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List of works and prices

July 29, 2022




The Prospect of Happiness

July 29, 2022

Architectural Portraits & Word-landscapes by Liz Mathews

Burgh House, Hampstead, 6 – 17 July 2022

Burgh House, portrait in terracotta by Liz Mathews

The Prospect of Happiness draws together Liz Mathews’ portraits in clay and paper of special London houses, with the words of writers and artists who inhabit and haunt this timeless place.

The title’s ‘prospect of happiness’ is the view across London from the heights of Hampstead Heath conjured by Frances Bingham. Up here on the heights we may also meet Virginia Woolf visiting the newly-opened Kenwood, before she takes a bus down Tufnell Park Road to visit her friend Roger Fry — and later bravely crosses Blackfriars Bridge by night. Dr Johnson, Constable and Keats all put in an appearance, and Dickens has a moment in Bloomsbury, while Winifred Nicholson colourfully invokes the essence of a happy home. Down by the river Maureen Duffy has a vision of the floating city before plunging into the old Round Reading Room of the British Museum. Handel brings the plane tree to Bloomsbury, and Blake celebrates ‘London’s towers’ among ‘England’s green and pleasant bowers’.

The exhibition’s arranged in three sections, centred on the portrait of Burgh House, and circling out both geographically and with other kinds of connections and conversations between the works.

The first section opens with

The Prospect of Happiness

and

Vision of the Floating City

1. The Prospect of Happiness

Paperwork on handmade cotton-rag paper 70cm x 50cm

Words by Frances Bingham from The Principle of Camouflage (2011)

Titled, text attributed and signed on the reverse

Fitz, who speaks these words in Frances Bingham’s novel The Principle of Camouflage, has just returned from wartime exile to beloved London, and climbed to the Heath’s heights to look out over the city and the future. In the last couple of years I’ve often thought about these words of hope, and how, after all the trauma of the war, Fitz looks forward to happier times with resolution — hope takes courage.

I used Thames water and twigs from the Heath for the lettering, to bring the material presence of this view into the work; and the watercolour of the city spread out below includes a few landmarks – St Paul’s, New St Pancras Church (Virginia Woolf’s favourite London church), the British Museum, our house — all the important places. I like to think of this paperwork as an incantation, bringing together the good things about our city and possibilities of the future, under those optimistic words:

The prospect of happiness opens out before me like a sudden view come upon by chance over the brow of a tree-crowned hill, the city with all its possibilities lit up below, the river widening through it to the sea, the downs rising grey-green on the other side, beauty reaching far into the distance…

2. Vision of the Floating City

Paperwork on handmade cotton-rag paper 70cm x 50cm

Words by Maureen Duffy from Alchemy (2004)

Titled, text attributed and signed on the reverse

Here we are in company with Maureen Duffy, scribe of London and modern-day troubadour, looking across the river from the Strand side to the South Bank, for a nocturnal companion piece to The Prospect of Happiness. I love the way that the dreamlike quality of the words imbues rather solid architecture with visionary character, romance and yearning, as the city gazes at itself in the dark waters like Narcissus. I made this painting with watercolour and acrylic paints mixed with Thames water, and lettered it with a driftwood stick picked up one mudlarking afternoon, down by the Festival Hall, so that the river itself has a material presence in the painting. The river-line, as in The Prospect of Happiness, was painted with one stroke of the brush, and the paint for the lettering is mixed with grey stoneware-slip, to give body to the grey stone buildings.

To view the exhibition price list please click here.

26. Blake’s Graffiti

Banner-book with pages made from flotsam wine-box, handmade paper, linen tape and acrylics, and lettered with a driftwood stick

Words: Kathleen Raine’s What Message from Imagined Paradise?

When we go mudlarking down by the river, we find all sorts of treasures — clay pipe stems of course, but also beautiful river-carved, evil-smelling planks of wood which shrink to splinters as they dry.  I often use driftwood sticks as as lettering tools in my books, and this banner book has pages made from jetsam — or is it flotsam? — a broken wooden wine case that we found on the Thames foreshore down by London’s Southbank Centre, sadly empty. I made another painting on the lid, and for this banner book, painted the crushed sides and bound them roughly together with handmade paper and linen tapes, then lettered them with Kathleen Raine’s poem, asking: What can we hope or pray for that can heal these / Mortal wounds of our brief beloved earth? A good question in the 20th Century, but so much more urgent now.

3. Prism II

Paperwork on handmade cotton-rag paper 70cm x 50cm

Words by Winifred Nicholson, from I like to have a picture in my room.

Titled, text attributed and signed on the reverse

I used a wooden clothes-peg as an improvised pen to set Winifred Nicholson’s view of the beneficial effects of colour in the home — as a nod to shining domesticity. I include this joyful rainbow as a celebration of London Pride, and of home, though it’s stretching a point in this London-centric exhibition, because WN was living very happily in Cumbria when she wrote this piece. My excuse is that she did live in London earlier in her life, and was extremely consistent in her lifelong passion for colour and prismatic light.

The effect of the clothes-peg pen on the handmade paper is lovely — because the paint / ink flow isn’t controlled, it floods across the textured paper, so used quite swiftly, it lets a lot of light through the letter-forms, where the liquid paint floats across the hollows of the paper — perfect for these words. Now and again ‘the ebb and flow of the outer world’ can be a bit overwhelming. I like to think that colour itself can be an essential constituent of the ‘harmony of space’. Winifred Nicholson’s writings are always illuminating, sometimes revelatory, and I particularly enjoy how painters often express their views in literary, even romantic ways, so that one can make a fully abstract design with the words themselves.

4. Lightshaft

Paperwork on handmade cotton-rag paper 40cm x 70cm

Words by Julia Strachey, from her Diary 21st July 1933

Titled, text attributed and signed on the reverse

In July 1933 Julia Strachey went for an illicit lunch with Wogan Philipps, at the beginning of their love affair, and afterwards they went to see a picture framer in Lambs Conduit Street to collect some of Wogan’s frames. (He was married to Rosamund Lehmann at this point.) For this atmospheric London interior, romance and excitement mingled with melancholy, I used charcoal, chalk and raw clay powder on black handmade paper, and cantilevered the words round the stairwell to catch light filtered through air heavy with dust-motes. I love the incantatory quality of Julia’s words, but I do wonder if they ever found Wogan’s frames.

To view the exhibition price list please click here.

Next we move on to the gallery’s long wall, and the architectural portraits:

Whitechapel Pottery and Potters’ Yard box-framed together in the exhibition

19. Potters’ Yard

and 20. Whitechapel Pottery

Architectural portraits in stoneware, with underglaze oxides and a clear glaze on windows, fired to 1260°, both signed and inscribed on reverse

Two glimpses of the artist’s own house: on the right, Potters’ Yard in Tufnell Park is our fourth pottery; we moved here from Whitechapel Pottery (on the left) in 2006. I’ve made portraits of all the places we’ve lived and worked since Frances and I set up our first pottery together in West Hampstead in 1986, and this one’s a quirky, plain little house, built in 1980 on the footprint of the coachhouse of the big house next door. We have the studio and kiln on the ground floor and live above the shop. Whitechapel Pottery, including studio, gallery and living space was all on the ground floor, with a warehouse behind the shop — one room, 90 feet long, and neighbours upstairs, who didn’t really have such lovely window-boxes as I’ve given them here. Nice thought though.

It can be difficult to make a portrait of one’s own house, rather like a self-portrait, due to over-familiarity. But one can choose to be merciless or kind; I aim for accuracy always, but tempered with mercy to achieve the truest likeness possible. In the portrait at least, the lavender is always in flower.

Potters’ Yard, echoing the proportions, floor levels and brick detailing of the big house next door, on its coach-house’s footprint. The Yardroom on the left is our micro-showroom for the pots; the beehive even further to the left once housed bees of North Norfolk, and now stores our garden shears.

Hogarth’s house, in box-frame on the wall

5. Hogarth’s house

Architectural portrait in terracotta, with underglaze oxides and a clear glaze on windows, fired to 1040°, inscribed on reverse:

Hogarth’s House, Chiswick

William Hogarth 16971764

Lived and worked here 1749-1764

Here’s a much grander artist’s house. Hogarth’s house in Chiswick still stands in a high-walled garden protecting it from today’s thundering traffic. Though the house and garden are much restored, it’s possible still to imagine this most humane and un-vainglorious of eighteenth century painters working in the light-filled rooms, and living a contented life there. I’m a great one for brickwork, and the much-repointed façade was a joy to work on. I like how the disproportionately large oriel bay of the piano nobile, which must have flooded the room with light, overshadows the most ordinary, unflashy entrance.

Hogarth House in exhibition box-frame

6. Hogarth House

Architectural portrait in stoneware, with underglaze oxides and a clear glaze on windows, fired to 1260°, inscribed on reverse:

Hogarth House, Paradise Road, Richmond

Home of The Hogarth Press and Leonard & Virginia Woolf

Known as Hogarth House in Virginia Woolf’s day and Suffield House now, this elegant Georgian mansion in Richmond gave its name to the Hogarth Press, and retains many features from the Woolfs’ time, including a very impressive doorcase, but it’s much cleaner now, and bears a blue plaque. Virginia Woolf called it ‘Paradise Road’, and she and Leonard moved in to the two lower floors in 1915, setting up the legendary Hogarth Press in the basement a couple of years later. I’ve aimed to catch something of the house’s slightly seedy grandeur in their time, without actually coating it in soot; and I’ve shown the wisteria in full bloom in honour of the flourishing of their work while they lived in the house. Railings are another feature I particularly enjoy in making portraits, as they give me the chance to paint a trompe l’oeille of the view through them to the lower section of the windows, dissolving the solidity of the clay.

