Drawing

“A Fragile structure” - Reflections on a process-based approach

This is "A Fragile Structure", completed in September.

Returning at last to my long-standing interest in the disused railway line to Amlwch, on Anglesey, this pencil drawing returns to an idea I first had way back in 2019 but could not resolve. Well, it's taken me four years, but here it is at last. Many 6Bs gave their all for this piece.

My intention was to achieve a more organic treatment of the line of the railway line. I was thinking at first of the idea of "branch lines" and imagined I could achieve something tree-like: ever smaller branches sprouting from branches and so forth. In pursuit of that, I also included in my thinking, for the first time, the long-gone sub-branchline which ran from Pentreberw to Benllech/Red Wharf Bay. (The shorter "branch" running towards but not reaching the top right of the drawing.) It closed in 1930 and there is very little trace of it today.

The drawing takes information from the Ordnance Survey Landranger map of Anglesey. I imagined an accumulation of journeys taken by people on these railways lines: somebody travels from Amlwch to Llangefni to visit a friend, for example, or from Llangwyllog to Amlwch to see the sea. The railway lines enable but don't complete the journeys, of course. You have a walk, or somesuch, to and from the railways stations. I created enough of these to form a cumulative network or structure of interlocked imaginary journeys within which the railway lines form only the “trunks of the tree”.

The drawing is made by placing the tip of a nail into a nibholder and inscribing lines into the surface of the paper, rather in the manner of cutting a groove into a vinyl record. For me this feels like a process of setting down memories, just like the process of “cutting” a record with the information needed to produce the music recorded into its surface. I then went over it with a soft pencil to highlight the groove and make it visible as negative space. This is a process I have used before, though not in the context of the Amlwch railway line. 

Detail from “A Fragile Structure”. Copyright Mark Clay 2023.

What emerged was decidedly untreelike, but it was still organic and extremely fragile. If anything, it seemed to me as I worked, it was more like the growth of lichen or even the structures of coral. 

Coral grows when tiny, fragile creatures create a solid structure (calcium carbonate) around themselves to protect themselves. And it seemed to me that I was doing something similar with the "wrapping" of graphite that I was surrounding my grooved journeys with. In this way, the drawing becomes something about the fragility of memory, and gestures towards an attempt to preserve (save) it: since the Amlwch line stopped carrying passengers in the 1960s, those real journeys along the line are now passing out of living memory.

I also wanted to give this piece a ground, so that it appeared rooted or anchored. Just as a coral reef is anchored on bedrock, the Amlwch line is rooted on the (still operating) railway from Bangor to Holyhead. The profile of the solid graphite ground shows its path but also provides a strong contrast to the fragile network of the lines that radiate outwards from it. 

For me, this typifies the potential of processual drawing. I have spoken and written before about how the process teaches me something and helps me to resolve and understand what you are doing, sometimes a distance away from what I originally envisaged. For me it is really valuable to be responsive to that inherent quality of drawing. 

Tunnel Visions

It is quite surprising to discover how many people are interested, like me, in the exploration of disused and abandoned railway lines, and there are numerous Facebook groups and YouTube channels catering for this interest, which I regularly enjoy delving into.

A chance encounter with the photograph posted below has taken me on the most wonderful journey into both darkness and illumination, giving rise to an initial series of drawings which I am now grouping as a collection entitled “Tunnel Visions”.

Abandoned railway tunnel, UK. Author: unknown.Please contact me if this is your photograph. I will be very happy to credit you.

Abandoned railway tunnel, UK. Author: unknown.

Please contact me if this is your photograph. I will be very happy to credit you.

There is so much to inspire me in this eerily beautiful photograph of a place most of us never see: the enticing perspective of the tunnel receding into darkness, the mark-making of the mineral leaching on the brickwork (calcites, in this case, I believe) and of course that amazing copper reflectivity of the spoil and water on the tunnel floor. I think this is a result of oxidisation, rendered gloriously copper-like when illuminated. (Many old tunnels contain dumped spoil and waste from other industrial sites such as mining or construction.)

