Art, Sister Wendy and our dedications.

Did anyone else hear the amazing interview with Sister Wendy on Sunday morning? Can you remember Sister Wendy, the little Nun with a huge knowledge of art? Aled Jones interviewed her on Radio 2 and it was simply wonderful and uplifting.

She revealed that she did not much like the noise of our everyday lives, they have no telly or radio in the Abbey. They have a newspaper delievered - a day late, and after a quick glance at the headlines and the obits, Sister Wendy turns to the sports pages. Not because she has a favourite football team, but because she is in awe of sportmen and women's dedication to their career.

Sister Wendy has left the Abbey in search of art, in fact the early paintings, pre-6th century, of Mary the Mother. After this date a lot were destroyed and so she wanted to see the few, I think she said as little as 6 or 8 that are left. For this, she had to travel to Syria, Jordan and the Sudan. She mentioned how lovely society was in general. I think this might be a lot to do with people recognising her and feeling that they know her. I would not have believed it but Sister Wendy does not enjoy receiving letters, why? becuase it interrupts the daily pattern of her life.

Sister Wendy was impressed that Aled could find religion in his joys of every life, he finds it in his children, in the countryside, in thelove of his family. Wendy said that she had to pray all the time, that is why she so enjoyed being a Sister, and felt that she had to do this day on day practice to ensure that she was as close to her religion as possible. She has been a nun since she was 16!

I began to think about that kind of dedication. Sister Wendy made a choice at 16. Most of us at 16 change our minds every 2 months, or 3 weeks. What a decision to make. She in turn, was in awe of sportsmen and women who practice very day, who work hard at their sport, to perfect every aspect of it.

This made me think about myself! I often say that if I have another chance at life I would like to be n a position to dedicate myself solely to art, to have no other destractions, including children! Some think this very harsh! I would not be without my children for the world, but we are talking 'another life' after all!!!!

Have you seen the studioof Barbara Hepworth in St Ives. I can remember feeling totally amazed that there was her ash tray, there were her aprons, her chisels with which she worked each day, left as though she had just popped to the shops and would be back later to continue her work. Barbara had children, but they were very much 'taken care of', whether at nursery or boarding school.

will finish later!!xx

Bonsley Wood and Dew Pond

Looking down towards Stourpaine from between Okeford Hill and Bonsley Copse

Tuesday was such a gorgeous day. I sorted the back pack out, not wanting it too heavy and set off. I had intended to head towards Tollard Royal and then thought of two friends. They had both mentioned Bonsley Wood to me over the weekend.

One, Kay, had returned to visit the Dew Pond. The last time she had seen it was walking with my father and myself when we were young girls. Another had rung to tell me abot the beautiful carpet of Bluebells, knowing that we had spread Dad's ashes there she thought I might like to go and see this annual spectacle.

So off towards Stickland, Turnworth and I parked n Okeford Hill car park. I crossed the road and took a lane I have not travelled since I was about 13. It took me back to the Sundays when Dad used to drag me out for a walk. He would always have his latest Canon Camera, as kay reminded me, usually with his Zoom in lense on. On one particular day, the three of us encountered two mating adders. Of course being teenagers we were a bit repulsed by the large pink bubble gum bubble between them and wanted to move on, to spare our own embarrassment. Oh no, Mr Goddard had different ideas, out came the zoom in lense and a considerable time was spent, capturing the moment from different angles!

We were always being told to 'Shush', there could be deer in here', and it flew over my head. As I took this lane now, I did not feel sad, but regret, that now, when I loved walking so much, that I could not share this with Dad. But the day was too good to be dispondant. I felt an energy in my step, a purpose in the walk.

Over Okeford Hill, across out into open fields and down to the Dew Pond. Another bone of contention! Whenever dad mentioned the Dew Pond we always said - 'Noooo', it always felt like just a little bit too far to go when you could be playing at the rec, or with friends. Now I could not wait to see it again.

The sky was pure ceruleum, with a flush of clouds. The fields were fresh with the first rain in ages falling on Monday. As I walked across the open fields I could see that indefinable colour, somewhere between a cobalt and the softest violet, splattered throughout the trees beyond. Bluebells.

I turned left to walk along the edge of the wood as the track dipped down into a little valley. There on the right is the Dew Pond, it's edges wrapped in Bluebells also.

I have a wonderful photo on my phone and I'll endeavour to learn how to upload so that you can see it too. It is quite enclosed by trees and fencing which rather hindered any thought of getting a good drawing spot. But I will go again and hopefully at times with the shrubbery less full I might be able to better get in!

I then made my way up and across to the edge of Bonsley Copse. It was here that last April we scattered my father's ashes, beneath a young tree that Sam scurried up and placed Grandad's cap on a little branch. Sam visited last September and it had still been there. But with the winter weather battering across the hills it was a big wish to think it might still be there. It wasn't.

Why do strange coincidences happen? A plane always appears when I am thinking of my Dad. It was his passion and I always like to think he is having the greatest fun, looping the loop and swooping walkers on the top of HIS hill! A super jet came out of nowhere, circled and disappeared. How many times did he tell me thenamesof these things?? How many?? Do I know any? Yes the Tornado, the Harrier, Concorde. What more should a girl know?

As walked back to complete the circle, a deer appeared and cavorted across the same field I had just crossed. By the time I managed to turn the camera on it was fast disappearing.

A bloggin' we will go

Oh goodness me, it is a whole year since I last blogged. I have had to register and start again. I can hardly believe it. In this ever changing w.w.w of a life some things just will not stay the same!

Back teaching for the summer term and my ever-wonderful students remind me of things that will forever retain that essence, that factual yet ephemeral part of all our worlds. Our past.

One spoke of Grannie's bun, and when let down to almost touch the floor, the white hair had a streak of yellow through the middle. Grannie loved a roll up and the years of nicotine had stained a streak across the top of her head! What a picture. Or Molly's sister having to have a companion to take her to the outside loo, why? Because she was frightened of chickens.

Once these little stories may have been written down on 'paper', shocking. Now these people are brought to life in the retelling of such stories. Painting pictures in our minds. It is one of the greatest gifts of childhood I think. The ability to have an imagination that carries you off to another world, to another culture, to someone elses kitchen, garden, brother, sister, life.

When my students tell me stories, the pictures pop up in my mind instantly. They are there, like a little theatre, interacting.

A place where time seems to stand still is Stourhead gardens. I visited there the other day. I particularly love the two millponds at the far end. On this particular day the woodsmen were busy chopping trees down - coppicing, or good woodland management as it is probably termed now. There was an eerie feel. The small fire's smoke drifted across the top of the pond. The morning sun searched for a way in and dropped little roundels of light of upon the water. At any moment the Cottingley fairies were about to make their appearance. Such a magical place.

The following week I went prepared to do a lot of drawing. The rhododendrons were all bursting into flower, the light was wonderful. I did make a few sketches, but nothing felt right on the day. I will work on some and see what happens. Some moments can only be recaptured in the telling of them. To revisit and to live again would never be the same.

The pond

The gothic cottage