Cowcumbers Studio: Shannon Donovan

Leaf monuments: guardians of the gate

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Thu, 23 Nov 2017 10:34:00 +0000

Here's the gatekeepers for the leaf memorial park.

New work: Monuments to Fallen Leaves

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Wed, 22 Nov 2017 16:09:00 +0000

It's been a fruitful year at Cowcumbers Studio. I took break from exhibiting and organising so that I could focus on a new body of work, and while it's not complete yet, it's well under way and should be ready for exhibiting next year. These are inspired by the elaborate funerary monuments in medieval churches and high Victorian monuments and memorials, such as those in Highgate Cemetery in London and the Necropolis in Glasgow. Here's a few of the sculptures thus far.

Hazel Leaf Monument, main face

Hazel Leaf Monument, end


Hazel Leaf Monument, about 10" H x 12" W x 6" D


Acer Monument, about 18" H

Acer Monument

It looks good in the sun, too.

Monument to Honesty. I'm going to remake this with a better-fitting lid, but I'm very pleased with the overall form and the glazing.

Cowcumbering around, gathering inspiration

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Sat, 14 Jan 2017 21:46:00 +0000

Some visual delights from my all-too-brief time in Philadelphia and New York.

Made in the Marches, Kington

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Wed, 30 Nov 2016 15:54:00 +0000

This really is an amazing week for artists and makers in our little patch of land. My boxes will be featured at 'Made in the Marches', the first pop-up gallery venture by our friends at No 12 Church Street in Kington. They've rallied the region's creative forces to put on an exhibition featuring more than 20 artists and makers. As for the Colloquy, though, you have to be quick: No 12 Church Street will be open Thursday 1 December through Saturday 3 December, 10 AM to to 4 PM.

My violet doily box

A sample of other beautiful things on view at Number 12

Here a show, there a show, everywhere a show

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Sun, 27 Nov 2016 20:18:00 +0000

Keeping up with myself is proving challenging at the moment. I'm currently exhibiting, or about to exhibit, at three venues:

My boxes will be part of an exhibition at The Colloquy, Lyonshall, in support of St Michael’s Hospice. The exhibition will feature 28 artists, and 20% of sales, all refreshments and raffle revenue go straight to the hospice. It’s a quick one, though: The opening launch is Tuesday 29th November 6.30 – 9.30 pm (admission £8), and the exhibition continues Wednesday 30th November 10.30 am – 9 pm (suggested entrance donation £2). Great work for a great cause – don’t miss it!

Andrew and I are also exhibiting at the Wine Bar in Presteigne through the end of December. It’s a pleasure to see our work in such a sympathetic space, so stop by and raise a glass before the holidays are upon us in full force.

Finally, there will be a pop-up exhibition at Number 12 Church Street during the first weekend in December (the Saturday, 3 December, will coincide with the Kington Festive Food Fair. Stay tuned here and at Leg of Mutton for details of opening hours and other participating artists. It's great to see Kington turning into the arts destination it deserves to be.

Still beautiful, still available and heading for the Colloquy tomorrow morning

You win some, you lose some

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Mon, 08 Aug 2016 11:01:00 +0000

New piece in progress, drying, awaiting the kiln:

And a box that would have been great, if it hadn't decided to leave its bottom behind:

It's like that sometimes.

Summer Rose, part of The Evocative Garden

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Thu, 04 Aug 2016 07:29:00 +0000

'Summer Rose' has been chosen for The Evocative Garden, an exhibition organised for the annual NCECA conference. NCECA is an amazing gathering of the ceramics tribe, with a focus on teaching and learning. Thank you Gail M. Brown for selecting my work, and thank you Disjecta for hosting what will surely be a top-flight show. I only wish I could attend the conference myself!

Words to live by

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Tue, 19 Jul 2016 08:24:00 +0000

From a 2015 interview with Edmund de Waal: "Sometimes [what you make] doesn’t work because what you make is just not good enough. It looks okay, but okay is nowhere near being alive. Okay is not the point."

