Furniture and birdsong

It was the coldest, bleakest part of this last winter. That was when my right arm was gripped with such intense pain that I had to stop working with the clay. I was not happy! The medical advice was to take a break for a month, but what was I going to do?  It turned out that this was an opportunity to completely rethink my making process. 

All my forms up to this point had been made by honing them into shape using a metal scraper held in my right hand, and it was the tension in doing that that had led to the pain. I loved that process, and I felt that the gradual refinement of the firms over many days was part of what people perceived in them. I thought that, in some way, it was the source of their calmness and what they communicated. So to be deprived of access to that process was a challenge to what I had come to believe the work was about.

But my commitment is not to the outcome of the making process, it is to the process itself – to try to find a rightness in the making process and see what that quality leads to in the finished pieces. Clearly the scraping that I enjoyed was not right for my arm, so could there be a new way of making that would involve less tension and more balance in my body? 

For some reason I had also been reflecting on my early days of recording wildlife sounds which eventually led to my first career in natural history radio. Thinking back to the child who stuck a microphone out of his bedroom window to record the garden bird song I realised how long I have had a fascination with recording the natural world in one way or another. I was thinking how clay also keeps a record of everything that happens to it until it is fired, at which point the story of its making is locked into its form and surface. Maybe thinking of the clay as a recording medium could lead to a new way of working.  And so it did. 

With all the wonderful bird song beginning again now and Spring feeling as if it must burst out soon, I have been thinking about birdsong as an inspiration for furniture.  In my past life I worked a lot with birdsong – made lots of programmes about it from it’s biology to its beauty.  So to incorporate it in my furniture would have a lovely continuity.

The connection between furniture design and birdsong may not be immediately obvious, but birdsong is full of patterns and rich in tones.  The song thrush always repeats each phrase 3 or 4 times (and boy does it let rip! especially first thing in the morning.)  So I can imagine a piece with a repeated motif appearing in 3’s or 4’s…. think I prefer 3.  And the woods would have to be strong… maybe something quite contrasty.  Sycamore with walnut – that would capture the brightness and forcefulness of the song.

Then there’s it’s cousin, the blackbird – my and many people’s favourite song.  How would I capture that reedy eloquence?  There’s a glorious development to each phrase – simple idea that becomes ornamented.  Surely i can do something with that? I will have to listen more.  They are only just getting going around here. (But I’ve already seen females collecting nesting material) Need a few more warm days.  Cherry might be the right wood.

And maybe a third?  the wren would be full of trills and twiddly bits…… not really what I want my furniture to look like.

The nightingale is certainly an impressive singer and we do get them still in Gloucestershire.  But with 80 or so phrases it offers maybe too much choice.

Of course I do love the mistle thrush – an understated contralto that travels for miles.  I could go for that.  Simple, rich and strong.  Maybe in English walnut. Leave it with me.

Song thrush, black bird and mistle thrush… all in the same family. I like the coherence. will let you know if the idea grows.

 

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