tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38743117948457640142024-02-22T23:42:25.424-08:00Drawing BlogChris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-49876315999383736902017-12-13T05:58:00.000-08:002018-01-19T06:19:04.587-08:00Kites: Aviary, Operations and Release<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Saud operates on a black eared kite</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nadeem and Saud have
invited me home to observe their days work at the kite rescue centre.
The day starts on the roof, cleaning the open aviary. I barely have
time to make a quick sketch before Nadeem hurries me downstairs past
the rooms where Saud lives with his family and to the basement. The
basement garage is also the heart of their family business, I greet a
couple of men squat on the floor merrily constructing soap dispensers
before Nadeem beckons me into his office. I find a space behind the
door, and a chair below a white board displaying a chart of details
for the latest inpatients. At a desk below a window looking onto the
'factory floor' sits the vet. He has come to carry out autopsies, but
is presently writing in a large ledger that the brothers keep for
recording all the birds that pass through their doors. As I wait, my
attention is drawn to a soft mewing coming from a plastic lidded cat
box. Opening it I find a black winged kite, half the size of it's
black cousin. The office is cramped and when Saud and Nadeem enter
the kite gets passed around to make more space. Once settled, I draw
it, a juvenile brought in 10 days ago and needing regular feeds
through a syringe. The autopsies begin, two kites and a brown fish
owl, the former died from food toxicity. As Saud leads me out I
notice another cage in the office, three kites, one has died over
night Saud explains, as he removes the rigid paper light corpse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After lunch with the
family, we are up in the rooftop aviary again. Nadeem, Saud and
cousin Salik are assessing the fitness of some kites they hope to
release. Saud measures the birds and assesses general look of
fitness, before Salik lets them fly from his hands. 4 flop to the
ground after a limp flight, 3 make it with powerful flight to the end
of the cage. Nadeem videos them, an important documentation of how
treated kites recover their ability to fly. We drive three cardboard
boxes, each containing a kite to their release site. A tranquil spot
near a meandering river on a still evening with a pink blushed sky,
music wafting from a nearby temple. The kites are one by one placed
on the ground and fly up into the sunset. I thought this would be a
fitting end to the days work, but was soon to discover Saud and
Nadeem's work had barely begun. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Back at home, we are in
the office again and Saud is preparing to operate on 6 kites and a
barn owl rescued that day. He tells me this is a normal intake during
this the slow off season time of year. 3 of the kites are euthanased
another three have a good chance of recovery after operation. Over
the years the brothers have struggled to find vets with the level of
expertise to operate on bird wings, since there is little commercial
call for such work. Instead the brothers have learnt to carry out
operations themselves. Five years ago they made the decision that
Saud should focus on this work, gaining the most experience to now do
all the operations. Their expertise in operating on bird wings, is
now greatly valued with professionals seeking their advice on best
practice. It is 7pm when the first bird is anaesthetised and Saud
begins work. Each bird has a wing injury caused by collision with
manja kite thread and each operation takes about an hour of hard
concentration. Saud describes the injury of the last bird to be
operated on, a black eared kite. Tendons and one of its two biceps in
the right wing have been severed entirely, the wound is about 12 days
old and the bicep has dried up. Saud deftly stitches the severed
bicep muscle, hopefully once recovered it will have enough power in
the remaining bicep to fly. The wing is bandaged closed and numbered
before the kite is placed in a small cage to recover. The days work
complete at around 10pm, we head out to attend a family wedding
ceremony near Jama Masjid. Saud stays home, to recover from an
illness he has struggled with all day.</span></div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-31057037164106618052017-12-11T05:50:00.000-08:002018-01-19T05:51:21.765-08:00Ghazipur Kite Roost.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Returned to the fish
market today with M. My main focus is the
road outside the market entrance in the afternoon. Here the sheer
number of kites crisscrossing the sky as they fly to and from roosts
and feeding sites mirrors the buzz of activity around the road. There
is an impromptu market of food stalls and livestock sellers drawing a
busy crowd whilst rows of taxiwallas spill out onto the busy Delhi
suburb commuter roads at this major junction. Painting draws a
mammouth crowd and most of my work is done looking over heads and
gaps between waves of fresh onlookers.</span></div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-53627093836941666382017-12-10T05:40:00.000-08:002018-01-19T05:51:49.055-08:00Kites of Ghazipur<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Ridge of 200 foot rubbish tip in Ghazipur</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today I met Nadeem and
Saud, two remarkable brothers who have dedicated their lives to
rescuing and rehabilitating Delhi's injured black kites. They save
many of the huge number of kites injured daily in Delhi, the majority
from collisions with toy kites used in the hugely popular game of
kite flying and fighting. In kite fighting, flyers have traditionally
used manja, a thread coated in powdered glass which enables
opponents to slice loose each others kites. This practice has proofed
lethal to birds, especially kites, since they fly at low levels
through the streets scavenging for food, making them especially prone
to collision with the manja threads. Nadeem and Saud found their
first injured kite as young boys. Overtime their compassion and
determination has led them to grow a rescue centre caring for
hundreds of injured birds within the 3 rooms and rooftop of their
home, which also houses their small family business. The use of manja
was outlawed in India two years ago after several people, including
two toddlers were killed by loose threads. Its use however remains
prevalent on the streets of Delhi. During the height of the summer
kite flying season the brothers expect to house on average, 300
injured black kites in their rooftop aviary.
