Sketches
Observational
Sharpie
Sketches
02 Journey process and Experience
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Boarding a train pleasantly hungover, I began the hevay and uncomfortable 2 hour journey back to Sussex. revisiting home after moving to London was an odd experience. The contrast of the countryside house to my room in halls of residence is quite extreme. It smells nicer outside the city and the greenery made the train feel quite out of place cutting through the counrty. re visiting home outside for the weekend, after so many new experiences in London I realised I had never visited other farms in the area. This closed minded apporach is one not uncommon amongst Sussex folk, so I decided to go in search of the people living in the undiscovered neighbouring farms. I went in search for subjects such as farmers to photograph, yet their work means they’re rarely seen, let alone talk to strangers. I took some photos and did some sketches, yet found the main focus was family. I asked my dad to come with me and found him an appropriate
Concept
My dad depicted right is one of the few sons not involved in the farming industry for several generations, breaking a long tradition. Despite my dad being the subject for the piece, in my mind the subject and setting will contrast each other. Blelow, a sketch of the evening’s events.
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Sussex Slang
04 Slang is something people dont associate with the country, yet Sussex folk have slang words thta to ‘city folk’ have no meaning whatsoever. I’d often hear this when talking to my grandad when he’d refer to a ‘Twitten’ or a ‘wimblejig’. Im fascinated by this whimsical language, and whne researching found 24 words for mud. This sounds silly, but mud has 25 consistencies, why not have a name for all 25?
Polaroid Shot on location
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Concept to print
06 After thinking about combining the farming aspects with the subject I had 2 concepts. I had a suitable photo of my dad climbing a ladder which became the first print, but a technical problem in printing made me dislike this print. I did a second, combinig the thumb print and the circle to symbolise family. After looking at these images i found family is what they reminded me of, and despite that not being obvious in the image,
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It is clear to me. The architectural elements where aesthetically pleasing, yet only made me think of the people behind the places, not the places themselves . This realisation made me realise I prefered the ‘finger print’ on the right.
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Finger Print
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Finger Print
A Reminder of Home
‘When I had spread it all on linen cloth Under the hedge, I called them over. The hum and gulp of the thresher ran down And the big belt slewed to a standstill, straw Hanging undelivered in the jaws. There was such quiet that I heard their boots Crunching the stubble twenty yards away. He lay down and said, ‘Give these fellows theirs, I’m in no hurry,’ plucking grass in handfuls And tossing it in the air. ‘That looks well.’ (He nodded at my white cloth on the grass.) ‘I declare a woman could lay out a field Though boys like us have little call for cloths.’ He winked, then watched me as I poured a cup And buttered the thick slices that he likes. ‘It’s threshing better than I thought, and mid It’s good clean seed. Away over there and look.’ Always this inspection has to be made Even when I don’t know what to look for. But I ran my hand in the half-filled bags Hooked to the slots. It was hard as shot, Innumerable and cool. The bags gaped Where the chutes ran back to the stilled drum And forks were stuck at angles in the ground As javelins might mark lost battlefields. I moved between them back across the stubble.
Great Grandfather’s business card
My current business card
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They lay in the ring of their own crusts and dregs, Smoking and saying nothing. ‘There’s good yield, Isn’t there?’ --as proud as if he were the land itself-‘Enough for crushing and sowing both.’ And that was it. I’d come and he had shown me, So I belonged no further to the work. I gathered cups and folded up the cloth And went. But they still kept their ease, Spread out, unbuttoned, grateful, under the trees.’ - Seamus Heaney, Wife’s Tale, 1969
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