musty notes written on a brain

it is the hawthorn in my head
repeating and repeating
it is the hawthorn in my head

judy discussing WW1 teas

mystery flower

March 10 Earthquake japan

sun arrives on this mildly extravagent spring moring
sky striped with white
rough chalk sketches, lining the blue with line-messages

as if we were drawing a bowl of string against the sky, around the earth,
so many, someone could pull the end and tighten...

the world is parting company with itself

March 7 Alan & Robert & Edward Thomas

march 3

 this human earth

Are we as alive as each other -
this human earth
creature or leaf
bone or apple
brick or tongue

I turn the pond upside down
and lay it flat on the sky.

Like a weightless, million-skirted wasps nest
who can tell what depths they both hold

I have to return to certain worlds.
Oh earth, hold me up as I find my way down.

feb 28

the fall of day
still chill
old dinner-plate grey clouds

flip and wiget of wings of the nesting bird in thatch
lisp of one higher in the air
the curling one
clipping and sighing, dancing and simpering, kettling, rambling, ticking, chucking,
mixing, delegating, jumping,
jittering around the valley

the edges mute up as light leaves
a silent swallow gently flippers across the sky

february 25

4 visits later

this morning -  sun, two dogs appearing more scared of me than me, with their trecker doing her round,
gratitude is shared
to have a boundary
to have no boundary
to have this world to hold me up
light turns and colour bathes the view
dense, damp, drying, jumping, laughing, strumming, slipping, sectioning, dripping, marveling, musing,ricocheting, deep sound of woven bird language, cows, hawks, trucks, dogs and droning cars, a yawning mow, a tripping rapid release
all this noise greets the sun!
Someone in the two days has chopped back the growth of thorns and reeds


two mornings earlier, a mist, a soggy trip

a visit with Leslie and Scarlett and talks of the event for May 8th

Judith and I and our day with no preparation and its unflowering

february 14

a slice of sun
an edge of cloud
a lung of life
a twitch on my ragged soul
the littering of catkins
upright and bright
yellow and true
every breath  held
give back
my lung of life
my edge of cloud
my slice of sun

Dancers in Landscape February 6

February 7

the bare hawthorn ghosts against the yew
like old dresses-
taken away,
leaving the stitches-
little lobs, snitches, knotted lines-
Delicate as long gone perfume
Its blurred outline crimped and lonely.
Revealed only by the greenbacked yew.

I hear a rock band of wind
a dropping, cluttering, bird of noise
the restless traffic of  air


It all sways-
cloud to tree to grass to brick
the doors flurry and smash, shocking the walls,
fly and warp like leaves
reverberate and shift
It rushes up
even in the gloom and groan
winter is usurped

Tash Bidgood photographing snowdrops

The sky holds onto the tops of the trees
pulling them up by bevelled edges
claiming them with cloud

I take my seat
settle
real ripples on the pond, from under the surface
whinge of saw
a landscape of gently nudging from both sides
earth and being

High birds fly randomly, black
against clouds and blue
one has caught the wave
glissades higher, wings motionless
a dash against the cirrus
lost
space opens

can bone grow into stone
aching muscle into creaking branch
rumbling stomach into rippling pond

eyes grow wider
lazy around the edges
to catch the flickerings

an eye that listens gently

treasures of the damp, ungainly field
are like cold coins
lain on a warm cheek

Fingers cold and bumbling from rain and cold, its surprising how one can write from an action in the wrist and not fingers, might even call this embodied cold!
Any exposed place - hillock, crevace, ridge, drop, is overtoppling  with water
the earth can't imbibe more so it gathers swelling on the surface, each step swallowed as one goes, everything blurs its shape with overabundance
today the silver birches have turned a dingy vermilion mottled with brown, the hazy pink nimbus rained away