Journey to the RBSA

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Tue, 21 Jun 2016 09:22:00 +0000

I felt very brave driving all by myself to Birmingham this past Saturday, to drop off three pieces at the Royal Birmingham Society of Artists for consideration for their annual Friends exhibition. Had a lovely chat and coffee with some of the members while I was there, and yesterday received news that two of my three entries were accepted, hurrah! Here they are; they'll be on display starting 23 June.

Hawaiian FH

Toile FH

Ceiling roses

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Tue, 07 Jun 2016 20:26:00 +0000

Whatever happened to the creature from the bottom of the kiln? It metamorphosed and multiplied, much to my delight.

Forest Floor

Summer Rose

Winter Rose

The creature from the bottom of the kiln

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Sun, 01 May 2016 16:48:00 +0000

I've finally worked up the courage to reattempt a tricky piece I've been wanting to make, based on the idea of the ceiling rose. This one has survived the biscuit firing, giving me hope for the next stage. I'm leaving it right where it is until I'm ready to finalise it!

Boxes: the first crop

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Mon, 04 Apr 2016 19:07:00 +0000

I am ding-dang pleased with how these have turned out. Watch for these, and more, at the upcoming Shropshire Hills Art Week exhibition at Aardvark Books, starting 4 June.

Works in progress

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Mon, 21 Mar 2016 21:24:00 +0000

While I test, test, test new clays and glazes, enjoy these works in progress. Some are still greenware, some have been biscuit-fired, and I'm hoping that all of them will be fabulous within the next couple of weeks.

Myth vs reality

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Tue, 13 Oct 2015 17:28:00 +0000

A common misconception seems to be that the everyday life of an artist looks like this:

Whereas, at least if you're in ceramics, it tends to look like this:

What is that, and why does it look so boring, you may ask? It's just one of the myriad mundane tasks that many ceramicists face in their daily practice – in this case, making paper clay. May I eventually make something as divine as a Caravaggio from this bucket of porcelain mixed with toilet paper!

Autumn is the new spring

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Fri, 02 Oct 2015 16:44:00 +0000

As I posted on another blog, October is my favourite month (and not just because I was born in it!). I always feel a great sense of possibility in the autumn. Maybe it's because I've never quite stopped thinking in terms of the academic year, or maybe it's something about the crisp evenings and turning leaves that makes me feel all sparky. This October is no different, and in fact, I feel a little more motivated than usual -- because finally, it's time to set foot in the studio again.

It's been quite the summer, and I've learned one thing from it: I am not Superwoman. Far from it -- there really is just one little old me, with just one head, and when my arts administrator hat is on, other hats tend to fall right off. With five exhibitions this summer, two of them back-to-back and for which I was one of the main organisers, it's been a whirlwind of meeting, greeting, administrating, hanging, and even selling now and again. And it's all been immensely rewarding, because much as I love creating, exhibiting completes the circle for me.

So, what's it been like since I got back from Iceland?

March–May: Head down, full-on making for 'Iceland Seen and Unseen'

May–June: Shropshire Hills Art Week at Aardvark Books

June–July: Iceland Seen and Unseen, Aardvark Books

July–August: Guest artist, Church Stretton Arts Festival

August: Preparation for…

September: First-ever h-Art at Leg of Mutton

(Speaking of which, did I mention that Andrew and I started running our dining room as an art gallery in April?)

But I digress. What I came here to say was, let's celebrate: I'm back in the studio, plotting a new series of work, and taking my inspiration from the wallpaper archaeology that never seems to end every time we excavate a room in our house:

Welcome back to Cowcumbers!

Icelandic Adventure, day 20: Well, I'm back

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Sat, 21 Feb 2015 11:59:00 +0000

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It was time to go. I got up at 7 and packed up the studio and my room. By 9, I was saying goodbye to Jacobus, and by 9:30 I was waiting one last time for the bus to Akureyri. I hate to leave this beautiful place.