Naturally, this also resonates perfectly with my current artistic practice: the exploration of Britain’s industrial heritage, an interest in the processes of decay and damage, my love of copper, and the delicate interface between remembering and forgetting.

There were plenty more amazing photographs to be inspired by, of course. In fact, my very first response to this new and enticing subject was inspired by a photograph taken looking vertically upwards through a tunnel ventilation shaft:

Mark Clay: “Standing in the place between forgetting and remembering.” (2021)

Ink on paper, H42cm square.

In this drawing I was using the strong sense of perspective as a way of thinking about time and processes of decay. As with its source photograph, it is a view from the position of the viewer on the tunnel floor looking up and out through the ventilation shaft as drops of water fall downwards from above. And, as a flat drawing, it can be read as movement in two directions: from the precise brickwork of the centre of the drawing outwards to increasing fragmentation and abstraction; or in the opposite direction. It is this quality of liminality, of things changing from one thing to another, that gave rise to the title of the piece, “Standing in the place between forgetting and remembering.”, because like so much of my work it is, fundamentally, about encounters with remembered things that stand on the cusp of being forgotten. That also plays out, I hope, in the equal sense of this being both a representational drawing and an abstract one, at the same time.

I also wanted to imbue a sense of both precision and decay. A railway tunnel is a precise, engineered creation, a carefully calibrated tube of emptiness carved through the earth and bound by uncountable pieces of regular brickwork (or other materials in the modern day). I used a compass to capture that quality. But I also allow that rigour to decay and break down, through disrupting and reducing the lines, and through the use of a dip-pen and ink, with its associated risks of blots and smudges. Together, I think the two combine to make something quite dynamic and interesting.

A gallery of series will follow in due course as the series develops further.

The Struggle

“The Struggle”. Pencil on paper.

Drawn for yesterday's International Women's Day.

On International Women’s Day I can’t help feeling that only in a world completely messed up by men would it need to even be a thing. But it is still an important part of the slow journey towards the true equality that still eludes us. Furthermore, it seems to me that men are going to have to face some uncomfortable truths about the degree to which male supremacy is embedded in our culture and reflect individually on the degree of their own complicity.

I have been toying with the idea of working on my life drawing skills for a while, and this drawing came about from a moment of reflection while looking through an old sketchbook. I only rarely draw the human form, especially the female. It's not my strength, and I am uncomfortable about complicity in the Male Gaze, which I can't help but conclude is all but inescapable.

So why have I decided to make and share this sketch of women wrestlers, one seen and one invisible? Because it seems to me that part of a woman's struggle in this unequal society is to be seen: to be acknowledged and celebrated for her talents and powers whatever they may be, every day of the year; and to be free from the limiting roles and expectations that a patriarchal society imposes on them. It may not be my place even to express that, but perhaps I can express my allyship, for the sake of my daughters, my wife, my sister, my mother and all my female friends and relatives; at the same time as acknowledging that I have to do more. Keep fighting.

(I also note that this idea of the difference between the seen and the unseen is appearing in quite a lot of my work at the moment. Perhaps there is more to develop here - with care and thoughtfulness. )

Drawing Place: A Talk with Drawing Projects UK

What a pleasure it was to be invited by Anita Taylor of Drawing Projects UK and The Trinity Buoy Wharf Drawing Prize to take part in an online discussion about drawing place, alongside fellow shortlistee Peter Sutton. The video of the talk, including Peter Sutton’s wonderful talk too, will appear on the Drawing Projects UK soon. I’ll keep you posted.

The following is a transcript of that talk:

“Good evening everybody, I’m really delighted and grateful to be here tonight with Anita and Peter. Thank you for inviting me, Anita.

I am speaking to you from my studio at the end of my garden in Oxford, but I’d like to invite you to join me on an exploration of the wonderful island of Anglesey, a place rich with history, full of the remnants of past ages, fascinating landscapes (natural and manmade) and in particular an old railway line running 17 and a half miles from Gaerwen in the south, up through the middle of the island to the small harbour town of Amlwch on the north coast.  

