Drawing workshop at Widdop

Had a great time at Widdop Reservoir on Tuesday with the art students from Titus Salt school. They worked really hard and seemed to quite enjoy it.  The grandeur of the setting at Widdop is very inspirational I think.

It was pretty windy when we set up on the dam, so difficult for doing A1 charcoal drawings with no easels or boards, hunkered down on the ground.  Thank goodness for the plastic sheets I brought, and the enthusiasm of the students. I was impressed by their willingness to have a go, making large drawings of the lichen and plant life that grows on the dam wall. Staff member Heather Graham also joined in.

I loved this drawing of just the outer edge of the lichen, a great use of the smudged line, and an ideal way of using charcoal for interesting effects.

The huge rock face above the reservoir was looking especially fantastic, all purple and green and dramatic.  The local sheep took an active interest in the drawing activities.

After lunch the weather had gone off a bit so we moved round to a more sheltered spot on the north side of the res where masses of lovely foxgloves are in full bloom just now.

Next week we're transcribing the drawings into woodcuts at Cliffe Castle and I can't wait to see what comes out.  The students always manage to surprise with their unusual ideas and inventive approach so it should be a good day.

More photos from Leeming Valve Tower

Its all about sharp angles and circles in this series of photos documenting my tour of the valve tower at Leeming Reservoir near Oxenhope.

Water - it seems so simple when you drink a glass of it without even thinking about the complex systems we've devised to get it there, uncontaminated and clear.  The giant rivets on the outflow pipe are a reminder of the powerful forces of nature we seek to control.

Inside Leeming Valve Tower

At last, after years of curiosity, I finally get to see the view looking out from inside a reservoir tower. And what a surprise to discover that inside not only is there no giant plug on a chain, there's nothing much at all, except a large scary pipe under the grating that leads down to the water and ultimately underneath the reservoir to the outlet further down the valley.

I went to Leeming with Anna and Gavin from Pennine Prospects and we joined John the very pleasant and informative engineer for a mini tour of the doings.  I'll post more pictures soon but now need to concentrate on tomorrow's creative field trip to Widdop reservoir with the Titus Salt art students.

Low water

I've been on a recce to Widdop Reservoir in preparation for taking a group of A level students from Titus Salt School on a creative field trip there soon.

Despite the ferocious downpours we've had recently the reservoir is lower than I've seen it for ages.
So here's a view you'd never normally be able to take as you'd be well under water.

A few minutes after taking this photo the ground suddenly gave way and we sank up to our knees in cold peaty mud, so venturing onto the shore is not something I'd recommend.  For a moment I thought we were going to disappear into the Grimpen Mire, it was scary.

All sorts of interesting textures and colours have been revealed by the retreating water, big sheets of golden red stone and lumps of disintegrating wood.

The lichens on the dam wall still look amazing but the micro landscape of moss I photographed much earlier in the year has mostly been dessicated.  This is what it looked like in late January:

Now the little green pincushions are mostly shrivelled. Its strange to be surrounded by all these signs of dryness, whilst struggling to keep my camera out of the rain and getting soaked by walking through damp ferns and rushes.  There's just no predicting whats in store from one week to the next.

Leeming Reservoir Valve Tower

For such a long time I've been curious about the valve towers on many of the reservoirs in the Watershed Landscape area.  They come in lots of different styles, some like cute little bandstands or gazebos such as this one at Leeming Reservoir and others like castles, chapels, watchtowers and prisons.

I always wondered what criteria governed their design aesthetics - what was the motivation for making them ornate or not and what exactly are they there for. I guess their function is something to do with controlling the water outflow and I like to imagine maybe a giant sink plug inside or some kind of Heath Robinson whirring mechanism.

Of course the enticing little bridges that connect them to the shore are strictly out of bounds, with locks and bolts and razor wire to keep you out.  Being forbidden only serves to make them more appealing to me and I really want to see whats inside!

All being well I'll get my wish on Monday when I've got permission from Yorkshire Water to accompany an engineer over the water into Leeming.  I feel childishly excited at the prospect and hope for kindly weather and a co-operative camera.

Interconnections

Down here in the dark is the perfectly formed nest of a skylark with 5 brown eggs, each a tiny universe full of potential.

And down here amongst the grasses is a tiny pool of water reflecting the boundless blue sky where the future larks will blaze with feverish energy.

The interconnections between all things are revealed and reiterated within the enfolding landscape.

Cotton Grass

The fabulous walks along the tops I took in early June coincided with the cotton grass in full swing.  I love cotton grass and this year its been especially luxuriant.  All along the conduits the little nodding white heads bow down to admire their own reflection in the water below - wonderful.

The Enfolding Landscape

I've been busy experimenting with a new piece of work - a kind of sculptural book form.  Its difficult to photograph well as its quite dark in the studio and the piece extends to over 8 feet when its open. It folds down to about an inch thick when its closed.

For quite a while I've been having this idea about what I call the 'Enfolding Landscape' -  that when we journey up to the moors and reservoirs we are enfolded within the landscape as it surrounds us and we become part of it. This artwork takes that idea and relates it to the way the land and the water are enmeshed together.  The starting point is two woodcut prints, one of cotton grass and the other Widdop water.  I'm not totally happy with the outcome as the cotton grass feels too heavy and black, but its a good starting point for further experimentation with printmaking into 3D.

Green

In my mind the colours most commonly associated with the high moor and the reservoirs are blue, grey, black and gold but every now and then there's a jolt of bright green.

 Grass regenerating after fire on Ovenden Moor - I love the way it looks like spreading green flames.

Part of an unbelievably extensive patch of moss on the way to Green Withens appropriately enough. The wildly undulating contours mirror the rippling surface of that reservoir.

A seemingly delicate fern growing through the bare, stony bank of Light Hazzles Reservoir.

Horsetail growing in profusion at the far end of Leeming Reservoir, looking like prehistoric palm trees and indeed a 'living fossil'.

The sawn stump of a fallen tree at Gorpley Clough refuses to die and sends out masses of new growth.

A clump of Cotton Grass growing in a tiny pool on Oxenhope moor shivers in the wind and looks like some kind of furry sloth.

The sound of light

A late afternoon of transcendent beauty yesterday in Calderdale inspired me to catch the 500 Keighley bus up onto the moor above Crimsworth Dean. If you get off at the turning circle, the Limers Gate path takes you even higher up into the domain of the elusive Curlews and Skylarks.  I brought my sketchbook and paints for a very rapid impression of the view with three distant Reservoirs, Widdop on the right and the two Gorples to the left.  The Gorples in particular were pouring out light in a way that was difficult to photograph, the sketch gives a truer impression of the contrasting gleam against dark hills.

Having borrowed Pennine Prospect's digital recorder, I had the chance to try to record some moorland birds. Once you tuned in, there was so much going on, the Lark song was as intense and sustained as the Gorple beams.  If you could record the sound of light rays, I think that's what it would be like - a Lark singing.

The Curlews and Golden Plovers were more distant and mournful, and overlaying all that was the chattering of the Pipits. However, even though it was such a calm afternoon, the restless wind was always swirling through, so I'm not sure how well my recording will turn out.  I did have a quick listen last night and there was a kind of magic in hearing larks in the kitchen.