The porpoise skull sequence.

Daybreak at the bus stop

When I got on, the driver asked me whether I was planning to take the bus to Reykjavík. No, I said; I have a flight booked. Good, he replied, because the bus to Reykjavík has been cancelled today.

Third time in Akureyri. Bright sunshine, little snow, 3°C. I could finally walk around without feeling like I was going to break some part of my body. Kids in fancy dress all over town, stopping into the shops and cafes, singing songs for treats. It was fun and funny, and helped with killing 4 hours in a very small place.

The filthy snowdrifts started to look like fjords.

I'll miss all that colour.

I wonder which one they ended up doing.

After that, 36 hours of travel, full of low-grade hassles. I was fairly feral by the time I got to Hereford, but so so glad to see Andrew. And now to my very own studio, to continue the adventure and see what I make of it.

Icelandic Adventure, days 17–19: Keeping it local

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Tue, 17 Feb 2015 18:55:00 +0000

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Clear skies and clear roads mean some stunning light, a rare opportunity for a good long walk. On Sunday, I took advantage of the frankly warm temperatures to go for a couple of long walks. One was down route 82, which may have looked clear, but must have been inadvisable at some point

Mostly, it was a chance to capture yet more texture and colour. The snow was receding quickly, revealing small streams and last year's dead grass, and the mountains were reflected majestically in the Ólafsfjarðarvatn.

This, friends, is why you go to Iceland in February.

Oh, yeah. I think some sort of artwork is going to come from this image.

Streams revealed.

By evening, a cloud had come to sit on the mountain:

Don't put the snowplow away yet.

Monday was clear yet again, but very, very cold. So cold that my plans to get loads of pics of the little harbour were thwarted by the need to keep my gloves on, and I gave up after about 10 shots.

So cheerful, yet so chilly

That brings us to today, this very moment, right here right now. It snowed in the night, and I woke up to the sound of tiny frozen balls of water pelting my window. Happily, it wasn't as bad as it sounded, and I went to Ólafsfjörður's Natural History Museum. It's closed in winter, but the caretaker kindly let me in by appointment. They have an impressive collection of birds, native and otherwise, and birds' eggs, along with the odd mammal (and I do mean odd).

Someone had to paint all that bird poo.

The temptation was great, but I left them there.

But I did look up its nose. Check out all that structure!

After lunch, the pelting snow stopped, and I decided to go for walk number two. The snow that had accumulated over what was left of the glare ice in the roads and sidewalk was a double-edged sword: It provided good traction where deep enough, but was incredibly slippery where there was just a dusting. So I proceeded, very slowly and very mindfully, finding the safest path along each road and enjoying the squeaky sound and feel of each step that I took. It was like a slightly faster version of kinhin, the Zen Buddhist practice of walking meditation.

I ended up at the cemetery (it's like a metaphor or something) and took some time to see how Ólafsfjörður memorializes their dearly departed. Several of the graves had little bird sculptures on them, which I found really touching.

And on that note, I'd better get back to drawing the porpoise skull.

Icelandic Adventure: days 15 and 16: Sublime boredom

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Mon, 16 Feb 2015 12:44:00 +0000

The severity of the weather means a lot of indoor time, and a lot of indoor time (without a ceramics studio) means that a sort of sublime boredom sets in. Little details loom large, like how improve my drawings of that porpoise skull. It's been a good exercise for me, and though I sometimes feel that I'm not getting any better at it, I actually am.

Still, good things have been happening. Fellow residents Joe Scullion and Sinead Onora Kennedy put on an exhibition of drawings they've been working on during their time here. They're small-scale and precise, and Sinead's drawings of lips make me nervous, in a good way.

