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Pond-dipping
Sunday, 4th May 2003, West Yorkshire |
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When
you take a close look at it, George's drawing is an accurate picture map
of the features of our back garden. There's the extension on the back
of the house with my studio window in the sloping roof, a large wasp or
bee buzzing menacingly towards us and, in the pond, edged on one side
by pebbles and on the other by grass and iris leaves, he's shown a representative
selection of pond life: a frog, a tadpole and a small fish (as far as
I know we don't have any fish in there, not even sticklebacks).
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I'm just saying that we've never had a child fall in the pond when George's
younger sister, Izzy, 3, totters alarmingly as she dips a net into the
water. Close thing.
You'll notice that George has included Izzy's pigtails in his stick-figure
sketch, and caught her sunny disposition but he evidently feels it's himself,
not his sister, who is best put in charge of the pond net.
Frogman
I
find frogs difficult to draw, even after all my years as a wildlife illustrator,
so I'm impressed, not to say envious of the spontaneity of the design,
with George's interpretation of it. He's shown it leaping or swimming,
rather than going for the familiar sitting-on-a-lily-pad pose.
It's surprising how long-limbed frogs are when they're outstretched and
he's got those proportions in his drawing.
The springy, arching line of George's drawing reminds me of the Dreamtime
images of aboriginal paintings. It's got that shamanistic feel to it;
as if the artist has entered into the watery world of the frog and imagined
what it would be like to experience being that creature, moving as it
moves.
According to Encyclopaedia Britannica, aboriginal oral tradition
serves to relate the individual and the landscape to the continuing
spiritual influence of the Dreaming, or Dreamtime--a mythological past
in which the existing natural environment was shaped and humanized by
ancestral beings.
The aborigines believe 'that what is given cannot be changed and that
the past exists in an eternal present'. I'd go along with that, I do feel
that the past is all around us, not just in a misty mythological sense
but literally in the layers of history and geology that surround us. There's
even a lot of history in our DNA.
George shows a tadpole, an almost embryonic forerunner of the frog. Each
of us has been through an embryonic form not that dissimilar in outward
appearance to the tadpole, in what might be a kind of rerun of our evolutionary
past.
To
me the three pond creatures look as if they're setting out on some kind
of journey, perhaps in some aboriginal myth. To quote Britannica
again, in aboriginal myth;
man is regarded as part of nature, not fundamentally dissimilar to
the mythic beings or to the animal species, all of which share a common
life force.
I get that feeling from George's drawing. His work also reminds me of
Paul Klee, who explored the mysteries in the microcosms
of nature, often presented, as George does here, with a touch of humour.
By the way, the colour in these drawings isn't by George; that's me,
having fun messing around in Photoshop 7.0.
To judge by its size in the composition, George, rightly, considers the
frog as being at the centre of the microcosm of the pond. It is indeed
at the top of the food pyramid (until a heron comes along, as in the Aesop
fable sometimes referred to as Old King Log).
The
Frogs Asking For A King
THE FROGS, grieved at having no established Ruler, sent ambassadors
to Jupiter entreating for a King. Perceiving their simplicity,
he cast down a huge log into the lake. The Frogs were terrified
at the splash occasioned by its fall and hid themselves in the
depths of the pool. But as soon as they realized that the huge
log was motionless, they swam again to the top of the water, dismissed
their fears, climbed up, and began squatting on it in contempt.
After some time they began to think themselves ill-treated in
the appointment of so inert a Ruler, and sent a second deputation
to Jupiter to pray that he would set over them another sovereign.
He then gave them an Eel to govern them. When the Frogs discovered
his easy good nature, they sent yet a third time to Jupiter to
beg him to choose for them still another King. Jupiter, displeased
with all their complaints, sent a Heron, who preyed upon the Frogs
day by day till there were none left to croak upon the lake.
The frog above is a detail from an illustration by Brian
Robb to Fables of Aesop, translated by S.A.Handford,
© Penguin Books, 1954. Brian Robb was head of illustration
at the Royal College of Art when I was a student there and I enjoyed
my weekly tutorials with him. Looking at that frog again I feel
privileged that I had as my tutor one of the last of the black
and white nineteenth century illustrators. Actually come to think
of it, he didn't date from the nineteenth century but he was in
that tradition, along with E.H.Shepherd with his contemporary,
Edward Ardizonne.
The translation of the fable above is from a well-presented
online edition of the Fables
translated by George Fyler Townsend on the www.literature.org
website, an online library of literature.
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Whether
our frogs appreciate the close attention that the children are giving
them is another thing. George catches one and puts it in the plastic aquarium
but it looks so glum in there that we ask him to release the unfortunate
creature. However it isn't long before he catches another.
Liquid Deterrent
Penny,
next door's dog, barks at me ferociously as I walk down the garden and
she gets a good telling off from Sandra, our neighbour.
'Naughty dog! What are you doing? You mustn't
bark at Richard . . . No! - don't try smiling at me. Come here!'
'She was chancing it the other day,' I tell Sandra, 'I had a bucket of
muddy water in my hands.'
'You should have thrown it at her Richard. Really you should. She has
to learn.'
Sandra
presents me with her grandson, Kyle's, pump-action water pistol with instructions
that I should squirt Penny if she barks at me again.
I try out the weapon. Wow! - I don't in any way consider myself a violent
man but I can't help hoping in the back of my mind that Penny will come
out barking again and I'll get a chance to use this liquid deterrent!
I'm writing this a week later and she hasn't barked at me since. She's
just observed me through the hedge with an expression that seems to suggest
that's she's thinking 'I wonder if he's still got Kyle's water pistol?'
Loathsome Dove
We're
wondering why nothing has come up on the bed we planted out with broad
beans and vegetable seeds a week or two ago. I look out of the back bedroom
window as I'm about to get in the bath and see a collared dove
pecking about there. I tap on the window and it goes on pecking.
I
go out the back door, in my dressing gown, and shout but it continues,
uninterrupted. Not having Kyle's water canon handy I pick up the nearest
missile, an old plastic brush, and hurl it at the dove.
We've since covered the bed with garden fleece, weighed down around the
edges by a few bricks, and I'm glad to say the beans and seeds are just
starting to show.
Since our neighbours Gill and Jim moved to their little farm we don't
have raiding parties of hens but I am going to have to keep my young crops
covered because of the doves, wood pigeons and the occasional rabbit that
tends to show up in the garden at this time of year.

richard@willowisland.co.uk
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