Friday, 5 December 2008

Another book with benches ...

Re-reading Dracula by Bram Stoker recently, I wondered about how I could have forgotten that classic bench scene when the Count first takes blood from Lucy:

At the edge of the West Cliff above the pier I looked across the harbour to the East Cliff, in the hope or fear - I don't know which - of seeing Lucy in our favourite seat. There was a bright full moon, with heavy black, driving clouds, which threw the whole scene into a fleeting diorama of light and shade as they sailed across. For a moment or two I could see nothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured St Mary's Church and all around it. Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the Abbey coming into view; and as the edge of a narrow band of light as sharp as a sword-cut moved along, the church and the churchyard became gradually visible. Whatever my expectation was, it was not disappointed, for there, on our favourite seat, the silver light of the moon struck a half-reclining figure, snowy white. The coming of the cloud was too quick for me to see much, for shadow shut down on light almost immediately; but it seemed to me as though something dark stood behind the seat where the white figure shone, and bent over it. What it was, whether man or beast, I could not tell; I did not wait to catch another glance, but flew down the steep steps to the pier and along by the fish-market to the bridge, which was the only way to reach the East Cliff. The town seemed as dead, for not a soul did I see; I rejoiced that it was so, for I wanted no witness of poor Lucy's condition. The time and distance seemed endless, and my knees trembled and my breath came laboured as I toiled up the endless steps to the Abbey. I must have gone fast, and yet it seemed to me as if my feet where weighted with lead, and as though every joint in my body were rusty. When I got almost to the top I could see the seat and the white figure, for I was now close enough to distinguish it even through the spells of shadow. There was undoubtedly something, long and black, bending over the half-reclining white figure. I called in fright, 'Lucy! Lucy!' and something raised a head, and from where I was I could see a white face and red, gleaming eyes. Lucy did not answer, and I ran on to the entrance of the churchyard. As I entered, the church was between me and the seat, and for a minute or so I lost sight of her. When I came in view again the cloud had passed, and the moonlight struck so brilliantly that I could see Lucy half-reclining with her head lying over the back of the seat. She was quite alone, and there was not a sign of any living things about.

Phew! Great book, just a pity there weren't more benches.

Monday, 1 December 2008

A little bit more of the buttery bench...

... as requested. Sorry I don't have the whole thing but isn't this beautiful?

Where did November go?

Ah, on Your Messages probably. Never mind here are some benches so beautiful they make me feel like crying:

They're designed by Nigel Ross and this is what he says on his website:

The love of the outdoors led me to working in various forestry related employment and eventually running my own fencing dyking and forestry business on Arran.

My art developed from this background with the rhythms and energy of nature being an inspiration and by the mid-nineties I was working fulltime as a sculptor and maker.

I sculpt from lengths of fallen trees creating abstract forms sometimes with a functional element. The sculpture, sculptural benches and furniture, bridges etc are situated in woodlands, parks, gardens, schools, hospitals, gardens, and new developments across Britain, Europe and USA.

It's a good thing these pictures have come out so small because really you need to go to his website and admire properly. The twist in the snow in particular.