To view the exhibition price list please click here.

9. Blake’s London

Portrait of Euston Arch on handmade paper

Watercolour, graphite and coloured pencils

Words by William Blake from Jerusalem. Signed and titled on reverse

These words are from Blake’s Jerusalem — not the great anthem we sing (And did those feet…) — that’s from his Milton, but from his later weird and visionary poem Jerusalem the Emanation of the Giant Albion, of which the poet Southey got a quick preview in 1811, and ungratefully described as: “a perfectly mad poem called Jerusalem”. Blake’s timeless vision, in which ‘a single inspiration informs words and decoration alike’ (according to Kathleen Raine, Blake’s biographer), seems considerably less mad today.

Euston Arch was built in 1837, just ten years after Blake’s death, as the grand entrance to the brand new railway station, Gateway to the North, and embellished with the letters  E U S T O N  cut into the architrave in letters of gold — and then it was demolished in the new London of the 1960s, to the distress of many Londoners including John Betjeman. I drew the arch from an early photograph, and thought Blake’s ‘golden pillars’ could well stand for the beautiful trees of Euston Grove, over 200 years old, contemporary with Handel’s great plane trees of Brunswick square (see Handel’s trees). They’ve survived not only the bombs of the Blitz but the more insidious erosion of Euston Road, the most exhaust-laden air of London, and played their part in protecting Londoners from those lethal fumes. But like Euston Arch this sylvan grove is now threatened with demolition, to make way for HS2 building works and car parks, to the great distress of many Londoners.

I referenced Blake’s own design for his poem in making the work, setting the text in little clouds, and took the lettered font from one of the pages of Jerusalem in Blake’s own finished and illuminated copy of his book, which he kept until he died. The starry sky is from a watercolour drawing in his Book of Job: The Morning Stars Sang Together.

The final lines stand as a plea, an invocation of Blake’s spirit to aid the hopeful vision of a future in which this particular green and pleasant bower may be spared the fate of Euston Arch.

6. Benjamin Franklin’s house

Architectural portrait on handmade paper, with graphite and coloured pencils, and a subsequent intervention

Franklin lived in this house at 36 Craven Street between 1757 and 1775, years that brought him from agent for Pennsylvania Assembly to representing colonial interests before the Crown, making the house in effect the first American embassy in London. After he left London, he was one of the signatories of the Declaration of Independence in 1776, and later of the Constitution in 1787, when he was also elected President of the Pennsylvania Society for Promoting the Abolition of Slavery.

The discreet house behind its closed shutters contains a story of times no less tumultuous than our own, and initially I lettered the accompanying lines from the Declaration of Independence with only the minor and reasonable intervention of replacing the words ‘all men’ with ‘all people’; but the Supreme Court’s overturning of Roe v Wade on 24th June 2022 gave me such grief that I’ve re-instated ‘all men’, because that’s how it is really, isn’t it?  (And this is only the beginning.)

But I’ve also recently learned that Benjamin Franklin, the great polymath, among his many other inventions also came up with home-abortion remedies, showing that the support of at least one of the Founding Fathers for this iniquitous present situation would be extremely unlikely.

Freud’s house in box-frame

11. Freud’s House

Architectural portrait in terracotta, with underglaze oxides and a clear glaze on windows, fired to 1040°, signed and inscribed on reverse

Now Freud Museum London, this house in Hampstead’s Maresfield Gardens was where Freud lived for the last year of his life, and his daughter Anna for 44 years until her death in 1982. Freud escaped from Nazi Germany with his family to London in 1938, and his house was a fascinating subject for me, its complicated exterior seeming to conceal the mysteriously complex interior, though one would expect 388 window panes (reader, I counted them) to shed quite a lot of light on the inner scene. It’s rather a solid-seeming house, and the dominant central bay (a little reminiscent of that at Hogarth’s house) was challenging: with low relief sculpture I have to build in the perspective, and it can be difficult to get this to work from several different possible viewing angles. I’m glad to say it does, here, and I always like subjects that take my technique a step further. This dominance of the central bay seems entirely in keeping with its famous owner’s continuing cultural significance. Virginia Woolf wisely declined Freudian analysis, though the Hogarth Press published his work.

To view the exhibition price list please click here.

Fenton House in exhibition box-frame

12. Fenton House

Architectural portrait in terracotta, with underglaze oxides and a clear glaze on windows, fired to 1040°, signed and inscribed on reverse

A gem of the National Trust, handsome Fenton House with its elegant gardens and orchard is an enchanting house. Last time we visited, each instrument in the house’s extraordinary collection of harpsichords, clavichords and other historic keyboards was played, the delicate Baroque musical patterns perfectly complementing the atmospheric interiors. Fenton House offers four equally compelling façades to the portraitist — I’d love to do a series of studies of this house alone — but for this collection I chose the entrance front, facing east, with its balustraded projecting end bays, irregularities of roofline, and elegant Doric entrance loggia (c.1807). On one of the chimney stack bricks (those beautiful bricks) was found the date 1693, and its high hipped roof with a steep pitch is very much in the 17th Century tradition. Those freestanding columns were a real challenge, requiring very careful drying of the freshly made portrait, as the columns would have dried much more quickly than the mass of the construction — and since clay shrinks as it dries, the columns could have easily come adrift at the top or bottom joint, or cracked across the middle. (I watched it like a lynx for a fortnight.)

Burgh House in exhibition box-frame

14. Burgh House

Architectural portrait in terracotta, with underglaze oxides and a clear glaze on windows, fired to 1040°, signed and inscribed on reverse

I love making miniature portraits in clay; it’s possible to achieve a real likeness and physical affinity with the subject when a portrait’s made in the same material as the building. Burgh House is built with Georgian terracotta bricks, and its later additions follow the style of the original house very harmoniously. The portrait is made in the same kind of clay as these bricks, a warm terracotta, fired to a similar temperature; the only difference is that my hand-building clay is much cleaner than the brick clay would have been, so I have a finer surface to work with. As well as the beautiful brickwork and the elegantly proportioned windows, to catch a likeness of Burgh House I focused on the feeling of height you always get, looking up at the house from the flowery charm of Gertrude Jekyll’s terrace — and of course the glorious wisteria in full bloom.

With this portrait positioned as the centrepiece of the exhibition, I arranged many of the other works geographically in relation to Burgh House or conversationally to each other, within the confines of the exhibition space (which explains a somewhat haphazard numerical order of works here, as the actual installation departed — as it always does — from the plan).

Also centrally positioned is a working drawing of a portrait of Kenwood:

13. Kenwood

Working drawing for an architectural portrait in pencil on graph paper

As we approach Kenwood — Pevsner’s ‘finest eighteenth century house in London’ — it appears like an insubstantial fairy palace floating on a lake of green.

In September 1925, unwell in bed, Virginia Woolf dreamt of jaunts they would have when she was better: ‘I’m going to Greenwich, to Caen Woods, to Gunnersbury, all in the dripping autumn weather, with tea at an ABC & home to a hot bath.’ She and Leonard got their first walk at Hampstead on Saturday 5th December that year: ‘It was very cold — it had a foggy winter beauty. We went in to Ken Wood (but dogs must be led) & there came to the duelling ground, where great trees stand about & presumably sheltered the 18th Century swordsmen.’  They talked about their friends, particularly Lytton (Strachey), and Morgan (Forster), ‘as we trod back over the slippery hillocks seeing little as we talked’ — and Virginia was reminded, as always by ‘this part of Hampstead’, of Katherine (Mansfield) — ‘that faint ghost with the steady eyes’.

Her visual impressions come swiftly, mingled with the foggy winter beauty, and each impression links to the past, to other places, other people, other images, in a woven fabric of memory and imagination.

This drawing shows one of the early stages of making a portrait: I begin with a rough sketch to establish the disposition of parts and proportions, then a detailed working drawing like this is made, ready for me to transfer it to clay slabs or to thickly textured handmade paper. Each portrait subject imposes different structural limitations on the materials; here, Kenwood is too long in proportion to its height for the clay to accommodate in a single portrait, nor would it fit my kiln shelves in one piece. I’ll construct it in three sections, with joints either side of the central range, making those slightly recessed anterooms underlap the main front so that the division is hidden, though clearly visible in the divided base. Because of the complex detail of the façade, I’ll be making it in a fine creamy stoneware with a very smooth texture that can be readily modelled and sculpted.