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nadeem and Saud pick me
up in Old Delhi and we make our way out of town, heading East in
Saud's Golf. It's an exciting half hour drive for me as I look
forward to visiting a place I've wanted to set foot in since my first
tantalising glimpses of it from the highway, on first arriving in
India. The most obvious landmark in this place is a rubbish dump
which has grown into a staggering 200 feet high. A reasonable sized
hill in a flat landscape, a Bass Rock built of rubbish. Directly to
the North at the foot of the dump is Delhi's main fish market. A
little further East, there is a meat market and processing site, the
largest in India. With India remarkably being the largest exporter of
beef in the world this site is huge. The whole area, unsurprisingly
is a magnet for avian scavengers, especially black kites as well as
most noticeably, Egyptian vulture and egret in far fewer numbers.
Kites in their thousands powder off the distant ridges of the dump,
playing with the thermals. A sight no different at distance to the
majestic spectacle of a Celtic seabird colony in the height of the
breeding season. Kites at a nearer distance swirl in shoals that
tighten and dissipate, then reform again in an unfathomable yet fluid
dance; an avian tribute to the silver bodies now lying in lifeless
regimented formation on the market slabs below. On the ground, every
space on every substrate, pylon to rooftop is taken up by the dark
body of a black kite. All in all the number of kites visible is in
the tens of thousands. This number is at its highest around now as
migratory birds swell the local ranks, even so, Nadeem tells me this
market complex built 10 years ago to replace the burgeoning markets
of Old Delhi, is most likely a major factor in the boom of Delhi's
kite population over the last 20 years (concurrently the resident
vulture population has crashed).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Morning:</b> Ghazipur Fish
Market</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We park the car in a
far corner behind the main fish market, beneath the shadow of the
vast landfill. The market compound is set lower than the surrounding
area, concrete walls hold back the steeply rising dump beyond. The
roughly tarmacked ground beyond the car is saturated with oily blood
slick puddles, heaps of discarded fish waste glisten pink, silver and
lime green. The floor slippery with a film of grainy fish oil as I
step from the car. Inside the market men (it's all men) deftly clean
and fillet fish on cleavers planted at right angles in the ground
between their crouched knees. There service is apart from the
sellers who are numerous, there wares spilling out onto the narrow
single file walkway around this maze of aquatic bounty; huge rows of
tuna, alien headed dolphin fish, glittering blue barracuda, pretty
star shaped fish, milky white ones, piles of bait and barrels of
riving catfish and the sad sight of limp foot long sharks amongst many
more unidentifiable produce. I leave Nadeem and Saud searching for
tonight's supper and fish for a recently rescued painting stork, to
head back to the dumping site where we parked. Amongst the constantly
replenished fish waste, scavengers, human and avian pick their
opportunity to salvage what they can before diggers scrape the site
clean. A teenage boy tears scraps of flesh from fish spines that
others see no value in dealing with. He carries them away, perhaps to
re-sell or simply for his own sustenance. A dozen kites swoop and
dive between this activity, choosing morsels on the wing. Many more
kites and a good number of egret languidly survey the gluttonous feast
from perches along the wall and undulating market rooftop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Afternoon:</b> Ghazipur
Landfill Summit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We drive to the summit
of Ghazipur's 200 foot dump, Saud's golf sliding on the hairpins as
the tyres break the dry crust and slip on the decomposing rubbish.
Two thirds of the way up we pass through a smog and dust cloud
entering a new and strange environment, an apocalyptic wilderness
with its own microclimate it seems. All along the barren moon scape
ridges and craters of the summit, perch black kites and vultures,
hundreds more soar along the updrafts. I paint a privileged areal
view of Delhi in this throat clogging atmosphere, between rise and
fall of dust clouds kicked up by passing dumpers. The truck drivers
wear an expression of constant amazement and amusement, a reaction I
think to the terrifying, dystopian world their work occupies. A
monument to the madness of humanity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>Evening:</b> Open Aviary</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Saud and Nadeem invite
me home. We sit in the family home as Saud's two year old presents
Mark and I with a welcoming parade of his entire fleet of toy trucks
and cars laid out on the mats in front of us. After coffee in the cool
room, I am taken for my first look at the aviary on the roof. Around
sixty black and black eared kites as well as half a dozen Egyptian
vultures and a painted stork are in residence. The brothers clean the
cage, water and feed the birds. The painted stork takes the fish,
feeding for the first time since its arrival without assistance. As
dusk falls a couple more kites fly into the aviary through its open
roof. Once they can, the kites are free to fly in and out, eventually
they are taken further afield to be released.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3-JmNS26OXhx4xNCW2FJEg20xldf979Xegtt6cYvdtyFY7PaVjqWyrN0m6Sav2ricnbwxIS2RSaLMVDCn9JHAd6A8sujq5sgXUvCLLFnSyPcjkGp_ekLuSMuiwI-p3X_tg1Txr3Lsneg/s1600/DumpCow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1043" data-original-width="1600" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3-JmNS26OXhx4xNCW2FJEg20xldf979Xegtt6cYvdtyFY7PaVjqWyrN0m6Sav2ricnbwxIS2RSaLMVDCn9JHAd6A8sujq5sgXUvCLLFnSyPcjkGp_ekLuSMuiwI-p3X_tg1Txr3Lsneg/s320/DumpCow.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-12552880341051166702017-12-09T04:06:00.000-08:002018-01-19T04:39:44.182-08:00Delhi Kite Residency<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I spent the first week
