Nature loving city living
When I was a child, I knew in my bones that by the time I was a grown up I’d be living in the countryside- specifically in the middle of a valley, in a cottage with a thatched roof, spending my days running a donkey sanctuary. Unfortunately, that was never realised- who could ever afford it, aside from anything else! But I did always assume country life was for me, most likely fuelled by my lifelong fear of crowds and childhood caravan holidays in the majestic Wales.
My University days were my first, and only, years away from Manchester. I went to Staffordshire, to study Design: Crafts. (As I type that, I am reminded of the great debate about the course’s impending name change while I was studying. After much deliberation, Design Crafts became Design: Crafts. Never has there been such anticipation and debate about a colon. What a ride!) Stoke On Trent, while still officially labelled a city (though in truth, a collection of towns) made me realise I just wasn’t ready for any sort of country living. At the time it had one gallery, one museum, and people using public transport required an actual bus timetable. I did not realise how much of a spoiled princess I was, used to stepping outside my door to a bus literally every six minutes, countless galleries at my fingertips! Cities, for all the noise and bluster, are extremely convenient places to be.
My sister and her family live in Sheffield- a beautiful place that marries all of the best parts city convenience with delightful greenery. I love it there, but it’s very, very hilly. And it turns out being partially deaf and no balance to speak of makes that rather troublesome. I have used the phrase ‘vertigo inducing’ quite seriously when I’ve struggled to walk there. It leaves me truly discombobulated for days sometimes. I didn’t realise the extent to which this would effect me, having spent most of my life by a canal, in seemingly the flattest place on Earth!
So, despite all of my romanticising over the years, it turns out I’m not a country bumpkin after all. I love being in the countryside, but I don’t want to live there. And I’m still a little disappointed with myself and for the donkey sanctuary I’ll never afford to run. But I do think all this romanticism feeds into my work. I want spring flowers all year round, and magical moments with owls and finches. So that’s what I try to emulate with my designs.
I’ve never seen an owl in the wild woods in real life. I’ve seen them in animal sanctuaries, and a few taxidermy specimens in museums. If I’m honest, taxidermy creeps me out a lot, so I’ve never spent much time looking at those. The taxidermy section at Manchester Museum always had a particular smell that made me recoil as a child. I still can’t go in there! Sometimes I tell myself that my sculptures would be so much more effective if I took the time to study those specimens more closely, but I’d rather watch a documentary. There is something quite sad about seeing wildlife not in the wild. And I do realise the irony that I say that fostering actual parrots in my living room and not West Africa, from which their ancestors hail. In my defence, they are rescues. I wanted to rehome a pet, not purchase one, and for many reasons parrots suited my life better than dogs, which is not the case for most people. Parrots are the most rehomed animals because they are not easy pets.
I love to follow National Geographic photographers on Instagram. I always want to climb right into the photograph and meet their subjects. It must be such a magical experience to capture those moments on film. Before I make my sculptures, I spend ages with my sketchbooks, collecting facts and painting them from various angles. I’m never going to capture their majestic forms in my sculptures, so I don’t try to. I’m happy creating a cartoony version of these beloved beasts. If one person smiles at my goldfinch sculpture the way I might smile at a goldfinch in the garden, then I’ve done my job.
I don’t just admire nature from a screen, though. I love a walk in the countryside. Me and my sister especially like to go ‘squirrelling’, where we walk in a place less frequented by people and dogs, specifically in search of our beloved squirrel pals. I could watch them playing all day. One thing I don’t think I ever noticed until I had nieces who like to point out their song, is that I cannot hear crickets. Generally, as somebody who gets rather overwhelmed by echoes and loud noises, I’ve always been perfectly at peace with being partially deaf, but that makes me sad. There are probably lots of cheeps and hoots I miss out on. Then again, I don’t hear distant roadworks or motorways either, so there’s something to be grateful for.
I love to admire all creatures of the animal kingdom, and I love the ever changing foliage of the rolling seasons. The best part about my job (and there are rather a lot of those) is that I can start my day picking a favourite part of nature right in the moment, and spend the afternoon attempting to craft it. I’m a very seasonal maker. I make snowdrops in Winter and goldfinch in Spring. Summer sees my desk explode with flowers and pops of colour. In Autumn you’ll find acorns and pinecones on my desk- real and paper varieties! When Winter comes back round again, I am generally finishing some commissions for customers’ Christmas gifts under the tree, but a few robin red breasts will certainly make an appearance.
Building my little homages to the great outdoors is my way of holding close and tangible a facsimile of something that should be wild and free. Owls don’t belong in our living rooms and flowers don’t really belong in vases, but to be among them is really rather magical. I want my designs to remind us of that wonder, and maybe keep a twinkle of that little girl’s donkey sanctuary dream alive.