Then, when the claywork is done, the drying will need to be very carefully monitored to avoid warping, as each section will move and shrink as it dries. This stage takes at least three weeks, sometimes more, before I can begin the first decoration onto the fully dried raw clay, painting everything that will be under glaze — windows, and any gloss paintwork or metal downpipes. This will often include trompe l’oeille interior views through the windows (like in the next portrait of 2 Willow Road), including perhaps plants in Kenwood’s Orangery, or the corner of a painting visible through the window. Once that first decoration is dry, I’ll commit the portrait to its first (bisque) firing, a long slow cosmic transformation lasting anything from 10 to 14 hours, which takes the kiln to white heat. After this, two days cooling before I can look in to see if the work has survived the process.

If it has, it’s ready for the second stage of decorating — all the stonework, brickwork (chimneys), roof, foliage — and when that’s done, the glazing, applied by brush carefully to the windows over the decoration that’s already fired on. And then the glaze fire. Slowly the portrait takes form and detail, slowly takes on a life and significance of its own, becoming a tangible, visual evocation of the subject that can contain all sorts of personal associations and meanings for the viewer, especially when someone has commissioned a portrait of their own house or a building uniquely meaningful for them, becoming a container of memory and imagination in physical form.

But I like to think that these pencil lines of the working drawing catch something of the airy unsubstantiality of the fairy palace, something elusive and promising, a house of the imagination.

To view the exhibition price list please click here.

2 Willow Road in exhibition box-frame

15. 2 Willow Road

Architectural portrait in stoneware, with underglaze oxides and a clear glaze on windows, fired to 1260°, signed and inscribed on reverse

Their first modernist house, 2 Willow Road was acquired by the National Trust in 1994. It’s a real home, designed and lived in by Erno Goldfinger and built around 1937-39, and it’s an exciting subject for a portrait. The variations of plane within the continuous street frontage are almost as complex as Kenwood’s, and the variety of materials also gave me an opportunity to play with the textures achievable in clay. I made the portrait in a high-firing creamy stoneware with the structural strength to make the columns — the tricky bit, as on Fenton House. I enjoyed showing the lively interiors through the plate glass windows. Glazing the windows after painting a trompe l’oeille of the view inside gives the impression not only of proper windows glazed with actual glass but also of the whole internal space. The front doors, still their original colours, are shaded by the upper storey, which overhangs them in a way reminiscent of Lauderdale House‘s still-slightly-jettied upper storey. And the balconies sport jaunty flower boxes of red geraniums. Each time we passed 2 Willow Road on our way up to Burgh House for the exhibition, the windows were all open in the summer heat, giving a strong impression of the three houses still being real, lived-in homes, a characteristic shared by almost all of the subjects in this collection.

Lauderdale House in box-frame

10. Lauderdale House

Architectural portrait in stoneware, with underglaze oxides and a clear glaze on windows, fired to 1260°, signed and inscribed on reverse

Originally built in 1582, and saved from demolition in the 1800s by William Morris, Pevsner calls Lauderdale House ‘one of the few survivals in the London area of a large house still partly built in the timber-framed tradition’. Its earliest form was probably on a courtyard plan, and this surviving façade still indicates the jettied upper floor of the original timber-framed house. Wesley preached here (see John Wesley’s house and Leaves from the Gospel Oak), and its history includes fires, rebuilding, Quakers and a reputation as ‘one of the most elegant boarding houses in London’. Now it’s home to a vigorous programme of cultural events, including exhibitions, book launches, and the occasional open-air opera. For this portrait I aimed to allow its unadorned façade to give glimpses of the vibrant life within this ancient building, its warm heart still beating.

Next, the final section of the long wall:

16. Keats’ House and Library

Architectural portrait on handmade paper and graphite, signed and inscribed

Just around the corner from 2 Willow Road is the serene enclosure of Wentworth Place, where John Keats lived for a couple of years from 1818. The house (to the left of the drawing) was then two dwellings in one villa: Keats lodged in the left-hand side, and Fanny Brawne lived next door. The villa was built here close to the Heath in 1815/16, a Regency semi, and was converted into one house after Keats’ time. The Library, on the right in this drawing, is a much later design from 1931, harmonious though the pair now seem. As a subject, the house is a fine example of the way a place, much altered since its moment of greatest note, can still retain something of the character and atmosphere of that time. I aimed to catch the feeling of leafy serenity, birdsong and trees, and the calm elegance of the villa — and perhaps in the lines a faint scent of the poetic spirit that still survives two hundred years after Keats’ time there.

Kentish Town Baths framed in the show

18. Kentish Town Baths

Architectural portrait on handmade cotton-rag paper, with coloured pencils and gold acrylic paint. Inscribed and signed on reverse.

I have a passion for the combination of architecture and text, and Kentish Town bath-house, described by Pevsner as full of ‘fun and games’, is labelled in gold Art Deco script with its name, function, and —helpfully — with the designations ‘Men’s Second Class’, and (poshest door) ‘Men’s First Class’. Three other doors to the right must be for women (first, second and third class)? No — ‘Public Hall’. Oh well, we’ll have to bathe in the Ladies’ Pond on the Heath then — No men or dogs beyond this point.  I’ve chosen, perversely, to make the portrait of this particularly terracotta palace of pleasure on handmade paper rather than in clay because I wanted to catch its festive façade-articulation without the aid of the tactile clay-affinity of a terracotta portrait. I’m looking forward to making a portrait in clay next time — a subject as full of vitality as this one never ceases to be inspiring.

But in a curious way, the handmade paper has many similarities with the clay, not only in its original wet state. As a ground, it’s porous and accommodating, allowing the lines of the drawing to be incised into the density of its surface, so that each brick, each letter, is incised and sculpted into the depth of the plane. This works so well with the brickwork, allowing each brick to be separately delineated, yet merged with the whole, and it gives a really curious three-dimensional feel to the drawing.

To view the exhibition price list please click here.

Dr Johnson’s House and the Curator’s Cottage, in box-frame in the exhibition

21. Dr Johnson’s House

and 22. The Curator’s Cottage

Architectural portraits in terracotta, with underglaze oxides and a clear glaze on windows, fired to 1040°, both signed and inscribed on reverse

I’ve only recently completed these two portraits, having considered the best way to go about them for years. The five storey house would be an excellent subject, with beautifully articulated façade and elegant windows and door-case, but for the fact that it stands on the north side of Gough Square, and extends eastwards (to the right) into the corner of the range of buildings that form the east flank of the square, with the upper stories of the house wall internally contained within the neighbouring house, and only the ground floor forming the side wall of an arched roadway (sottoportego).

And the cottage, tucked into the tiny courtyard to the left (west) of the house, stands at right angles to the big house, looking towards it as though keeping an eye on it, so a clay portrait in low relief of the two together is a challenge.

This highlights one of the difficulties with making portraits in low-relief: they’re not three-dimensional models, but rather show the view from a human perspective, not the bird’s-eye-view that gives a lot of roof. Any building that asks to be seen from several angles is always worth a group of studies, exploring the different character of each face. For this portrait, I eventually decided to include the otherwise hidden upper section of wall above the alley, and to make the Curator’s Cottage separately, in proportion to the master house, standing in attendance. The red camellia growing in the courtyard links the two, as does the charming repetition of detail, like the door-case, scaled down for the little house.

I like the feeling in the portraits of the big house’s focus being all on the interior, with some of the contents (portraits, library, lamps) visible through the lighted windows, in contrast to the attendant cottage, where the focus is all external, looking out towards the big house. And it seems appropriate that a portrait of Dr Johnson’s house should involve a lot of thought.

The Curator’s Cottage, with its scaled-down twin front door-cases, brick facings and zinc dormer hoods, echoes the big house very engagingly, and its haphazard collection of pots and flowering plants in the shared courtyard only adds to its charm. This is one of my favourite pieces in the collection, perhaps because its miniature scale packs a lot of character.

Charles Dickens’ House & Museum

23. Charles Dickens’ House & Museum

Architectural portrait on handmade paper, with graphite and coloured pencils, signed and inscribed.

There are several of Dickens’ London houses extant — including one in Highgate; this one at 48 & 49 Doughty Street is also an excellent museum. The blue plaque records that

CHARLES DICKENS

1812 – 1870

Novelist

Lived Here

but that was actually only for a couple of years from 1837 to 1839. Here he finished The Pickwick Papers, and wrote Nicholas Nickleby and Oliver Twist, both novels which expose the brutality of poverty in London at the time, and the disparity of power between rich and poor, conditions he had experienced. The house/museum really does feel as though Dickens has just stepped out to take the air and will be back home in a minute. I used paper in homage to his work, and it proved a marvellous subject, nicely disrupting the uniformity of the terrace with a few quirky details, such as the vivid scarlet front door. A writer’s front door, like the British Library, should be red, of course.

To view the exhibition price list please click here.

John Wesley’s house and Leaves from the Gospel Oak, sharing a box-frame in the exhibition

Opposite Bunhill Fields where Blake lies buried, Wesley himself laid the foundation stone of his ‘perfectly neat but not fine’ house on 21 April 1777. He lived here from 1779 until he died in March 1791 aged 87 — but only in the winters. In summer he was out preaching, often living rough, doing his honourable duty in a wicked world.