of my eleven day residency in Delhi, exploring and locating places to
work for a project documenting the natural history of urban black
kites. In particular the unique bond between Delhi's kites and the
multifaceted communities of this richly layered city. Painting in
Delhi is a challenge in itself, magnified beyond anything I have
previously dealt with by the intensity of the crowds, streets
exhausted of all space, the unfailing curiosity and regular confusion
or angst of the locals who happen upon me. These are however,
elements of the overwhelming chaos that appeals. Every direction I
look in this city I find another big subject crammed with
information, not least the skies of wheeling kites in their hundreds
even thousands. I arrived imaging large paintings and drawings,
attempted several, some with success such as in the relatively
peaceful space of Lodhi Gardens. Here a dead tree stands majestically
filled with roosting kites, as spectacular and precious a relic in my
eyes as the Moghul tombs that give this space its name. Other key
locations, such as Jamal Masjid proofed harder, since large canvases
create a spectacle, turning quiet observation into performance and
expectation. I tried several strategies, at one point I located to a
hotel roof where I thought I'd find peace, but became hostage to the
manager who expected me to paint his mosque in beautiful detail for
his website. I collected only a few sketches of tantalising street
views and kites close enough to touch (some swiping my head
expecting food) before escaping.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two significant
developments came mid to me at this time, first when I made contact with two
brothers who were to help me access incredible insights into the
Delhi kites. The second came as a simple realisation to work small.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I set out today lighter
than recent after making a decision last night to standardise the
format of my drawings to an equal size, roughly A4. I thought this
should proof more manageable on location and it also fits my new
ideas for exhibiting the project. Keen to get out early, way before
the served breakfast, I fortified myself with kettle boiled eggs and
bread. Walking down the long tree lined drive, prepares me for the
days onslaught. The traffic of course, as ever, was ceaseless when I
reached MG road, though I have started to notice a few regulars
around this time who brighten my dawn march down the dual carriageway
to Arjangarh metro. The determined jogger in respiration mask
pounding through the mist, he overtakes me around about the lonely
furniture shop each morning, the bikes that travel the other way, so
deeply laden with potted plants they appear rider less, steered by
marigolds and powered by <i>helaconia</i> quivering on the back seat.
Sometimes there is a Nighal (large antelope) or chital grazing behind
the wall as I climb the metro station steps. That's the thing about
these southern outskirts of Delhi; a few steps away from the clogged
highway, conglomeration of hurriedly constructed buildings along it's
way, shade of the Metro's looming concrete overhang and shroud of
exhaust fumes, the urban decay gives way to large tracts of dry
scrubby jungle and settlements resembling village like communities. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>9/12/17, Early Morning:
</b>Chatterpur. Painting from the raised Metro station. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few stops down on the
metro, the sun rises over Chatterpur. Black kites lift with the
gradually warming air. Commuters emerge onto the street and the roads
slowly fill as shadows retreat, noise levels increase. I pass this
view every day I travel on the Metro into central Delhi. Invariably I
see up to five kites circling this spot, maybe a roost nearby. This
Southern area of Delhi, though busy and built up along the arterial
road is deeply wooded between the concrete. From above, dry forests
seem to stretch vast distances into near wilderness; scrubby trees
and bare trees that kites seem to favour as roosts. The impressive
temple is Adya Katyani Shakti Peeth, nearby a bright orange Hanuman
statue rises above the trees, visible for miles around.</span></div>
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<b>9/12/17, </b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Midday: </b>Meena Bazaar
from Jama Masjid.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Looking down and across
Meena Bazaar from the steps of Jama Masjid. Food sellers push and
park their carts, salesmen spread out their wares on blankets,
beckoning crowds. The steps plunge deeper into the permanent market,
leading to packed alleyways covered overhead with plastic sheeting
that tints the bright sunlight hues of blue, red, yellow, green as it
floods the stalls of shoes, clothes, cooking utensils and household
products. Beyond these claustrophobic meanderings that sink several
levels, cooks line the busy streets leading to the mosques four
gateways selling Moguli treats; kebabs of perfectly cubed mutton,
biriyanis stirring in huge steel karahis, more mobile sellers hawk
sweets, popcorn, kolfi and chai.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Black kites circle
above, several hundred strong. They congregate here, since it is
where people come to feed them at semi-random locations around the
mosque as well as from private rooftops throughout the surroundings
of this predominately Muslim area of Old Delhi. </span></div>
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<b>9/12/17, Evening: </b>Lodi Gardens.
