Starting Something New

http://www.beeadamsart.co.uk/ https://www.facebook.com/beeadamsart https://twitter.com/Beeadamsart

            http://www.beeadamsart.co.uk/

       https://www.facebook.com/beeadamsart

           https://twitter.com/Beeadamsart

You may walk on the beach ...

But you might 
not see.

TALKING HEADS

J

Soul's Place - Seaweed

Water Bag

Old boat shed at Gallows Point. 

Corrugated door blows back in the wind

 ... and behold! 

                       An ancient mariner's water carrier ! 



www.beeadamsart.co.uk

Almost There

Can smell the sea and the damp sand ...

Can hear the muffled voices ... Almost

www.beeadamsart.co.uk

SUMMER IS ...

                                                                      En plein air

www.beeadamsart.co.uk

SEA PEOPLE

Pocket Watches ~ Brooches ~ Buttons ~ Collar Studs ~ Boot Nails ~ Shoe Heels ~ Earrings 

Spectacles ~Lockets ~ Rings ~ Pens ~ Pen Knives 

SEA PEOPLE

www.beeadamsart.co.uk                  @beeadamsart

ARTIST'S CELL

www.beeadamsart.co.uk

WATCHES IN THE WATER

It’s all about time. Sands of: passage of: passing.

Sands … yes, I walk them every day, trowel in hand, and along with the weather/ shape of the coast line/ wave refraction and beach gradient,  the tempo of the tides and passage of time tend to dictate the outcome. There’s a vague area of predictability surrounding the beach-combing thing. Even people like myself, with a cursory knowledge of beach science, can work out that the largest particles land at the top of the beach and the smallest material at the base. Twenty minutes amateur coast fieldwork research will tell you that the direction in which a wave moves can be altered by the shape of the coast line, and it’s the wave power that transports sediment across the sand. So if you read your coast line carefully you can predict, more or less, where the best finds might turn up.

Well that’s the theory, but interestingly there is a spot on the beach where a group of related objects consistently wash up in the same place. Old pocket watch pieces seem to end up there : bits of chain, watch keys, inner workings – all lying within inches of each other.  Is it a weight/density thing?

I don't care, I’m glad of it. Saves so much time!


www.beeadamsart.co.uk                @beeadamsart

Searching for the Sea People

Searching for the Sea People today. They are always there ... in the water ... in the sand ... in the tiny fragments that they leave behind - but some days they just go away... don't want to be found. 

No one ever climbed on board a ship believing that they would drown; this experience was all about travel and adventure. In search of a new life or out for a holiday day trip - they were never put off by shipwreck and tragedy - our ancestors just kept on sailing. 

 It might be argued that, until relatively recently, ships were the only form of long distance transport,and indeed they were. But thousands of people lost their lives, needlessly, in pursuit of pleasure. 

Can't help thinking of them when I'm down there on the beach. 

They don't stay away for long - I just discovered the Sea People again.

beeadamsart.co.uk      @beeadamsart

History into Art

There is textural beauty in everything

 - it just depends upon how you look at it. 

If you see it ...



www.beeadamsart.co.uk     @beeadamsart

Mother - Child

Oh, to be there ... in the sea, with my child ... but who looks back ?

beeadamsart.co.uk : @beeadamsart

Sea People

It had to happen one day. Thousands of beach-hours spent pounding the sand into glass powder in search of the past, made almost inevitable the possibility that I might eventually come face to face with it.

In terms of natural resources, this rocky sand belt has everything that you’d need to survive, and I have often wondered about its tenacious offspring - the people who once lived down there, in the caves and behind the waterfalls.

Where there’s a crossing there will always be good business – on both sides of the water – and even though the tides have repeatedly thrashed the old trading grounds, evidence of money exchanging hands still survives in rock pools and sand-soaked clumps of seaweed.

