paint workbook

When I began painting I filled not only sketch-books, but also work-books with experiments in paint and mixed media. Today’s images are all from a single, small work-book. Some of the compositional images are partial collages. I was playing with ideas, trying to understand just what was possible. All the images shown were made in acrylic inks, some with added oil pastel. Acrylic inks were the first paints I ever really got to grips with. Originally formulated for use with airbrushes, I used them only with brushes.  Initially I found them difficult to master and frustratingly unforgiving. However once I’d got used to the inks and learned how to handle them fast (they dried very quickly) they were really interesting to paint with.

Here are so many of the subjects that I was interested in at the time. (And indeed still am.) Rather abstract landscapes, blustery weather conditions, turbulent skies, fence-posts/telegraph-poles, boulders, outcrops, thrashing branches, pollarded trees… it’s all here, in miniature. Even Tretower (third image below) stripped by me of its curtain-wall to simplify the shape.

Added to these are the textures and mark-making: transparency, layering, graininess, scratchy versus silken brushes, compositional disjunctions, the drawn-line overlaying paint. All the contents of the toy-box are present.

I don’t make up paint ‘work-books’ these days. All the paint-work goes on at the easel. This particular work-book dates from when I wanted to keep notes and reminders of how materials behaved. The lessons were absorbed and later became a part of my daily practice. But the book is an interesting little record of how my eye was working back at the start of the journey, and I have an affection for its contents.

‘glimmerglass’ framed

Marly Youmans’ novel Glimmerglass will be published in September by Mercer University Press. The books have been printed and are currently stashed in a USA warehouse. Soon they will begin to move out into the world. Meanwhile, and on the the other side of the world, from today anyone visiting us will be greeted by the framed original collage/drawing that is the cover of Glimmerglass, the first artwork to be seen on entering Ty Isaf, hanging at the half-landing of the stairs next to shelves packed with treasured books, including all my collaborations with Marly.

Whether going up or down at Ty Isaf, the cover of the book is there to greet and remind me of all the pleasures of friendship with Marly. I love her work, and I love her.

Marly, right, with Montserrat Prat at Ty Isaf, 2011. Both had contributed chapters to my monograph, published by Lund Humphries.

Puppet Challenge: the ‘overflow’ gallery

I promised that I would post some of the puppets made by the Puppet Challengers that didn’t appear in the official posts, because we’d decided broadly to confine the exhibition to one puppet per person. I snuck two in for Scott Garrett, but as both Lynne Lamb and Philippa Robbins made many puppets, I decided to save the extra ones for showing after the main event.

Philippa Robbins: Blue

Philippa chose Frida Kahlo as her subject for the Puppet Challenge, an artist who painted many self-portraits that effectively mythologised her appearance. But in the process of making Frida, Philippa was producing a whole cast of glove-puppet characters. Here are some of them.

Below: the Diva

Below: the Prisoner

When Philippa came to stay with us at Penparc Cottage, her puppets came too, and this is the sight that greeted my trip to the loo one morning!

He has lots of tattoos. These are pictures taken during the process of making him.

Finally, Philippa produced a pair of puppets made in the likeness of her and her husband, for his birthday: Mini Philippa and Dave!

The images printed onto the hospital gowns are from drawings Philippa produced.

Below, Philippa at work in her kitchen, shortening a puppet’s neck with a saw!

Lynne Lamb: Bog Body

Lynne’s first puppet was a Frost Witch. She began with digital-renderings made on a tablet.

From the very first time I saw the renderings, I loved her vision of the character. Not pale and beautiful, the way Snow Queens are usually portrayed, but frost-blackened, leathery and pinched, like a bog-body preserved in peat. Deeply creepy, especially when arrayed in sparkles and icy lace.

Finally, the puppet as realised, and it doesn’t disappoint. I love those twiggy, scratchy fingers.

Below: Lynne’s portrait of the puppet. What started as digital renderings, and then became a creature of papier-mâché, at the conclusion was reinvented as paint on canvas. The puppet as muse and model!

‘sold’ to the man with with the smile on his face!

Sold at Oriel Tegfryn

The Catch

acrylic on panel – 42 x 42 cm – 2014


While torrents of words have been written by art historians about painters and their works, and while newspapers and periodicals carry the pronouncements of critics on exhibitions of works both historic and contemporary, and there are even inveterate private collectors who occasionally pronounce on their collecting policies, there is very little written by individuals who set out on a mission to purchase a particular painting. Perhaps that’s because art-buyers are shy about trumpeting their acquisitions, or don’t feel able to express in words the feelings that drive their collecting.


