RENATURED

Artwork at Allenheads, “Exploring Nostalgia,” photo by Sharon Bailey

Crazy… Moles are traditionally nailed to fences – it’s a way of counting coupe so the molecatcher gets paid. More on this after I visit Allenheads Contemporary Arts (ACA), an arts centre in the moors of  rural Northumberland.

Just for context, I looked into molecatchers and found this gent “Jeff Nicholls the GRASS SHARK HUNTER. ” Of course he’s in the Guild of British Molecatchers:

He’s written some eponymous books that have met with rave reviews — “Anyone who suffers from moles will find Jeff Nicholl’s Molecatcher a long awaited lifeline.”

But I haven’t found too many technical pics on his web site, except this one, tugs at the heart strings (especially after petting a very soft, dead mole at the taxidermy studio of Eric Morton):

But this is what I was looking for:

I’m of two minds about this – it’s traditional warfare between cultivator and cultivator; and it saddens me, to see them hung by their nosies.

Seeing Thomas Bewick preparatory drawings in the flesh at the archive today, with archivist June Holmes. Yes, I don’t get out enough and don those WHITE GLOVES.

It was a thrill. Bewick’s work is astonishing –  firstly, because of the level of detail at such a tiny scale, but also because he worked varying degrees of the detail into the drawings, which he transferred onto the blocks, and then did an enormous amount of the detail work on the block itself (in negative — did he see the world in reversed lines as well?). June Holmes said the animals he knew well just didn;t require that much preparation… roosters, dogs, local common birds, foxes…

Here is an engraving that never got published.It is one of his allegorical/anecdotal “tail-pieces” – the original is about 3″ wide, max:

The Bewick Society has a lot of vignettes online – these were used as filler at the bottom of pages, but are far more than tailpieces- Bewick called them his tale-pieces, and they are worlds of their own, highly detailed miniatures that construct a natural history of everyday life, often with a memento mori quality. I’d always thought of his use of inscribed text upon the rocks as a way to illuminate the fact that the landscape itself is a kind of text, but apparently, he thought the landscape could become a site of morality, and he fancied to make it carry the word of God, so to speak (I think I’ll continue to believe in the “natural” texts of distinguished,  dramatic landmarks, many of which have nicknames as  wayfinding markers – synesthetic mnemonics in which being, place, and folkloric inscription tangle up to make geography).

… made explicitly poetic by two visits I had in the last week with taxidermy artists.

First was Emily Mayer, an amazing animal artist in Norwich. She lives + works in an old workhouse infirmary, and makes exquisite sculptures – some taxidermy, some found materials like scrap metal and plastic bits and downed wood (see the recent exhibit at Campden Gallery here). She’s also taxidermist to the (art) stars.

Second was my morning visit to the temporary workspace of Eric Morton, taxidermist for the Great North Museum (née Hancock Museum) here in Newcastle on Tyne. When I spoke to him on the phone he said he was in the process of moving his workspace and there wasn’t much around. Right. He’s genius. I asked him if he has animals festooning his home, and he said “no! that’s like bringing work home. I collect clocks.” I can only imagine.

It is no mean thing to be able to pet animals–  albeit dead ones —  like owls, foxes, and moles.

More photos here chez my flickr zone.