you. If it’s not a straight grain then a circular movement is produced with spheres and hollow bowls. If the slab of wood has a flaw then the design generates around that, again working with the grain. The wood is the teacher. It carves itself if you’re willing to follow its lead.
After making fresh coffee, warming my hands around the mug, I studied what I’d drawn. Now I was contemplating the wood in the light of the images that arose in my mind when walking through the bush and the pine plantation. Again I reached for paper and pastels. This time I drew blindly, trying to project onto the page what I had experienced while among the trees, both in waking life and in the dream world. Sunlight inched across the deck as I taped the new sketches to the wall.
The morning was well under way and the wildlife had settled into its routine. Bellbirds and tui conversed in a more civilised manner and cicadas revved their engines, promising another hot day. The sun rose higher as the wall started to fill with squares of paper. Eventually I stood back and observed what had been achieved. It was important not to force anything. I would have to leave it for a while to work on itself, like wine fermenting in a darkened cask. Very soon a concept of the form would emerge.
The aim was to produce six new pieces ready for the Paris exhibition. There would be time and, amid this richness of inspiration, I was convinced of my direction. The energy was flowing. I knew I had tuned into something powerful and would try to do it justice.
The sun had climbed high and I was suddenly hungry.
I was having breakfast on the deck when I heard the sound of an engine. It had to be Jason’s motorbike. I jumped to my feet, tipping the bowl of cereal down my leg. Then, through the trees, I could see the bright red of Sullivan’s mini-tractor, the dogs riding shotgun in the back. They found me first, bounding all over the deck. Sullivan followed at a slower pace, carrying something.
‘Thought I’d better come over and make sure everything’s OK. Brought you some eggs. Do you eat eggs? Jason was telling me you’re on some sort of diet.’
‘No, not a diet, just vegetarian.’ I came down the steps to meet him, wiping wet bran flakes from my knees. Badger thought it was some kind of game and tried to join in. ‘Yes, I do eat eggs. That’s kind of you. I bet they’re freshly laid.’
‘Keep my own chooks.’ He pulled his hat off. The old-fashioned courtesies. He still had that grey look about him, even in the sunlight. And a kind of vagueness.
‘Look, I really need to thank you. About the deck I mean. This is absolutely perfect. It was good of you to go to so much trouble.’
‘No trouble for me. I told Connors to rig something up and that’s what he came up with.’
‘Connors? That’s the workman? The hairy one?’
Sullivan almost smiled. ‘That’s him. Good worker. Don’t suppose he’ll stay long. They never do.’ He stepped up onto the deck and inspected the new walls. ‘Made a good job of this. It makes a nice sundeck. Maybe Jason will keep it. He’s put a lot into restoring the place.’
‘Jason restored it?’
‘Yes, well it’s his cottage.’
My stomach did a flip. ‘I must have misunderstood. I thought it was yours. Thought you’d done it up so you could run it as a backpackers’ stopover.’
‘Backpackers? What here? No, no,’ Sullivan shook his head. ‘What would I want with tourists running all over the place? No, this is Jason’s. He used to spend time here when he was a kid. He won’t stay at the house any more, not that I blame him. Said he wanted this place for a retreat. Did some of the work himself or paid the workmen to do it.’
‘Oh, I see.’ But I didn’t see. ‘Does he ever stay here?’
‘Sometimes. Never know when to expect him. Just turns up out of the blue. He’s always gone his own way, never easy to deal with.’
If Jason had said this was his place I would never have come. He
After making fresh coffee, warming my hands around the mug, I studied what I’d drawn. Now I was contemplating the wood in the light of the images that arose in my mind when walking through the bush and the pine plantation. Again I reached for paper and pastels. This time I drew blindly, trying to project onto the page what I had experienced while among the trees, both in waking life and in the dream world. Sunlight inched across the deck as I taped the new sketches to the wall.
The morning was well under way and the wildlife had settled into its routine. Bellbirds and tui conversed in a more civilised manner and cicadas revved their engines, promising another hot day. The sun rose higher as the wall started to fill with squares of paper. Eventually I stood back and observed what had been achieved. It was important not to force anything. I would have to leave it for a while to work on itself, like wine fermenting in a darkened cask. Very soon a concept of the form would emerge.
The aim was to produce six new pieces ready for the Paris exhibition. There would be time and, amid this richness of inspiration, I was convinced of my direction. The energy was flowing. I knew I had tuned into something powerful and would try to do it justice.
The sun had climbed high and I was suddenly hungry.
I was having breakfast on the deck when I heard the sound of an engine. It had to be Jason’s motorbike. I jumped to my feet, tipping the bowl of cereal down my leg. Then, through the trees, I could see the bright red of Sullivan’s mini-tractor, the dogs riding shotgun in the back. They found me first, bounding all over the deck. Sullivan followed at a slower pace, carrying something.
‘Thought I’d better come over and make sure everything’s OK. Brought you some eggs. Do you eat eggs? Jason was telling me you’re on some sort of diet.’
‘No, not a diet, just vegetarian.’ I came down the steps to meet him, wiping wet bran flakes from my knees. Badger thought it was some kind of game and tried to join in. ‘Yes, I do eat eggs. That’s kind of you. I bet they’re freshly laid.’
‘Keep my own chooks.’ He pulled his hat off. The old-fashioned courtesies. He still had that grey look about him, even in the sunlight. And a kind of vagueness.
‘Look, I really need to thank you. About the deck I mean. This is absolutely perfect. It was good of you to go to so much trouble.’
‘No trouble for me. I told Connors to rig something up and that’s what he came up with.’
‘Connors? That’s the workman? The hairy one?’
Sullivan almost smiled. ‘That’s him. Good worker. Don’t suppose he’ll stay long. They never do.’ He stepped up onto the deck and inspected the new walls. ‘Made a good job of this. It makes a nice sundeck. Maybe Jason will keep it. He’s put a lot into restoring the place.’
‘Jason restored it?’
‘Yes, well it’s his cottage.’
My stomach did a flip. ‘I must have misunderstood. I thought it was yours. Thought you’d done it up so you could run it as a backpackers’ stopover.’
‘Backpackers? What here? No, no,’ Sullivan shook his head. ‘What would I want with tourists running all over the place? No, this is Jason’s. He used to spend time here when he was a kid. He won’t stay at the house any more, not that I blame him. Said he wanted this place for a retreat. Did some of the work himself or paid the workmen to do it.’
‘Oh, I see.’ But I didn’t see. ‘Does he ever stay here?’
‘Sometimes. Never know when to expect him. Just turns up out of the blue. He’s always gone his own way, never easy to deal with.’
If Jason had said this was his place I would never have come. He
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