Sheesh Gumbad Tomb</div>
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Black kites lift out of
a dead tree to join thousands more flying out of urban areas to roost
in Delhi's green spaces. This mass exodus, happens every evening at
the moment dusk switches to night, which at this latitude is a clear
transition, instantaneous as a blink.</div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-67117474130285298262017-11-19T09:39:00.000-08:002017-12-01T09:48:59.079-08:00Indian River<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have been spending the last few weekend mornings
at the upper Ganges canal. There is a temple and small ghats where
the delhi road crosses the 30 metre or so span of the river, just a
short rickshaw ride from Modinagar. The ceremonial bathing happens
early in the morning, we saw it once from a taxi, the crowd on the
shore up to their waists in the milky water, floating torsos in the
smoggy morning atmosphere. I have arrived most days after this
ceremony. Priests are in a screened section of the ghats performing
small rituals around a fire and scattered incense, flowers and silver
bowls of food. Offerings drift by on the current, flotillas of orange
marigolds amongst the ubiquitous plastic, crisp packets and
polystyrene thali trays. Young boys wade waist deep against the
strong undertow, trawling heavy weights somewhere down there through
the aquatic soup of silt and debris. The weights are heavy magnets
some from old speakers, cone still attached, used this way for
collecting coins thrown to the sacred river. The boys return to check
their haul on a scrappy spit off the ghats, which is also scattered
with clay vessels and figurines. A man in a black shirt watches over
the boys, taking anything they find. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I notice this hold on people another time, when
drawing a place outside a temple where there is a loose gathering of
street children, women and, mixed in with the elderly huddle, some
Sahdus: religious ascetics who have renounced the worldly life.
Several cars pull up in the time I am there, people get out and serve
up dahl from takeaway containers and pedestrians too, hand out notes
and coins as they leave the ghats. There is a man from the temple,
whose orders these dependants obey. He is mid forties; tall, thin,
wearing neatly cropped hair, crisp white pyjamas, a single dot of
colour on his brow, always stands upright and straight although he
clasps his hands so tightly when he talks that he makes them bent and
twisted. Everyone in the ragged gathering does this man's bidding and
he is their agent, seemingly ready to sell what ever he thinks they
have to offer in service. In his presence is a young woman holding a
new born who had previously been laughing at my drawing, at me, the
children and all the jokes I will never understand. Now with this
man, her natural laughter is replaced with a fake complicity as she
is offered up to the rich westerner for sex. The holy man inserts his
fore finger into the O of his pinched thumb and index to make clear
his proposition. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Oblivious perhaps, to the future around them, the
children at the top of the ghats are full of joy and excitement about
being drawn. Occasionally they are scattered by a muttering old
woman, a real character with a chunky stick and glasses pinched to
the end of her nose, but always they sneak back giggling. The
smallest one with the biggest grin will put both his thumbs up in a
positive question directed at me; is it all clear? The grouch has
fallen back to sleep. His quick wit beyond his age reminds me of F
back at home; starting primary school, living care free in a present
tense world explored with a sharp and enquiring mind. This grinning
boy bare foot on the riverside, understands that same joyful
existence. For this precious moment they are in common, a brief
moment, their lives already moving on very different
trajectories.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In uptown Modinagar, there is a small river so
clogged with waste that much of it has silted up and overgrown. On
the left of the road bridge there is a pipe big enough to crawl
through, discharging black water with the stench of sewage. Just
below is a floating mat of plastic waste stretching from bank to
bank, backed up against the silted over riverbed. Upstream the damned
water forms a pool; still and black in colour but cloudy like milk.
The greasy surface reflects ochre and red, the reverent colours of a
Hindu temple on the opposite bank. An unnatural iridescent sheen
glistens purple along the shallow fringes. Swimming pigs bulldoze
through the plastic raft, lost in a hearty enthusiasm for their work.
Their dedication looks absurd, their movement jerky and possessed
like puppetry, snout tossing shoes and tennis balls and plastic hats
up from the discarded depths. Egrets balance on the hog's backs and a
dancing procession of these avian stilt-walkers follows each ones
wake, ready to pounce on smaller prey in a flurry. Yesterday, six
boys put the egrets up in a cloud of white powder as they clambered
onto the rotting mat. Reaching the waterline the boys stripped bare,
sunk themselves in and began to rummage in the fowl water for any
residue of value left discarded. </span></div>
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Trawling for coins</div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-19939504462146503482017-11-18T00:09:00.000-08:002017-11-18T00:09:23.521-08:00Birds of Modinagar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<u>Week 8 November</u><u></u><br />
The
infrared swirl straddles central India on the map, twisting through
dark red and purple towards two black boils at its epicentre sitting
over Delhi and including Modinagar. Through the window there is no
visible sign of this storm, the air is deadly still, but the
authorities advise people to stay indoors to avoid harm, schools are
closed and events cancelled. Ministers in Delhi blame the silent
storm on crops being burnt in neighbouring states, the same practice
carried out for many thousands of years. Either way, the region is in
a state of emergency; that deep red static tornado on the satellite
map signifying air quality declares a reading of 999 micrograms of
pollutant per cubic metre (the scale does not go above 999, true
levels have at times reached 1300). This is toxic air that can clog
arteries and cause premature death on a mass scale. To put it into
perspective, London when it has broken the EU regulated maximum
pollutant levels by several fold has never exceeded 200 micrograms
per cubic metre. Outside the window each morning I can make out the
metal work of the balcony and just beyond a slight silhouette of the
huge ficus that normally dominates the view and that's it; total
white out, Jack the ripper type smog. Stay indoors; I have often
opened my bedroom door this week to find a hazy cloud hanging
menacingly in the hall. I leave the compound, I need to explore,
draw.