Phil Cooper is not yet a collector, and indeed may never be one, though by admission he felt compelled to purchase his most recent painting, which might be a sign of an incipient obsession. (I’ve know many art collectors who started out innocently enough with the getting of one or two paintings, but then found themselves in the undertow of an unexpected and hard-to-control passion-to-acquire.) But for now, and I hope hereafter, Phil has been measured in his judgements and acquisitions. He is a man who has collected two works by a single painter, and that painter is me. He purchased the study of a dragon I’d made for the cover of the just-about-to-be-launched Marly Youmans novel Glimmerglass, and yesterday he wrote to tell me that he’s acquired a painting I’ve written about here on the Artlog, The Catch.

Phil is an artist himself, and so he sees things with an informed eye. He’s open-hearted and candid in his writing on his own blog, and he’s a generous commenter on the blogs of other artists. In his letter to me he wrote beautifully about what had drawn him to the painting and made him want to have it in his home, and as a direct result of that, he agreed to write again, a piece for public consumption at the Artlog. Here it is:

“I first came across Clive’s work about three and a half years ago. I think I was Googling ‘Gawain and the Green Knight’ and amongst the images that popped up was a beautiful painting of the head of the green knight that I now know to be one of three studies Clive made on the subject some years ago. The strong composition and colour palette, the intensity and poetry of the Knight’s expression, and an elusive quality that is less easy to define, all stopped me in my tracks and I went ‘whoa, what’s this?’. I started to jump from one link to another, greedily gobbling up all the fantastic images that lit up my screen. By the end of the evening I was hooked and I went on to become an avid fan of Clive’s work, which I’ve been following ever since on the fantastic, peerless Artlog.


Recently, I started to think about acquiring a painting and at about the same time I saw a new work begin to emerge on Artlog. A thumbnail sketch appeared of a bearded man holding a basket or platter of fish. The sketch had all the hallmarks of Clive’s preparatory drawings; dynamic energy, exciting composition, crackling negative space and an exquisite use of line and mark making.


When the finished painting of ‘The Catch was revealed online a few days later, I was so taken with it I’d keep snatching a glimpse on my iPad throughout the day, poring over the details and the marvellous effect of the whole. At first I was struck by the glow of the fisherman’s pale skin and red hair against the dark blues and blacks of the sea and sky. Then the beautifully painted mackerel, and tattoo also caught my eye, but what I was drawn back to, what really enthralled me, was that face, with the dreamy, unfathomable, eyes-closed expression.


Clive wrote a superb ‘from start to finish’ post about the evolution of ‘The Catch’ on the Artlog, the kind of post that blogging was invented for in my opinion, and being given such a detailed insight into how the painting came into being made me love it even more. Clive wrote about how he wrestled with the eyes of the fisherman, spending a lot of time just staring at the work in progress, trying to pinpoint what might be needed to ‘clinch it’. He mentioned that painting the figure with his eyes closed was a risk, that it could break the connection between the painting and the viewer. It’s true that we cannot know what is going on behind those eyelids; is his reverie concerned with past pain or pleasure, dreams or fears of the future? The tattoo unfolding down his arm depicts a ship pursued by a monstrous nautilus; had he escaped such peril at sea? Is he re-living a nightmare ‘flashback’? Or are his eyes closed in a moment of private relief and gratitude? At the point in time captured in the painting, the fisherman is holding a shallow wooden bowl of plump, tasty-looking mackerel, an armful of riches from the sea, so whatever may have happened is in the past  because right now he is blessed with plenty. There are a couple of fish that look different. Clive referred to them as ‘ghost’ fish. Do they signify the one that got away, a lost love, or the fish yet to be captured, a love yet to be won? Whatever feelings are being felt, that face looks calm to me, soft, the bulky shoulders strong but relaxed, the body and mind quite still. In contrast to the choppy waves and the currents sweeping around the quay, this man is steady and rooted, firmly cradling his precious, hard-won catch. Life’s storms and squalls eddy around him, the waves buffet him, possibly leaving him marked or scarred, but both he and his glittering, miraculous bounty remain intact.