24. John Wesley’s house

Architectural portrait in stoneware, with underglaze oxides and a clear glaze on windows, fired to 1260°, signed and inscribed on reverse

and 25. Leaves from the Gospel Oak

Artist’s book on handmade paper, words by Frances Bingham from London Panopticon, in watercolour and acrylic, lettered with an oak twig

Like St Augustine, Wesley preached under the Gospel Oak. I used a twig from a big old oak tree on the Heath as a lettering pen for this artist’s book celebrating that local legend, vanished now but for its name, but perhaps, in the right light, still possible to find.

Leaves from the Gospel Oak heralds the final section of the exhibition showing artist’s books:

Talisman

and Crossing Blackfriars Bridge

17. Talisman

Artist’s book on a sheet of handmade paper, words by Maureen Duffy from Darkling. On reverse front and back covers, signed and attributed.

Maureen Duffy’s poem Darkling addresses John Keats directly, poet to poet, citing the poet’s words as his ‘true portrait’. I found an example of Keats’ handwriting in a letter (now in the Bodleian library) from him to Shelley on August 16th 1820, and imitated his flowing script with a steel-nibbed pen such as he would have used, in sepia ink like the faded once-black of the letter, on soft creamy grey handmade paper, like the aged paper of the letter. I used this paper unadorned as the ground for the first two pages, painting a watercolour sky for the rest of the pages. The words circle round, high-lit in silver paint over the brown ink, with the stars splashed about in silver. For me, the book form shares some qualities with clay portraits: it’s a vessel, a volume filled with meaning, where object and  meaning can become one — a talisman, containing not only the words of Duffy’s poem, but even Keats’ words too, ‘shimmering down the years’.

Talisman‘s front cover and slipcase: each of my artist’s books has a lettered and painted slipcase in handmade paper

The front cover and slipcase for Crossing Blackfriars Bridge

8. Crossing Blackfriars Bridge

Artist’s book made from a sheet of handmade paper

Words by Virginia Woolf from The Years; on the reverse, the book’s front cover, titled, and back cover with attribution and signed

Here is Virginia Woolf stepping out over Blackfriars Bridge, pausing in one of its little alcoves to look down on the water, minutely examining the qualities of the water, and observing what it does with the light. This combination of material quality and imagination was foremost in my mind when I made the book from a single sheet of handmade paper, folding it first before painting the moon with iridescent acrylic paint mixed with Titanium white, and then I brought the swirl of silvery blues mixed with Thames water gradually out to the deckle edges of the paper. Then I lettered the words with my favourite Thames driftwood stick, highlit the words in places, and then when all was dry, tore the sheet into the page sequence. Sometimes when I’m painting like this, I like to load the brush with river water, and dip it briefly into the paint colours, then allow it to flood out over the paper where it will. I don’t want to control it too much, and I love it when this kind of watery effect happens of its own accord: the river glideth at his own sweet will (as Wordsworth would say, upon Westminster Bridge).

Crossing Blackfriars Bridge (detail)

27. Constable’s Clouds

Artist’s book with words and cloud composition by John Constable, handmade paper, watercolour and acrylic paints, lettered with a twig

This artist’s book, too, is made from a single sheet of paper (always handmade cotton-rag paper), which I’ve painted, folded and torn into a sequence of six double pages, so that it can be opened out to the whole sheet and framed. I particularly enjoy the dual nature of these books: the volume containing a painting, or the book hidden inside the picture. 

The words are from Constable’s notes for cloud and sky-studies in 1821, describing the skies of the Heath and the view from the top of this hill; the composition of the cloud study is from one of his luminous small paintings in the V&A.  During lockdown, when the usual roar of planes and London traffic shrank to a whisper, the skies above the Heath returned to almost the pristine state that inspired Constable so much: clear, full of birdsong and breezy freshness. But the roar’s back now.

Constable’s Clouds – cover and slipcase

The Round Reading Room at the British Museum in box-frame in the exhibition

28. The Round Reading Room at the British Museum

Artist’s book on handmade paper 1m x 70cm, words by Maureen Duffy from Londoners. On reverse: front and back covers, signed and attributed.

It’s hard to remember, now we’re all devotees of the British Library, that it only took over in the late 1990s from the round Reading Room in the BM beloved by generations of writers, with its circular desks and 19th Century scholarly ethos. But that round room, covered now with exhibition spaces, continues to exist in the minds and memories of many writers. In her 1983 novel Londoners, Maureen Duffy’s hero Al is writing a biography of an early French poet, and having a very trying time with the director of a radio documentary; Al takes refuge in the round Reading Room, and celebrates its treasures and the embrace of its calm atmosphere in this lyrical text. I set the flowing riff on a huge single sheet of handmade paper, words circling towards a still centre, in the calm blues and golden greys of the original beautiful domed space.

To view the exhibition price list please click here.

Rough City Song in box-frame

29. Rough City Song

Artists’s book on handmade papers with acrylics; words by Virginia Woolf from The Docks of London, one of six essays for Good Housekeeping 1931.

One of my early artist’s books, this riverside London scene’s made from torn shards of handmade papers, and a quirky collection of little ships. It’s quite closely related to my monumental artist’s book Thames to Dunkirk, now the largest book in the British Library, though it’s much smaller. 

It, too, has an incantation by Virginia Woolf —

Here growls and grumbles that rough city song, that has called the ships from the sea and brought them to lie captive beneath its warehouses.

Written for The Docks of London, this is from one of six incandescent essays called The London Scene that Woolf wrote for Good Housekeeping in 1931 — and my goodness, what articles they are! (If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.) I lettered the words with a Thames driftwood stick, in paint mixed with Thames water. I took many of the ideas from this setting on to later books, and some of the techniques too; and though I wouldn’t make it in exactly the same way now, I like how its roughness and simple construction reflect the words.

Turning the corner with Trackside

Trackside in box-frame

30. Trackside

Artists’s book on 28 sheets of handmade paper in concertina form; watercolour and acrylics, text lettered with a driftwood stick, setting a complete poem Trackside by Maureen Duffy, from Wanderer (The Pottery Press, 2020).

Maureen Duffy read her poem Trackside at the launch of her latest collection, and told us how it was inspired by a train journey out of Liverpool Street Station, eastwards along the river to Southend, to visit her cousin — and as she read the poem, we in the audience could see the grime of station and sidings and East End gradually give way to the ‘backdrop of woods and fields… green and growing.’

I found this poem irresistably inspiring for an artist’s book, steadily diminishing railway tracks providing a design framework to draw the narrative through the pages — one long line, all the way to Southend — and the view, close up and far, following the text. I photographed the rails and sleepers at Kentish Town West overground station to get the stones and the fixings right for the first, closeup pages.

I think of books like this as contemporary illuminated manuscripts, and perhaps they can serve the same function as the medieval ones did — and still do — objects of contemplation that can connect us with spiritual truths behind the everyday.

Trackside – cover and slipcase

The final group in the exhibition begins with Handel’s trees

and ends with The rushes in the ditch

31. Handel’s trees

Artists’s book on single sheet of paper, lettered with a plane-tree stick

Words from London Panopticon by Frances Bingham.

Handel’s beloved Persian plane trees still grace the sacred precinct of London’s Brunswick Square, two centuries and more since they were first transplanted there beside the Foundling Hospital so dear to his heart, as well as Hogarth’s. The trees have survived storms and drought, bombs and Blitz, and generations of children hanging from their huge spreading branches.  We visit them each season, picnic beneath their shade in summer, photograph them in snow, celebrate their first leaves each spring, and collect their russet leaves each autumn.  This book was lettered with a twig dropped by one of the trees, and the leaf canopy painted one August, after a picnic among cavorting dogs.

32. In Norfolk

Double-sided artist’s book on a single sheet of handmade paper, with

watercolour and acrylics; words from Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway

On a summer’s day in Mayfair, Richard Dalloway and Hugh Whitbread (in Virginia Woolf’s novel Mrs Dalloway) stand on the corner of Conduit Street after lunch with Lady Bruton, looking in at a shop window, not wishing to buy anything, wishing in fact to part — ‘only with contrary winds buffeting the street corner, with some sort of lapse in the tides of the body, two forces meeting in a swirl, morning and afternoon, they paused.’  Richard Dalloway is ‘half-thinking’ of Norfolk, the vision dreamily swirling in the air so that the windy London street corner transforms into a soft warm wind blowing on petals and waters, where haymakers rest at noon from their morning’s labours amid the rustle of grasses and cow parsley trembling in the breeze, and we feel the ‘steadfast blazing summer sky’ in Norfolk that is actually shining down on the lunchtime London street corner.

To bring in this sense of duality, being in two places at once, and the tension between the two aspects, I set this text as a double-sided book on a sheet of blue paper, the words flowing round from one side to the other, swirling like the wind and ruffling the pages. I lettered it with a driftwood stick from a Norfolk beach, and a wooden clothes-peg.

The Strand of the Thames in box-frame

The Strand of the Thames, limited edition quarter-size facsimile

Page detail from The Strand of the Thames

33. Strand of the Thames

Artists’s book made with handmade papers, digital prints and acid-free photo mounts in an edition of 20; watercolour original now in the British Library. Words by Virginia Woolf from her diary 1939.