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Sometimes
I go out early, pass over the threshold cut out of the compound gate,
salute the guard as I go and step into a world of saturated grey
tones and wispy spectres. Car's horns blare as they emerge with a
rush and disintegrate again into the mist. I move freely, my own
whiteness bleached out in the smog makes me almost incognito;
Westerners don't usually have reason to visit Modinagar, so our
presence on the street always draws considerable attention. I enjoy
these quiet mornings, lingering. By 7 o'clock the road is already
clogging with vehicles, often stuck behind the lumbering carts off to
Modi Mills, laden with sugar cane. This main street is the only route
between Delhi and the city of Meerut. M5 level traffic skims fruit
sellers and food stalls, and pedestrians and motor bikes all jostling
for space on the narrow, ambiguous fringes squeezed between heavy
traffic and the toxic verge of open drains that run beneath the
houses. Down there, open flumes run purple black drain water, steam
rising where domestic waste mingles with run off from the Sugar mill.
A syrypy sweet mildew smell permeates the sharp tang of exhaust fumes
and thickens the soup in my lungs.
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When I
first arrived here, I quickly accepted that I was not going to be
making work about wildlife in this crowded concrete strip. It was a
surprise then on one of these smoggy mornings, to find myself drawing
several Indian Hornbills clearly outlined on the branches of a dead
tree in Modi Mander park a few metres from the main street. They were
directly overhead circled by the simple silhouettes of tropical
foliage, spade shaped leaves that taper to a long crimped thread,
long frond leaves and fine showers of bamboo all staggered into
shades of mist. The heavy beaked, long tailed hornbills grounded at
roost by the dense smog turned this corner of a polluted park into a
jungle scene of my imagination.</div>
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On one of
my free days this week, I walked to the fields around Junta. As if I
were ten again, I took the long route balancing on leats and ducking
behind bushes to avoid some children I knew would sweetly harass me
to breaking point and ruin any chances of drawing. My aim was to
reach the raised platform around a solitary banyan tree under which
was a small domed shrine. When I got there I found a new field had
been flooded that throughout the day, drew down more and more birds
until the whole 200 metre square was jammed with avian activity.
Numerous bright egrets sparkling in the wet mud, white against
yellowing smog, black drongos with their long quilled tails quivering
as they spin a flight back and forth from the bushes catching insects
on the wing, a ridiculously heavy billed kingfisher loudly zigzags
from perch to perch. Pond herons stalk more stealthily between the
erratic dance of the egrets, yellow wagtails and other small
passerines dip in and out the flooded furrows, two red naped ibis,
unmistakable long curved bills, scream out their intended approach
from the tip of a near by pylon. The Ibis arrive at the field edge
wearily probing their way around the periphery, red wattles lapwing
enter in force and more boldly. They are the first to be spooked
though, taking flight occasionally, after some unknown threat sending
the skittish egret up in a wheeling raucous flock along with other
previously unseen sandpipers and a single dotterel. The stealthy,
cryptic pond herons stay still as statues, cool and calm. I try to
draw the whole scene but need to zoom in on the birds. I work in my
sketchbook for a while using binoculars. Its nice to just relax and
strangely for me use a pencil to work things out. I build up a few
studies then draw an entire composition in front of me before return
with watercolour, lightly moving around the picture as birds fall
into position, reflections and light into place. The key is good
composition and rhythmic brushstrokes. I think this approach will
work for more complicated field paintings than I have been making.</div>
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Worn out
on Friday I procrastinate about leaving the house, the street, the
market, the mill, the back-roads, the fields; all are possibilities
all relentless. I look out my window for the 100<sup>th</sup> time
across the unkempt lawn, ficus rustling with the business of Macaques
foraging, towards the red slabbed walls of anther crumbling wing of
the house curving around a disjointed patio with its swimming pool
centre piece, a foot of half silted turquoise grey water at the
bottom. A dumpy silhouette on the corner of a rusted, twisted
anti-macaque cage catches my eye, another on a vertical drainpipe;
too small and upright to be the ubiquitous pigeon. A quick look
through the binoculars confirms two Smyrna kingfisher, double the
size of our European kingfisher, but the same iridescent blue blaze
on its back, a rich chestnut brown head and flank and white breast.
