Letters to garden makers

Dear Monty, I have just finished reading Italian Shoes by Henning Mankell, a Christmas gift from my psychotherapist sister-in-law, and it has unleashed a flood of thoughts, appropriate to read whilst watching the deluge continue outside. In this novel Mankell explores what it is to age, how the process of ageing changes the way we see ourselves and our place in the world in regard to human relationships. ' Life is a flimsy branch over an abyss' - Mankell I read my copy of the bible every day, chapter by chapter, it challenges me, thrills me, horrifies me. I realise that this battered, small, pocket-sized bible; read at train stations on hills and in art galleries is the personal possession that means the most to me, it will probably never belong to anyone else, it will fall apart with me.  Waldemar Januszczak recently extolled the wonky cross and standing stones of the northern Christian tribes - each tribe has its version of Christ and Christianity - the same

Dear Monty, Like you we are currently experiencing flooding, not on the same scale, as we are high above the flood plain of the Tawe, but it requires sandbags to stop the burst brook coming through the front door of the old band room. Water forms so much of our landscape, it carves and cuts through rock and soil, pouring toward the sea, it creates the character of this land. I watch and wait. The Darren mountain forms a dark shadow opposite us, and is a reminder that we are on the edge of wilderness. Most towns border with other settlements, this one links with others in a sinuous line following the river valley with smaller and smaller communities the further North you go, eventually melting into the Brecon Beacons. Here in Ystalyfera however, it is hard edged - a cut and bruised landscape of human struggle and industrial hunger. The land beyond the coal and the limestone in contrast is hedged and farmed. Post industrial landscapes have a haunting quality t

Dear Monty, 11/12/12  I read an article published in the States by someone called Jed Diamond. It was shared on Twitter by Philippa Perry  www.curtisbrown.co.uk/philippa-perry/  . The argument put forward is that mental illness is a myth - and that the whole earth is sick and needs fixing : 'The buildings are sick, the banking system's sick, the schools the streets - the sickness is out there. ' I have seen this insidious change for myself in the last 4 decades, but the process of movement toward global insanity continues at a faster pace. Belief, love, commitment, patience, rest are all being eroded by  selfishness, stress, anxiety and an inability to rest, to take stock, to think about this earth, this lung, the thing that feeds and clothes us. The disconnect is palpable - the anxiety, stress and anger is palpable. When we become disconnected from our roots we fail to thrive. Our roots are not connected to our genius - but to the genius of the organism of the liv

Dear Monty, 'Do two walk together unless they have agreed to do so ?' I realise that there are consequences to all our actions, and that our place on this earth is fragile, we are not here forever. There is something being said by the mountains, I heard a voice speak. 'He who forms the mountains creates the wind and reveals his thoughts to man' I had a thoroughly enjoyable walk in the hills above Abergavenny with Charles Hawes Charles@veddw.com . Walking away from the rush of roads, having time to see and hear what nature is, is just so refreshing for the soul. I believe we are meant to be connected to this earth, yet most of our lives today seem to be more and more distanced from it.  Life has become dulled by our pursuit of wealth. It seems that the economy and economic theory is to be pursued above all else for the supposed 'good' of us all. Amos, a shepherd who started to hear the voice in the wind said this about how life starts to

Dear Monty, Three musings (or unedited drivel) 26/11/12 How can the mechanical sound of a car engine in the distance bring a sense of comfort ? Yet that sound did just that a few moments ago. Perhaps it unlocks a memory from the past, a good memory of belonging and safety within a loving family. Perhaps it is linked to my childhood spent on another hill in another house. The little end of terrace house on the hill above the sea in Swansea with its view over to the docks and the steelworks in one direction, and the curve of Swansea Bay to the Mumbles in the other. Forgive the old pastel drawings, they serve to remind me of my roots. There is a positive thing about growing older that gets lost - 'older and wiser' is the saying. Maybe it isn't wisdom but a distillation of experience and knowledge. The small things take on greater significance, like memories evoked by sounds. Life becomes enhanced by the brevity of it - becomes more beautiful. 28/11/12 I have

Dear Monty, I agree that well crafted words can create pictures, I am not so good with words but nevertheless I continue to write and make pictures. '....his heaving breast and shaken form had long yielded to the calm that must follow all storms - emblem to humanity of the rest and silence into which the storm called life must hush at last.' Charles Dickens 23/11/12 Our grandchild moves towards birth, I move towards death, the earth moves towards its purpose. The single cell to countless cells. The beginning and end. The sheer beauty of it. 24/11/12 Sophie is here upon the face of this jewel earth. The garden decays into Winter, back to its bones, bones that will once again be clothed with life. The trees rest. The grass has now become weeds. No digging or spraying, I just mow the weeds in Spring. Still it forms a green carpet under trees. Sometimes I dig out the dandelions if they halt my eye, but that is for later. For now the bones help me to see

Dear Monty, Three 'poems' 16/11/12 Let us pray Let us Judge Let us kill with the 'moral' high ground Let us fire rockets Target individuals Let us defend the faith with swords Jealousy consumes me How foolish I am. 17/11/12 The toil of the soil Writing books while gardens sleep While I sleep Sustainable energy ? The turbines stand motionless - yet more appear on the hills The waterfalls pound down the valley Once turning mill wheels and looms Wood burned. We then dug coal Hollowed out mountains Then came welfare and unemployment Are we too many with too much ? I always want more. 'Ah how fleeting Ah how futile' 18/11/12 There will be another river which flows from a new valley There will be trees in this garden With leaves for healing And fruit And in the river will be Fishes in abundance. Paul.

Dear Monty, Remembering 11/11/12 Walking the waterfall woodland of Ystradfellte with Charles Hawes. We saw the  sheer beauty and power of water cutting through rock - of trees grasping soil through shaped formed roots following rock contours. Colour blazed now and then - orange yellow red. Green tinge to the back of a red-breasted robin. Mud - thundering water - waterproofs proved. No proof or evidence for faith. The curse is knowledge - knowledge is the curse - we know too much. Remembering  - not the fallen dead Though I do remember them - but do not stop - no silence. Remembering the pain that knowledge brings From having minds which contemplate both good - and evil Which understand and misunderstand Judge and misjudge Knowing that life is finite and full of fears - joy - tears. It means we watch ourselves grow old Remembering youth - energy But perhaps old age is another stage Set for playing out  a role 'Senior cit

Dear Monty, 'Recalled to Life' I have discovered some of my old drawings from the early eighties, when I had just started the Fine Art Degree at Portsmouth. I searched them out because a friend reminded me of my love of trees. God moves through people in a kind of energy - a living energy that points to the source of all living things. It was this energy that I recognised first in trees ! It sounds mad but once I started to see the power of this energy, I could see it everywhere. I could see it in the movement of ships through water, through the energy of our activities. Through our bodies our movement. Looking back on these drawings makes me sad, because I seem to have lost that energy in my artwork and maybe my life now, but I still see it in the hills, in the cycle of the seasons, even out of our kitchen window. I also see it in the paintings of Van Gogh and others who see beyond the obvious. You said on