tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86459260003432791102024-02-07T18:59:54.993-08:00aching to createWhen I abandon the pursuit of excellence
In favour of quick riches
I become neither rich
nor excellentAndrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-75511738325451323662019-09-20T01:42:00.000-07:002019-09-20T01:52:40.606-07:00The game is afoot<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">For anyone who may be interested, and there
may be some I suppose, I humbly offer an insight into the tortuous machinations
of my fevered imagination when it is shaken awake by an Autumnal walk.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">This was my thought process as near as I
can recall on my morning sojourn today, 20<sup>th</sup> September 2019, in the
rural Parish of St. Breward, Cornwall.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It is written quickly, in just under an
hour, as this best translates the way the process works, so please excuse the
random nature of it’s construction. It is fresh from the oven and largely
unedited, except for correcting <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a few
spelling mistakes brought about by feverish typing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">This process is common for me, and it
teases, tortures, delights and inspires me by turns on an almost daily basis to
a greater or lesser degree. I have no hope of keeping up with my ideas, as they
occur to me half a dozen at a time, each one demanding hours, days or maybe
months of work to bring to fruition, so I am left with the painful task of
choosing between my newborn muses, shelving them for later use, discounting
them altogether maybe… but one or two will get through to the point where they
are made real. Maybe at this point the surplus ideas might in some form be
incorporated into the project, flavouring the finished article, subtly adding
depth to it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The range of ideas is so exhaustingly wide
however, that some are destined to remain just that, ideas. This is where
writing has rescued me from despair on many occasions. Rather than just abandon
them by the roadside with a regretful sigh I can write about them, incorporate
them into a story…credit a character of my own creation with the thoughts and
deeds that I cannot hope to achieve in the short span of my days. In this way,
in some imagined world, the ideas are not spent uselessly, unseen and unheard.
They live on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The morning is fresh.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I have watched through the windows since
6am as the sky slowly lightened from stygian black through pastel orange to
pale cloudless blue while preparing breakfast and getting my daughter ready for
school. By 7.45am we had walked down the lane together, and she was safely
aboard the school bus. The family dog Murphy and I continued our walk along the
track by the river.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">A golden light glazes the treetops on the
other side of the valley in honey hues and a light breeze stirs the freshly
fallen beech leaves around my feet. There is a tingling quickening in the air
and in my blood.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Then, to my delight, the first proper
Autumnal leaf shower of this year begins to flutter earthwards all around me
and the air is filled with the dry rush of breeze and leaves. A broad smile
spreads across my face, and then the old familiar urge begins to rise in me,
volcanic, irrepressible, urgent.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">How best to capture this moment?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I want to dig out my long neglected
watercolours and paint a still life of the leaves, like I used to. Sketching
and painting leaves has always given me great pleasure for as many Autumns as I
can remember. Or maybe I could capture the intensity of the colours better with
oils…maybe on a huge canvas filled with nothing but leaves. Or maybe I could
make a wood engraving of a leaf, tiny and intimate for printing. I do love wood
engraving, and it would lend itself so well to this subject….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Or perhaps I could pick out a block of
limewood and carve a leaf, maybe a Sycamore leaf, curled and ragged at the
edges, shaving it down so fine at the edges that it becomes almost transparent,
like Grinling Gibbons or David Esterley might have.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">I have some sheet brass, old drip trays
rescued from a pub skip. Maybe I could experiment with engraving and bending
that to make stylized leaves…I have copper too, an old water heater tank. I
could make some leaves from that, for contrast.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Maybe I could add some carved acorns or
Hazel nuts to them, fix them together in some sort of wall hanging or free
standing sculpture…maybe even hanging from a ceiling !</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">An oak leaf falls at my feet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Don’t leaves look like feathers. My mind
flips back to a puppet idea that has slowly been forming over months…maybe
years, I’m not sure. A Bird, a crow probably, realistic in it’s movements. How
to make the feathers move realistically. Then it occurs to me, a fabric “sock”,
loose fitting over a skeleton of wood, into which individual feathers are
stitched so they can move over each other as real feathers would. The feathers
could be made from wood veneers, with fine filaments carved into each one, so
they can stand up to the closest scrutiny. Maybe they could be fabric, or maybe
even plastic….no, not plastic. Plastic has no place in my Autumnal imagination
landscape….. but maybe…I’ll save that idea for later…upcycling…. Taking single
use plastics out of the environment… Oh, and I could incorporate that fantastic
folding wing idea that I saw Laura Matthews use on her amazing puppets, and adapt
it to my purposes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s time to concentrate now. The ideas are
coming too thick and fast. I can’t stop to write them down while Im walking,
although I always carry a notebook for that exact purpose. Head down, quicken
the pace, and carry these ideas home before I meet anyone who will engage me in
conversation and knock these ideas from my mind. As It is I’m sure I’ve already
dropped 3 or 4 ideas from my pockets on the way home, perhaps to be
rediscovered on another day when the autumn breeze will gently blow the leaves
off them as I pass by.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">My thoughts return to other Autumn projects
from previous years. The huge collection of dried leaves stored between the
pages on an ancient set of encyclopaedias. Five years they have languished
unused. They were collected to make a pressed leaf table top on an old round
wooden table I bought and stored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or
perhaps they could be used as the base for a sign, pressed down onto plywood
and varnished over, then signwritten with some suitably ripe autumnal verse. Or
maybe I could make a green man image. Oh! That reminds me…no, stay focused on
this. Nearly home now. There was that idea about making boards, a bit like
sterling board, out of pressed leaves held together with a glue or resin, for a
decorative sheet material… Stay on point, nearly home. Get home and write it
down. Write it down. Before it gets diluted, write it down.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">The game Is afoot.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">It’s 9.30.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US">Time to get to work.</span></div>
<br /></div>
Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-89850626998155099832015-01-18T03:51:00.001-08:002017-08-03T09:02:49.303-07:00In memory of special times and a special person.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For Susan<br />
<br />
12 months ago on 14th January, I lost a dear friend, and I wrote this when I learned she had passed ,in her memory.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Love has been the raging torrent that has carved out the
landscape of my life</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And Sue was there in the pure virginal meadow of my youth to
witness the emergence of the spring from whence that river grew.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I loved her with the totality that only a 10 year old boy
can muster, absorbed completely by her beauty and grace. She was my world, and
the river began to shape and sculpt me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Long summer afternoons playing in her garden between high
hedges</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Holding hands on a Sunday school trip while we watched the
sun hanging low over a glass-still lake at the foot of the Mourne Mountains.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In these moments the poet and the artist in me were born,
growing from a need to express the unbearable beauty of life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In teenage years we briefly met again, and again I offered
my heart in an awkward adolescent way to my muse.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Without malice or intent she stood me up on a warm summers
day, and finding that I was tall enough if not old enough to buy alcohol I
sought solace in my first cheap wine and cigarettes, retreating to the shade of
an Irish hedge and punishing myself for hurting so much. Thus I embarked on a
successful career as a serial drinker and smoker. I don’t bemoan these things
or complain. I excelled in debauchery and I found a sense of belonging that had
previously eluded me amongst other artistic souls, dented and damaged by love
and life. From the twisting smoke of these first cigarettes a life long
friendship was born, and many problems were caused or solved, and many other
friendships forged and lost , all with the aid of alcohol and tobacco.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Through all of my adult life, when things felt disjointed, I
would fantasize that our orbits might cross in some romantic way, and we could
recapture those moments of pure romance. She was, however unwittingly, my
emotional safety net. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it was never destined for us. Many years later we found
each other again, by now both of us with families of our own. And we were
happy. Our rivers had taken different courses, and hers had meandered through
other lives, bringing that same sweet smiling joy to people I would never know.