Some of these ideas may have informed my decision to go for this particular work of Clive’s. What moves me about a painting and connects me to it might be a whole range of things, some of which I can appreciate consciously and intellectually such as my love of particular colour palettes and imagery, the fine qualities of composition and form, or the beautiful mark making and brushwork. But I know there will also be all kinds of messages bubbling up from my psyche that I won’t quite understand but that might just push my choice in a particular direction, whispering ‘that one, it’s that one’ in my ear.


What prompted me to go for ‘The Catch’? Well, one reason I wanted to treat myself to a painting was to give myself something for getting through a very difficult year. We lost my dad last November, an extraordinary, lovely man, and then other challenges came along to blight the last few months, though thankfully these are now ebbing away. I kept coming back to that face, and it reached out to me, something about it saying ‘relax, all is well, stop fretting about those waves out to sea. You’re safe here. Look, your bowl is full of marvels’. The closed eyes really did clinch it for me, they may prevent a more direct contact with the fisherman and his emotional world, but they also seal a particular kind of ephemeral magic into the painting, fixing it like a shimmering gossamer soap bubble stretched across the frame.


I’m just so chuffed to bits to have been able to acquire this painting and I look forward to getting to know it better very soon when I pick it up after the forthcoming exhibition at Oriel Tegfryn. I thought ‘The Catch’ could be an early 50th birthday present to myself, though as I don’t reach my half century until next April it’s a very early present – but I couldn’t let this one get away!


Thanks Clive for letting me share my thoughts on the Artlog. It was a pleasure writing about how I fell for your wonderful painting.”

Phil Cooper. 14/08/14


the evolution of a toy-theatre

Back so long ago that my memories of the event are hazy, I took part in a ‘mail art’ exhibition curated by the late Lizzie Organ at her Kilvert Gallery in Clyro. (Alas, no more.) I decided to make a card that opened to show a garden. I hoped the card might survive the postal system reasonably well, as long as I made it robust enough. (I didn’t want to put it in an envelope.)

It’s constructed from very thick card, hinged at both sides with strips of linen to two flaps that close centrally. The front is painted with the proscenium arch and the curtains of a theatre. For its Royal Mail journey there were narrow silk ribbons tied and secured with sealing wax to keep the flaps closed. When I think about it it’s staggering that such a fragile construction survived the postal system intact. The remains of the ribbons, stained with the residue of red wax, had to be cut to open the card, but remain attached at the hinges.

The back of the card was painted with a decorative cartouche containing the address of the gallery. I underestimated the space the stamps and ‘Special Delivery’ sticker would take up. It’s a shame that the former cover the architecture of the cartouche, and the latter the swagging at the bottom of it, but then again, that’s all a part of the history of the piece.

When opened, the card reveals a simple, three dimensional paper-engineered garden, with windows and an arch cut through a dark hedge, and a view beyond of cypress trees, a path and a wrought-iron gate.

Many years later, I produced a still-life, using the paper-engineered card as a model, all angles and straight edges to contrast with the curves of a pecking-hens toy. But I radically altered the design of the card for the painting, replacing the gate with a view of a simple house, and adding topiary elements as ‘wings’ to the scene.

After that came a second depiction of the card, this time as a still-life prop for the foreground of a painting of Saint Kevin and the Blackbird, and with the house now turned into Ty Isaf, our home in the Ystwyth Valley.

The last incarnation of the visual theme developed in card and paintings, came in this toy theatre, made in 2011 for my retrospective at the Gregynog Gallery of the National Library of Wales. 

Later I added gates, and a wolf to prowl the grounds.

The ‘Ty Isaf’ theatre has yet to appear in a painting. But it undoubtedly will. One day.

progress on the Alice illustration

Piecing together the left side of the composition, I’ve progressed from this…

to this…

to this…

to this.

The mouse, the magpie, the canary and her young, all exit left while Dinah’s attention is diverted by a cheeky bird perching on her tail. Of course Dinah isn’t in the actual scene, though she’s there in the animals’ imaginations, because Alice has just tactlessly boasted of what a great huntress her cat is. Now I just need to find a way to overlap a bit of Dinah with a bit of the magpie, to create the interlocking and connection I so value in composition. The canary chicks are going to look like these:

I liked the top composition in which Dinah reaches over the ‘gutter’ of the book (the bit in the middle where the pages join), because of the dynamic of the interlocking shapes. But dramatically the second image is better, because the bird in the cat’s coiled tail gives the eye somewhere to focus on the right hand side of the illustration.

