I
wrote this blog in January 2013. I'm re-blogging it - is there such
a word? I am not getting out of writing a blog this week, it's just
appropriate. I went and took a sculpture workshop when I got my
fellowship last year.
I have always had a hankering to do sculpture.
Now I know how long it takes, I know I will not be doing much but I
will continue. I bought the tools, I have a vague idea how to do it
and will on occasion continue with it. I was drinking my coffee this
morning and looking at my small piece, Warm Welcome, and thought I
can see how Nana influenced me.
And so … meet Nana. Here's the old
blog
Last
week when I wrote about my friend, Nana Berthelot - a wonderful
sculptor in Mallorca, in the Balearics... it brought an avalanche of
special memories of our time together for a couple of years when we
lived there. Lee and I were living on our 30' sailboat, mostly
anchored in the bay off Puerto Colom, a delightful small town with a
big natural harbour and an atmospheric old town with high rampart
walls and large cathedral dominating it's skyline.
Our
mode of transport was 2 fold-up bicycles... old and rather rusty but
they worked. Nana lived in a finca surrounded by olive groves in the
tiny village of Son Prohens a couple of kilometers away. We'd often
ride our bikes over with food in our front baskets. We'd prepare the
meal while she worked away at chipping stone. When it was ready, we'd
set the table under a tree away from her dusty work and we'd all
enjoy a long leisurely meal and wine, talking and laughing.
Other
times she'd drive by the harbour, hoot at us, we'd row over and hop
in the car and go with her to the quarry to order stone. She drove a
little Renault 5 and we'd go barreling down in to the dark mouth of
the quarry inside a mountain. I was always sure we'd get lost down
there but Nana drove with great panache and speed through dark
tunnels, stopped at the right place, placed her order and we'd shoot
out the mouth of mountain in to the sun without mishap every time.
The day after placing her order a flatbed truck would show up at her
olive grove and begin dumping the pieces off haphazrdly. She left
them where they were and whether they were horiztonal or vertical, on
their sides or flat it didn't matter ... the stone told her what do
create.
This
photo is of 2 pieces in progress - they weathered naturally as she
worked on them since they sat out exposed to all the elements. The
man's legs behind the tree are a friend of ours who is about 6 foot,
so you can get some sense of scale. These were 2 of her smaller
pieces.
Nana's
real name is Anne, but everyone called her Nana - a beautiful,
tranquil woman who makes beautiful things, we are fortunate indeed to
know her. I can hear her lilting voice with her fractured English,
mixed with Spanish and French as I write this. Such happy, treasured
memories.
And
back to today:
Here
is my wee piece. You can see how her creative spirit helped drive
mine. I am astounded I didn't see it before! I met Nana in the
1980's.. and here in 2013 her influence comes to me. How wonderful is
that!?
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