Sunday, 17th October 2004
Wild West Yorkshire nature diary

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I soon have to put up my fishing umbrella and I draw this with a patter of rain and a murmur from the motorway in the background. Rain brings the deep carving of this fine-grained sandstone memorial to life. The carved fruits glisten like ripe black grapes.

I like the deep carving: I imagine the mason carving the basic rounded massses then dividing them up into leaves and fruits. The chisel marks are still crisp and fresh and mimic the fine texture of smaller veins across the leaves.

A local man who served in World War I once told me that as a boy he'd wanted to go into art. He drew portraits of his comrades in the trenches to send back to their wives and girlfriends at home. After leaving school he had two choices if he wished to work in art: monumental mason or painter and decorator.

He knew masons suffered from the effects of breathing in the dust so he became a painter and decorator.

When I finish the drawing I move around to the front of the headstone and find that it was erected in memory of Jane, wife of the Reverend Charles Henry Angell. She died on the 16th May 1870, aged 57.

Still Life with Tiny Mountains

flaskI feel that my recent attempts at three dimensional computer artwork are giving me some insight into 3D forms and how they're made. Here's today's effort: I realised that just as I can create castles, megaliths and mountains on a large scale so I can create bottles, jars and pebbles on a small scale.

I go back to the citadel landscape that I was working on yesterday and build a simple window set using cubes stretched to varying extents (even the sheet of smokey glass in the window started out as a cube).

This is a project in progress. One of the features that I like about Vue d'Espirit 3 (and I guess that this is true of all 3D programs) is that I can save snapshots of my work in progress but keep the 3D world that I've created and go back to it to work on various details of it. For instance at the moment you would find that flask is almost as tall as the most distant mountain, if you were to take it off its giant windowsill and transport it into the distance. Next Page

Richard Bell,

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