For the first time in my life I was truly happy, so when we sat down , her
family and mine, for an oh-so-brief coffee and cake, I knew that our destinies
were not as lovers. I no longer needed a soft place to fall.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I smiled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was pleased for the love she had in her life, for her
faith, for her family, for all of those things that she had found and I had
found that would forever keep us apart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We kept in touch rarely now, always with the warmth of "just
friendship" rendering our connection safe and non-threatening.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But Sue was my first muse</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You never forget your first.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her river no longer cascades……</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I still hear it’s roar.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the landscape that river carved in my soul in the very
beginning is forever my home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Goodbye, “little blonde plaits”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will never forget.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
X</div>
</div>
Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-9089475751359304562014-12-01T10:07:00.000-08:002014-12-01T22:49:16.888-08:00The Discovery Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I met Dave and Sarah at their house, and we walked down to the Chapel by the road.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Knock Knock!” Dave called, and a muffled response from
within told us they were in the chapel.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We went inside, accompanied by the collie, and there ,in the
dim light, looking through a cardboard box ,stood a lady whose age I had no
chance at guessing, as I’m no good at those things. I thought maybe she was in
her 60s, but I must have been wrong, as it turned out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her son was there too, smiling. Dave did the introductions,
and we exchange pleasantries. She had a friendly attractive smile and a quiet,
clear voice, overlaid with a smooth dressing of Dutch accent.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMu3cUFI4DdtdFSBVoAAowD38PJfUtFMFeZyrBaInrwvNnzkwvuLFzfIeMCDPJssvBdxLgM7XZikSIfp3htVYbJ2_DR_dyidf8z0AyrQYBxLBB2lN-v9g448Ky9AQrZKFmZjRTWwMQRnbK/s1600/IMG_1296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMu3cUFI4DdtdFSBVoAAowD38PJfUtFMFeZyrBaInrwvNnzkwvuLFzfIeMCDPJssvBdxLgM7XZikSIfp3htVYbJ2_DR_dyidf8z0AyrQYBxLBB2lN-v9g448Ky9AQrZKFmZjRTWwMQRnbK/s1600/IMG_1296.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Casting my eye around the partially organised chaos of the
room my attention was first caught by a small group of marionettes, about 18”
tall, and 2 rod puppets, hung on or
rested against a bare pine frame opposite the door. Even at a glance it was
obvious that their creator was both technically and artistically very gifted.
The faces were carved with individual personalities, and asymmetrically
designed, in the way that I like to carve, and I felt myself in the presence of
a kindred spirit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I’m afraid I may have become a little excited at this point,
as I examined the baby’s pram with a piglet in it, the ring master, mermaid,
Arab ,weight lifter, fish etc. Mrs S patiently related what she knew of each of
them, and the plays they were from: plays like “The Little Mermaid” and “Ali
Baba and the 40 Thieves” etc.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
The similarity to the Lanchester marionettes struck me right
away, with various sea creatures being fairly heavily influenced by the cast of
the underwater ballet, and indeed when Mrs. S explained the plot of the play, I
was able to fill in the gaps in her recollection with my own knowledge of the
plot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
The tell-tale hip joints, elbows and knees were of that same
iconic design, and although this was the first time I had met these puppets I
felt a warm glow of familiarity with them . Everything was exquisitely carved,
moulded, or formed with wire. The exaggerated features of the probably
politically incorrect black banjo player had a beautiful scratch built banjo,
perfect in every detail, and his lovingly carved fingers looked like they were
poised and ready to pluck some Jazz or Bluegrass from it’s strings.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdi6puXEj-6Gg7MqjonTVAhUFcdvcqdSuRcfNa5zku5JkMJ56gP7UgBJbxiWcDk14BDjXxZX_HTXxubAnyLCEoX7lo21KLnt5mpaHKk_K_n9qMtIrZ_lKHNdJidjKhRkEI5-b4M7LlyQf/s1600/IMG_1287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdi6puXEj-6Gg7MqjonTVAhUFcdvcqdSuRcfNa5zku5JkMJ56gP7UgBJbxiWcDk14BDjXxZX_HTXxubAnyLCEoX7lo21KLnt5mpaHKk_K_n9qMtIrZ_lKHNdJidjKhRkEI5-b4M7LlyQf/s1600/IMG_1287.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv3ikOZFxJjvtVm2gO2rbqDjwod3t9deIsvsb2oCt-o8lGZtjmf-MV5afwqQ-D6Ndv-AFOSKorYgW5eLivMixe63nybJyIkmUXnJYR8NHHBJI6VUb9YlZtbCnNxU9WDX1TxDH75KSKqA9d/s1600/IMG_1298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv3ikOZFxJjvtVm2gO2rbqDjwod3t9deIsvsb2oCt-o8lGZtjmf-MV5afwqQ-D6Ndv-AFOSKorYgW5eLivMixe63nybJyIkmUXnJYR8NHHBJI6VUb9YlZtbCnNxU9WDX1TxDH75KSKqA9d/s1600/IMG_1298.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking around the Chapel’s interior I became aware of the
proscenium to my right, a gaping
rectangular hole through the end wall with a dark empty space behind and an
apron stage in front. From there a gently stepped auditorium floor extended to
the back of the room, cluttered with engineering and woodworking tools, large
freestanding electrical ones and small hand tools, all looking like they had
ceased work in the midst of a project and were awaiting the return of their
owner.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everywhere there were tool drawers and tool boxes, shelves
and cupboards, overflowing with tools, circlips, wire, bolts, bearings, clock
mechanisms, and things I didn’t even recognise, but they looked like they all
had a use and were not at all randomly collected.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
In the middle of the floor, between 2 large logs of what
turned out to be limewood ,were stacks of musty cardboard boxes, about 2ft
square and 1 ft deep. Distracted by the vision of such large lumps of well
seasoned lime, the Holy Grail for carvers, I only slowly became aware that Mrs.
