Calling all crafters and potters…

netta potting

Michaela and Pauline have set the dates for their craft and pottery workshops in the coming year! If you are interested to see what they are up to, or fancy joining in the fun- see here.

I am very proud of what they have done with these workshops- they have a way of creating a safe space for people to be creative. Art and design can be so stuffy and exclusive- making us feel that we “can not”- they have a way of encouraging people to believe that they CAN.

This year they have extended the pottery options too here is what is planned;

Pottery for beginners course– £80: 4 weeks to learn basics of handbuilding, throwing a pot on the wheel, then firing and glazing your own work.
SPRING- March 6, 13, 20, 27
AUTUMN- September 4, 11, 18, 25.

Taster sessions– £20: One evening to get the flavour of working with clay;
April 17, 24
July 10, 17
August 21, 28

Go-to-pot Wednesdays– £160: 8 weeks to learn more about pottery and try out your own projects. Great for those who have already undertaken one of our other courses and want to go further.
SUMMER- May 1, 8, 15, 22, 28. June 5, 12, 19.
AUTUMN- October 2, 9, 16, 23, 30. November 6, 13, 20.

If you are on holiday at Sgath an Tighe (or in the vicinity) , it is usually possible to arrange sessions in the pottery with tuition. It makes for a lovely relaxed creative break…

Happy New Year!

All saints eve sky lantern

 

Another year.

May 2013 bring to you many good things.

It is nearly 2AM and we are enjoying some peace after a lovely evening with friends old and new. We let off a couple of sky lanterns, one to remember the year gone and one to express hope for the year to come. We also used this simple ritual;

1.

We stand on the threshold of another year

The old one is gone and the new one is still mystery

And we offer you our prayers

We watch them rise to you

2.

Last year was full of good things;

Friendship, laughter, music, art

New experiences,

New achievements

For these things we offer you our praises

We watch them rise to you

3.

For some of us the year gone by has had times of great difficulty

The loss of a people who are dear to us

Life has darkness as well as light

So we give to you all those memories-

All those times when doubt, fear and pain were close at hand

We watch them rise to you

4.

The future belongs to you Lord

Each breath, each heartbeat

So we give you our hopes

We offer you our projects

We offer you our dreams

We watch them rise to you

 

Magnolia…

red walls

Life is too short for magnolia

Let’s splash the old walls with new paint

Mix me purples and blues

Like a two day-old bruise

And gold like the robes of a saint

.

Where does it come from, magnolia?

Not from the wild places I’ve been;

Brown eggs in a nest

Bright robin red breast

And oceans of deepest sea-green

.

What is the point of magnolia

When rain is by rainbows replaced?

It’s the space left behind

When colours go blind

It’s like life being leached from a face

Imagining something better…

change-1

The lovely low days between Christmas and New Year offer to some of us the privilege of a bit of stock taking- asking those important questions about where we are now, and where we might be going.

I have been doing a lot of this of late, and will be doing some more- but one thing I am increasingly convinced of is the need to consume less, to make more with my own hands, to produce, to craft and to live more simply. Unfortunately over the past few weeks this has actually meant repeated trips to consumer-hell; IKEA and other temples to Capitalism. This is because we are setting up a guest house in a relatively out of the way corner of Scotland, and there are only so many things that you can knock together out of driftwood. It feels very wrong though.

I came across this today;

“But even in the much-publicized rebellion of the young against the materialism of the affluent society, the consumer mentality is too often still intact: the standards of behavior are still those of kind and quantity, the security sought is still the security of numbers, and the chief motive is still the consumer’s anxiety that he is missing out on what is “in.” In this state of total consumerism – which is to say a state of helpless dependence on things and services and ideas and motives that we have forgotten how to provide ourselves – all meaningful contact between ourselves and the earth is broken. We do not understand the earth in terms either of what it offers us or of what it requires of us, and I think it is the rule that people inevitably destroy what they do not understand.”
― Wendell BerryThe Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays

Which chimed with something else…

I read somewhere that Journalist Mark Hudson proposed 4 stages in our relationship with stuff;

  1. Wanting it all– life is about seeing stuff, wanting it, collecting it, playing with it, wanting the stuff other people have that is better than ours.
  2. Getting rid of it all- As we head out into the world, we no longer need all those treasures of our childhood- we put it in bags, lofts and dustbins. Experiences become more important
  3. Buying it all back again- We crave the stuff we used to have, and the feeling of security, pleasure and fulfilment we get from surrounding ourselves with walls of stuff.
  4. Getting rid of it all again. As we get older, we become more discerning about the stuff we want to hold on to. And we begin to worry about all the sorting out our kids will have to do.

And of course, we can not take it with us on the next journey. How many journeys to the tip and the charity shops will we all be making in the next few days?

The problem is- how on earth can we do it differently- how can we live a better way of being?

Time for another quote;

“We have to create culture! Don’t watch TV, don’t read magazines, don’t even listen to NPR. Create your own road show  The nexus of space and time where you are now is the most immediate sector of your universe, and if you’re worrying about Michael Jackson or Bill Clinton or somebody else, then you are disempowered, you’re giving it all away to icons, icons which are maintained by an electronic media so that you want to dress like X or have lips like Y. This is shit-brained, this kind of thinking. That is all cultural diversion, and what is real is you and your friends and your associations, your highs, your orgasms, your hopes, your plans, your fears. And we are told ‘no’, we’re unimportant, we’re peripheral. ‘Get a degree, get a job, get a this, get a that.’ And then you’re a player, you don’t want to even play in that game. You want to reclaim your mind and get it out of the hands of the cultural engineers who want to turn you into a half-baked moron consuming all this trash that’s being manufactured out of the bones of a dying world.”
― Terence McKenna

I don’t know much about this bloke- I think he was a bit of a Hippie ‘herbalist’, but I find myself in agreement.