Today I begin the work on the prepared board. The medium is to be acrylic paint and oil-based pencil, and I’m borrowing the limited palette from the Christmas card I designed last year.

The Puppet Challenge Part 13: Judy, Jennifer, Michael & Benjamin, Penny, Charlotte and Liisa

Judy Watson, Michael Craven & Benjamin Rowling, Penny Benson, Jennifer VonStein, Charlotte Hills and Liisa Mannery

Judy Watson: Weasily Wolves

While pressure of work has meant that illustrator Judy Watson hasn’t yet completed her puppets… the design for which may be seen above… enough has been achieved for us to profit from what she’s produced so far. I’ve never yet seen puppets constructed from crumpled brown paper, but that’s what Judy is doing here. While fragility is bound to be an issue, so characterful are the figures she’s building in this extraordinary material that I think any risks are as nothing in the face of the sheer force of her creations. With these puppets very little ‘process’ gets in the way of the incredibly fresh visualisation. The drawings  are transformed into 3D renderings in no time at all. No laborious wood-carving, modelling and casting or papier mâché, but an immediate conjuring of the beasts, as fresh as new paint.

Here’s the raw material, crumpled and roughly painted. It has a fantastic texture.



Above and below: sharp snouts and delicately pointy claws masterfully conjured out of rumpled paper.

Two wolves acting as one… the brains and the brawn… and I love their delightful silliness. Look at them hatching their plot in the fantastic drawing above, and that lolling, pink-as-raspberry-juice tongue, and grandma’s lacy night-cap behind the jauntily pricked wolf-ears. It’s all so sharply observed and astringent. This idiot thinks he’s really going to fool Red-Riding-Hood, and the idea is as charming as the wolf’s impersonation is futile! I cannot wait to see these puppets finished

Michael Craven & Benjamin Rowling: Firle the Giant

Michael Craven and Benjamin Rowling, the design team behind TheBigForest write:

“This is the first puppet we have made and the first time we have used papier mache. We learnt a lot and have enjoyed the process. We are going to experiment further with both puppet forms and using papier mache so the Puppet Challenge has been a really enjoyable experience for us.”

“The puppet is constructed with a papier mache head, safety eyes, a wooden pole that enables the head to move and card hands with wooden poles. He works well as a puppet although we would now construct his body in a different way having learnt about puppet making during the project.”

“We imagined our puppet in the final scene of his story – with a broken and heavy heart looking back at the landscape and his dead giant friend just before he begins walking.”

“We have used maps in our art practice for some time but have never thought of using them in our work at TheBigForest which tends to be more playful. We experimented with older maps of the Wilmington and Firle area but in the end settled for a pre Second World War map (around 1932) that we photocopied on to flip chart paper which is the right consistency for papier mache work and we liked the image in black and white rather than colour. The lines of the contours, tumuli and barrows make up the front of the giants face so he is truly rooted in the local landscape. The back of his head is pasted with map fragments of ‘modern’ Firle area – the railway lines and roads of the 1930’s map and on the hands the map is blurred as we had moved the map away from the copier.”


Penny Benson: Goblin Market

Penny Benson asked to join the Puppet Challenge when she was already well into a project designing a puppet production of the Christina Rossetti narrative poem Goblin Market. Peter Slight and I were happy to welcome her on board, as the work was looking so promising.

The production photographs show that she took the opportunities afforded to make an ambitious, imaginative statement with her puppets, which are pleasingly angular and expressive.

Penny writes:

“I designed and built 7 goblin puppets for the show which was produced at Connecticut Repertory Theater, USA. The design/build process took approximately 2 months. The figures are all table-top style, operated by rods by puppeteers in full view of the audience.”

“A few of them have specialised movement: the head of the Parrot-like goblin extends on a long neck, Rat’s belly pops forward and his legs have a walking mechanism. The limbs and bodies were all made of wood, the bodies fleshed out in foam covered with lycra. The hands were  done with wooden dowels and putty/thermoplastic for the knuckles. Each head was sculpted in a water based clay from which a plaster mold was taken.”

The final heads were slip cast in firm neoprene rubber. Metal rods were placed horizontally through an eye bolt in the neck, and attached horizontally through the interior of the heads using epoxy and thermoplastic.  The heads were painted with acrylics and sequins were added to the eyes to reflect light. The costumes were designed by Xia Chen Zhou.”

