of the ‘Night & Day’ themed event hosted by Liars’ League Hong Kong, Night Flights will be read aloud by Susan Lavender. Susan is a writer, performer and lawyer, and also took the glorious photo at the top of this post.

The Night & Day event is at the Fringe Club Dairy on 28th July 2014 from 8pm sharp, so if you happen to be in that part of the world that evening, do go along!

On Monday 7th July (from 7.30-9.30pm), I’m taking part in Small Stories, the monthly literary event hosted by  Natalie Burns and Sian Wadsworth, at Small Bar on King Street in Bristol.

I’ll be reading two of my flash fictions. The first, This Gallery, includes the following paragraph:

At least I had an umbrella with me that day, which was unusually efficient of me. But you didn’t yet know that of me, any more than I could guess that you organised your sock drawer by hue, transforming the balled-up grey and blue woollens into something resembling a close up of an Impressionist painting.

The second story, well, you’ll just have to wait and see!

Midweek writing prompt – future self

Pol meets lizard cr Judy DarleyThe Write Life magazine, which is on the App Store for iPads and iPhones. Laura’s idea utilises Futureme.org, a great service that allows you to write an email to yourself and have it delivered to your inbox at some point in the next 50 years. I’d just like to add the suggestion of doing this for one of your characters instead of yourself, and imagining the response of their future self to receiving the email at some random time in the future.

Of course, there’s no reason not to send an imaginary missive to your past self too…

What a great chance to write about something you’re going through right now, a challenge, a blessing; a hard job or a young love, and think about what your future self would think about it. Another way of thinking about it is, what will your future self want to say to the younger you?

Warm it Up!

1. Decide what event to write about, and which “future you” you want to send the email to. Do you want to read it six months from now, a year, five years, ten? You can choose to have the email delivered anytime in the next 50 years.

Work it out

2. Head to www.futureme.org/

3. Spend 10-15 minutes writing the letter. What do you want to say about what is happening right now, and perhaps where you hope to be when you read the email?

4. Be sure to choose an email address that you’re likely still to use in the future. Also check that futureme.org is whitelisted by your email provider so that it doesn’t land in your spam folder.

Cool it Down

5. Choose whether to make the letter private or ‘public, but anonymous’. The ‘public, but anonymous’ letters that have been delivered recently are published on this page, http://www.futureme.org/letters/recently_delivered?offset=0, and make for great reading.

6. Hit send!

Got an idea for a writing prompt you’d like to share? Send it to me at Judy(at)socket creative.com!

And if you write something prompted by this, please let me know. With your permission, I’d love to publish it on SkyLightRain.com.

Celebrate National Flash Fiction Day

Eternal Sequential by Judy DarleyTomorrow is the summer solstice, and with the longest day comes the shortest fiction. National Flash Fiction Day celebrates the power of the briefest form of fiction, with events across the UK.

In my home town of Bristol, there will be a free flash fiction workshop takes place from 1.30-4.30pm at the Central Library. I went along last year and found it a great source of inspiration. In fact, one of the pieces I wrote at it, since titled Eternal Sequential, will be published by Farther Stars Than These on Thursday 26 June 2014 – how’s that for timing?

The piece was prompted by a postcard showing a family wearing spacesuits, and the letter E plucked from a sack of Scrabble tiles (yay, I got a vowel!). I didn’t get to keep the postcard – hence the fact I produced the piece of artwork at the top of this post in its place – so if you go along to the workshop, perhaps you’ll get to write something inspired by it yourself!

In the evening, I’ll be reading two pieces of my flash fiction as part of an evening of readings hosted by Bristol Flash upstairs at the Lansdown pub. Other writers taking part include Tania Hershman, Kevlin Henney, Lucy English and Calum Kerr – so please come along. It’s a free evening of literary entertainment, and a great alternative to the footie!

Bristol Flash event poster

Barcelona – 10 Top Experiences

Parc Guell Barcelona cr Judy DarleyThink of Barcelona, and what comes to mind? It’s one of those cities that’s far larger than itself, with a personality and reputation so distinct that long before you walk the streets paved with art (literally, thanks to the likes of Joan Miro), spied the towering twisted of Sagrada Familia or breathed in the air at Barcelona FC, you’re likely to have a pretty firm impression of what you’re in for.