I am longing for life that does not conform to the same tired, self destructive, addictive patterns. Not just talking about this kind of life- but actually starting to live it, now, in the new year, 2013. Because how much time is left?

Next year is going to be our year of new beginning. I am not exactly sure how this will go, but let the wild rumpus begin…

 

Michaela talks about the Timebank!

I am very proud of Michaela- and so here is a chance to show you some of the things she does in her day job.

Recently she was speaking about a local project she has been working on- a local Timebank. (You can watch her whole presentation here.)

The bloke from the NHS talking on the video seems to have totally missed the point- the emphasis is not on ‘services saving money’, or ‘sick’ people doing something to make them better- rather a Timebank is a level playing field to allow everyone to build community connections- where everyone can contribute.

We joke in our family that the first ‘exchange’ of time in Dunoon was a few years ago when Michaela came home with a rusty Shopper bike and told me that I was to make it work again. And they were off! It has become a really great local programme, with some fantastic stories- including a whole wedding- flowers, photography, cars, catering- all arranged through time exchanges! People have some amazingly diverse skills to offer- translation of a document from Russian? No problem. Fix a computer? Easy. Proof read a document? When do you want it finished? Others have involved an older lady who learnt how to write properly using her handwriting skills on certificates, or another person teaching woodcraft skills. It is great.

Michaela would never agree that a lot of this is down to her- she would point to all the others who have worked so hard to make it a success- but I know different. She is just one of those people who makes other people feel safe and included, and by her own dedication makes other people stick in there.

 

Asylum…

Argyll and Bute hospital 3

 

Something I wrote for a Greenbelt event a couple of years ago- which came back to me recently when discussing brokenness. Originally it was written to make comparisons between organised church and psychiatric care.

There was a concern in the land

In every town the roads were lined with beggars

There were homeless orphans and widows cast out onto the streets

Lunatics were stoned by children

And melancholics drowned their sorrows with gin

The pain of it all was in the middle of us

The Jesus in the least of these

Was weeping

 

So the good people gathered

“What is needed” they said “Is asylum.”

A safe home where broken people can live out their lives in care-

Protected from all of the mess of life,

Fed and warm and watered.

So money was gathered

Stones were shaped and raised

Staff were retained and clothed in starched clothing

-The heavy doors were opened wide in welcome

 

And so they came- the halt, the sick, the lame

The motherless and the pregnant child

All those broken by worry and grief

The shakers and the mutterers

All the awkward squad

The outsiders now came inside

They were home at last

old painting, Argyll and Bute hospital grounds

 

It went well for a while

All was orderly and planned

Starved frames filled out

Songs were sung again in the entertainment hall

Gardens were laid and tended

Sheets danced in the evening sunlight

And a bell rang out to warn of the dowsing of night candles

 

But time passed, and shadows fell

Budgets were tight, and the paint peeled on windows

The good folk who had once been so generous had other calls on their coin

A few still visited on feast days but for the most part

Out of sight became out of mind.

uniformed building

 

And there was trouble

The awkward squad was still awkward

The asylum split into ‘us’ and ‘them’

 

‘We’ had roles- uniforms and clipboards, rotas and registers

Big bunches of keys danced at our belts

We had dreams- of advancement, romance and families

We had homes away from this home

 

‘They’ stood the other side of our desks

Dirty and lacking in motivation

Ungrateful and manipulative

Un co-operative with our assessments

Lacking insight into the nature of their dysfunction.

They had ceased to be like us

Rather, they lived out regulated half-lives

They ceased to be flesh

And became instead a collection of paper

In manila folders

listening

Despite all the material provision- something was missing

Despite all the person centred plans, the person was not at the centre

Despite the close press of humanity, there was no family

Despite all the risk assessments, there was no adventure

Despite all the planned activity, there is no purpose

Despite the safety of the high walls, I am still destroyed

 

So it was that care became captivity

Individuals became invisible

And home became hollow

And toxic

While Jesus in the least of these

Was weeping

locked door

Kierkegaard on poetry…

brazen bull

Soren Kierkegaard had this way of throwing stories into the middle of his philosophising. Here is one of them;

What is a poet?

An unhappy man who in his heart harbours a deep anguish, but whose lips are so fashioned that the moans and cries which pass over them are transformed into ravishing music.

His fate is like that of the unfortunate victims whom the tyrant Phalaris imprisoned in a brazen bull, and slowly tortured over a steady fire; their cries could not reach the tyrant’s ears so as to strike terror into his heart; when they reached his ears they sounded like sweet music.

And men crowd around the poet and say to him, “Sing for us soon again”—which is as much as to say, “May new sufferings torment your soul, but may your lips be fashioned as before; for the cries would only distress us, but the music, the music, is delightful.

Kierkegaard is describing something that most familiar- art arising from introspection, sensitivity, dysfunction, hurt. Art that does not heal, but rather is a plaster over an open wound.

Poetry like this has no choice but to be written. You might as well tell a cut to stop bleeding.

Hmmm.