S and her son were unpacking black bin-liners from the boxes, opening each to
reveal...more marionettes !</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Here there were a pair of camels about 2ft tall, witches,
more fish, a shark, Ali Baba’s thieves, an enormous horse, the sweetest braying
donkey, a lion, a juggler, a trapeze artist, musicians, a conductor, a crazy
fat opera singer, dripping in jewellery...and on and on. Looking closely at the
structure of one puppet I recognised the mechanism for the Indian knife
thrower, and reminded Mrs S. of how it worked. I couldn’t believe my eyes, the
range of puppets I was seeing...unicyclist, clowns...they just kept coming.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Mrs S. was saying “I’m sure you’ve seen enough” but she was
as keen to share her husband’s work with me as I was to see it. As we looked
through the puppets she bit by bit pieced together the story of how all this
had come about.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
He had been an engineer all his working life, even building
cameras for big film studios to use in demanding circumstances..under water,
extreme temperatures and the like. He even built some of the early stop-motion
cameras for Aardman when they first set up. His passion, however, had always
been marionettes, and he had tirelessly laboured away since the 1950s
perfecting his art. Some of the early ones are obviously less proficient, but
have a charm of their own ,and are an important part of the narrative of the
collection. His quest had been a long and lonely one ,with very little contact
with other puppeteers with whom he could exchange ideas and techniques. So he
had been largely self taught, gleaning information from books and
experimentation. He and his wife had once owned quite a large piece of land
,with a house and barns and stables, and the chapel. They had an animal park of
sorts, and he began to convert the chapel to a theatre so that in wet weather
visitors might have some indoor entertainment laid on to amuse them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
In the interim, he did have a couple of seasons of putting
on shows for visitors, with a folding stage that the whole family would lug out
to a local hotel and set up every week through the summer. He began to film
some of the performances with some idea of maybe pitching them to the TV
companies.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
The pursuit of perfection in the building of the theatre was
so time consuming and expensive that ,bit by bit, they had sold off the house,
the barns, the land etc. Until all that was left was the chapel, an acre of
land around it, caravans for him and his family, and the burning ambition to
finish his dream. He undertook all of the work himself, extending the original
building at both ends, building stone and block with great skill. He made
gothic arch windows that he built into the roof, and sash windows for the
auditorium. He even made some replacement ridge tiles for the roof by taking
moulds from those that were there, and casting them with earthenware clay to
match in. For 20 years he lived in the caravan, and there he and his wife
brought up their 2 children.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, old age and Altzheimers rendered him unable to
continue his work, and cruelly started to strip him of his memories. Finally,
in November of last year, he became resident in a full time care home, removed
from his family, his puppets and his theatre.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
The more of the story that unfolded as Mrs. S spoke lovingly
and a little wistfully of her husband’s “lone voice crying aloud in the
wilderness”, the more I heard echoes of my own plans and ambitions. The
parallels were very peculiar, and as it turned out they had even lived in the
same place that I had lived as a child before moving to Cornwall. He too was a
slave to his muses, driving him on, with a Quixotic air, tilting at his own
private windmills.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An idea began to form in my mind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I suggested to Mrs. S. ,with the utmost respect, that these
puppets were such a valuable resource that they really should be removed from
the damp, dusty building where they would be susceptible to mould and mouse
damage, and cleaned and hung in a dry room to prevent any further
deterioration. If she would allow me to help, I would consider it a privilege
to handle them, and learn from closely examining them whilst preserving them
for posterity. A weary look came across her face, and she explained that she
just couldn’t face the scale of the task, as she had pretty much run out of the
energy and the will to even begin such a demanding project. She did say that
she would have loved to share the puppets with the world, however, and maybe
even see them on stage again one day. It was then that I made the offer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
“If you will allow me to take on the task, I would consider
it an honour to do the work, and be instrumental in the rescuing of the
puppets. Just say where and when, and I will be there. “....At least that’s how
I heard it in my head, but I’m quite sure that the babble of excited words, shaking with suppressed emotions, was
probably much less eloquent.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
They seemed excited but unsure, and I decided that the best
way forward was to let them discuss it as a family and let me know how they
felt, without any pressure from me. We chatted some more, in the fading light
with bats whirring around our heads and the evening chill coming in, before
bidding them farewell with further protestations of my sincerity hanging in the
air.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
I walked back up to Dave and Sarah’s home where they were
preparing their evening meal, and talked animatedly and at some length about
how stunned I was and grateful that they had told me about the puppets and
arranged the meeting, whilst drinking coffee. Finally, remembering my manners I
bid them good night, and returned home to relate the tale to Emily, then sleep
fitfully, dreaming of theatres, puppets and possibilities.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
At least now I had made contact, and laid the ground for our
next meeting.....</div>
</div>
Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-19455942168485779712014-11-23T00:01:00.001-08:002014-12-01T22:54:35.774-08:00The discovery part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
23/9/2014<br />
<br />
In the last few years landmark moments have been happening to me with almost alarming frequency.<br />
They quite often seem to strike in September, or autumn at least. As this is the season that inspires me the most, I sometimes wonder whether these opportunities are always floating around in the ether, and one only needs to be in a receptive frame of mind to pluck one from the air, and nurture it to a fully fledged plan.<br />