The barn doors swing like giant eyelids,
opening and closing the view.
Here, look at this, shelter from that
A loud bang as one slaps the outside wall, light in, pond reflecting
The other wavers to a close
and swiftly, silently back again
The wind reveals what it wants me to see
Both wide for a moment, as if gone, then shuffling in gently twinning.
The choreography of wind and doors,
Slow Stravinsky rhythms, insistent yet unbalanced
intricate and subtle
Wind has never been more visual

stumbling up from the charcoal tree
I see the first snowdrops
I have a long way to go in observing if a crowd of snowdrops appears unoticed
their likely fates to be drowned or frozen
without a touch of light , they look grey

the looking needs to start again
the looking is always new
the looking is always ahead of you
the looking has only just begun

Just wanted to sit for a while, watch the clouds

the door cuddling up to me in the wind, touching and support my left arm
slice of light marshmallowed by clouds
the dot to dots of a shallow of birds, starlings, sparrows, too far away to see

too cold to leave the body
toes warm in socks, backs of thighs catching the wind, and the round of my shoulderblade has cold holding it, drawing my mind to my body makes it present,
the lingering tension in the stomach,
the held point at the tip of the breastbone
skin of hands and head in the air

the spongy pinkness rises from the winter birches, the colour gloams and holds
the creak of  wing and branch
the crucial outline of my body dissolves, easy to leave

 glance of hair across my forehead  -
I look at the mud at the bottom of my trousers
cartography of moving through mud
might go un noticed if I just flung them in the washing machine
a map's a map, a way in, a way to follow
Forsenic policemen could trace my every move with the earth on the bottom of my boots
a walk traced over and over
Does it go into the bones, the memory, the body, the land

the sky suddenly seems huge

the birch pink deepens and I shiver

Looking at the outline of the oak against the heavy white sky
a repetitive, breathing,swish, unnerved me
swish, had me look up, swish,
I was sitting in the centre of a V ( the other way up) of Canada Geese
white and grey against the white
symmetry of wing and pattern
an uplift of magic
on this seeping, dull, lightless day

It is bright sun

ice crystallizing the bricks

breath of steam, the only moving cloud

The birds are back.
At least six kinds
The birds are back.
Stacking their claim to holding onto sound

I listen like a dull grey seed hugging my winter self.

A shard of shadow pierced with light reaches under the barn door.

 Must walk home.
Holding tense against the ice
gentle          cautious             careful

Hold it tight.

strong sun and shadows
snow is actually ice crystals like rock salt enlarged
clinging together to reflect enough light to be white
and give the appearance of snow

there are no birds
just the wind
no rustles no squeaks - just air
almost bleak
are they all in hiding?


off towards christmas

Looking at tracks trying to work out which tracks belong to what sort of car

Enough light in the sky to give things a colour, more pronounced and variable today

deep dulled magenta of faraway birches
black shadows in soggy brown pines
bright orchre of oak
old fashioned dark green velvet of yew
turning tan of last lying leaves cradled in icicle snow

A day later, snow on the ground, snow falling, the view has drawn in and the sounds are muffled
Even sitting in the doorway snow has blown in and covered the pages, crunched  together  bits , midway between hail and fluff. Snow moves sideways and the branches of the trees which stayed dark yesterday
are being outlined with white today.
What other colours than white -
copper brown at the bottom of the young oak
sledge green of the reeds around the pond
black dead leaves on nettles
a slumped green of grass, almost a shadow green one knows it should be green yet coated with white it loses particularity
Our footsteps are already filling up, left behind two minutes ago.
Another covering of snow hits the page, a breath filled with tickles, flicks and moisture.

snow about to fall

December 17

late sun

December 14

A squirrel skimming along a branch of the oak
Birds glueing on and off trees
The clouds curve into the earth
Late sun glows the sky
The pit of dew in the long grass
In absolute still
Of sundown

December 9

I took the seeds the nine dancers had gathered from all over the site on our Dancers in Landscape day, and buried them near the oak tree with the bird box, marked the spot with a forked branch. I photographed the white sheets of people in their various states of weather evolvement. I covered the hole made by the animal in the floorboards.

