Monday, 24 September 2018

Sickle Moon Bridge


I tell myself I hate winter, I dread it, that I'd be better off hibernating through the dark months. And there's truth in this, though actually high summer can be challenging too - in fact, sometimes the lack of night makes me feel like I'm going a bit mad. So the equinoxes are probably my best, calmest times of the year. (Maybe they bring a little balance to my often out-of-kilter Libran scales.) 

If asked, I would say that I love the vernal equinox best, the cusp of the light half of the year, with all the promise of another spring to come. But inside I'm autumnal, always have been. If it's not actually leaf-fall, then I'm waiting for it. 

Here's an equinoctial photo I took of a bridge over a disused canal and the sun - or rather the reflection of the sun and the reflection of the reflection of the sun. Which turns out somehow to be the moon.  I think it's has something to do with being in that moment of balance. Embracing the dark because without it, there's no light.




Friday, 21 September 2018

A Visit to New Filton House

After my visit to the Botanic Gardens, where The Impossible Garden is being exhibited, it was turning into a Luke Jerram-themed long weekend. 


Here's Aeolus at Airbus in my home town of Filton. 

Except we were there mainly to visit a building that is an icon of the aircraft industry in these parts, but which I'd never been inside.  

This is how New Filton House looked back when the whole world was in black and white. I remember getting excited whenever it was on the national news, as a backdrop to a report about Concorde, which was made here and in Toulouse.


In 1992, it was vacated by British Aerospace and fell into disrepair. I took my son to photograph the exterior for a project  when he was at the local primary school. 


I was far from the only outraged Filtoner. One group of locals actually did something practical and put in application for listed building status, which was successful in 1999.


Eventually Airbus, who by then owned the place, covered it in scaffolding and plastic. Here it is in 2008. 


Finally it was restored and reopened in 2013, but it's taken me another five years to coincide in time and space with one of the Heritage Open Days. 


Built in 1932, New Filton House (or Pegasus House, as it's called these days) was built to house the Bristol Aeroplane Company, which everyone in Filton called the BAC, and thereafter the British Aircraft Corporation, which handily had the same initials. 


And this is Old Filton House, which dates from the 18th century and was the previous company headquarters. It too was left to lapse into dereliction before being restored ... 


... here with the new Airbus building looming behind. Which is a bit of a shame as from some angles the latter does New Filton House's job of dominating the skyline, only rather less elegantly.


I was happily lapping up familiar sights from new slants. Here's the simple but pleasing Garden of Remembrance ...


... and look, the tree that's lit up every Christmas from the other side!



New Filton House was commissioned by Sir Stanley White, son of Sir George, the father of British aviation and founder of the British and Colonial Aeroplane Company (its original incarnation). 


We were being ushered through the main entrance, which the workers weren't permitted to use back then. I felt a bit of a scab ... 

... but it did give us a chance to inspect the first of several sculptures on site by Denis Dunlop, in this instance, Mercury.


The first beautiful thing you encounter inside is Dunlop's coloured terrazzo floor which features the signs of the zodiac, the winds and the sun.




Then you see the spectacular stained glass window over several floors by Jan Juta ... 





... and the way it interacts with the amazing staircase. 


We were then taken to the conference room which has moulded plaster panels running down either side of the window with various depictions of flight, these also by Denis Dunlop.


Icarus and Daedalus


At this point all of us who were taking photos like mad were told that we shouldn't be really, which was a bit of a shame as I didn't see any top secret blueprints for stealth bombers lying around on desks.  But I did stop. (Sort of.)


The Gloucester Road from an unwonted angle


The exterior of Juta's stained glass window
The lift


This is the safe in the strong room in the basement where the wage packets for thousands of workers were put up every week. 


Just time for a final look at two very familiar sculptures by Dunlop: the 1935 Bristol Type 143 aeroplane 'Britain First' (no relation to the fascist hate group of the same name) ...


... and beneath it, Pegasus, representing the aero engine made here. 



So pleased, finally, to have experienced the fabulous art of my home town.  


Tuesday, 18 September 2018

Rude Botanicals and the Impossible Garden

It's been a while since the IsamBards last poetry-walked the mean streets of Clifton, Bristol. Or poetry-sailed the Floating Harbour
But there's a new project in the offing which involves the University Botanic Garden, so there we convened last Friday morning for a spot of recon. 


It was damp and a bit horrible outside, and just as damp inside the greenhouses. But warmer.

I had my poetry head on and was maniacally snapping interesting shapes and fractals. 


I find cacti a bit creepy, but fascinating none the less.


A forest of them is enthralling.




Some of them look almost cuddly. 












Not triffids ... bananas!


Worthy of Georgia O'Keefe's attention, I think.
Outside there were art installations by Luke Jerram, in conjunction with Bristol Eye Hospital. Called The Impossible Garden, it explores visual perception.
This is Dazzle. Striking how the patterns recall the underside of the ferns in the greenhouse


This is Threshold.  


Luke Jerram is colour-blind. The hedge reads IS THIS RED?


I also liked the bench that had been built as if it were a reflection. 
Talking of which, this was my favourite artwork. It's called Upon Reflection. I caught an unexpected glimpse of it and it had a striking impact. 
Jerram calls it a comment on the UK's current state of flux, and it does change as you view it from different angles. It made me think of global warming. 

Elsewhere, nature was showing off its own installations.


Cat's arse ... open arse ... cul de chien ... take your pick





Talking of optical illusions, I can't help but see a flock of dark red birds when I look at these. 


I don't very often walk around a place thinking I'm going to write about something inspired by here, opting instead to capture what comes. 


It was quite exhilarating to fire up the old synapses.