Last night I stepped into a scene of beauty and decay, delight and despair, inspiration and near desperation.<br />
<br />
To begin at the beginning.<br />
<br />
My dear friends Dave and Sarah bought a house a couple of years ago, a converted barn in the countryside near to Bodmin.<br />
For what seems like an eternity we have been trying to arrange an evening together, eating- drinking- laughing, as we used to do regularly in the various places we have lived. Dave and Sarah have been busy building and running a very successful art supplies and picture framing business, and I have been working long hours running my sign business, building the workshop to bring the business home while trying not to keep the customers waiting too long. Add into the mix my increasing obsession with making puppets and building my mobile marionette theatre, for all of us it seems, whatever time we have not been working in recent years we have been sleeping.<br />
<br />
On a rare family trip out to Boscastle with Emily's dad, Raymond, the 4 of us bumped into Dave and Sarah, and resolved that this intolerable state of affairs must be rectified immediately, and that we must go to visit them in their new home and have some food ,wine and banter as we did in the old days of the "Full Moon Club".<br />
So, about a week later we duly rang up to see how they were fixed, and were invited to the house for dinner.<br />
What a lovely evening we had.<br />
Winding through the country lanes in the wooded valleys just off Bodmin moor, we followed the directions given to us, turned left onto a steep track beside an old chapel, and wound our way up the hill between the hedges, over the cattle grid, and up to the house- a converted barn, surrounded<br />
by gardens and fields to the rear, and a parking area to the front. They showed us around the workshops, stables gardens and fields, stopping to say "hi" to the horses. Freya ran and skipped and talked excitedly..and I felt slight pangs of sadness that we didnt have a garden like this for her to play in at home.<br />
It was a lovely warm evening, late summer/ early autumn in all it's glory, and as the sun lowered in the sky, casting dramatic fingers of shadow across the fields, we went inside. After a quick tour of their lovely home, we went upstairs to the living/ dining room, relaxing with drinks in the charming open plan interior while they prepared dinner.<br />
<br />
Over the meal we discussed life, work...and the strange and fascinating story of the family in the caravan next to the very picturesque chapel at the roadside at the end of the lane.<br />
It emerged, almost as a casual comment, that they were in the process of building a puppet theatre when the patriarch of the family was taken ill, and that they had puppets and props and all sorts of wonders behind the modest walls of the chapel, that Dave and Sarah had only briefly glimpsed.<br />
<br />
I couldn't believe my ears<br />
Puppets...<br />
Theatre...<br />
Here ?<br />
<br />
Barely able to restrain myself, I implored Dave that he request an audience with this mysterious Dutch lady, just so that I could see the puppets ,and how far the theatre had progressed before the works had come to a halt.<br />
They said that they saw her almost every day and would mention me ,and gauge her reaction.<br />
There was even talk of a collapsing grand piano prop among the bits and pieces, so at that point I dared to start hoping that these puppets might be of some quality, and worthy of research.<br />
<br />
At the end of the evening we loaded up and went home, my fevered mind twitching with the possibilities that had been born of the evening's conversation.<br />
The very next day, Dave, as good as his word,rang to say that he had really enjoyed the evening, and thanked us for coming, but more importantly that he had spoken to Mrs. S and she would be delighted to show me the puppets on Monday night, between 7 and 7.30, if I was interested.<br />
"Yes ! Brilliant!" I replied, grinning like a bagful of stoned monkeys.<br />
<br />
Monday dragged.<br />
<br />
Work was difficult, concentration a lost cause. Eventually, after a hurried meal, I jumped in the van and headed off.<br />
<br />
It was another lovely evening, just a hint of autumnal chill, but not enough to require coats and jumpers. On the way there I almost found myself hoping to be disappointed, because I am content with my lovely home and workshop, and didn't want to become infatuated with another property.<br />
"Still," I thought, "I expect it won't be that good. Storm in a teacup I expect."<br />
<br />
I began to prepare myself for an awkward situation, trying to formulate the words that would be a polite response to the work of an enthusiastic but untalented amateur. I was already suffering under the weight of too much inspiration, more than I had the time to fully explore. With 2 books, a mobile puppet theatre and a business to deal with, let alone having my lovely family to spend time with, I really didn't need something else to light yet another connected fire in me.<br />
<br />
Shame that...<br />
<br />
The Gods will have their sport........<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgavYxiO8nfHLXgBTYCvJS3JnZoXQcuEtL4rjmfCaQ1m43U7azfY3O76__ySlnTplezQdkozjwOnsue5KfPrhV7MtKX-9la7oww2YqwZfqvpe5MjcH-W3p1BIliNc4nidJQ4_w7ekkg-oaU/s1600/chapel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgavYxiO8nfHLXgBTYCvJS3JnZoXQcuEtL4rjmfCaQ1m43U7azfY3O76__ySlnTplezQdkozjwOnsue5KfPrhV7MtKX-9la7oww2YqwZfqvpe5MjcH-W3p1BIliNc4nidJQ4_w7ekkg-oaU/s1600/chapel.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Chapel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
...to be continued...</div>
Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-23546398583101871602014-03-01T02:18:00.000-08:002014-03-01T02:26:30.521-08:00winter 2010....remember the snow ?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I wrote this in 2010, and have just found it again.<br />
Thought I'd share it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
A confident sun eased itself, stretching, over the horizon<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
basting with melted butter<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the uppermost limbs of the trees in the valley.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A pledge of restorative warmth <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to the stoic waxy holly <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and encumbered viridian ivy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Improbably bright flickers of light<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
flashed and glanced on frigid leaf and branch.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Long fingers of shadow<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the colour of robins' eggs<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