For this artist’s book we followed in the footsteps of a walk that Virginia Woolf took along the foreshore of the Thames, bravely clambering down some rickety steps and exploring the riverside beaches. I made grisaille watercolours of sites along the route, on handmade paper with Thames water to mix the paint, and constructed these into a 1940s-style photo album.  That book is now in the British Library’s collection, along with one from this edition of quarter-size facsimiles — a signed and numbered edition of 20 — in which photographs of the watercolours are made into an album, mounted with acid-free photo corners. In the exhibition, a concertina book like this can only be shown one page at a time in a box display, so I put in a couple of copies of the limited edition to show one or two different pages.

Page detail from The Strand of the Thames

To view the exhibition price list please click here.

33. From Grass to Harvest

Artists’s book made from 24 sheets of handmade paper constructed into a double-sided concertina book with one page for each month; the December page can be joined to the January page with linen tapes to form a circle reflecting the unending cycle of the year. 

This is the February night page, a wintery scene from Virginia Woolf’s The Years. Set in London, Woolf’s novel gives a vivid picture of the changing city through the seasons and over one woman’s lifetime. Woolf knew north London well, living in Bloomsbury, visiting her friend and rival Katherine Mansfield in Hampstead, walking in ‘Caen Wood’ and regularly taking the ‘beloved omnibus’ down Tufnell Park Road to visit her friend the art critic Roger Fry at Huddlestone Road. For this book I gave each month a page, alternating day and night scenes from The Years, and set the words mostly in Woolf’s London places. On this page, the ‘beautiful’ snow is Titanium white paint mixed with snowmelt, and it falls on Tufnell Park Road’s northernmost end where it rises towards Dartmouth Park, Highgate and the Heath (with the number 4 bus stop on the left).

35. Fired City

Artists’s book made with 14 sheets of handmade paper, acrylic paints and inks; words from Riversoup by Frances Bingham and the Agas map of 1560s; maps drawn from the Agas map, Hollar’s ‘Exact Surveigh’ of London 1666, and Luftwaffe photographs from 1940.

This book takes a trip down the river through time and space.  Riversoup is an artist’s film that Frances Bingham and I made together — her words, my images — following the Thames from the Pool of London down to the estuary, and this part of the film-script links the Great Fire of 1666 with the Blitz in 1940. For this artist’s book, I set her words running along the river within a continuous map of London, beginning in the 16th Century’s ‘antient and famous City of London’ and the gardens and great highways of the West End (from the Agas map of the 1560’s), on through the devastated city burned by the Great Fire as far as the Tower (from Wenceslas Hollar’s 1666 ‘Surveigh’), and out to the heavily bombed wartime East End and the Isle of Dogs (1940 Luftwaffe photos).

I’ve juxtaposed words from Frances’ film-script with the caption from the Agas map’s escutcheon celebrating the ‘abundance of commodities’ and ‘plentifulnesse’ of fresh water fish that the river of Thames provides.  I drew the maps from successive times, layering the physical appearance as well as the texts; the devastation of the Great Fire was revealed by Hollar’s ‘Exact Surveigh’, completed soon after the disaster of 1666 to record the damage for the great re-building effort that was to come; and the devastation of the Blitz revealed by Luftwaffe photos taken in 1940, also to record the extent of the damage, but for a different reason.

36. London Panopticon map

Drawings in pencil and map in coloured inks and pencils for London Panopticon by Frances Bingham, published by The Pottery Press, 2020

London Panopticon begins down by the river near London Bridge at high tide, about four o’clock in the morning.  Blue, a London guide, walks a pilgrimage through time and the city, up to the heights of Hampstead Heath with its twilight view over the city — and ends with another curious journey.  And so this tour comes full circle, back to the Heath.

I drew a series of pencil drawings for the book’s chapter-heads, inspired by the illustrations in one of my favourite London books, Walter Jarrold’s London of 1925, with Ernest Haslehurst’s paintings and Robert Lee’s black and white title-drawings. Here, the original pencil drawings are mounted on handmade paper with the hand-drawn map which is the book’s contents page.

The rushes in the ditch, the final work in the exhibition

37. The rushes in the ditch

Artist’s book on a sheet of handmade paper, watercolour. Words by Richard Jefferies, from his essay A Pageant of Summer, quoted in Jeremy Hooker’s Ditch Vision: essays on poetry, nature and place. On reverse: front and back covers, signed and attributed.

Back on the summer Heath, the rushes I painted for this single sheet artist’s book were bulrushes in a Heath-ditch.

Of this visionary text, poet Jeremy Hooker says: ‘The writing is charged with love of its subject’, and he shows how ‘Jefferies emphasizes the supreme value of the ‘common rushes’ as if for the instruction of a reader who may overlook it, or the refreshment of a reader starved of the proximity of a flowering ditch.’

And further, he shows the way that Jefferies uses ‘a pictorial style not to indulge in word painting, but to render the life of the rushes and their interaction with the environment.’

This interaction is what I seek out in all my work, the connections and containments.

That, and ‘writing charged with love’.

Thank you for joining me on this tour of The Prospect of Happiness at Hampstead’s Burgh House in July 2022.

To view the exhibition price list please click here.

To enquire about any work in the exhibition, buy or commission please contact me on this link. (It takes you to the contact page on my house portraits website, in a separate tab.)


The longest night

December 21, 2021

And O for the joys of a long winter’s night

Winter night, words by Robert Burns, artist’s book by Liz Mathews, painted and lettered on a single sheet of handmade paper.

For Robert Burns, the winter solstice has its compensations, and it’s obviously a good plan to make the most of what you’ve got. For others, including John Donne and Maureen Duffy, the year’s midnight marks the turn of the year towards spring.

I made this artist’s book, Steel Solstice, on the winter solstice in 2015, inspired by Maureen Duffy’s poem A Christmas Concert (Pictures from an Exhibition Enitharmon 2016). We catch the sounds of a steel band swirling round a chilly shopping arcade with a snow flurry:

all the old rubbed seasonal songs

ricocheting between the twin steel skins

until feet begin to tap, smiles flit, coins skim

as…

… we watch snow falling against the grey

city sky, shepherds astounded, magi

on their way, hear sleighbells jingle

while their small hammers tap in the tune

and only their music sings

… in a moment

redeeming winter’s, Lucy’s, shortest day

and longest night

with promise of returning spring.

(Thanks to Maureen Duffy for permission to set and quote her poem.)

Steel Solstice (like Winter night) was made from a single sheet of handmade paper, painted, folded and torn into a sequence of pages, so that the book can be read page by page, or restored to the single image of the steel drum, painted in steely greys and silvers against a swirl of seasonal snow and the early dusk.

Inspired by all three poets, I’d like to wish for us all good cheer for the festive season, and happier times to come with the returning spring.

Liz Mathews, London 21.12.2021

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

February 10, 2021

Lockdown London looks particularly beautiful in snow, and when it snows, the first thing I do is go out and get a snowball to use for painting it. Here above is our London street, and below, the February page of my artist’s book From Grass to Harvest, which sets lines from Virginia Woolf’s The Years, one page for each month, in a concertina book that allows the December page and the January page to be tied together, so that the year circles seamlessly round. I painted the snow here with Titanium white mixed with snowmelt, so that the snow itself has a material presence in the painting – and took as my subject the view from our window of a street that Virginia Woolf passed along many times on her way to visit her friend Roger Fry, who lived nearby.

This book, indeed this page, features in an online preview of my forthcoming exhibition The Prospect of Happiness at Hampstead’s Burgh House, which was postponed from last year due to the first lockdown, but will be on show before too long. Meanwhile, I keep adding extra works into the preview, so it’ll probably need the Albert Hall by the time it’s actually installed; you can have your own private view here.

I love everything about snow – walking in it, writing in it, eating it, painting it, painting with it. I love how it covers up all the black plastic and the rubbish bins and transforms them, along with everything else, into elements of a visionary landscape of the imagination. I love how it starts stealthily, casually, and then builds to a great crescendo, whirling round the lamp-posts and obliterating everything that is not snow, until our London street becomes a country lane, timeless, uninhabited, silent, except for the faint breath of the falling snow. Last night, hearing a crystalline scratching, I looked up at our skylight to see nothing but an icy white blanket, and realised I was listening to the cosmic song of the snow.

These pages are from Snow like thought, my artist’s book setting a poem of that name by Jeremy Hooker. 

You can find the poem in his wonderful recent Selected Poems 1965 – 2018, from Shearsman Books, who say of him: ‘Jeremy Hooker is a literary explorer, and a poet with a powerful sense of place, whose joy in the landscape and his surroundings shines through the entire body of his work.’ I find his poetry constantly inspiring, and I love the way he always writes with a sense of the individual in the landscape, fully engaging with an always changing world. His poems evoke what he calls ‘an ever-elusive reality’ not by definitive description, but rather by allusive images, and a visionary openness that draws the reader into a closer relationship with the living landscape and the ideas and memories it embodies, ‘the life flowing through the leaf’. 

Snow like thought

because it arrives

seemingly from nowhere

small flakes wandering

sideways

down & up & down

then faster, heavier

bringing up

deeper silence

from some place not dreamed of

that was always there.

Each poem ends with a sense of underlying silence; it is where questions continue, and I hope to find a new beginning.

Jeremy Hooker, Selected Poems 1965-2018 (the poem and his words quoted by kind permission of the poet)

Inspired, I’ve just started work on a new artist’s book, with today’s fresh, timeless snow.  