On Saturday, temperatures hit about 6°C, and the remaining snow was melting in earnest. It meant that I could now walk up hills that gave me pause when I first got here (I didn't fancy trying to get back down them!), and the receding snow revealed all sorts of colour, texture and structure that probably hasn't been seen since December, at least. Some of my residency mates have been here since then, and for them, the town and landscape are transformed.

I love the visual variety that results from these transitional states. It's not always beautiful, but it's usually interesting.

Icelandic Adventure, day 14: Akureyri

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Sat, 14 Feb 2015 21:37:00 +0000

Lena and I took advantage of Wednesday's good weather—cold, but sunny and windless—to head for Akureyri. It's Iceland's 'second city', with 17,000 people.

We started with fabulous cake and drinks at Bláa Kannan, a café that is as great as the guidebooks and websites say. My flourless chocolate cake and chai latte were top-notch, as were Lena's caramel cake and (get ready for it) licorice frappuccino. The latter isn't for the uninitiated, but Lena found it heavenly.

Then a jaunt to the church, designed by the same architect as the Hallgrimskirkja in Reykjavík. We declined to go inside, since we seemed to arrive at the same time that a funeral was about to start. Instead, we nipped across the street to the Akureyri Art Museum.


A balmy –7°C this time, but no snow or wind—and the shops were open this time.

Akureyrarkirkja

Giant sun! View from the top of the church steps

Glorious light! View in the other direction

Mural near the Hof

Two sights were enough to make us hungry for lunch, and Café Ilmur called to us. It too was excellent (and very reasonably priced); I had a spicy fish soup while Lena had the tomato soup, and there were three different loaves of bread from which one could cut generous, tasty slices.

After that, we bumbled around and enjoyed bookstores, gift shops, artist-run boutiques and clothing shops, and had fun decrypting Icelandic text in all of them. I tried speaking Icelandic to some patient souls as well, and though the souls to whom I speak are usually kind and helpful, it's hard to get much past 'Goðan daginn', since I never understand their questions or replies. It's abundantly clear that I won't be conversing in Icelandic within a week.

Late afternoon came, and Lena got on the bus to Reykjavík while I embarked for Ólafsfjörður. I was tired—that sort of pleasant tired you feel after being out in the cold all day, but enjoying it. Still, I couldn't bring myself to take more photos, just stared out as the water rolled into view. It was a totally different colour than in the morning: an icy, shimmering light blue instead of graphite grey. I holed up in my room for the rest of the evening and slept very well that night.

Icelandic Adventure, days 12 and 13: Two studio visits

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Sat, 14 Feb 2015 19:58:00 +0000

Lena and I enjoyed a leisurely Tuesday morning at Listhús, discussing our plan to head for Siglufjörður in the afternoon. It's 17 km up the road, and I'd been saving the trip for Lena's arrival. No need to do everything at once.

Then, an unexpected visitor: Katrine Sloth, artist in residence at Herhúsið in Siglufjörður, came by, seeking her scarf (which she'd left behind here last week) and shelter (that damn wind had kicked up again, and it was cold). We spent a convivial morning over coffee, then we all took the 13:00 bus to Siglu.

Once there, Katrine kindly showed us the Herhúsið facilities. It's a lovely building, light and bright and spacious, with studio space downstairs and living quarters upstairs. The only potential drawback is that it's definitely a space for one, or for a couple/working duo who are very cosy.

Despite the wind, Lena and I bumbled around Siglu, working our way toward the harbour to marvel at mountains and water and industrial detritus. And one of us felt the joyful urge to make a snow angel.

No farting cars here!

Siglufjörður: sweet, but freezing

That fine line between graffiti and public art

It's good to have friends who don't act their age!

Avalanche barriers?

We enjoyed the cemetery, funny to say.

Siglu was lovely—bigger and livelier than Ólafs, and with a bit more charm. But the wind really got in the way of photography.

This sort of sums up what it was like that day.