Its red bill is proportionately longer and much thicker, the upper
mandible chevroned and lower one downwardly curved and heavy giving
it a near shoe bill shaped appearance. The kingfisher remain for near
enough two hours, allowing me to make several brush studies.</div>
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More
recently, I have discovered a river uptown attracting birds for all
the wrong reasons, as it runs black with raw sewage and clogged so
completely with rubbish it turns to a mire where pigs wade
accompanied by an egret entourage, black kites as well as the pond
herons and other water birds I found previously in the fields. The
main street crosses this swampy travesty, temples line its banks, and
people live all around in the fowl stench. It's corrupted, fowled,
distressing, wild, precious and sacred.</div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-14832213822349474812017-11-15T22:15:00.000-08:002017-11-18T00:07:26.505-08:00IIFA Teaching Week 3 and 4: Figure in Space, Pattern and Colour<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We
started the week tutoring the painters. Our focus was to get the
students concentrated on drawing space in proportion. Starting in the
studio, we set up a simple subject of 2 pieces of A1 paper, one on
the floor and one on the wall in the corner of the room for the
students to draw. Before starting the students made schematic
drawings of the room, the A1 sheets, themselves and the space between
them and the paper. We had interesting results varying from areal
views, maps and plans made of energetic lines of trajectory, which
hopefully helped the class better understand the proportions of the
space they were drawing. Drawing the paper in the room produced some
good results, students enjoying it more than they expected, with some
pleasing drawings that included the artist as well as subject and
room. Next we introduced a model seated on the papers. Before making
a sustained drawing we showed examples of artists drawing interior
spaces such as Hockney and Martin Shortis, discussing, proportions,
scale, composition techniques such as cropping, peripheral vision and
foreground space for example. We then asked the students to make
thumbnail sketches, encouraging them to move around to explore
different compositions. This is something they very rarely do and we
had noticed previously that they have had a tendency to launch into a
large drawing starting with one detail and working outwards hoping
for the best. Many of the thumbnails were more successful than the
main drawings and some students used the session to make a whole
series. Three students based their main drawing on a thumbnail
composition and came up with interesting interpretations of the
figure in space using imaginative view points, grounded figure,
devices to lead the eye and sense of the artist's position in
relation to figure. All strong compositions that considered the
importance of tying the design to the edges of the page. </div>
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For the
afternoon we hang A1 sheets around the campus which is built out of
the old Modi cloth factory buildings. We pin the paper amongst the
derelict cloth factory sheds, tumbled down chimneys uncoiling to the
ground, down alleys stacked with old vents, in a boiler room, on the
bonnet of a rusted old Buick and on the tarmac lane cracked and
broken under the strain of weeds pushing up the soil. The students
found a sheet to draw using it as a reference point for scale,
proportion and composition to focus their landscapes and especially
examine the breadth of space in their view points. They began with
thumbnails and then more ambitious large charcoal drawings.</div>
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My
favourite class so far was on Tuesday with foundation, section A. We
had planned to work outside but the smog in the morning reduced
visibility so much it would have been impossible. Instead we set up
what we were going to do at one end of the classroom were there was a
large wall sculpture of a tree filling the whole wall, a nice
backdrop for our rather theatrical lesson. Our class was on figure in
space, leading on from last weeks introduction to drawing the figure
and would draw on classes I had learnt whilst training at
Whitechapel with Becki. Arranging the class was a military operation
with three tiers crammed into the small space, sitting on floor
stools upturned as board rests, sitting on stools and standing at the
back behind the wonderful sloped, teak stained Victorian type school
desks filling the classroom. We gavr the class tiny A5 sheets, asking
them to draw the class room, really explaining that they need to
include walls on bothside, the floor, ceiling and foreground which is
as important above us as below. We took this further explaining that
those on the sides of the room would have to draw behind them to get
the walls in. We did another small drawing asking them to this time
put themselves/their position in the drawing so they were really
exploring their entire field of view before starting with the main
piece.</div>
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We
stopped for a crit to look at the small drawings, which allowed us to
see and discuss how differently we all perceive space, evident in the
brilliant little felt tip drawings scattered at our feet in the
middle of the circle. We then got into our huddle to look at images
on my tablet, as I showed examples of different ways artists have
interpreted space in art from Duccio and Massacio to Nadal Chand
through to Hopper, Hockney, then Van Gogh, Bonnard and Tim Hyman
drawings.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO18sjd0ciFdqkgGK_96VAEDoVYs83UZYeDvBRZ9vIfPw3z4tJ5lsj_621ByuY8SyuoveOsThRXsn7GaNfvh1OiSF1jy2zcxcezA5BimsnokjiDMohZfQK4_SqJ6HYxZrtJ6-Ap0QVv2E/s1600/20171114_113803-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi_xOG6PCO0EKzu4L1OYlXEVf4YSZ7smPRiBXrJ_-EfucTUHwZitVqT2ZFqztfTElnTPN0FBMyFApBZMco_qCxXCfsO6VKuoRiX-FW5xL2j_6_oPc90-rqtgDobd0AwrCbj2n9iVd4QeE/s1600/20171114_113746-1-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1234" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi_xOG6PCO0EKzu4L1OYlXEVf4YSZ7smPRiBXrJ_-EfucTUHwZitVqT2ZFqztfTElnTPN0FBMyFApBZMco_qCxXCfsO6VKuoRiX-FW5xL2j_6_oPc90-rqtgDobd0AwrCbj2n9iVd4QeE/s200/20171114_113746-1-1.jpg" width="153" /></a>Before
getting back to work we reiterated how important planning in this way
is; many students helpfully shared their experiences of having to
redraw the space several times after incorrectly estimating the
proportions of the room. Using the small drawings as a guide, we
asked the students to make larger drawings of the room and also
introduced colours for them to use: two pastels one cold and one warm
colour as well as a choice of black or white paper (this was to
introduce a new element for variety but also were running out of
materials after being so liberal in the first two weeks). After 5
minutes drawing the space we introduced a model. After 10 we moved
the model to a different position in the room for the students to add
to their drawing. We repeated this and as the model moved around more
and more students were struggling to place the figure. To resolve
this we extended their drawings by adding more paper, so the work got