But how much will that impression match up to reality?

Well, that all depends on when you visit, your mood, the tourists and locals you encounter. Because each day in Barcelona is different, and every alleyway, road and cable car leads to a new experience. You’re bound to come up with your own, but for now here are my top ten.

1 Listen to the song of the Palau Nacional

The beautiful Palau Nacional houses the MNAC, the Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya. As you enter the museum you’ll find a flight of stairs leading up to the roof terrace, offering sweeping views over Plaça d’Espanya and the city beyond. Hang about a bit and you’ll hear the haunting murmur of the wind creeping through crevasses and around the turrets – as though the angel perched on top is uttering a lament in the voice of the sea.

2 Go boating at Parc de la Ciutadella

Along with the parrots, pigeons and tourists, the locals flock to this large leafy park on weekends and bank holidays. It’s a big enough space to ensure it never feels crowded, and there’s a great little boating lake where you can row to your heart’s content. Just don’t fall in – that water is a worryingly vivid shade of green!

Montjuic cable car cr Judy Darley

3 Travel by cable car

What better way to see the city, and scale the heights of Montjuïc? Recently refurbished, it’s a lovely way to swoop 84.5 metres over the inclines of Montjuïc and take in the views over the port from the top of the hill. It costs around €10, so not too pricey either.

4 Sample some local cuisine

Everyone says it, and it’s true, the tapas and pinxos are to die for. The seafood, like these beheaded sardines, are highlights, as are the salty fried Padron peppers. Save room for dessert – the turron ice cream is the perfect end to any meal.

5 Cuddle up to some art

A rotund little fella stands outside the Fundacio Joan Miró and he’s definitely friendly. Venture inside to see the great artist’s sculptures, paintings and remarkable tapestries, mostly named Bird, Woman or Woman and Bird.

Sagrada Familia bougainvillea cr Judy Darley6 Gorge on Gaudi

Even if you can’t face the hours of waiting to get inside, hop off the tourist bus at Sagrada Familia to ogle the extraordinary neverending story of Gaudi’s masterpiece. Each façade has different points of interest, and the cranes themselves add to the striking scenes. I couldn’t resist photographing the builders too – thanks to Gaudi’s legacy they’re now part of something remarkable.

Parc Guell The Dragon cr Judy Darley

Talking of Gaudi, of course you need to visit Parc Güell. Yes, it’s crowded, yes, the toilets are horrible, but the setting and the many glories from the Greek Theatre (aka the Nature Square, pictured at the top of this post) to the sweet dribbling dragon, make this all worthwhile.

Then there’s the Casa Batlló and Casa Milà aka La Pedrera, and numerous other Gaudi bits and pieces to enjoy.

7 Walk la Rambla de Mar

Once you’ve experienced La Rambla (keeping a tight grip on your belongings) keep going until you pass onto the Rambla de Mar, a bridge that stretches out onto Maremagnum, a leisure complex with shops, restaurants and cinemas. On busy days the press of people will force you to take your time. I recommend pausing at one of the seats to enjoy views over the water and of the Stargazers, two white buoys topped by skywards-facing figures by Robert Llimós.

8 Seek out something literary

There are no shortage of literary haunts in Barcelona, where you can listen to up and coming poets and writers share their work – and possibly even have the chance to perform your own. The city also offers up plenty of statues and monuments to poets, including this one of Pitarra, a poet and playwright from Barcelona, set just off La Rambla beside La Plaça del Teatre. For a more romantic literary homage, head back to Montjuïc where each of the gardens is named after a poet who wrote in Catalan.

Dragon Without Saint George by Andres Nagel cr Judy Darley9 Play ‘spot the art’

Okay, a pretty easy one, as artwork crops up all over the city – even children’s slides are works of art in Barcelona. This one by Andrés Nagel is called Dragon Without Saint George, and sits close to the Barcelona’s Sants railway station.

10 Gaze at an immense Olympic flame

… or rather, a communications tower designed to represent an athlete carrying the iconic flame. This one caught me by surprise. While the height of the tower means you spy it from afar, it’s only when you enter Barcelona’s Olympic Stadium that you grasp the sheer scale and majesty of Santiago Calatrava’s creation.