It wasn’t a brilliant return as far as treasure hunting goes -  a couple of shoe buckles and a corroded penny - but the weather was fine and the atmosphere was almost rarefied, so it didn’t seem to matter.  Sometimes it feels as if someone is standing between the big rocks, and on a good day you can fair feel the eyes of history upon you.

So there I was, crouched down on the sand, scratching around in the pebbles – concentration level maximum -  and then ... suddenly a hand presses down on my shoulder, and a husky male voice whispers closely in my ear,” Who are you?”

What happens next is predictable: a sharp intake of breath; military-style body roll; frantic grapple for spade, mobile and finds-bag. I desperately scrambled to my feet and spun around, attempting to take up a sort defensive stance.  Futile. There was no-one there.

Can’t remember the order of my feelings as I stood there alone on the shoreline: confused; uneasy; amazed; incredulous - I guess I felt them all at once. The seagulls were screeching overhead and the wind was blowing off the sea in just same way that it had been before I heard the spirit-voice. Everything was unchanged, except that I was trembling slightly and feeling just a little silly for having been ‘caught out’.  I expect that this sort of experience is par for the course when you’re seeking out the personal effects of people long lost to this world.

@beeadamsart   : beeadamsart.co.uk : @carolynwarburton

Child Lost

After the big storm the sand was strewn with shoe leather. Boots, clogs, heels and straps - lying soggy, in rock pools and clumps of seaweed. Nothing too surprising about that, given that this stretch of beach was once the old Beaumaris town dump.

A tiny right shoe was sitting on the end of my workbench for days - drying out slowly. Measuring just 15cms, and still intact with all boot nails present, it was in wonderful condition, but every time I passed by it I found myself pausing for a moment and going back for a second look - something wasn't quite right.

The people of Beaumaris were pretty poor during the 17th and 18th centuries and nothing of value was ever thrown away or discarded. This boot had only the slightest signs of wear and would definitely have been handed down to the next generation - so what was it doing in the sea?

I decided to go back to the beach, in the hope that I might pick up a few clues from the other bits and pieces which were washing up on the shoreline. It was midday and the boatyard was in full swing. As I walked down the slipway I saw Boatyard - Dave cutting across in  my direction with a handful of bent copper and old rope. "Want these?" he asked. I took them gratefully and started to explain my reason for being there that particular day. He listened thoughtfully and then pointed towards a pile of rocks next to a newly dug trench. "See that rubble over there ... it's the remains of an old quarantine station. I remember when I was a boy, a very old man used to work here on the boatyard, and he said that his father once told him about the people who had been forcibly landed on Gallows Point because they were too sick to travel on the ships bound for America - maybe your shoe leather belonged to them."

@beeadamsart   :   www.beeadamsart.co.uk

     

1. 
   

Need more space ...

Trying hard to pack up studio but still can't prevent visiting artists from setting up shop!

Finger snappin' cold!

It's freezing out there - especially in the rock pools - but it's big tide time. The water's so clear, it's a pleasure to work, even if it is finger-snappingly cold! Winter treasures always seem to be cleaner/brighter/better condition. Probably just a result of being hit by g-force winds as they bite their way up the Menai Strait, and battling those cruel salty tears that start down your cheeks like crushed ice droplets.

So why the hell do I do it?

                                          ART OF COURSE!

A view to die for ...

Four hundred years ago people were tipping their rubbish on Gallows Point. Two hundred years later some of them were being hanged by the neck on the very spot for deliberately causing ships to be wrecked on the coastline of Anglesey. Sounds incredible - a must-visit - but, in truth, the Beaumaris dump was not an illustrious one; three hundred years ago the local community couldn't afford to throw away their belongings, let alone anything of value; but occasionally the waves return little treasures - evocative pieces of social history.

The sea turns up treasure most days and this morning was no exception. More importantly, the weather was great.  

And the view ...

I SAW THIS TREE

                                           I went closer ...

I                     
                          ... and I'm sure it spoke to me.

RETURNED FROM THE WAVES ~ JANUARY 2013

A SHOW STOPPER!