Jennifer Von Stein: Rossetti Revisited

Jennifer VonStein also chose Christina Rossetti’s poem of Goblin Market for her Puppet Challenge subject. She writes:

“Memory informs my work.  Memories are real, but different from the reality they remember. Thoughts and images of my childhood fears and fancies, along with the current daily terrors of being a mother of children under four years of age, are a part of these pieces.

So instead of the heroines of Goblin Market, Laura and Lizzie, I created the Goblin Men.  Are they innocent like children? I think not, although they have a certain innocence to them, like the poem.

I began by sketching instead of taking notes during work meetings, a sure sign that my subconscious is at work.”

“There would defiantly need to be a one-eyed puppet. I recently read The Ocean At The End Of The Lane by Neil Gaimen and loved his description of the creature Ursula, all cloth and wind, something very, very other.”

“I wanted to capture this sense of otherness in my puppets, and was enchanted when I saw the puppets of Paul Klee. His simple glove puppets had the look I wanted, and for a first time puppet maker, appeared simple enough to make.”


Charlotte Hills: The Dandy Fox

After a false start with an idea that Charlotte eventually realised needed more time to ‘cook’, she set about creating a marionette character by ‘needle-felting’. This is another first for me, as I’ve never before seen a marionette made in this material.


He started life as this drawing.

Needle-felting is a long process, and it was quite a while before the head of the puppet emerged. I love the expression Charlotte worked into him. He has such soulful eyes.

Finally he was ready to dress, and Charlotte stitched the most perfect garment for her dandy little fellow. I’d happily wear this coat myself… if it were a tad bigger!

I think there were times when Charlotte despaired of ever finishing her marionette. She pushed herself and her skills to the limit at every stage, and it’s a testament to her determination and vision that she produced this extraordinarily elegant and charming puppet.

Charlotte writes of her Mr Fox:

“The theme of the trickster runs very deeply through the mythology of most human societies. From Loki, to Brer Rabbit; from the Native American coyote spirit to the Monkey King in China. We need the trickster animus to express the outcast.
 Through the folklore of Europe run the stories of Reynard the fox, Isengrim the wolf, Tybalt the cat, Chanticleer the cockerel and Bruin the bear. Fast talking and clever, tricky and dishonest, Reynard is a reflection of our clever and unscrupulous selves. We need him to find an easy way, to take the blame, to show up our own vanities.”

Liisa Mannery: Shadowlands

Liisa is articulate, funny and scrupulously honest in her description of how she approached her Puppet Challenge. I love the way she writes about her experiments at her blog (linked below) and so I shall leave her to explain them in her own words:

“Some things I know about puppets that I didn’t know 3 months ago:


1. Shadow puppets need to move, a lot. Even if they are intricately detailed, or colorful, they are basically very subtle creatures and need to overact to make their presence felt.


2. I dislike being removed from the action — I want to see it from the front or the top, or the side. But from the back…unh. And what I’m seeing isn’t even what the audience is seeing, only the thing that is creating the shadow that the audience is seeing. I love shadow puppetry, but I’ll sit in the audience from now on, thank you..


3. But…remove the screen that separates the front and back of the stage, leaving paper figures on sticks or strings…that’s exciting. True, I think anything made of paper is exciting. And, personally, I believe you can make just about anything out of paper. Preferably newspaper.


4. Also exciting is to take the shadow puppets off their sticks, and use them for animation, a la Lotte Reiniger. But maybe that isn’t, strictly speaking, puppetry. If that’s true then I’m in trouble. (Editor’s note: nothing to worry about there, Liisa. It is puppetry.)


Some things I do know, but need to be reminded of:


1. Fancy mechanics are fun to design and build, but they aren’t usually necessary and utilizing them will probably just make your hands hurt.


2. Simplify, simplify, simplify. I like Done to Death, but I don’t do it very well.”


“I chose to make shadow-puppets; my character of choice was Väinämöinen, the aged sage and rune singer from the Finnish epic poem The Kalevala, but the project quickly branched out into other characters from the stories.

Photo 1 (above) is Joukahainen, who had the temerity to challenge Väinämöinen to a dual of magic and got himself sung into a patch of quicksand.

Photo 2 (below) is Lemminkainen, who met a messy end and whose mother fished all the pieces of him out of the River Tuoni and (with a little divine help) patched him up. Not that either of them learned his lesson.”

“In the interests of full disclosure I’ll say that the figures in the pictures were made as shadow puppets, but as such were marginally successful and impossible to photograph! So, the photos are the puppets, sans sticks, laid on a light table.