December 9

ice still thick and unmoving on pond
snow in lower field
hard ground
to plant our ritual seeds
sun floods in
lightening the wintering

Something has moved into the barn!
neat bits of straw parquet the brick threshold
lumps of earth and eaten mud ricochet across the planks
there is a hole  - edges worn and growing
bits of acorn crunch underneath
Something needs to be done!

December 3

December 3

Seed Poem Exhibition November 22

bunces barn

November 24

White light cuts from the pond -
So bright I can see my eyebrow hairs around the shape of my nose if I close one eye.

A last leaf jangles across the air in front of me,
Clicks and ticks,
Another bombs in
Sharp lightness -as if all bass notes are missing
Another leaf, slow,dignified ,lowers its way to the ground, another sound of clack
Two flies buzzing around each other and around the wall, rumage with life and speed

take grace
make gratitude
allow beauty

resounding essence of place

November 22 Judith & Clare

A busy day at the Barn
Seed Poems up
Film on windows
Paper in places
charcoal and mud
soup apples satsumas

November 19

A heron flew up from the pond
-As I tramped in-
Its solemn wings
Breathing in space-
It landed in the field below the beehives
After a pause, it rose again, swirled and made for the distance

A pigeon - surprised by me quietly sitting-
The white middle of its wings
Moving away like camera shutters

Against grey sky
Some ragged leaves descend
Nearly the last -
Rain follows

Against grey clouds
A small aircraft
Rumbling
White light on its tail

November 16 sunset

Arrived late to a lit up sky and undercoloured clouds.  Crab apples were on the floor for the first time. Sat and read my  early morning writings. Watched the sun go and felt the brightness of the moon over the oaks.

Walk to the pond nov 16 from clare whistler on Vimeo.

Nov 11 place

The strongest activism around place really starts from the centre, a very specific place, in what William Heat Moon calls a 'deep map'.  And then with really consiously lived experience, it moves out from there in ripples.  A great way of learning where you are is to think in terms of these ripples and how they affect  your centre and where other rings intercede to affect you and the environment and so forth.
Lucy R Lippard

Quote Amanda Ross-Ho

We live and act in the present and yet it is the hardest moment to describe.  The present is our ongoing ever changing moment of origin, a collage of everything, a multi-faceted jewel made up of memeory, feeling, thinking, and whatever you are looking for.

Nov 10 Great Dixter visit

Glorious autumn sun, slightly soggy ground, alders and willows before the gate to walk in
Talked at home, walked to the Barn,  compared experience , looked around, walked back for lunch.
Talked about the Barn and what I am doing, in relation to what they are doing at Great Dixter.
Talked to Victoria and Catherine

Colette vsit November 5th

Too wet to walk, and Colette's shoes were lacy, her coat grey patterned with silver.
She choose her wildflower 'yellow rattle'  , and we talked poetry and fireworks.

November 1 All Souls Day

Angie
I am standing where you stood  in June -
Alive with honey
Alive wth beauty
Alive with golden
golden
gold

This is the day you go
Angie

Judith Alder & Clare Whistler Bunces Barn

Start of a year long collaboration.
The perfect autumn sunlight
An apple to share, seeds and water
Tiny apples and golden seeds
Inside going out and outside going in
A day a month for a year

 The colours mute
The damp is believable and rising up to meet me

There, a strike of light
Through the edge of the oak -
Like breathing, opens it all up again

Bottomless Tub

Pond at Bunces Barn

 

 

October 18

Mary Oliver
We speak a good deal these days of the loss of community, and many of us feel that we have lost therefore something very precious.  Essays can move us back into this not-quite-lost realm.  Tackling a hundred subjects, in a hundred different syles, they are like letters from a stranger that you cannot bear to throw away.  They haunt you, they strengthen you.
In the time of all time, the Now, some essay for each of us, be it old or fresh on the page, may turn out to be a most fervent, provocative, and valuable friend.