reached out over the pale golden hillside across the river.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe today?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
a single dusty flake<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
then two....three....<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
a flurry......<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And turning to face the stiffening breeze I saw it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A featureless, towering, slate-grey wave<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looming over the virginal, cowering landscape<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and breaking on the shoreline of scratchy bare trees,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
engulfing them in a swirling insistent smoke, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
turning them to a muddy watercolour blur.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There would be no thaw<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-19891946600459498332014-01-22T11:53:00.000-08:002014-01-22T11:53:04.039-08:00And so it begins<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The cart is bought<br />
The wooden panelling too<br />
The plans are drawn<br />
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9JI9xbVriy9BOmnfAQN-2z11Jf0T2mMqsQnEwpHH0CWZrARrU6GKJjFiMq0QwlFyOfNzW90wd1fhwVE9C6zUdkSSuo9dqVsvVqbo0gkPfeVwfpXXzS4zt6lPudSng2_S-WH0chxkKST3O/s1600/DSCF0791.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9JI9xbVriy9BOmnfAQN-2z11Jf0T2mMqsQnEwpHH0CWZrARrU6GKJjFiMq0QwlFyOfNzW90wd1fhwVE9C6zUdkSSuo9dqVsvVqbo0gkPfeVwfpXXzS4zt6lPudSng2_S-WH0chxkKST3O/s1600/DSCF0791.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQraMZbDSQ3MAU8UuMk1inQOY8vQSLPAhbynjzEe8P1BkoDPVLDqDbMTNE-Qa08yqtS3UfPp9lrqKouwjnWmEQGoYeLfVeXPs-x-CG6yDu8U5GQEHDRfRJKnRUaPOaCEEeBvhnkE7KEvV/s1600/DSCF0792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQraMZbDSQ3MAU8UuMk1inQOY8vQSLPAhbynjzEe8P1BkoDPVLDqDbMTNE-Qa08yqtS3UfPp9lrqKouwjnWmEQGoYeLfVeXPs-x-CG6yDu8U5GQEHDRfRJKnRUaPOaCEEeBvhnkE7KEvV/s1600/DSCF0792.JPG" height="266" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDu-zAcIKmU-q_ZGYuDc-PGlsmSSDpVgu7ekImA1WsXT7mgE2YTS2FvrswaVwy8G1tzDUFSqpn8e3LWAfPFnYN8csYr5AOo7vz2vESMkGlR_g683eUfuYM7RfnHtW_JGJ-z7IPojcIaymG/s1600/DSCF0793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDu-zAcIKmU-q_ZGYuDc-PGlsmSSDpVgu7ekImA1WsXT7mgE2YTS2FvrswaVwy8G1tzDUFSqpn8e3LWAfPFnYN8csYr5AOo7vz2vESMkGlR_g683eUfuYM7RfnHtW_JGJ-z7IPojcIaymG/s1600/DSCF0793.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a>THE MOBILE MARIONETTE THEATRE</div>
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Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-89453652211082343592013-12-23T09:20:00.002-08:002013-12-23T09:20:44.094-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Small marionette<br />
painted and ready for strings<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKSlQiH4v_hMnwxYmdx5HJHoPHiuH21LmH13yIMXrjIJYdyBHglO34iwQ9M_3eylxyFNL4io7gjK41MxS3Y0n0Q5c11MajI-hVqQMUKkgirlILrGRRSulkiZTbeRIcdyv_SB1l_DmfCvZ/s1600/P1010203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnKSlQiH4v_hMnwxYmdx5HJHoPHiuH21LmH13yIMXrjIJYdyBHglO34iwQ9M_3eylxyFNL4io7gjK41MxS3Y0n0Q5c11MajI-hVqQMUKkgirlILrGRRSulkiZTbeRIcdyv_SB1l_DmfCvZ/s320/P1010203.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVx2CrrbfmZ23dl2HIoVWyOqpXM8cB1aemjtC8ztwm60Jbm-Qg5T7ck1Bgqw20Lt35kRaI8iPAOQPxPrP60mPUghdw_i1VHYOJbokcVSLHoRiFCBmA8yT6fhTV6-r-W1vD9ykLGfamqQyY/s1600/P1010204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVx2CrrbfmZ23dl2HIoVWyOqpXM8cB1aemjtC8ztwm60Jbm-Qg5T7ck1Bgqw20Lt35kRaI8iPAOQPxPrP60mPUghdw_i1VHYOJbokcVSLHoRiFCBmA8yT6fhTV6-r-W1vD9ykLGfamqQyY/s320/P1010204.JPG" width="240" /></a>Finally, a stem on his pie</div>
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He has a checked cap<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvhiDIhYb54YuYqlfG3SAMtaK9j199OE5VcihyphenhyphenuKezRdlrl3ALU9SYMXK3gumn2yBBCZqhyphenhyphenry2MIN7TPCdn72y47ZQNqx7lgQFXpTLNCR7NxOCXp2xZcdFRsFMcoc6E8i02nlK-5Pmysd/s1600/P1010205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvhiDIhYb54YuYqlfG3SAMtaK9j199OE5VcihyphenhyphenuKezRdlrl3ALU9SYMXK3gumn2yBBCZqhyphenhyphenry2MIN7TPCdn72y47ZQNqx7lgQFXpTLNCR7NxOCXp2xZcdFRsFMcoc6E8i02nlK-5Pmysd/s320/P1010205.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrExULCybRyXe8Go72rnvW9_MFvtZQeeH2wrWKfsezcbsvmYDpt59p3SXQHHipn5rhuBuEeVo9wzKqp6gKoBMIFK84HElHpMTfcRsI-Y-e0a3rdUVSwXM-sfLqPA-rQdwzYKtPilEjDkTV/s1600/P1010206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrExULCybRyXe8Go72rnvW9_MFvtZQeeH2wrWKfsezcbsvmYDpt59p3SXQHHipn5rhuBuEeVo9wzKqp6gKoBMIFK84HElHpMTfcRsI-Y-e0a3rdUVSwXM-sfLqPA-rQdwzYKtPilEjDkTV/s320/P1010206.JPG" width="240" /></a>I wonder what I should call him.....</div>
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Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-48791053905435051332013-12-20T03:36:00.001-08:002013-12-20T15:47:08.623-08:00Last Christmas I painted part of the Christmas display for Liberty of London<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Process video, gilding and painting for Liberty.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/tKEwcTw9-lg" width="560"></iframe></div>
Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-28797006029833534982013-12-20T03:32:00.000-08:002013-12-20T15:47:34.911-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Reverting to the earlier torso design, and loving how it looks and moves.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9v9QRl9n1TNWqjTHf5ikzghG0VK2dBTXFt0UpGonY4kC7SnHWCUeu9iAXa20WHGmMlhv6_kde4C27DfmMma3Xj5OTnboJ_d82UGy-cF7pwv27-ylcFJYdkFWhFgHOoWEb-fPe36K_m1wH/s1600/P1010193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9v9QRl9n1TNWqjTHf5ikzghG0VK2dBTXFt0UpGonY4kC7SnHWCUeu9iAXa20WHGmMlhv6_kde4C27DfmMma3Xj5OTnboJ_d82UGy-cF7pwv27-ylcFJYdkFWhFgHOoWEb-fPe36K_m1wH/s640/P1010193.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqsnj20Ai4mbRkDJI-To-K4zrtPmPjVu-mfgzae5S-t__YGu2Szluoy93U8d44sUJUF_44zhbqOIdbQNlugqsyobWIWsWDuomP0-3Ac8Ky4jJMisIado7qv4s_2r8qcu8tCS_vEYKX1bH7/s1600/P1010190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqsnj20Ai4mbRkDJI-To-K4zrtPmPjVu-mfgzae5S-t__YGu2Szluoy93U8d44sUJUF_44zhbqOIdbQNlugqsyobWIWsWDuomP0-3Ac8Ky4jJMisIado7qv4s_2r8qcu8tCS_vEYKX1bH7/s320/P1010190.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHkujDpvCs_MuojC43lt8hRrm2hH5Fz2YyniP_J1G4GkwPfIOfrwNIrD-9jblwH0G2ve1CDYqPOp8SGcO4thBzAI-oMF-CpJqj4VNWweeQiSbV-lWlKe3lNTpzdSbsa5BmixTJ8tDvqPm/s1600/P1010191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHkujDpvCs_MuojC43lt8hRrm2hH5Fz2YyniP_J1G4GkwPfIOfrwNIrD-9jblwH0G2ve1CDYqPOp8SGcO4thBzAI-oMF-CpJqj4VNWweeQiSbV-lWlKe3lNTpzdSbsa5BmixTJ8tDvqPm/s320/P1010191.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1UKupRgSh4McwkI2gcg4jmiXgoVCVSrDdiV7jsvnwcotoHaKvlZy8Za71BMOg30B6YSgGbRUi22jkRxNMa7HdZZDiqfjtmxSPvT88nGDnuex57WVfPMrb6e_Lby-0-0tyzcrjAus0rIZ/s1600/P1010186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1UKupRgSh4McwkI2gcg4jmiXgoVCVSrDdiV7jsvnwcotoHaKvlZy8Za71BMOg30B6YSgGbRUi22jkRxNMa7HdZZDiqfjtmxSPvT88nGDnuex57WVfPMrb6e_Lby-0-0tyzcrjAus0rIZ/s320/P1010186.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-49322585452578867702013-12-19T02:47:00.001-08:002013-12-19T02:47:17.710-08:00Getting there now<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