I first encountered the line, during a family holiday to Anglesey in 2018, and since then it has exerted a powerful fascination for me, to the point that it became the subject of my recently completed MFA in Fine Art at Oxford Brookes University. Exploration of landscape and industrial history is one of a number of personal interests that I have drawn into my art practise. I also find myself drawn to islands, too. I think it’s to do with that sense of marginality, escape and distancing from the centre; and I enjoy finding stories that are untold or overlooked, perhaps hiding in plain sight.

A little bit of history may be helpful to start with.

The line opened in the 1860s. It lost its passenger services during the “Beeching Cuts” of the 1960s, but freight trains continued to run up until 1992. Since then, it has fallen into disuse, but the tracks and infrastructure remain substantially in place, albeit subject to the passage of time and progressive reclamation by nature. A group of volunteers is now working to clear the line with a view to restoring it to use, advocating for its restoration as part of the current national debate about reopening old railway lines. It is a vibrant, sometimes fractious, debate. The line stands at a crossroads, or perhaps I should say a junction, right now because it has several different potential futures as well as a real sense of history to it.

So whilst on that family holiday in 2018, I was very intrigued see this old line meandering around the contours, settlements and lakes of Anglesey on maps at first, and then glimpsed on the landscape through trees and many weeds. I was struck by this idea that a map is just a snapshot or a representation of a place at a given moment in time. Maps don’t set out to record every  quality of a place, its atmosphere or history, or the ways in which places change over time -  that is not their purpose -  so I started to think about the railway line as existing in time too. It is, or was at the time of the drawing, 156 years old.

I started to think about the railway line as a drawing on a landscape and in time too. But I was always aware, from the very beginning, that my subject was an elusive one. Maps helped me to think about the obvious, literal quality of being a line that is inherent in a railway line , including on a map, and so it seemed to me that a drawing was the perfect way to think further about this.  I also wanted to think about the qualities of time, decay and endurance that I saw as important aspects of the place.

And really that is where the idea for “Timelines” originated.

It was completed in late 2019 and was one of my very first responses to the railway line. I made this drawing at home 200 miles away from Anglesey but this didn’t seem a problem to me because I was really thinking about those aspects of the line that are unseen and intangible.

To make the drawing, I had the idea to use the line’s mapped shape as a sort of motif and to use one line to represent one year in the life of the line from the beginnings of its construction in 1864 through to the present day. There is a strand in my work of the encoding and preserving of information, especially marginal information or information that is at risk of being lost or forgotten. I established a process for that too, a schematic plan on a spreadsheet so I could consistently and progressively move from softer to harder grades of pencil so that I could make the line become fainter as I worked left to right across the paper, to evoke a sense of a narrative of fading away or forgetting that is very apparent in the condition of the line today. I worked steadily ticking each line off on my plan as I went. And when I reached the line for the year 1992, when the trains stopped running, I swapped from a graphite pencil to a plastic stylus, so that I was making an even fainter mark; a trace, if you like, or a register of falling into stillness or silence, perhaps.

I should say also that the drawing is on tracing paper, which I chose for several reasons. Firstly, there was the purely practical reason that it allowed me to trace the line from the OS map. There is also something quite mundane or “low-status” about tracing paper. I felt that worked quite well for this rather unglamorous, overlooked railway line. But more than that, I really enjoy the way tracing paper responds to the pressure of a pencil tip by recording a clear indentation. It also has that quality of translucence, that captures or reflects light, in a different way to standard papers. This helps makes the multiple lines of this drawing create a visible sense of contour so that they appear to coalesce into their own sort of imagined landscape. Perhaps partly because we all recognise the convention of contour lines from maps, the eye reads the drawing as a having a topography of its own.  