bigger and bigger. The scene became quite theatrical and it was
exciting to see the strange drawings that were being produced, not
least because of the mind bogglingly wonderful way some dealt with
the space and all in striking colour tones.</div>
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We
repeated the class for Section B&C, this time in the park but
with less success due to various issues. Probably to do with the
classes mood that day as well as the difference of being outside both
for their ability to focus and also because the task was more
difficult in an open space. A couple of student made some of the best
drawings in this session however.</div>
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Matisse
with Fashion Design and Textiles on Wednesday. Our first time with
these groups and they were great, they also have by far the best
studio; light, airy, open planned top floor with a glass exterior
wall opening out onto a lawn terrace. We made a set for them with
draped patterned fabric, rugs, flowers and fruit for them to draw
from. We introduced Matisse to them for the first time ever and
talked about using pattern shape and colour to draw something. We
took this further discussing how the space in Matisse work is on one
often flat plane, how this turns things into pattern and how we would
like to challenge the class to do the same with the set in front of
them. We worked on thumbnails and felt tips to begin with, which
worked well. The sustained drawings were harder as there was a
tendency to over work and fixate on detailed rendering of forms
instead of simplifying and focusing on compositional edits/decisions,
especially when we added a model. </div>
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We repeated this class with foundation on Tuesday 12 November. Rosy was back with us and since this was really her area she took the lead and the students produced some fantastic work. We had tweaked the class slightly so, for example, we worked on coloured paper. This group seemed to take very naturally to the idea of making patterned, rhythmic colour compositions by flattening the space they were drawing. The work produced certainly showed inspiration from the Matisse and Vuillard work we looked at but also the patterns, design and feel of Indian miniature painting in some. </div>
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For fashion this week we worked outdoors using ink, exploring pattern and mark-making again, leading on from the Matisse inspired class last week. We set up a scene against the large studio windows for a more sustained ink and brush drawing. Some of the work produced was very illustrative and really well thought out compositionally. Some used thick and thin lines with pattern and a variety of marks to create rhythm and balance in the work. Others used the single black tone and white of the paper to capture a sense of light and dark in and out the room. We moved on to colour using oil pastels on colour paper with ink. This introduced using limited colour with black and also new texture and mark making combining wet and dry materials and resist marks.</div>
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for painting we had prepared a lesson on sketchbook work. Making sketchbooks and working on the busy streets to gather source material for a studio drawing/painting later on. Due to various other commitments most of the class were absent so we postponed and instead went on a sketch crawl with the four students present. We explored a very interesting area around the school, which is the opposite end to where we live and definitely more down town. From blacksmith families in their tents on the roadside to the blue black toxic river damned with rubbish where pigs and egrets feast, this is a rough, gritty sometimes repulsive but vibrant place to explore and draw.</div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-34635303975444425422017-11-06T19:18:00.000-08:002017-11-06T19:19:39.426-08:00Rural Modinagar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2xfY2S0DqnC5H3v1bcih5CVj3zy9A2qJwkjZP1bduQRUzm2tln6A2ocBNEXZBConsMEO7G-XljKDZD-oFGYueAqEZQOGid3rYpn1WVJfBwlXw9O_G3OtkkkadSM7bnChCltMQNUlcs7E/s1600/20171107_082501-1_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1145" data-original-width="1600" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2xfY2S0DqnC5H3v1bcih5CVj3zy9A2qJwkjZP1bduQRUzm2tln6A2ocBNEXZBConsMEO7G-XljKDZD-oFGYueAqEZQOGid3rYpn1WVJfBwlXw9O_G3OtkkkadSM7bnChCltMQNUlcs7E/s400/20171107_082501-1_resized.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">03 November 2017</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Modinagar has grown up
spreading along the length of the Meerut highway. A short walk North
away from the road leads into quieter, domestic streets, mothers and
sisters in doorways, children on bikes, cakes of cow dung drying on
thresholds ready to fuel the cooking fire. A little further on, the
houses stop as abruptly as they began along the crush of the highway
and are replaced by fields. The road begins to meander, bullet carts
slow their pace right down, creaking in time to the sway of the
buffalo's hips.</div>
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The fields of double
overhead high sugar cane are ready to be harvested, other fields
already bare are ploughed ready for planting wheat. Some are furrowed
dusty brown, others recently irrigated are rich with clots of purple
black earth. This patchwork of colour is neatly stitched together by
a web of leats designed for running water from a well prominent in
the distant flat landscape. The narrow raised banks of the leats also
carry people through the countryside from field to field, balancing
on the crumbly soil like tightrope walkers. </div>
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Off the road I come
across a field of sugar cane being harvested by six or seven women
(they come and go). They are stripping the leaves and bundling them
up, these are carried away where I think they are used as fodder for
livestock. I sit on the verge drawing until one comes over and we
communicate through mime, she is warning me of snakes so I move to
the ploughed field where she says I'll be safe. Turning to move I see
a 2 metre snakeskin shed in the ditch amongst the scratchy dry
foliage. After I finish my drawing, I meet Ashok whose family owns
the farmland I am on and we eat the sugar cane given to me by one of
the workers. This cane field is 100 hectares he tells me and that it
is normal for farms to be 1000 ha or more in India. They will of
harvested this field in ten days.</div>
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I walk along the leats
where I find a spot that seems to overlook the decide between
industrial town and country. A family gathers brush wood, expertly
transporting it along the narrow leat paths. The father squats and
watches me paint form start to finish in complete silence. Later I
head back to the road where a man is flooding his field from the
leats. Metallic grey water calmly fills the ploughed furrows
advancing towards where I stand pushing ahead of it a tide of white
cattle egret, greedily feeding on fleeing insects. A drongo perches
on the wires above with kingfisher and the egret are around my feet.