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One house, six portraits

February 5, 2021

I had a really exciting commission recently for a collection of portraits of an Arts & Crafts house in Ireland; six portraits, four on paper and two in clay. It’s a glorious house with many lovely A&C features and details, from the irregular ground plan to the decorative articulation of each aspect, and studying it brought me many happy hours in lockdown London. But of course, it’s not without its challenges: it has one of the most complicated roofscapes I’ve encountered in a single building, and getting the chimneys in the right alignment from each angle took some doing. Luckily my client got really involved and supplied me with a stream of images, as we examined the house together, discovering ever more delights in each aspect.

I started with working drawings of each side, looking at line, proportion and detail, as well as assessing technical aspects in preparation for hand-building the two portraits in clay. Equipped with the finalised working drawings, I handbuilt the two clay portraits first:

Each portrait took three or four days to make to this stage – where as you can see, they’re still wet, very delicate, easily damaged and needing careful handling during the drying process. Both clay portraits had their special vulnerable points: the veranda side needed very careful drying because of the free-standing posts, which (of course) tend to dry much quicker than the thick areas of clay, leading to disastrous cracks if one’s not careful; and the front elevation, with its extended wall out to the right, has a potential weakness at that point where the thin mass of clay meets the thicker section. So I turned the covers several times daily and watched them like a lynx for three weeks until they were bone dry and ready to decorate for the first firing.

Meanwhile, turning covers wasn’t all I did. While the clay portraits were drying, I started work on the paper portraits, one by one, using much the same process (as with the clay portraits) of incising the working drawing into the surface of the material first – this time, into the thickness of the handmade paper, and then working top to bottom, left to right with the pencil and colour to complete the drawing, one passage at a time. I drew the same two aspects first, fresh from studying the photos very closely for the clay portraits, beginning with the South, veranda side:

and then the East, entrance side:

And then I moved on to the angled view of the front, from the North-East, a diagonal viewpoint giving a glimpse of the front door, and emphasising the recession of planes and play of roof-line which made the clay portrait something of a challenge:

Then I drew the last paper portrait, of the West, garden aspect. This side of the house, with its lovely complex roofscape, paved and planted garden terrace, and the light-filled garden room, has another character again; old and new in an informal harmony entirely in keeping with the Arts & Crafts style of the house:

By the time these four drawings were completed, the clay portraits were fully dried and ready for decorating for their first firing. I aim not to put too much colour on at this point, as I don’t want to wet the carefully dried-out clay  too much, so I paint only the areas that will be under the glaze in the finished portrait: that is all the windows and window-frames, the views inside the windows, any gloss paintwork and any shiny metals. On the veranda side I had fun painting a trompe l’oeille for the inside of the garden room – but the white doors inside the veranda were tricky to reach without damaging the delicate posts of the veranda. On the entrance front, I enjoyed painting intriguing little views inside the windows. At last everything was ready for the first firing, the portraits dried again and packed in the kiln on a bed of sand to help them move about during the shrinkage caused by the firing.

The first (bisque) firing took all day (about ten hours), and then it was a nerve-wracking wait of two more days’ cooling until I could safely unpack the kiln — to find all well, and the portraits looking good, ready for their second decoration and glazing. This took another week: the rest of the decoration included all the brickwork and pointing, the roof and wall tiles, the stonework, panelling, and of course the greenery and foliage, the plant pots and the water butts. Then I glazed the portraits, brushing on the glaze to the windows and paintwork, and taking care not to spill onto the freshly decorated brickwork, as the newly-fired porous clay is very absorbent and makes any accidents of this kind difficult to remove. This is how the veranda side looked with the glaze freshly applied – you can see all the window areas and paintwork are covered with the creamy white glaze, and it’s still quite wet on the bay window:

When the glaze had dried, I packed the portraits back into the kiln for their second firing, and after another ten hour firing and two day wait, I was able to unpack the kiln and find the portraits fully formed and almost ready:

I was happy to find the glaze beautifully glossy and transparent, and the colours bright and fully matured, with lots of detail in the brick and tile and stonework, and all of the trompe l’oeille interiors clearly shown.

All six portraits were now ready for the final touches: inscriptions and framing. I lettered inscriptions with a brush on the flat back of the clay portraits, and attached their integral brass fixings to allow them to be hung on the wall. Then I lettered a single line inscription in graphite beneath each drawing, and framed and sealed them in pale oak frames, ready for the journey to their home.

For more views of these and many of my favourite commissions for portraits on paper and in clay, please see the Gallery page and the Portraits on paper page on my website Potters’ Yard House Portraits and see also my page here on Daughters of Earth for my architectural studies and house portraits. I’m always happy to consider a subject for a commissioned portrait — for any special place from cottage to castle — and can give an estimate from a snap of your special building. Prices start at £300 for an A4 portrait on paper, £400 for an A3 portrait on paper, and £500 for a portrait in clay – this is for a quite straightforward subject, as the price is determined by the complexity of the work.

 

Walking with Maureen Duffy’s Wanderer

November 26, 2020

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Yesterday I was lucky to take a lockdown walk in my own studio, alongside Maureen Duffy, in a live online special event hosted by King’s College London’s Centre for Life-Writing, and sponsored by FUIS (La Federazione Unitaria Italiana Scrittori). We were celebrating Maureen’s work, and also marking the launch of STRANDlines digital collection, which brings together material related to Maureen’s life, work, activism and research, among other exciting features. Here’s a link to a film of the event: A conversation with Maureen Duffy & Liz Mathews.

An event with Maureen’s poetry and conversation will always sound promising, and this one, adeptly chaired by Katie Webb, proved to be very special – even though the members of the great audience were scattered across the globe and in the comfort of their own homes. I feel very privileged to have set many of Maureen’s poems in artist’s books and paperworks (including Paper Wings, my artist’s book setting-to-paper her love-song cycle Songs for Sappho, now on long-term display in the British Library’s Treasures Gallery), and I find her work constantly inspiring. She’s a great collaborator on projects and encourager of artists’ work, and her latest collection of poetry, Wanderer, was published earlier this year by our micro-press, The Pottery Press.

I’ve set five of the poems in that collection (so far), including the poem that gives the collection its title, and I was there to talk about that one (particularly its design and the making process) after Maureen had read the poem. Hearing Maureen read Wanderer is always going to be a moving experience, one that reinforces the empathy and identification at the heart of the poem, and so it proved yesterday evening – a hard act to follow! When I first heard the poem, I was deeply struck by this sense of identification, and I chose to focus my artist’s book on the last eight lines that express so much, aiming to set the lines within a constructed context so that the physical book could embody the words. I called the book Walking.

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When I’m working on an artist’s book, I often spend a long time first, looking at the poem and the paper, to see where elements of the book’s structure could reflect aspects of the poem — in terms of meaning and a flow of images — so that the book can embody the words as fully as possible. For this book, I wanted those connections to be a simple as possible, for the book to be sparse, not over-decorated, for every mark to be meaningful.

To begin the process, I thought about the first visual image that the poem had given me — that long walk towards safety and freedom — and I conceived the design in terms of three long lines, circling endlessly round a double-sided book, to begin again at the beginning. I saw a long line of wanderers, a long line of watercolour to represent the vast distances of terrain to be crossed, and the words of the poem themselves in a long line — these three lines juxtaposed and mirroring each other along the book’s length.

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Then I looked at how the book’s material construction could reflect the meaning of the words, in terms of the size, shape and number of the pages, and the path they follow through the book. This book needed a linear structure, like a classic concertina-fold book, but not exactly. I wanted more continuity than individual jointed pages could give. So I made it from four long sheets of handmade paper like this:

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— each sheet folded into a zigzag of five square pages. I constructed it with two sheets side-by side, two sheets back-to-back with the first two, and the middle joint hinged with another short sheet, stuck between the two sides with acid-free adhesive. This made a long book with five double-page spreads on the first side, and four on the other side, plus front and back covers. And in the middle, a visible joint between the sheets. I set the text so that this joint falls at two crucial points in the poem:

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— here on the first side, the valley joint or hinge trough becomes an abyss of nothingness, where the ghostly wanderer, and the line of the terrain they wander, fade into the void —

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— and the corresponding mountain top joint or hinge peak on the other side becomes the summit, this craggy high pass the wanderer must scale before they can reach the longed-for sunlit lands of life on the other side:

A further way to get the material to reflect the meaning of the words is with colour. The book begins with earthy browns, turning to dry sandy ochre tones of the parched desert,

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next fades into the faint translucent thin grey, disappearing to nothing at the abyss — and then turns to a watery grey-blue

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to represent an equally inhospitable sea-crossing — and only on the words ‘longing’ and ‘believing’ do the colours strengthen,

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not just in the watercolour line, but in the line of wanderers too, where the figures become more diversely coloured, brighter,

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more individually marked, and the line of the words reflects the line of people across the terrain like a mirror, or like a mirage in the desert.