Following on from this idea of topography and space, one of the reasons that drawing is so important in my practise is that it opens up a space for thinking, and I think that is true for many drawing artists. The drawing took about four hours so I had plenty of time for reflection as I worked. Thinking and making seem to go hand in hand when I’m drawing, and this was particularly the case for me with “Timelines”. The following are some examples of the thoughts that occurred to me as I worked:

  • The idea of systems, regularity and repetition that is typical of a railway line – trains going along the line, tracing and retracing the fixed route of the railway lines. The process of creating this drawing became, I found, a way of enacting something similar by making my own journeys down the line, as a train would, and really helped connect me to it.

  • This enabled me to connect to the idea of memory in the drawing – memory of the line and also the memory of my mark-making itself.

  • This lead me to thinking about lines are recoding something: grooves on a record, or growth lines in stump of a felled tree, or sound waves which are of course other ways of storing and preserving information. So I found a sense of reverberation, resonance or echoes in the drawing, that made me think more about how the line was perhaps less silent and more resonant than I had first thought. (They could be geological or seismic movements, too – Anglesey is geologically very significant but that’s another story).

Thanks in large part to “Timelines”, all of these things were aspects of the railway line that I went on to explore in other work in the following year or more. I wasn’t consciously planning for these outcomes, but I discovered them in the process of thinking and making put together in the creation of this drawing. (I am a fan of the work of the anthropologist Tim Ingold, who writes very powerfully in this area, as well as on the subject of lines.)

But I think the drawing also enabled me to connect deeply with what I saw as the qualities of this place that I was exploring – not, here, in the sense of a visual representation of what the railway looks like, (though I have done that in other work) but in a way that connected with my reaction to its intangible, felt and unseen qualities. And when I was able to physically be near or on the line (which of course turned out to be much harder to achieve in 2020 than I expected) I felt able to connect to the railway through the thinking I had done in “Timelines”. And importantly, the line had opened out, if you like, leaving the map and acquiring  a real and rich sense of place, resonance and interest.

If you are interested in finding out a little bit more about my work in response to the Amlwch railway line, please visit my website which is www.markrclay.co.uk There is a gallery there of a my wider body of work including this other drawings but I have also written quite extensively on aspects of the railway line, and my exploration of it, in the blog that is also on the site.

Thank you very much for listening.

YOU ARE HERE!

I’m very pleased that my copper ink drawing “A Crack In The Record”, has been selected for a second exhibition this year, having recently appeared as part of FLOW at Modern Art Oxford (September - October 2020 but still visible online here.

It now also appears as part of the online exhibition “YOU ARE HERE”, organised by the @katmapped collaborative (artists James Stewart and Kate Trafeli). The exhibition explores how the concept of maps and mapping, internal and external, has informed living artists works and thoughts . 

YOU ARE HERE - websitehomepageimage

Mapping, and the use of maps as a way of thinking about place and being in place in both space and time, is of course key to “A Crack In The Record”, as I explain on the YOU ARE HERE website:

"This copper ink drawing explores a disused railway line on Anglesey. Its route operates as a silence/absence that explores memory as sound/silence through a form of mapmaking, designed to be displayed flat. Copper operates as a visual metaphor for Anglesey’s industrial heritage. I have experimented with ideas/methodologies of recording and preserving information: contours on map/landscape, yes, but also the groove on a record, or the lines on the stump of a felled tree."

Mark Clay. YOU ARE HERE, November 2020.

https://katmapped.org/now-on%3A-%22you-are-here%22

Image below: detail from “A Crack In The Record”, Mark Clay, 2020. H900mm X W1100mm, copper ink on paper. Image copyright: Mark Clay 2020.

ACITR-fromYOUAREHEREwebsite.jpg

2020 Trinity Buoy Wharf Drawing Prize - opened in Dundee

Updated: 17 November 2020.

Things have been so busy in October and November that I’ve not even had to the time to mention the 2020 Trinity Buoy Wharf Drawing Prize exhibition, which is now open and touring the UK and which, I am thrilled and honoured to say ,includes a drawing from my MFA body of work: “Timelines” inspired by the disused railway to Amlwch on the island of Anglesey (Ynys Mon).

Image: the artist with “Timelines”. at Drawing Projects UK, Trowbridge, part of the 2020 Trinity Buoy Wharf Drawing Prize exhibition.