He's coming together now, and developing a personality !<br />
Next, a pair of trousers and a coat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDJhQO8oEzgsxoaJ5dqxJbrO1ed52QdXcF5zVLTDQTOIzpazYbCB4DiyCnn8rkPWgk9OT-p_t03r2rqycuX0CUle-HaoUEDpEC2lUz5R74GH6r1niB961dV3hQkV9uhEPY3afsFnF9DJM5/s1600/P1010180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDJhQO8oEzgsxoaJ5dqxJbrO1ed52QdXcF5zVLTDQTOIzpazYbCB4DiyCnn8rkPWgk9OT-p_t03r2rqycuX0CUle-HaoUEDpEC2lUz5R74GH6r1niB961dV3hQkV9uhEPY3afsFnF9DJM5/s320/P1010180.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjEV_pgXiBtgUPDlTVYkMGJO81DIV98voZxBa7vi0VHGg90GH4QaqIKp4se0kfdeJ3_Kl4O31JQ5WsApGuzb7lqs2GCowqSbOmtddk__DzHSk7PiZk7S-a2nLm6u_Qh9fIEkAt1OTuwMF/s1600/P1010181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjEV_pgXiBtgUPDlTVYkMGJO81DIV98voZxBa7vi0VHGg90GH4QaqIKp4se0kfdeJ3_Kl4O31JQ5WsApGuzb7lqs2GCowqSbOmtddk__DzHSk7PiZk7S-a2nLm6u_Qh9fIEkAt1OTuwMF/s320/P1010181.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-37037595032651961602013-12-18T02:02:00.001-08:002013-12-18T02:02:51.699-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is a puppet I'm working on at the moment<br />
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Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-89036596197442886682013-09-03T10:16:00.000-07:002013-09-03T10:16:03.309-07:00Chasing the marionette dream<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Some time ago I posted a picture of a puppet head I was carving. I've now added a bit of hair, and he is starting to get some character.<br />
I have been inspired to redouble my efforts, as I have been accepted onto a course in long string marionette manipulation at the Little Angel Puppet Theatre in London.<br />
I cant tell you how excited and scared I am about 9 days in London, but I couldn't miss the opportunity.<br />
This will all help in forwarding my current project of building a mobile puppet theatre on a farm cart that's <br />
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<br />
over 100 years old. Pictures to follow soon.<br />
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This is a major new chapter in my life, and when it all comes together my aim is to leave children slack-jawed with wonder, and remind their parents what it felt like to dream</div>
Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-51685212126986872122012-07-23T09:41:00.003-07:002012-07-23T09:41:55.287-07:00Painting the sign for Atlantic Hotel- Scilly Isles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="224" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Re5-80rSlGc" width="400"></iframe></div>Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-32076704327986008452012-07-16T01:45:00.000-07:002012-07-16T01:45:07.172-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Here's a film poster that I provided the illustration for.<br />
The film, " The Beast", is by Dream Seekers Productions, headed up by Peter Dukes, a very talented independent film maker in USA<br />
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<a href="http://www.dreamseekersprods.com/">www.dreamseekersprods.com</a></div>Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-65660904303656725192012-02-23T00:12:00.000-08:002012-02-23T00:12:03.626-08:00Some sketches for my book<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">These preliminary sketches are for some of the characters in the book I'm writing.More will be along soon.<br />
Some of them will probably also be made as puppets.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqpT9BKPnjbs4yRWfMNAhTVgkKdfh43mOPtXs_kGkd9kX3710_lUAbl1KUsXEzVuoRQ8Z74a1XLzq49xs2OnmwG8qKzEfnQcdDchXos6XexIbLf2oQOkvBchwnpDXIDf4UXqHcWTJuY4mW/s1600/scan0022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqpT9BKPnjbs4yRWfMNAhTVgkKdfh43mOPtXs_kGkd9kX3710_lUAbl1KUsXEzVuoRQ8Z74a1XLzq49xs2OnmwG8qKzEfnQcdDchXos6XexIbLf2oQOkvBchwnpDXIDf4UXqHcWTJuY4mW/s320/scan0022.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>Just had the privilege of meeting Brian and Wendy Froud, and attending Wendy's sculpture masterclass.<br />
Learnt a lot there that will be very helpful.You should follow their blog, "Realm of Froud". Lovely stuff from sincere people.</div>Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-87885764296849411412012-01-27T08:59:00.000-08:002012-01-27T09:08:20.451-08:00Coming Home<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uFm299IttQVDzuDRvuknEStxhnvkv4YY1co80RSZEmZ7VuD4hm3TIgUJ5DEOrmmC5IUhRF3mMXKoaXuZKz9ULIxSmAWJOC2TZUq5imtfZR6RjilHnLxWhiGCyPbknW3QSh4-wXsgFfwN/s1600/P1010038.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uFm299IttQVDzuDRvuknEStxhnvkv4YY1co80RSZEmZ7VuD4hm3TIgUJ5DEOrmmC5IUhRF3mMXKoaXuZKz9ULIxSmAWJOC2TZUq5imtfZR6RjilHnLxWhiGCyPbknW3QSh4-wXsgFfwN/s400/P1010038.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702358170803458370" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_QMkdXHEPIyPArAyJHnpWJkNgxhMvwRTA7MTFi5_wOGvn_2NoA-PQTj6_oybItrbG_FV0q_DJqELnmL9ENH5R4FyTZhjypXXxOwDCpjApSSGlHEjSR0ZOdoLwMsUXgmZ6f0C8QaYKZwP/s1600/P1010036.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_QMkdXHEPIyPArAyJHnpWJkNgxhMvwRTA7MTFi5_wOGvn_2NoA-PQTj6_oybItrbG_FV0q_DJqELnmL9ENH5R4FyTZhjypXXxOwDCpjApSSGlHEjSR0ZOdoLwMsUXgmZ6f0C8QaYKZwP/s400/P1010036.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702358166746088594" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-2wMZ08NqyXYMW4PTI-21Cf5pFKKb7qV2os3ro4YUt5vzvWrDojwwpX6erU8zhi3oAYN-N_ym1Brm00LHeG-cGMGEidIEmQWkkeIadzAC__6SoCZPlrhrdI3Ygfa8esRqbViV8VJjz3Cn/s1600/P1010035.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-2wMZ08NqyXYMW4PTI-21Cf5pFKKb7qV2os3ro4YUt5vzvWrDojwwpX6erU8zhi3oAYN-N_ym1Brm00LHeG-cGMGEidIEmQWkkeIadzAC__6SoCZPlrhrdI3Ygfa8esRqbViV8VJjz3Cn/s400/P1010035.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702358164426567842" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE70CBZgBN7G4lom3cffrJj9LdoCLPBhSzXrOTC6UwuVVFYuqNnuUjfBV1_bJE46OKbCUdzyCkRxRcv2tNUahxYrvpw0E0C8-7zwTG7oiIzo3psyhO32shOBQpWqgo0CF8tIzNmmvpIkAd/s1600/P1010034.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE70CBZgBN7G4lom3cffrJj9LdoCLPBhSzXrOTC6UwuVVFYuqNnuUjfBV1_bJE46OKbCUdzyCkRxRcv2tNUahxYrvpw0E0C8-7zwTG7oiIzo3psyhO32shOBQpWqgo0CF8tIzNmmvpIkAd/s400/P1010034.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702358157225641682" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCCrDmUBQmPq5-kSOuPwB17NQIa-RXbcD6xPIVRpJB3sY7HqHDSA05-CcnU5C3tCo2AEoCHR1yI8aH6q8mEnPY1mStlIxIkn1yjWCVP1wjS8WfzcNxmzRWjy5iR8PYeiRBI-6bNMz4O1pp/s1600/P1010033.