This reminds me of how I am opening up to the hundreds of ideas that Bunces Barn offers

October 17th Julia visit to Bunces Barn

Tractor Trundle 1 from clare whistler on Vimeo.

Tractor Trundle 2 from clare whistler on Vimeo.

After the excitement of the Tractor Trundle ( 80 tractors touring the environs of Ashburnham for a few hours) which we jumped onto via Alan Petty's scoop and tractor outside my house, and lunch, Julia and I walked up to the barn in bright autumn sun.  So many conversations had already been had but when we were sitting quietly at the barn Julia came up with an explanation of what I am doing via the thoughts of her friend Barbara
"Intimacy and diversity" working project by project over time - produces a quality of neighbourliness which enables people to contribute their skills and ability to a common effort when needed in a transformation or crisis.  If you don't know what you have in other people, how can you use it in the best way.
Always learning the skills of engagement and negotiation to face uncertain futures, its what the timeless role of a middle-aged woman does, having the mobility to  cross cultures and class, to make it safe for others.

"To weave things from your doorstep"      "To bring the world back into your body from your feet"
"After all the shouting we need to whisper"

Intimacy and Diversity  could be the name of the conversations I have at Bunces Barn.

Leaf fall

Leaf Fall from clare whistler on Vimeo.

walk to the barn sunday 10.10.10

subtle lines of white wavering in the bouncy windbreath
the leaves hold onto their last green, autumn colours seem hidden
sun breathing new life into all
heat loosens up the cycle of seasons and we go off kilter

Walk to barn october 8

Walk to the Barn with David Rhodes from the De La Warr
Bright hot sunshine, and even vehicles going to the cows in the field below the barns and a chain saw in the woods opposite the road as we were walking up.  So maybe not silence, but definitely bucolic.  We sat and talked at home first, and a tour of the paintings.  The conversation was ever winding, hard to recall what was said so here are fragments -
St Leonards community, Angie and Len, Kate and her two exhibitions, Norman's Road and Polly's leaving party and a mother slapping her child
John Cage and his new book and exhibition
De la Warr as a hub for artists to meet
the drawing class and its unknown participants
the bricks in the ruined farmhouse, the blue headers, the r and d in the snow, the metal buckets in the grass, oak trees and my collection of photographs, giving him an acorn, a shower of acorns as we stood next to the bee hives, which looked like wasps outside one, the charm of the empty outhouse, the old iron window, practicality, his father a master tool maker, his 8 years as a toolmaker, how things 'made' for art appeal to him, that the artist does not have to be the 'maker', conceptual art.
What is education and what is art, I replied all art can be education
we both left school without A Levels, he did an access course then a degree, that people should go to university later
conversations as art, conversations as communication
things about our parents, things about my children, his partner
Pam Dor and Shaping Voices
The story of the owner who only liked ruins and not seeing anyone
'We must be modest in front of the weather" a Greenlandic saying.  He liked the lenticular photograph more than the others
Two wasps came in, they were not bees, we had the last two honey biscuits  I  had bought for the visit to  Angie.
 About Joanna and Biber,  about teaching the children this week to do improvisation, and their answers to how it felt, weird, unusual, feeling on the edge of something, unknowing - and how I was pleased with their answers, that it made them artists - that's where we all want to be as artists
about walking and thinking, about ghosts - from the people who walked on the ground before us, to the cold air moment of feeling one, to my sons easy recognition of them before he knew they were ghosts, to my "Visitor" project with Judith, to teenage girls and menopausal women hormonal change giving one a kind of extra sense, a heightened intuition.



a certain awkwardness
re defining conversation in the realm of art and ordinariness
a shared thermos and honey biscuit
high sun and John Cage
To have a viewpoint
like the owner only wishing to see ruins
ghosts among the blue headers, practical makers, brick after brick
unsettling wasps visited, a newly dead squirrel kept life and death close
Plunking acorn drop
gift of a seed

to more winding voices