Image: the artist with “Timelines”. at Drawing Projects UK, Trowbridge, part of the 2020 Trinity Buoy Wharf Drawing Prize exhibition.

I’m honoured that my work has made it into the show alongside so many absolutely stunning examples of contemporary drawing from right across the UK and internationally. The photo shows me next to “Timelines” on the opening day of the show at the very wonderful Drawing Projects UK, in Trowbridge, Wiltshire, a mecca for contemporary drawing and practitioners and a place I firmly resolve to visit regularly from now on. The visit was a joy and an inspiration. It was so exciting to feel among my tribe and to meet Professor Anita Taylor, founder of Drawing Projects UK and leader of the TBWDP.

However, the Trowbridge iteration of the show has now closed and the exhibition has now moved to Scotland, opening on the 13 November and running right through to 19 December at the Cooper Gallery at the University of Dundee.

For full details of the exhibition touring programme, please visit: http://trinitybuoywharfdrawingprize.drawingprojects.uk/index.php/news

Above: Detail of “Timelines, showing how the tracing paper preserves “tracks” of the railway line to Amlwch, strongly suggesting contours in a landscape. Shown on a wooden surface for clarity. Copyright: Mark Clay 2020

Above: Detail of “Timelines, showing how the tracing paper preserves “tracks” of the railway line to Amlwch, strongly suggesting contours in a landscape. Shown on a wooden surface for clarity. Copyright: Mark Clay 2020

Going with the 'Flow" - Modern Art Oxford

Being involved in the online exhibition and collaboration ‘Flow’ at Modern Art Oxford has been both a joy and a revelation to me, particularly at a time when I had more or less written off 2020 as an exhibiting year.

It has been wonderful, too, to have a space in which to connect with other artists, even if this is still severely limited. There is so much to learn and enjoy from being able to talk about art with other artists and I do thank the team at Modern Art Oxford and all the participating curators and artists for bringing us all together and being generous and interested. I feel sure that this is a good source of reflection, development and future ideas for all of us.

The exhibition continues at Modern Art Oxford until 11 October but will continue on their website beyond that date. This blog entry is to pull together all the different strands of my contribution and all the activity around the exhibition as a whole:

You can visit “Flow” at Modern Art Oxford here: https://www.modernartoxford.org.uk/event/flow-online/

Laura Cumming’s review in The Observer (20 Sept 2020) can be read at: https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2020/sep/20/danh-vo-chicxulub-white-cube-bermondsey-review-flow-modern-art-oxford

Video extracts of my interview with Flow Co-Curator Jack Carrera:

"FLOW" - a collaborative online exhibition

The art world is beginning to open up once again after the coronavirus lockdown. I’ve used the time to try and be proactive about what might come after my MFA, and make some proactive applications to competitions and collaborations.

So, I’m especially excited that my drawing “A Crack In The Record” will be a part of a collaborative online exhibition called “Flow”, led by Modern Art Oxford and Oxford Brookes University, and I’m delighted to see it featured in part on MAO’s webpage. The show will open as an online exhibition running from 4 September to 11 October.

Click here to visit the MAO website: https://www.modernartoxford.org.uk/event/flow-online/

Image: Screengrab from the Modern Art Oxford website, showing details of “A Crack In The Record”. (July 2020)

Image: Screengrab from the Modern Art Oxford website, showing details of “A Crack In The Record”. (July 2020)

The title “Flow” refers to the immersive, focused and productive state of mind which many people seek to cultivate as a means of being at their most productive, effective or creative,. It applies equally to sportspeople, those in business or academia, and of course to those in creative or artistic endeavours: musicians, writers, visual artists… the list goes on.

“A Crack in the Record” was the perfect piece to submit to a collaboration such as this, because it sits at the centre of a many of the conceptual and practical ideas in my ongoing MA project, the disused railway line to Amlwch, on Anglesey; and also because it works as a telling visual metaphor of the idea of “creative flow” itself. The process of making a large ink drawing by drawing approximately 150 concentric lines itself also opened up a highly absorbing and reflective space in which I could think deeply about what I was doing, and why, as I worked, and to witness that happening in real time throughout the process of creating this piece, which took place across five days. One has a lot of time to think in five days and it was highly beneficial and rewarding.