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCCrDmUBQmPq5-kSOuPwB17NQIa-RXbcD6xPIVRpJB3sY7HqHDSA05-CcnU5C3tCo2AEoCHR1yI8aH6q8mEnPY1mStlIxIkn1yjWCVP1wjS8WfzcNxmzRWjy5iR8PYeiRBI-6bNMz4O1pp/s400/P1010033.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702358153183042802" /></a><br />After a whole year building the studio and moving the business I am finally home, and with big plans for the future.<div>I'm going to Live the Dream!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-30960904597541748702010-04-14T09:39:00.000-07:002010-04-15T00:17:18.952-07:00for Freya- a lullaby<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvv7bdzWmcntmpEjheV-yHn_BkTkHPJsGvMEVxlZJw7vjLHJxea4vFrZFlhil7dbLXIG-LjBb31lQwSZ8UTQdVaghyphenhyphenPX4FKJdxOqdeSQ2lpuph4xDV9zfHs4E-SXx_ycxJQ9L2G50KqD7/s1600/Freya001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWvv7bdzWmcntmpEjheV-yHn_BkTkHPJsGvMEVxlZJw7vjLHJxea4vFrZFlhil7dbLXIG-LjBb31lQwSZ8UTQdVaghyphenhyphenPX4FKJdxOqdeSQ2lpuph4xDV9zfHs4E-SXx_ycxJQ9L2G50KqD7/s400/Freya001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460256297198180738" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I wrote this the same time as drawing this sketch<br />when my little girl was new to the world<br /><br />Just a tiny ripple<br />on an ocean vast and wide,<br />Barely even noticed<br />by the overwhelming tide.<br />Who knows what far-flung places<br />this little wave will reach,<br />Majestic, icy wastelands<br />or some warm exotic beach.<br /><br />Just a little flutter,<br />a gentle summer breeze,<br />The lightest, freshest whisper<br />softly stirring in the trees,<br />brushing past the butterflies<br />and lifting up their wings<br />Shimmering on cobwebs<br />like tiny guitar strings.<br /><br />Just a ray of sunshine<br />coaxing flowers into bloom,<br />subtly and silently<br />dispelling shady gloom.<br />Charming us, and teasing out<br />a smile from every face<br />Warming all she touches<br />with her innocent embrace.<br /><br />She's just my little Princess,<br />not even two days old.<br />Like putty in her tiny fist,<br />my heart is hers to mould.<br />Already she has conquered me<br />and brought me to my knees<br />my ripple on the ocean<br />my warming summer breeze<br /><br />daddy 16/7/08</span>Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-39641228178458460972010-04-09T09:44:00.001-07:002010-04-15T00:23:56.344-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2e85hlCZ6vO4T0rd8rP8VekWQq8bsK0RtEzt03fvTB4eo704-mj7rR9jtJ3of4Y86-R23IWVKUUn2UeA1kxhXyxFbM-RBXVjeIueL0n6LUnfyl_qnuqO9S1_H6Q8yNyFgrYAt_UlGPTav/s1600/Image009.jpg"><img style="text-align: center;float: right; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2e85hlCZ6vO4T0rd8rP8VekWQq8bsK0RtEzt03fvTB4eo704-mj7rR9jtJ3of4Y86-R23IWVKUUn2UeA1kxhXyxFbM-RBXVjeIueL0n6LUnfyl_qnuqO9S1_H6Q8yNyFgrYAt_UlGPTav/s400/Image009.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458180395296538626" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw9G1Jmo-sGtrXOo4RzL15T0rzx-VFGpWYgy1fwImhg9QfQmjpcd6IWoKsF_i0hcq4TKCkZ4xXEeqYiRx2q1h5hPA9oszJw7rczo5bqMk2wNE7qVe-WLYB6V5XZ2lDuIos0QjfgYf4Es0e/s1600/Image096.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw9G1Jmo-sGtrXOo4RzL15T0rzx-VFGpWYgy1fwImhg9QfQmjpcd6IWoKsF_i0hcq4TKCkZ4xXEeqYiRx2q1h5hPA9oszJw7rczo5bqMk2wNE7qVe-WLYB6V5XZ2lDuIos0QjfgYf4Es0e/s400/Image096.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458180262106238674" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsY-m3AUIZncLVZNOmXmVte7U0xVmJwh4aI9bDyNjTxdyL2OdIpNyYIFXQ9elnCjrjSZBSvYT3xvmw5e1C-AVXSxnBdxezB5xeMMnz1yvZHbYaTrvYmWG2f7v7-pZVvlFv3U6ZneWNzzQT/s1600/Image065.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsY-m3AUIZncLVZNOmXmVte7U0xVmJwh4aI9bDyNjTxdyL2OdIpNyYIFXQ9elnCjrjSZBSvYT3xvmw5e1C-AVXSxnBdxezB5xeMMnz1yvZHbYaTrvYmWG2f7v7-pZVvlFv3U6ZneWNzzQT/s400/Image065.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458180124946073298" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFPH1e_rINP3pkgshhIaoAzBrMHJyZrqjOXuGbaWJkzpVaVo_fngTnFT9g-Mr7jB77aFHYgUBLh_grUcR9cLSv6vAAvKOO_d0vkB6k39szb-tOfQCJHHwxvWuQSEobltdL8KVXv2my4tE/s1600/Image086.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFPH1e_rINP3pkgshhIaoAzBrMHJyZrqjOXuGbaWJkzpVaVo_fngTnFT9g-Mr7jB77aFHYgUBLh_grUcR9cLSv6vAAvKOO_d0vkB6k39szb-tOfQCJHHwxvWuQSEobltdL8KVXv2my4tE/s400/Image086.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458179997425808738" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvsNw3Q1MX0URcw35TIBiBcrGnairLPX3_I7OUvHoJVv00XtCQgkSB1-bk_N38U22rJgTc-jvhAK52pGRnuXWC6mc_cpxXc1LC57Pm0MAiqCK_xi8QmvnOQX4kPr_NESBNLTzYUHcr8v1u/s1600/Image089.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvsNw3Q1MX0URcw35TIBiBcrGnairLPX3_I7OUvHoJVv00XtCQgkSB1-bk_N38U22rJgTc-jvhAK52pGRnuXWC6mc_cpxXc1LC57Pm0MAiqCK_xi8QmvnOQX4kPr_NESBNLTzYUHcr8v1u/s400/Image089.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458179887672754274" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_PYgTRiD6Qb6VaR8Kz1CmWy3GPipX4cx-jSURSAMZQ25PzNyO7NZEgg_D1H3sIkQwAsrH6bB9TFXaJyqb_6w-wueltH_8A1NV9X9KOzlLe_jl6fVtVHvYW_ywmYspCQsyv_HM7Xdut4T/s1600/Image066.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje_PYgTRiD6Qb6VaR8Kz1CmWy3GPipX4cx-jSURSAMZQ25PzNyO7NZEgg_D1H3sIkQwAsrH6bB9TFXaJyqb_6w-wueltH_8A1NV9X9KOzlLe_jl6fVtVHvYW_ywmYspCQsyv_HM7Xdut4T/s400/Image066.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458179760012810706" /></a><br />There's a spot along the path I sometimes walk that is like no other.<br />A few yards away is a rustic bench seat, and a wide break in the hedge,offering a delightful view across the river to a lush, flat meadow, fringed with tree-covered hills.<br />Any passer-by who might happen along this way would more than likely sit here to rest.<br />But my spot,as I said, is a few yards away from here,<br />where the roar of the restless river is muffled by the tree line.<br />The bank on the other side of the track is high and rocky,<br />festooned with moss and ferns<br />And the whole scene is overshadowed by the huge bulk of ancient beech and oak trees,<br />precariously clinging to the precipice.<br /><br />Now,in spring,<br />Improbably vivid acidic green shoots force skywards through the musty skeletons of last years leaves<br />And porcelain white fungi gleam translucent on parchment-dry bark.<br /><br />In summer<br />It is a cool oasis of dappled shade,<br />Where spiralling clusters of lace-winged insects<br />Swirl in the hazy shafts<br />of filtered sunshine.<br /><br />Autumn unfolds<br />with a trickle of bright, crisp orange and ochre leaves<br />cascading from the overhanging branches<br />Casting a golden pallor over the whole stage<br />Crunching satisfyingly under foot.<br /><br />When winter descends<br />A cathedral of towering silhouettes,<br />tormented by the wind,<br />scratch and claw against angry, slate grey skies<br /><br />Badgers live here<br />tunnelling deep into the earthy bank.<br />There are at least five visible entrances<br />Some between tree roots<br />Some amongst the tangled brambles<br />All announced by a shining plateau of dark umber earth<br />Polished smooth by generations of nocturnal comings and goings.