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For the lettering, and to make the marks for the people, to reflect the development and movement of the words, I used some quirky lettering tools:

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a driftwood stick from the Thames, carved by water and flung up on the sandy foreshore on London’s South Bank; a wooden kebab-stick sharpened to a point; and a pottery tool. These all make great lettering-pens because they’re so rudimentary — the lack of a nib-dip to control the flow of ink or paint means that the colour has its own fluid agency; I don’t like to be too controlling of the materials — I like to let them do their own thing (up to a point) and work with the freedom of the result. The same thing applies to the tool I used to mark the people-line:

— a wooden clothes-peg, with its wire stripped out, makes two beautiful pens which you can use in different ways — either like a broad italic nib, or:

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— sideways on, or even using just the corner for a smaller mark, to delineate extra details. You can see in this photo the way that the paint has flowed on to the paper quite thickly for the figure just to the left of the peg-pen, making it look very heavily burdened, or perhaps as though carrying a child; but the figure walking behind that one, marked when there was hardly any paint left on the peg, appears very faintly, almost disappearing. This technique adds so much to the individuality of each figure, making each one unique, unrepeatable.

A clothes-peg is a nice domestic reference, intimate but universal, bringing individuality to each person in the line — each one carrying their own burden, their own history, their own life. I wanted this to reflect the poem’s identification with the wanderer, not just an anonymous migrant, refugee, homeless person, but a unique, unrepeatable individual human being — each one of us, indeed.

I’d like to show you the book, setting the last octet from Wanderer, page-by-page now; you’ll need to imagine it with the pages running forward side-by-side, flowing on from each other, rather than vertically stacked as on this page:

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— And I’ll be adding a link to the recording of the event here as soon as it’s available. Here now!

Maureen Duffy’s collection Wanderer is available from us here at The Pottery Press, (£9.99) or to order from bookshops including the Owl Bookshop in London’s Kentish Town, who have an order and collection service available throughout lockdown, and welcome orders by email or phone:

owlbookshop@gmail.com

http://www.owlbookshop.co.uk

Owl Bookshop, 207-207 Kentish Town Road London NW5 2JU

Tel: 020 7485 7793

An invitation to Dunkirk

May 26, 2020

The Dunkirk Project invitation card

You are cordially invited to visit 

A NEW EDITION OF

THE DUNKIRK PROJECT

for the 80th Anniversary 2020

with  

DAILY NEWS FROM DUNKIRK 1940

from 26th May to 4th June

EACH DAY’S FRONT PAGE NEWS HERE

AND

THAMES TO DUNKIRK ON FILM

A new short film of the largest book 

in the The British Library

CREATING DUNKIRK

A new series on the art of Dunkirk

1. John Craske’s epic embroidery

The Evacuation of Dunkirk

STRANGER THAN FICTION

Highlights from Dunkirk stories, including

a jam sandwich, a tattered news-clipping

a top hat and twelve pairs of silk socks

The Dunkirk Project

an interactive installation

by Liz Mathews

CLICK OR TOUCH SCREEN HERE TO ENTER

https://thedunkirkproject.wordpress.com

Messages from nature

April 15, 2020

Proclaiming Spring, words by Maureen Duffy, artist's book by Liz Mathews

Proclaiming Spring, words from ‘Narcissus’ by Maureen Duffy, artist’s book by Liz Mathews 2020

In these dark times, it’s so heartening to see the new little leaves on the oak tree, violets in every pavement crack, and the blossom on the apple trees promising an abundant harvest of apples and cherries, later in the year. It’s reassuring to think that there will be a later in the year. Narcissus, this beautiful and brave poem by Maureen Duffy brings a rousing wake-up call that echoes many of our thoughts and desperate hopes for this time of worldwide crisis. So much loss can only strengthen our determination to heed the voices of the earth, now demanding loud and clear that we must make the world a better and safer place while we still have the chance.

…proclaiming Spring, calling on

us all to live, put on our green

before the skies darken and we

run out of Springs forever.

Detail from Proclaiming Spring, words by Maureen Duffy, artist's book by Liz Mathews

Page 2 of Proclaiming Spring, text by Maureen Duffy, artist's book by Liz Mathews

Page 3 of Proclaiming Spring, text by Maureen Duffy, artist's book by Liz Mathews

Page 4 of Proclaiming Spring, words by Maureen Duffy, artist's book by Liz Mathews

Page 5 of Proclaiming Spring, words by Maureen Duffy, artist's book by Liz Mathews

page 6 of Proclaiming Spring, words by Maureen Duffy, artist's book by Liz Mathews

Narcissus is from Maureen Duffy’s latest collection, Wanderer, published February 2020 by The Pottery Press.

Eight artist’s books by Liz Mathews

February 18, 2020

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Paper Wings

55 love poems by Maureen Duffy set to paper by Liz Mathews

A contemporary illuminated manuscript in the form of a double-sided concertina book, setting 55 love poems by Maureen Duffy with one poem to each page of handmade paper (30cm x 42cm). The dazzling variety of the poems, and their recurring themes and motifs proved inspirational for the use of vibrant and diverse materials and tools in making the book. Materials include handmade papers, acrylics and watercolours mixed with honey, wine, blood, snow-melt and rain; lettered with diverse tools including reed pen, Japanese brush, driftwood stick, clothes-peg and swan’s feather quill. The book was originally exhibited (before construction) as an installation flying overhead in the London gallery of Enitharmon Press in 2014.

Book measurements: 31cm x 22cm x 7.5cm closed: opens to 11.5m long x 31 cm high. (Portfolio slipcase 33cm x 23cm x 8.5)

One-off original in slip-case £4000

(A half-size facsimile of this book copy – 1 in a special facsimile edition of 5 – is currently on display in the Treasures Gallery at the British Library, in a new exhibition of the work of 17 contemporary book artists – all women.)

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Tatter’d colours

Text by Anne Finch from The Soldier’s Death (17th century)

Eight flag-pages made from French linen canvas, bound with a continuous length of linen bookbinding tape, to be read as a book or hung in the form of regimental colours. I came across this poem by Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea, in AP Wavell’s Other Men’s Flowers (Jonathan Cape 1944), and found its appalled pacifist-Jacobite overtones both astonishing and inspiring within the Field-Marshall’s collection of favourite poems, known to him by heart. I too am a pacifist (probably also an ‘appalled pacifist-Jacobite’ in fact), and much of my work has been concerned with conflict, and, like this poem, with the effects of war on the individual. (For more on this, see The Dunkirk Project, and my artist’s book Thames to Dunkirk.)

Materials include linen thread and bookbinding tape, acrylic ink and paints, charcoal, soot, ash, chalk, clay slip, mud, tea and acid-free matt varnish, the text lettered with a driftwood stick and large Japanese brush. Contained in a kitbag/cover made from English cotton duck, linen thread and tape, and acrylic paints, with materials and instructions for hanging and restoring to book form lettered on the flap of the kitbag case.

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Tatter’d colours (artist’s book by Liz Mathews) exhibited at The Forum, Norwich, and photographed by Gary Florance

‘To hang Tatter’d Colours, remove book from kitbag cover and unroll to flat book form. Unthread the long end of the tape binding the pages at top left, and hang from hemp ropes or beams in diagonal sequence as illustrated on the kitbag flap, fixing each flag with twine through the loops at the top. To rebind into book form, fold pages into sequence, aligning top edges with care, and thread the long tape back through the top left loops in the order indicated on the kitbag flap.’

Measurements: each page 70cm high x 40cm wide, book opened to hand extends up to 4m including the interval tape linking the flag-pages. Kitbag measures 47cm x 14cm x 11cm

One-off original  £1000

Tatter'd colours by Liz Mathews (detail of kitbag/cover)

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Sir Orfeo

Text by Maureen Duffy from her epic poem Sir Orfeo (published in Past Present, Pottery Press 2018)

Artist’s book made from a single huge sheet of handmade paper. The paper is painted, lettered, folded and torn into 12 double pages, but still retains its ability to be restored to the whole image – in keeping with the text, a contemporary retelling of the Orpheus story in an English medieval romance about a king who loses his queen and his position and identity, almost his life, and then by great good fortune and his own goodness, regains everything. This restoration to wholeness is echoed by the form of the book.

The whole sheet is lettered with Sir Orfeo’s name; the large letters then form the framework of the design for the individual pages, where the story is told and reflected in a semi-abstract design of watercolour and handmade acrylic inks. This book was originally shown as the stage backcloth to the first public performance of this bardic poem by the poet, accompanied by jazz pianist and composer Dorian Ford and world singer Vimala Rowe, performing Dorian’s original settings of words from the text (at Burgh House in Hampstead, London, 2017). After the performance, the backcloth was folded into the form of the book, but can easily be restored to the single sheet. I am particularly interested in this tension between duality and integrity of form in my books, especially where it reflects some aspect of the text itself.

Measurements: whole sheet of paper 200cm x 70cm high, book closed 25cm x 28cm x 2.5cm. Contained in portfolio slipcase made from handmade papers 33cm x 29cm x 3cm

One-off original £800


Singing the Year (text by Vita Sackville-West)

Singing the Year

Lines from Vita Sackville-West’s English epic poem The Land.

In the form of a double-sided concertina book with 12 pages, one page for each month, Singing the Year is constructed so that the December page can be attached to January, and the year flows in a seamless cycle, repeating and renewing, like ‘patterns on a scroll unwinding’. I have kept the design simple to allow the vibrant colours, sounds, sights and atmosphere of the text describing the organic seasonal cycle to speak for themselves.