I’ll be exploring this more with my collaborative partners during the course of “Flow” and writing some more of my thoughts and experiences here on this blog.

Stay tuned!

An Uncertain Journey

As my MFA in Fine Art approaches its conclusion, I am emerging from a period of enthusiastic investigation of the possibilities and potential of typeface and typewriters. And I have been asking myself how can I push this yet further.

It has seemed to me that, in the context of my current project, a typewriter has given me a tool to access and investigate the following:

  • Mechanical, repetitive process (and sound)

  • A parallel and complimentary form of “old” technology that was once cutting edge but now carries a sense of nostalgia and, perhaps, eccentricity; the same can be said of railways, too, I think – especially disused or lost ones. (And yet, as my projects seek to argue, there is also richness and value and potential in them nonetheless!)

  • A limited set of options (compared to modern word processing, computing and digital printing technology) – something stripped back to basics, simple and rather “retro” – that quality of older technology again.

  • Something decidedly analogue and physical (compared to the digital and the electronic) that again chimes nicely with railways and, critically, their construction, preservation and restoring. It’s all done by hand (manual labour)  in both cases (typewriting, working to clear the Amlwch line).

These are all valuable things to investigate, as I believe I have done. So, how can I now take this further? How can I start to mix these “typewriter” qualities with other strands of my work. How can I think it deeper and further?

IMG_20200709_101411879.jpg

A wander around some of the old railway sites of Oxford took me recently to Grandpont Bridge (above), on the Thames. It used to carry railway lines to a long-gone gasworks and other industrial sites. No trains have passed over it for many a year. It may even date back to the days of Brunel’s broad gauge.  It is now a rather over-engineered pedestrian bridge, but still very grand and imposing.

Again, I was struck by ideas of the mechanical and the repetitive, this time as I pondered the thousands of rivets inserted in the great Victoria girders. I was also struck by the rust and patina. It struck me as the very slowest form of decay and dissolution that I felt I could imagine in a human time frame.

How could I apply this sense of dissolution in the context of typewritten work? I wanted to think about whether I could simultaneously point to decay in thinking about typewriting. It seemed right to try to balance the two, since my work seems so full of these dichotomies (I am tempted to say parallel tracks).

These thoughts percolated through to beginning to think about dots: tiny fragments of line, if you will, that also point to dust, smoke, sand and particles – things falling to bits/dissolving, or perhaps things falling together/coming back into focus. It seemed fitting that it all seemed so loose, ill-defined and hard to grasp.

As is so often the case, I needed to think this through with a drawing.

Choosing a piece of tracing paper, for no other reason than that it has been a common feature in my work and also adds to the idea of “tracing” a disappearing thing (and a surface with its own contingency, fragility, translucency) I sat down to draw with no real sense of where I was going. Just a basic idea of turning type to dust.

First steps: tracing the seven railway stations of the Amlwch line. A route to follow, or to search for. I used fibre tip marker pens of varying sizes between 0.05cm and 0.8cm.

First steps: tracing the seven railway stations of the Amlwch line. A route to follow, or to search for. I used fibre tip marker pens of varying sizes between 0.05cm and 0.8cm.

I thought I might use pencil or charcoal but I felt it was too messy and imprecise, even though they are really “dust” (soot, carbon). I didn’t want to lose control to that extent. I drew on, tracing on the typed letters imperfectly (to suggest imperfect processes and gradual dissolution) and then worked to build a “cloud” of dots around the frail and failing text to make it even more contingent and on the point of dissolution. I laid down more and more dots to reinforce this, eventually going much further with this than I originally imagined, in order to make the legibility of the typeface even more uncertain.

That really was my only impulse other than to see how the drawing turned out.  I was still not sure where I was going with this, or whether I even liked what was emerging. I felt like I should just surrender to the process and allow the drawing to be what it would be.