So we worked our way back to Ólafsfjörður and treated ourselves to dinner at the town's only restaurant, Höllin. (There's a coffee shop in town too, which looks sweet but is never open.) Excellent pizza, delicious crepe, full tummies.

We also did some picture-taking around Ólafs, but most of my mine are further takes and retakes of views I've shot before; as the snow melts, reaccumulates and drifts, the colour and texture change daily, so I'll see what these images come to mean when I review them all back in the UK. But I don't feel there's much point in posting them here.

On Wednesday, we paid a visit to Hólmfriður Vídalín Arngríms, aka Hófý, in her studio. Hófý was generous with her time, knowledge and coffee. She has a wonderfully well tricked-out space, complete with a 'gallery corner' where she sells her work. She works in porcelain and black clay combined (which I've been experimenting with too) and uses diverse glaze surfaces—some smooth and silky, some volcanic and coloured with metallic oxides. Thanks to Hófý's generosity, I'm now the happy owner of a small 'rock' from her degree show, 'My Voice in Abstract'; the artificial lighting doesn't do justice to the subtlety of the surface.

Hófý is a member of Kaolin Gallery in Reykjavík, so if you find yourself in that fine city, stop by. It's run by several talented artists who are carrying the torch for ceramics in a country where it's an even more expensive pursuit than usual. It's a testament to the power of clay.

Icelandic Adventure, day 11: The serendipity of small places

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Wed, 11 Feb 2015 11:56:00 +0000

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Sometimes I love being in a small place. My friend Lena arrived without incident on Monday, and in fact was delivered to my front door by two of the other art-house residents here in Ólafsfjöður. They were in Akureyri for the day and caught the same bus as Lena.

I spent most of Monday not doing very much, it seemed—mostly drawing a porpoise skull. Come on, when have you ever seen a porpoise skull?

I also met the friendliest cat in Iceland, which absolutely would not stand still for a single second, hence the dynamic blur.

So that was Monday, in all its quietude.

Icelandic Adventure, days 9 and 10: Times of sun and clouds

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Mon, 09 Feb 2015 16:41:00 +0000

As the wind blew the snow away and the temperatures kept it melting, more of the land underneath has been revealed. I was able to take a couple of proper walks around town for the first time since I arrived. It's still treacherous, and I don't dare take off the Yak Trax, but it's much better than before.

Weather and light, weather and light: these define my life here so far. When there's cloud cover, the light is even and silvery, and merges the sky and mountains and town into one. When it's sunny, the contrasts are sharp-edged and spectacular.

One does well to pay close attention to the weather here, as it's perfectly possible to get to the next village but not be able to get back again. I finally understood this as I waited for the bus in Akureyri, hoping that it wouldn't be cancelled because of the snow. Don't take risks, be patient, and have a backup plan.

Before coming here, I thought 'fresh breeze' meant a pleasant, gentle waft of air that cooled you down while sipping gin and tonic on some summery veranda. I've since been clued in that it has a technical definition, per the Beaufort scale, and that what it means in practical terms is 'wind that you think twice about going out in, and that your friends can hear over Skype while you talk to them'.

That said, the weather has cooperated today, and my dear friend Lena is due to arrive for a visit in about an hour. Hurrah! Hooray, even! We'll see what sorts of hijinks the next 4 days bring.

It melted enough to head for the black-sand beach.

Hoping to check out the delights of Siglufjörður this week

The sun came out, and I headed uphill to take this overview of the town. Isn't it sweet?

The harbour looks cheerful in the bright, bright sun.

I wanted to check out the fish-drying factory, but it was still fairly icy round there.

10 AM yesterday. Caspar David Friedrich, eat your heart out.

As the snow recedes, the land is revealed in all its scraggy, craggy glory.

I saw this on the sidewalk.