<br /><br />But there's more<br /><br />For here<br />in this dell<br />just around the corner from plain sight<br /><br />there are faeriesAndrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-9345790718935422462010-04-03T09:48:00.000-07:002010-04-03T09:58:00.921-07:00Freya<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZsOhV_myAzArPY6DOkVnyLZ6Y25GamQZuYIl6bfNnMtLj9QfDMD9b8iDe2C7q1EwoSfSyEky_1zMSiZVW0P7bgIu-KRJzVupcBUWwMuGrtHS5fOWLWa1EO1ZZmucatXb2cdK4f9p4dTs/s1600/snow+033.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZsOhV_myAzArPY6DOkVnyLZ6Y25GamQZuYIl6bfNnMtLj9QfDMD9b8iDe2C7q1EwoSfSyEky_1zMSiZVW0P7bgIu-KRJzVupcBUWwMuGrtHS5fOWLWa1EO1ZZmucatXb2cdK4f9p4dTs/s400/snow+033.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455955703960423330" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF00;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My Inspiration and motivation.</span></span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF00;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This little girl, pictured here over a year ago</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF00;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Makes sense of all I do.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF00;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Since meeting and getting engaged to Emily</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF00;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">and then being blessed with Freya</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF00;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I feel creative and alive again.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF00;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Without my girls</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFF00;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I am nothing</span></span></span></div>Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-64262402469532246812010-04-02T05:57:00.000-07:002010-04-03T10:28:46.602-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36nXycUDxNDcNcD3e7tJWrxI60FExtRKezg41KaxS2DxnWjOQXxHFRPbfiDP3g8swgFz6rQ1JmaQuo2i2XRLhFkbjoVISCmlmpXrYNYUpv-nCboNyf7sL5UUhoZNbH-7RPuNvrdYUnl47/s1600/Doug.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 147px; height: 220px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36nXycUDxNDcNcD3e7tJWrxI60FExtRKezg41KaxS2DxnWjOQXxHFRPbfiDP3g8swgFz6rQ1JmaQuo2i2XRLhFkbjoVISCmlmpXrYNYUpv-nCboNyf7sL5UUhoZNbH-7RPuNvrdYUnl47/s400/Doug.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455964470824480482" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">This is a piece I wrote about my oldest friend, Doug Fitch.</span></span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">A true creative genius and invaluable partner in crime...</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';color:#FFCC00;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFCC00;">It is true of many talented people I think</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(80, 0, 80); font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-family:'times new roman';font-size:16px;">find his blog on my links</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(80, 0, 80); font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0); font-family:'times new roman';font-size:16px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(80, 0, 80); font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">Shackled by self-doubt, but aching to create</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">He is besieged by a manic euphoric desperation.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">Left raw from the endless grappling with his demons and muses</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">He is exquisitely, agonisingly sensitive</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">And every subtle nuance of atmosphere</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">Becomes a dazzling kaleidoscope of intense hues.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">Be gentle with him</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">Forgive him</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">He is an artist</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">And by his hand</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">even the most mean-spirited among us</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">can be bewitched and enriched</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">And through his eyes</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">we can glimpse eternity.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">Andrew Grundon</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFCC;">18/11/09</span></span></div></span></div>Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-42387098080336024332010-04-02T01:41:00.000-07:002010-04-02T01:44:21.106-07:00Yorik<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCBS5UQU06eUMhiiYCZLCZBl7BE20KrThv0eV-X9SGMmXqTCQlPNdzwiF919GAJ1k6MjlBgtMFY_DEnIcvPCqtCHQYhfPRTgOKWg-evmFzEIoU6rXVJPFHGYVaMYNDjiS7esZ1lPITMBKp/s1600/P1010219.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCBS5UQU06eUMhiiYCZLCZBl7BE20KrThv0eV-X9SGMmXqTCQlPNdzwiF919GAJ1k6MjlBgtMFY_DEnIcvPCqtCHQYhfPRTgOKWg-evmFzEIoU6rXVJPFHGYVaMYNDjiS7esZ1lPITMBKp/s400/P1010219.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455458170442935714" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">This boy will be my first puppet, if I can find the time</span>Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-17115838215926206932010-04-01T09:37:00.000-07:002010-04-01T09:38:30.142-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">When I abandon the pursuit of excellence</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">In favour of quick riches</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I become neither rich</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">nor excellent</span></span></div><div><br /></div></span>Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8645926000343279110.post-21780760696033444202010-03-30T08:56:00.000-07:002010-03-30T09:03:21.346-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Sy8cRrd9mUzWpAQRKgKeBHsZXi2rW5AylvjIGoOvedIy1iF0O9huaIj00Ir4On9jCVcmrrhkWTEXZ8dsKRqyJlqLPy8LQ6KwSdC_9zuA7bf1msvNxNwB5Lsh2JoORLEGgZiJnC9f-ll-/s1600/sketch002.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Sy8cRrd9mUzWpAQRKgKeBHsZXi2rW5AylvjIGoOvedIy1iF0O9huaIj00Ir4On9jCVcmrrhkWTEXZ8dsKRqyJlqLPy8LQ6KwSdC_9zuA7bf1msvNxNwB5Lsh2JoORLEGgZiJnC9f-ll-/s320/sketch002.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454457899303501618" /></a><br />Some ideas <div>for puppet heads </div><div>sometime in the future</div>Andrew Grundonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04383109374739399596noreply@blogger.com0