However, there came a point where I finally understood what I was doing, as if the dots were coalescing into an independent idea beyond my own agency. This is the final, completed piece:

“Uncertain Journey”

Completed 10 July 2020. Pen on tracing paper. H263 mm x W410mm

"Uncertain Journey" (Mark Clay, July 2020.)

So what is this then?

As I drew, around a dozen potential titles for this piece came to me as it began to resolve itself in the making, and I jotted them down for consideration at the end. It was a way of indexing my thinking and my reactions to what I was doing, I believe. Other titles, each resonating with some aspect of my continuing research and emerging body of work, were:

  • “Every journey is made of a million tiny steps”

  • Make/Unmake/Remake

  • Coming Apart/Coming Together

  • A Million Small Acts

  • A Miliion Tiny Acts of Remembrance

  • Don’t Forget to Remember

  • Uncertain Destinations

I finally chose “Uncertain Journey” , a title that reflects both the outcome and the journey of this piece.

The process of laying down the dots (once the lettering was done) was instinctual and implied a real sense of surrender to the mechanical, rhythmic and repetitive process of the dotmaking. It felt, again, like the process of riveting in its obsessive repetition; albeit on a quieter and less industrial scale. And it felt as though the shapes and textures were finding their own form, independent of me. This was a highly mindful and thought-provoking piece to do. Isn’t the act of drawing so often like that?

There is, in the final drawing, a pleasing ambivalence about its nature, which I enjoy and value. Speaking to others for their reaction on what it is (always stipulating there I felt there was no single right answer), I was struck by the following principal reactions:

  • wind on sand at low tide

  • tides of the water

  • steam, smoke or dust

  • tree roots, trunk, branches and leave

  • the murmurations of starlings

I particularly like that these are all natural phenomena and that they are perceived beyond or above the lettering which seems no longer the central premise of the work – a nice visual metaphor for forgetting, and for the gradual reclamation of the line by nature, perhaps.

I feel sure that this piece is, not for the first time, about being on the fine line between forgetting and remembering; and that something as concrete and humanly regulated as a journey down a railway line becomes something as complex, uncertain as these phenomena beyond human regulation (but nonetheless regulated according to the rigorous system of physics).

That all fits quite nicely with my overall approach to this project as I consider it in July 2020, nearly four months after the coronavirus made this project, too, into another kind of uncertain journey.

Adjusting my Practice

So much has happened since I last blogged that I hardly know where to begin. What extraordinary times these are. I write almost one week since the UK government imposed significant restrictions on activity and travel in order to “flatten the curve” of Covid-19; albeit that those restrictions are less draconian than many other countries, for the moment at least.

I count myself fortunate to be an artist at this time and to have something that can deeply absorb and engage me in these times of quarantine. I’m doubly lucky that I have studio space of my own at home and that I am able to carry on at a time when my MFA course is essentially closed down and we are awaiting news about the fate of our planned Summer degree show, due to open in June.

But of course, despite being one of the lucky ones, I am still having to come to terms with limitations in travel, resources and materials. My plans to return to Anglesey to complete some of the site-specific work and to take photographs build my documentation etc. are postponed until October at the earliest. But it is what it is, and I must think about how I can adjust my practice to this strange new reality.

IMG_20200325_121804_534.jpg

Sometimes in art, as with so many other things in life, when one door closes another door opens. In this case, digital editing can take me to places that I simply cannot physically go, coronavirus or no. I have begun to explore this new avenue as a means of further developing a set of drawings on sheets of suspended acetate that I am presently making.

The first of them has the working title “Network” (See right). It places the Amlwch railway line within a wider network of journeys, real or imagined, which I have scratched into the surface of the acetate with a rusty nail, as if I were preparing to make a drypoint print. I like the insubstantiality of the transparent acetate, and the way that it interacts strongly with light.