Icelandic Adventure, days 7 and 8: Change in the weather

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Sun, 08 Feb 2015 16:02:00 +0000

On Wednesday, the head cold I'd developed got worse. It's so boring to be sick, and even more boring to write (and hear) about it, so enough of that. But I rallied to finally get a look at my studio space, and co-opt a skull from the Listhús Natural History and Industrial Object collection. I've been doing a couple of drawings of it each day (though I'm not sure the results will ever be ready for public consumption). To the best of my knowledge, it's a harbor porpoise.

Ribs in my studio. I took this as a good omen.

The Listhús Natural History and Industrial Object collection. That's what I'm calling it.

Four bright windows and a map of Iceland. What more do you need?

Except maybe a porpoise skull.

A view from above.

There was also a massive change in the weather: from –1°C to 4 or 5°C, and sunny, but with a constant 30-mph wind. It started in the middle of the night—woke me from a sound sleep—and didn't stop for 36 hours.

Nonetheless, I needed more food and decongestants, so I strapped on my Yak Trax and headed out to the food store. It's a quarter of a mile away. Thanks to the road conditions, the trip there and back took me an hour and a half, mostly because I was creeping across watery ice sheets at an astoundingly slow pace. But also because I was stopping to take photos.

Oooh! Sun!

Ooh! Rock!

Uh oh. Ice. This is why it took so long to get to the store and back.

What a difference a day makes: The water feature, de-iced.

Blue sky and northern colours

Industrial chic

So much contrast when the sun comes out

Icelandic Adventure, days 5 and 6: Being in Ólafsfjörður

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Sat, 07 Feb 2015 21:00:00 +0000

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Icelandic Adventure, days 5 and 6: Being in Ólafsfjörður

I arrived on 2 February; the bus dropped me off around 2:30 in the afternoon. I'd have taken photos, but I was too cold, and too busy quelling overwhelming panic.

There'd been some miscommunication, and the person who was supposed to meet me at the bus stop thought I was arriving a few hours later. So I stood near the bus shelter—not in it, because a small glacier was getting in the way—and looked around.

Everything was white. Everything. I couldn't tell the road from the pavement, or even how to orient myself toward the house, which I knew wasn't far away. I thought, I don't have to do this. The bus comes back through here in an hour. I can cross the street, get on it, and just apologise and say this was a mistake.

But I didn't. I stood there, and waited, and thought. Schoolchildren stared at me and said 'Hæ.' Adults stared at me and said 'Goðan daginn.' I stared at them and smiled, and said these things back to them, then started walking to the petrol station at the end of the road, dragging my suitcase through the snow.

The owner of the town's only hotel spotted me and delivered me to Listhús, where my kind hosts showed me my room and then took me to the food store. An hour later, I was settled in. And still wondering what exactly I'd done.

I woke up the next morning with a raging head cold, but soldiered on through it to take a photo out my window. This is about 9:15 AM:

View from my room, with snowplow

View from my room, with snow

Then I took a toodle around town.

Listhús, my home and studio until the end of the month.

I still can't believe it looks like this.

Jaunty colours!

Thank you, snowplow.

The first utility cover of spring.

The view behind Listhús.

I wonder what the other destination option was.


I thought it was random decay at first, but it's actually a mural.

When you leave the water feature turned on all winter, this is what happens.

Back to my room; this was taken around 5:20 PM.

Smá íslensku

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Donovan) — Fri, 06 Feb 2015 18:30:00 +0000

That's what I keep saying around here, whenever I need to ask for something: Ég tala smá íslensku. I speak a little Icelandic. Or, more often, I end up saying: Ég skil ekki íslensku. I don't understand Icelandic. That's even more true (if truth has a gradient). Small victories, though: I did understand 'fjögur hunðruð og tíu' (410 króna) when paying for masking tape today. And much to the man's amusement, I repeated it back to him, so I could practice 1) speaking Icelandic and 2) overcoming the urge to crawl into a hole in the ground when doing so. He cracked the tiniest of smiles. Small victories.