For this project I have made new stitched paper works, all of which in differing ways show the emotional residue within landscape, the sense of place and people that is still present in ancient environments such as the Templer Way, where past lives have physically and emotionally shaped the land and left their story.

In Natural Art the plant life imprinted in Dartmoor’s granite walls, stones and lanes, where life merges, fuses and softens the harsh environment over time and the stone continue to pulsate with life.

image: Mixed media and collage

www.rachaelbennettpaintings.com

My journey along the Templer Way is taking many routes, with more to follow as I absorb the poetry inspired by our venture. But the words Boat Graveyard have gripped me for now. I am very aware how water, transportation, and the life source of the Teign have evolved over time. Boats that would have been an essential part of life for thousands of years have changed unbelievably in recent years. The freight ships of 2024 so far removed from the local hand built craft of before. Hence my digging into the concept of boat graveyards.

More green and rocky bits will follow. I promise.

Image: 448 boat

avenda.uk

I DRAW BREATH yoga breathing blind drawing

Slow, slow I draw breath, my breath

So I might breathe it out on paper.

My breath. Drawn down to belly and toes,

Drawn in, passing colours through closed eyes,

Feeling a path through charcoaled fingers

It lingers in the air and then exhales.

Light, hard, left, right, loose, tight.

To rub or shove, or stretch and curl,

The graphite whorl spells out drawn breath

Across the page of freedom unseen before me.

I will not look yet.

Let the ink jet black unfold its surprise.

Aah, eyes unfurl. Yes. I have drawn breath.

UNEARTHING FIELD TRIP observations of a markmaker

Spectacular fairy ring of rabbit pooh and tender heather

Rusty heifers with mismatched horns, the young ones skittering and
scampering in playful uncertainty

Pale yellow slender grasses growing strangely brighter, glowing even, as
sun fades at the close of making marks

Gorse scratching, gouging, mark making our thighs

Hastily tucking trouser legs into socks for fear of ticks, spiders,
lizards and adders

The magic of fading sun and clouds on dark water pond, that stares back
at us as we stand and look, and stand and look, and then get bitten

Still scratching at imaginary ants in pants, must investigate that later

The path is there, we see it easily on the back track, the light now
faded, but the path still glowing sandy bright, laughing smug at us who
missed it hours before and scrabbled long through thick and thin, rough
and tougher, sticky and prickly, tender lichens pale and magic, heathers
new and shouting colour, embryonic spruce trees fledging their tiny
beginnings

We saw it all

We saw and sought to make our marks

And marks escaped us, but we found one or two and caged them in our
notebooks.

Artist plantsman living on the edge of Dartmoor

i walk 

i see colour 

i paint

Making art is all about breathing out what is inside, it is just another way of keeping a diary (emotional or otherwise) a fleeting moment in a timeless space

The energy of nature invites me to paint, creates a space in which to immerse myself,  the place, my emotions to reveal the submerged, presences that underlie existence

i only went out for a walk, and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, i found, was really going in

john muir

image: Whimsical sprites