This scratched, reflective surface is my starting point. I often use Pixlr, a simple and free editing tool, as a means of improvising and exploring ideas, particularly in my illustration work, if I want to access abstraction, or if I just want to play around with images. (I strongly recommend it.) Using Pixlr here has, as always, given me some unexpected but very valuable results.

The first one (below) enables me to reference a sense of the deeper geology of the island of Anglesey, buried and unseen below the surface, and the journeys of people across it. In particular, it reminds me of a beautiful 1920s British Geological Survey map, a copy of which I own, which shows the complex geology of the island of Anglesey using a rich variety of colours. I’ve been struggling to formulate ways in which to interestingly reference this aspect of the island, until now.

IMG_20200325_122552_045.jpg

The second image (below) gives a clearer sense of the scratched “journeys” that I have created on the surface of the acetate. I made these as a way of imagining different journeys: I think of a lady travelling from Llanerchymedd by train to visit her sister in Amlwch. I am thinking of my friend Walter Glyn Davies walking from his Amlwch home to the railway station to catch a train to Llangefni to have a piano lesson. I am thinking of a boy catching the train from Rhosgoch to Llangefni to go to school:

20200326_172336198_iOS.jpg

Here, I have also found a way to access the recurring idea of copper, which is becoming a key motif of my work around the Amlwch line. By photographing the acetate sheet outside where it reflects the beautiful blue skies we have been enjoying recently, I achieved the copper colour by making a negative image of the original, which pleases me greatly. The opposite of sky is “underground”, the source of copper and a reference to the copper mining history of Anglesey. It seems very fitting to me.

It may be that these images will find their way into my show. In any event, they represent a striking infusion of bold colour in a body of work that has largely been about line, so far for obvious reasons. I like the extra dimension that this work is bringing to the overall project, as well as enabling me to maintain a sense of exploration in my thinking whilst I remain physically stuck in one place. There are, after all, so many ways to travel in the imagination.

Railway journey drawings

The following article is an extract from an essay written by me in 2019, entitled ‘What does it mean to draw?’ Drawing on trains is something I have done for a while, partly to pass the time. It’s a fascinating and mindful way to experience a train journey in a different way. And a very good Way To Get Looks.

It amazes me how different they are each time I do one. This practice has developed further since these first attempts and I shall share more in the future. For me, drawing doesn’t have to be “of” something, or it could be “of” something you cannot see with the eye, as is the case here. I often think that drawing is most interesting when it is “about” something.

A short video of the process of drawing this piece on a moving train can be seen at: www.instagram.com/p/BrQvBfQDKtX/

“I am on a train, travelling to London, moving at speed through the Oxfordshire countryside. But today I am neither watching the world fly past the window nor admiring the winter sunshine on the hills. I am drawing something: something unseen.

(fig. 1) A Train Journey to London. 11 December 2018. Drawing and photograph by Mark Clay.

(fig. 1) A Train Journey to London. 11 December 2018. Drawing and photograph by Mark Clay.

Slowly, I move my pen horizontally across the page, attempting to draw lines as straight and steady as possible. With only the nib of my pen touching the paper, this is not easy; a sort of physical challenge, even. The train, swaying over points and round corners, transfers energy through my body, altering my would-be-straight lines. They become jagged, with trembles, loops and kinks recording a memory of each motion, transferred from rail to paper, via carriage, body, arm, hand, and pen.

This drawing is made from, and by, all those things, just as a piece of piano music is not performed solely by a pianist’s fingers but by their whole body in conjunction with both conscious and unconscious mind. It is a record of a journey. It is itself a journey. Paul Klee took his line for a walk, but I am taking mine on a train ride.

At my destination the final, lurching halt of the train registers as a downward-upward spasm. I am thinking about the scientific rigour of a seismologist gathering data, rather than the experimental drawing of an artist gathering lines, so I conclude by drawing a few comparative lines after the train has come to a halt. My lines become much straighter, acting as a “control”, drawn without interference from the train’s motion.“

A Train Journey to London. 11 December 2018. Drawing and photograph by Mark Clay.

A Train Journey to London. 11 December 2018. Drawing and photograph by Mark Clay.