guysgrotto

being a description with illustrations of works that I have made.

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A fossil early octopus. The sea that is always counting, the sea of souls. a drum between torches in the night.

Hopi prophecy foretells a canister that shall fall from the sky scattering ashes and that the sea shall boil.

Koyaanisqatsi in their tongue speaks of life out of balance.

Years ago I visited Tutankhamuns tomb yet I remember the clearer colours of the freshly opened Engineer's tomb at Old Gourna, the humble engineer who perhaps designed the other tombs in the Valley of the Kings.

As Pythagorus said: Live now for now is all the time there may be.

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When we think of birds as the ancients did we can recall the Storks bringing the new life and by comparison to Tibetan Sky burials such as those found on Orkney where eagles excarnated the departed.

The feather also represents the journey of the human spirit. The Egyptian goddess Maat weighed souls against a feather.

It was thanks to stoic philosophy that a simple latin slogan is a creed for the modern visitor. To love your fate. What will survive of us is love.

AMOR FATI

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The moment of conception, the odds of any one of us existing are in mathematical terms 10 to the power of 2,685,000.

By comparison the atoms in our universe are thought to be 10 to the power of 80,200,582 if I have read it right.

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Studies seem to show the alignment of some pyramids reflects the seven stars above the Nile.

This maquette on this face shows the journey of pysche.

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DAMNED LIKE BEAUTY

Imagine this as a fossil dragged out of the ground long after the fact of our lives. What will survive of us is love.

The Trees 

The trees are coming into leaf Like something almost being said; The recent buds relax and spread, Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again And we grow old? No, they die too. Their yearly trick of looking new Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh In fullgrown thickness every May. Last year is dead, they seem to say, Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

Philip Larkin

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Fossil.

Suppose a leaf could be born of a shell? Or that it could fall and be compacted into mud and settle into layers, to be discovered in peat millions of years later?

If I Could Tell You

Time will say nothing but I told you so, Time only knows the price we have to pay; If I could tell you I would let you know.

If we should weep when clowns put on their show, If we should stumble when musicians play, Time will say nothing but I told you so.

There are no fortunes to be told, although, Because I love you more than I can say, If I could tell you I would let you know.

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow, There must be reasons why the leaves decay; Time will say nothing but I told you so.

Perhaps the roses really want to grow, The vision seriously intends to stay; If I could tell you I would let you know.

Suppose all the lions get up and go, And all the brooks and soldiers run away; Will Time say nothing but I told you so? If I could tell you I would let you know.

WH AUDEN

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How we got here?

I started making these things many years ago and have found that it is true that sculpture shows you the way to go with an idea. This blog in a sense runs in reverse with the most recent things being presented from the start. I use motifs that indicated regeneration and reincarnation and in this piece the moth is the returning soul at the moment of conception.

The Romans used shell motifs to decorate lead coffins a sort of come back soon and the casting is in a negative form so that one can put clay to it to remould the positive.

I would like to share with others some of those people who are a rich source of ideas on YouTube: Professor Peter Fenwick (neuropsychiatrist), Alan Watts (Buddhist philosopher) Nate Hagens (modern issues) Professor Guy McPherson (Lecturer in ecology, retired), Dr Ian McGilchrist (philosopher, scientist expert in brain studies), Professor William Rees (Climate with economics),Professor Bernard Carr, Rupert Sheldrake, Jeffrey Mishlove of New Thinking Allowed, Terence McKenna ethnobiologist.

At this time of climate crisis it is not a consolation that human beings may survive post anthropocene climate change in a new form of consciousness, that is in the realm of what we notionally might conceive of as spirit or soul memory. Since there cannot be expectations of surviving continuous temperatures in the 40s-50s centrigrade it is best not to harbour them.

I attach this link to my secondary blog which is the artwork of Dave Hands, artist:

Dave Hands

Follow @handsart and get more of the good stuff by joining Tumblr today. Dive in!

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THE GREAT MYSTERY, WORK IN PROGRESS.

23″ DIAMETER PLASTER AND SHELLS

This is the only time I have put a pattern up prior to building the mould to make it entire from a material. Two reasons: first if there’s an El Nino starting from April, secondly if ‘Mabus’ (see Nostradamus) in Moscow is not removed.

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STARDUST A GRAIN OF SAND

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From the Old Wives Tale, George Peele. 13″ diameter lead.

To the memory of Sarah Gardner who drowned in the centre of Norwich in March 2017 buried in Blewbury, artist, deep and beautiful soul.

Usk

Do not suddenly break the branch, or

Hope to find

The white hart behind the white well.

Glance aside, not for lance, do not spell

Old enchantments. Let them sleep.

'Gently dip, but not too deep',

Lift your eyes

Where the roads dip and where the roads rise

Seek only there

Where the grey light meets the green air

The Hermit's chapel, the pilgrim's prayer.

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OBELISK

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TOO MANY ANTIBIOTICS

WITH A NOD TOWARDS SALVADOR DALI

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CATCH A FALLING STAR

‘Messenger, morning brought thee habited in gold

At dusk thy song wore a tone of ascetic grey

And then came night -

thy message was written in silver across the black’

Jnandas

ARABIC PROVERB:

He who seeks the glory of the sunrise

must live through the night.

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KNOW THE HOUR 2 / NESCITIS HORAM 2

‘TIME AND SPACE, SUCCESSION AND INTERCESSION

ARE ACCIDENTAL CONDITIONS OF THOUGHT; IMAGINATION CAN

TRANSCEND THEM’

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What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of the buffalo in the winter time. It is the little shadow that runs across your grasses and loses itself in the sunset.  (Crowfoot, last words).

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TIME CONQUERS ALL

Pattern only

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in full living colour