Find more Barcelona highlights at barcelonaturisme.com.

Discover Budapest.
Discover Bath.
Discover Brescia.
Discover Laugharne.
Discover Bilbao.
Discover Brescia.
Discover Reyjavik.

Short stories to listen to

Capsized by Judy DarleyAre you sitting comfortably? Then we’ll begin…

There’s a simple joy in listening to a story, whether it’s being read aloud online, on the radio or by someone a few feet away from you. And this week I have two pieces of news you might like to hear if you can’t help but agree with author Tania Hershman when she says: “Ooh, I love being read to.”

Last week I discovered that one of my very short tales, Capsized, has been selected for the Literature Works’ ‘Writers’ Bites’ podcast. As well as having written the piece, I had to supply the MP3 recording of myself reading it, which turned out to be pretty easy with a little help! At less than three minutes long, it’s ideal for a brief break from whatever you’re working on.

If you enjoy that tiny flash, you might want to attend A Night of Flash Fiction, happening at the Lansdown in Bristol on 21st June to celebrate National Flash Fiction Day. I’ll be reading brief tales along with Tania Hershman, Kevlin Henney, Calum Kerr, Lucy English, and other talented writers.

If you can make it, please come along! It would be lovely to see you.

Where land once was cr Judy DarleyWhere land once was cr Judy Darley

 

Remember Me To The Bees – Travelling North

Travelling North cr Louise BoulterThe 20th story in my debut collection Remember Me To The Bees is Travelling North. The artwork is by Louise Boulter.

Before I even began compiling this collection of short stories, the title of it settled on me like a bee on a flower, and refused to flit away. Initially I thought it would be the title of the short story that became Travelling North.

I knew I wanted to write something about following the crops, through Britain, but couldn’t find my way into the tale, until I saw a news story about a man who had frozen to death while camping on the Scottish island of Skye. It wasn’t the story I wove in, but it gave me an image of an older man travelling with the crops, with a far younger companion to offset his beliefs and impression. This pairing became Alun and Shiv, and gave me an opportunity to explore the assumptions we make about one another, as well as the lies we tell ourselves.

In case you were wondering, the phrase Remember Me To The Bees is explained in this story. You’ll have to read the tale to discover the meaning though!

A short excerpt from Travelling North

Alun was a surprisingly good travelling companion. Something about him was deeply reassuring. He was good at deciphering bus timetables, charming waitresses into giving them a bit of extra blood pudding with their breakfast, that kind of thing. She had a feeling people assumed she was his daughter, despite the milkiness of his skin next to hers. The confusion on their faces as they tried to puzzle it out alternately amused and irritated her – she’d experienced it often enough with her mum.

Couldn’t they see she was too old to be travelling with her dad in any case?

Their time together was full of misunderstandings. She couldn’t work out whether it was an age thing or a culture thing. Sometimes they’d be in the middle of some great conversation and she’d gradually become aware that they were talking about completely different things.

Last weekend, for example, on their free day, they’d journeyed to the beaches at Claigan, north of Dunvegan Castle, staying there till the sun began to slip down towards the waves. The sky was still blue in places, but the clouds were golden, rimmed in pink like sea creatures with vulnerable undersides. He’d reached forward suddenly, towards her, stopping just short of touching her face. She’d been wary, realising she no longer wanted to be kissed by this man who had become like an uncle. A friend.

“My daughter would be your age now,” he’d breathed, and she felt her insides chill, sensing some terrible tragedy. She looked at him, full of pity, but he shook his head, almost seeming confused.

“Is, I mean she is. Your age or thereabouts.”
No tragedy then, at least not in her terms.
“You miss her?’ she asked, trying to account for the grief in his eyes.
And he nodded, looked alarmingly like he might actually cry, and said, “For the past fifteen years. That’s how long it’s been.”

Then clammed up, refused to speak another word on the subject, leaving her completely bemused. What kind of man doesn’t see his daughter for fifteen years? She tried to imagine it, if, say, her dad had wanted to move back to Niger rather than England, if her mum hadn’t wanted to go and they’d separated. But even if that had happened, surely he would have visited, wouldn’t he?

Remember Me To The Bees – The River

The River cr Louise BoulterThe 19th story in my debut collection Remember Me To The Bees is The River. An earlier version was published by Gemini Magazine – actually it was one of my first published stories, and really encouraged me to keep writing.