Materials include various handmade papers, watercolours and handmade acrylic inks, acid-free adhesive, and the book is lettered with driftwood sticks and a wooden clothes-peg. In the ‘May’ page shown below, the blue beehives are made with little stacks of paper, the swarm with a scrap of russet gold paper attached to the page with honey mixed into the acid-free adhesive, and the warm golden colour of the lettering also has honey mixed into the paint, lettered with a little wicker stick.

Each page 42cm x 30cm (approx), opening to a circle with maximum diameter of about 5 metres

One-off original in slip-case  £1200

May page from Singing the Year (text by Vita Sackville-West)

February page from Singing the Year (text by Vita Sackville-West)


Version 2

The Seasons Alter

Text from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, in the 1623 First Folio version, with original spellings and renderings.

This book is made from a single sheet of handmade paper 52cm x 72cm, painted, lettered, folded and torn into a sequence of pages which draw the text continuously across both sides of the paper, creating a double-sided painting which folds to a book with 24 pages in sequence. The text is from Titania’s prescient Act 1 speech in which she warns of climate chaos and the dissolution of the cosmic order as a consequence of conflict, exploitation and reckless violation of the natural world. The colours and brushwork reflect the flowing sequence of the text and present the confusion of the seasons swirling to an inescapable vortex, mixing the gentle, traditional and predictable characteristics of each season with violent disruption and discord.

Materials include handmade paper and acrylic paints mixed with mud, rainwater, icicle-melt, so that the weather has a material presence in the work; it was air-dried in winter sunlight, and first shown in an exhibition in Norwich Millennium Library. In slip-case made with the same materials.

Measurements: double-sided single sheet of handmade paper 72cm x 52cm

One off original £1200

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Swallows on the Thames (text by Matthew Arnold)

Swallows on the Thames

Lines by Matthew Arnold from The Scholar Gypsy

Another book made from a single sheet of paper, setting Arnold’s lines in a painting made with acrylic paints mixed with water from the Thames, and lettered with a Thames driftwood stick. The single sheet is made up of 12 pages that flow across the sheet ‘as the ox ploughs’, in a continuous unending sequence, and fold down to a book 20cm x 20cm x 1cm (approx), and the work can be read page-by-page as a book, or framed for display on the wall. This dual nature can perhaps reflect an imaginative idealisation of a mid-summer reverie, an afternoon’s shady lazing on the river in its country-mode, which contrasts strongly with its urban manifestation in the following book, Strand of the Thames.

Measurements: sheet opens to 72cm x 52cm, and the closed book is 20cm x 20cm x 1cm (approx). Contained in portfolio slip-case made with the same materials.

One-off original £700

Swallows on the Thames (page 5)

Swallows on the Thames (page 6)

Swallows on the Thames (detail) text by Matthew Arnold


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Strand of the Thames

Text by Virginia Woolf, from her Diary (1939)

Artist’s book in the form of a 1930’s photograph album: a setting of Virginia Woolf’s diary record of a Thames-side walk, set in 15 grisaille watercolours of the actual sites where she’s walking; watercolour paint mixed with Thames water and the text lettered with a Thames driftwood stick. This book lent itself particularly well to a small edition; I took monochrome photos of the watercolours for each page, and constructed each volume for the edition in the same way as the original/prototype, as a concertina photo album on black handmade paper, fixing the photos in with acid-free photo corners. (All materials in both original and edition acid-free.)

The one-off original is now in the permanent collection of the British Library.

Measurements: original 42cm x 31cm x 5cm (approx); limited edition 15cm x 12cm x 1.5cm

Signed and numbered limited edition (of 20) £40

Read more about this book on the British Library’s blog in a guest article by me: Virginia Woolf’s Haunted Walk

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Rag – Luideag

Text by Ruaraidh MacThomas/ Derick Thomson; book by Liz Mathews

I was inspired to set this extraordinary poem (in the original Gaelic as well as the poet’s own translation to Scots English) by the moving poignance of the idea, and by how surely the words describe the fragility of the language, surviving shredded and scattered, clinging to sharp rocky headlands, used only by ‘ragged children’, exposed to the wind and weather, sounding with the sea in its voice.

I set the lines in both languages, one like a shadow or reflection of the other, on 8 clay pages, scraps torn from a single sheet of stoneware clay, the words scratched into the surface of the clay, so that they are ‘written on the rocks’. The hard sharpness of the fired clay shards reflect both the harshness and fragility of the poem’s atmosphere and meaning.  The clay pages are tacked with linen thread to a rough cotton cloth, ripped and wind-torn to a ragged softness. The scruffy cloth is distressed with a mixture of paint, charcoal and soot, strong tea and Scotch whisky, and finished with an acid-free sealant. Contrasting in texture with the stony clay, it wraps the shard/pages to protect them when the wall-hanging is folded down to a book. The closed book is contained in a box made from recycled cardboard and handmade papers, tied with a rough cotton and linen strap, like an old cardboard suitcase.

Measurements; box 30cm x 16cm x 13cm; book opened to wall hanging approx 120cm x 70cm at widest

One-off original  £1600

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Liz Mathews with young visitors to turnthepage artists’ book fair, Norwich

Journeys of imagination

February 18, 2020

New from The Pottery Press

F4C7B535-6A9A-403D-BACC-5466C2EC7DEAWanderer by Maureen Duffy

New poetry by ‘one of Britain’s foremost writers’ (Guardian), and ‘a unique literary talent’ (Sarah Waters)

We travel with Maureen Duffy on the Wanderer’s terrifying voyage, on exploratory passages to India and Ravenna, on a very English train-ride, to concerts and galleries (and on the journeys of imagination they stimulate), through the gardens and street-markets of London, and to the junkshop of the remembered past. Maureen Duffy describes one of these poems as ‘a kind of elegy to life and love’, the ultimate theme of this brave and passionate collection.

Maureen Duffy’s published some 34 works of fiction – since her first novel That’s How it Was came out in 1962 to immediate acclaim – and at least 10 collections of inspiring poetry including her wonderful Collected Poems. Then there’s her non-fiction including biographies of Henry Purcell, Aphra Benn and Britain itself. And then she’s written some 16 plays for stage, screen and radio, including Rites at the National Theatre, and recently Hilde & Virginia at London’s Jermyn Street Theatre, with Sarah Crowden. Maureen’s play Sappho Singing has recently been adapted as a film, to be premiered on International Women’s Day (8th March) 2020 at the Coronet Theatre in Notting Hill. And Paper Wings, lettering artist Liz Mathews’ artist’s book setting Maureen Duffy’s love-poem cycle Songs for Sappho is currently on show in the British Library’s Treasures Gallery.

Wanderer, Maureen Duffy’s new collection, is as inspiring as ever. Brave, truth-telling, passionate and tough, these poems speak vividly of the cosmic and the local, and how the two are connected. Intimate, entertaining, yet characteristically engaged with the dark troubles of humanity, they are drawn from her London life, her East End roots, and her lifelong themes and empathies, confirming her local alliegiancies and her citizenship of Europe and the world in multi-coloured words.

’Tough poems, made of the rough substance of real lives… a beautiful answering back against the worst.’ (David Constantine)

Wanderer by Maureen Duffy

Pottery Press pamphlet 5, 48 pages with 31 full-colour images setting the poems by lettering artist Liz Mathews

ISBN 978-0-9930171-5-5

£9.99

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3B868791-9A27-4E1C-8DBD-077971230311London Panopticon by Frances Bingham

Today’s the day. Sometimes it seems that this day, today, whichever day it is, might be the last chance to – do what? – something essential, yet unnameable, before the deluge. Seize the moment…

Blue makes a London pilgrimage from the Thames up to Hampstead Heath, walking through time and the city, meeting Londoners past and present on the way. A litany of London voices – irascible Jeremy Bentham, Wose the tree-guardian, Virginia Woolf street-haunting, Fletcher the sacked banker and innumerable others – sing their city incantation: protest song, lament, celebration.

London Panopticon also draws on a Londoner’s perspective, on a visionary journey within this heartland. Frances Bingham, like Maureen Duffy, writes across the literary spectrum, and has published fiction, poetry, non-fiction and plays, most recently Comrade Ackland and I for BBC Radio 4. She has rediscovered the neglected poetry of Valentine Ackland in Journey from Winter (Carcanet 2008), her acclaimed critical edition, and her definitive biography of Ackland is forthcoming next year (2021). London Panopticon really defies categorisation, encompassing short-form fiction, lyrical prose-poetry and play-script; the narrator Blue makes a journey through the day and the city, and encounters places and people at the heart of the city. I’ll just call it an urban Under Milk Wood, inspired by London itself.

‘London Panopticon is more than a pamphlet. As sparkling and all-encompassing as the city itself, it is a vision, a love song, a pilgrimage, a perfect union of image and word. And it takes one’s breath away!’  Mimi Khalvati

London Panopticon  by Frances Bingham

Pottery Press pamphlet no 4, 80 pages with 28 b/w images by lettering artist Liz Mathews

ISBN 978-0-9930-171-4-8

£9.99

Both books available from The Pottery Press, or to order from your local bookshop.