They are made of watercolor paper with joints of sewing snaps. I made no particular effort to hide or disguise the structure, it seemed to add something.

This was a really engaging project for me. (And not over yet!) “

“Above: an early Väinämöinen with several experimental joints. There’s a small brad on his face, bits of pipe cleaner on his ankles and wrists, and “butterflies” for lack of a better word everywhere else. These butterflies were cut from cardboard (knees) and aluminum bakeware (everywhere else) and were the only part of the project that drew blood! (I’ll post an explanation of how these are made and work. It’s intriguing.)”


“Above: Lemminkainen’s mother and another Väinämöinen, have sewing snaps for joints. They work beautifully, can be unsnapped and reused repeatedly and, with a little planning, can even be made to look like jewelry or hardware. Not that that would show up very well in a shadow. And I have a million of them already…how about that! Mother’s snaps are clear plastic; I thought that would be perfect but actually they have a small hole straight through them and so mother appeared to be held together by spots of light. So…constellation shadow puppets, maybe? But not in this story.”

“Above: In the upper left of the picture is the totally overworked but rather fun Väinämöinen that moves his arms and opens his mouth to sing. It only takes four hands to work him, all the while hollering to the audience “Wait a sec, I’ve almost got it!” Hated to give up on that, but sometimes you really must “kill your darlings.”

Liisa’s shadow-puppet explorations are clearly ‘in process’, and I for one can’t wait to see where she goes with all these ideas.  I love her images, the variation in tone and density of shadow, with the overlappings evident, as well as the clever use of sewing-snaps. These are very close in feel to the Chinese, Turkish and Greek traditions of shadow-puppetry. I feel that whatever problems Liisa is experiencing with operating them on a vertical screen, could be solved quite easily with time and help. Alternatively, the puppets would work wonderfully manipulated in stop-motion on her light-box. I heartily recommend you explore her blog, where all these wonderful experiments in puppetry are going on.

This is the last official post of the Puppet Challenge. There may be a few add-ons yet to come, such as the extra puppets made by enthusiastic and prolific challengers, and there could even be the odd late arrival at the party. But for the main part, it’s over.

The challenge as laid out at the Artlog last year by curator Peter Slight, has been magnificently met by most of those who signed to it. A few made a good start but then weren’t able to complete for very good reasons, among them Val Littlewood, Bev Wigney, Zoe Blue, Matt and Amanda Caines and Christina Cairns, whose finished puppet I hope yet to see, as she had made such a promising start. Paul Bommer had to drop out due to pressure of work. Some simply signed but then never showed again, and that’s just the way of these things. But the majority pursued the project to the end, working tirelessly and with a great deal of creativity. Here is a list of the forty-one who took part and stayed the course, together with links to the posts their work appears in.”

Part 1

Jodi Le Bigre, Joe McLaren and Hussam El-Sherif

Part 2

Jill Desborough Chris Lettington and Rachel Larkins

Part 3

Nicky Arscott, Nomi McLeod and Ruth Barrett-Danes

Part 4

Stuart Kolakovic, Clive hicks-Jenkins and Steve & Pamela Harris

Part 5

Philippa Robbins and Karen Godfrey

Part 6

Liz King

Part 7

Graham Carter, Caroline McCatty and Scott Garrett

Part 8

Lynne Lamb, Anna Marchi and Graeme Galvin

Part 9

Shellie Byatt, Leonard Greco and Claire Crystal

Part 10

Phil Cooper, Stephanie Redfern, Chloe Redfern, Anna Clucas and Janet Kershaw

Part 11

Andrew Grundon, Rima Staines and Sarah Young

Part 12

Peter Slight (curator), Ben Javens and Lucy Kempton

Part 13

Judy Watson, Michael Craven & Benjamin Rowling, Penny Benson, Jennifer Von Stein, Charlotte Hills and Liisa Mannery

It’s been a very great pleasure to host the exhibition at the Artlog, and to write about so much beautiful work. It has however been enormously time-consuming. I won’t promise another open exhibition any time soon, as I have a massive backlog of my own work to catch up with, and a big exhibition to be prepared for 2015 at the Aberystwyth Arts Centre, which will include puppets! I hope that any of you who further your puppet-making endeavours will stay in contact and keep me up to speed with your adventures. But for now, thank you for all your hard work and enthusiasm.

Very Best

Clive Hicks-Jenkins