The story enmeshes you in the world of a small girl for whom losing a pair of shoes in a river is at least as worrying as the concept of death.

The exquisite artwork at the top of this post is by Louise Boulter. The others are my own.

A short excerpt from The River

Phoebe sat on the bank and unfastened her patent leather shoes. She dipped her feet into the cold flow, giggling as mud oozed between her toes and small hidden things tickled her soles. Her shoes bobbed in the shallows like a pair of tiny dinghies.

Tucking her skirt into her knickers, she slipped off the bank into the river, wading along with gentle waves lapping at her pale, freckled thighs. She heard a splash behind her as Alec joined her in the swirling water. Phoebe led the way, taking care to put each foot down gingerly to test the depth before putting her full weight onto it, just as Alec had shown her.

Alec knew everything there was to know about animals and nature. He pointed out a heron as it unfolded into the air from the bank, transforming from a motionless grey stick into a billowing sheet like a magic trick.

As they followed the river from one field into the next, Phoebe saw something caught in the reeds ahead: a few bright flowers tangling with something more solid. Intrigued, she walked as fast as the water allowed, but as she neared it a small paw was loosened by the current and swung out. She stepped back in surprise and almost fell.

“What is it?” she asked. “An animal?”

Alec picked up a branch and prodded the small corpse, turning it so that a neat whiskery face was revealed: shining, vacant eyes and a pair of astonishingly long ears. A dark red mass glistened where the fur of the stomach should have been.

“A hare,” Alec said. “Killed by a fox, I reckon. Dying, dying, dead and it’s not coming back.”

“Really?” Phoebe asked, disconcerted. Dying was what Mum said was happening to Granny.

“Dead,” Alec repeated, sounding equally unsettled. He heaved himself out onto the riverbank. “Come on, out. That water’s disgusting. We’ll walk back along the lane. Where are your shoes?”

Phoebe gasped in horror, realising she’d left them floating amidst the weeds. Alec took her hand and they ran back to where they’d entered the river, but the shoes had disappeared, gone forever, as surely as the life of the hare.

The River far bank cr JDarley

Remember Me To The Bees – Flyleaf

Flyleaf cr Louise BoulterThe 18th story in my debut collection Remember Me To The Bees is Flyleaf. A few years ago I spent several months travelling up the west coast of America, pausing in Portland for a couple of weeks. While there I dipped in and out of one of my favourite ever bookshops – Powell’s City of Books.

As I had been travelling for a while I’d accumulated a few books which, now read, I couldn’t justify the space for. I needed that space for new books to read! Powell’s buy second-hand books, but didn’t want the ones I had, so quietly, when nobody was watching, I ‘rehomed’ those books on Powell’s shelves.

But what if somebody had seen? What would they have thought of my actions? The thought amused me afterwards, and became the initial seed for this story.

The artwork is by Louise Boulter.

A short excerpt from Flyleaf

She glances around furtively, guiltily, stuffs the book onto the shelf, and flits away. The reverse of stealing: surreptitious gifting?

I follow her at a distance, looking at the shelves she has been adding to, and find I can’t tell which books she has inserted. It seems that whichever volumes were retrieved from her bag have been placed in exactly the space for which they were intended.

Then I reach one where there was clearly no gap to fill, and see a book resting atop of the others, the same title and author, but not yet catalogued by Powell’s – an outsider in their midst. I pick it up, rifle gently through its pages, look- ing for… what? A note? A stray hair? A clue. I even raise it to my nose and quietly inhale, but it smells only of paper, perhaps of dust; pleasing smells but certainly not telling. The book itself is perhaps the one clue: Jack Kerouac’s ‘On The Road’. And scribbled onto the flyleaf: To Mara. Hope the journey is every bit as much of an adventure as the destination. Love N.

So now I have the woman’s name. The book is well-thumbed, presumably well-read, or possibly just worn out with being shoved into the bottom of a backpack. But why abandon a book that evidently meant so much to her?

She’s leaving the bookshop. I follow as fast as I can without visibly chasing her. I try to appear aloof, perhaps even a little self-obsessed, trying to maintain the persona I assumed on leaving the gym earlier this morning.