I am joined by a large group of children, the only drawback to this
peaceful location being the constant entertainment and fascination I
provide to the residents. Meet S and finish the day drinking chai
with his family in a beautiful farmhouse.</div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-14281040001474863072017-11-04T21:01:00.003-07:002017-11-04T21:04:21.329-07:00Teaching Week 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Friday 27th Icebreaker with Foundation: Drawing Portraits</div>
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<u><span style="font-size: large;">Teaching at International Institute of Fine Art (IIFA)</span></u></div>
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<u><b>Monday 30th: </b>Painters</u><br />
<u>2nd and 3rd Years</u></div>
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<b>Intro to Figure</b> <b>Drawing</b></div>
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Drawing figure as whole (moving away from head to toe outline). Discussed this in relation to weight and posture, looking at Goya drawings. Rembrandt ink drawings in discussion of economy of line. Practically encouraged students to look at connections or 'invisible lines and angles' though the body to rapidly find the form. Doing this while emphasising weight and effect of gravity with importance of grounding the figure. Using charcoal for many different marks (not heavy outline).</div>
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Tonal Drawing. Used lighted brick to introduce drawing without lines; looking for contrasting tones, edges not lines. 30 minutes drawing figure, naturally began to include interior in drawings.</div>
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Figure in Space. Drawing the room - then introduced model. Discussed e.g. plains of figure matching room, space in extreme foreground in one students work (who had added page) created sense of sharing the space (words used: intimate, artist's view point) (re. Tim Hyman).</div>
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Afternoon. Working on single large drawing outside. Chose backdrop at end of road, old factory gates overgrown weeds and rusted up truck. Asked students to think about including whole space in drawing (using thumb nails to plan - seemed not to have done before) . Introduced figures one at a time in different areas of scene. Often extended pages. Encouraging to loosen drawing, rework drawing, use mark making and more tonal variation, think about spaces - calm/busy and breadth of vision i.e. peripheral.</div>
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<u><b>Tuesday 31st: </b>Foundation</u></div>
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<u>Groups B&C in Morning. Group A in Afternoon</u></div>
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<b>Introduction to Figure</b> <b>Drawing</b></div>
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Similar introduction as Monday class, followed by longer tonal drawing. This done by covering model with sheet to give basic shape defined tonally. Sheet removed and students tasked to render their figure over tonal figure. </div>
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<u><b>Wednesday 1st: </b>Applied Arts</u><br />
<u>2nd and 3rd year</u><br />
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<b>Character Portraits</b><br />
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Class set up in circle, students take turns to model two at a time in centre. Using ink and brush on an A1 sheet divided into 16 A5 sections for each portrait. Focusing on ways of drawing, use of media, marks, design and composition as means of visually communicating a message about the sitter i.e. personality, character. Once students got the hang of this, we introduced a charades type exercise where each sitter chose a piece of paper with a characteristic written on it which the students then had to communicate through their drawing. Each time we discussed the characteristic, asking for words to describe it and then a Hindi translation, sometimes encouraging the students to direct the pose in an appropriate way. Final exercise was a full figure drawing based on an event chosen at random, introducing students to using the space around the figure to build atmosphere.<br />
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-814986680017613542017-10-29T18:30:00.000-07:002017-11-01T06:48:25.929-07:00Rooftops<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Modinagar factories, late afternoon.</div>
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From the roof I look
over Modinagar station directly below and out across the maze of
angular rooftops dissipating into a milky haze of morning smog.
Macaques rummage unseen, deep inside the crowns of fruiting trees. A
train pulls into the 1000 metre long platform, cutting off the flow
of pedestrians on the line. People climb into the open doors and
disappear into the windowless carriages.</div>
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I cross the roof to the
West, climbing between a web of cables, through narrow doorways,
along terraces and around rusted cages built over satellite dishes
and skylights to keep off the macaques. Drains clog with green algae
and another is full of old light bulbs that crunch under my feet.
Concrete turning to rubble and dust mixed with guano cascades down
the walls, collecting on sills, ledges and the broad leaves of garden
creepers grown wild below.</div>
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To the West I overlook
the sugar mill; decorated lorries, bullet carts and tractor trailers
loaded with sugar cane form a cue below. Macaques clamber, unseen on
the high loads nonchalantly chewing on the cane, an easy target ( I
have seen pedestrians in town steal a stick from the slow moving
tractors as they cross the road, gangs of school boys snap canes on their knees, the unsuspecting victim rumbling down the road behind them). Pure white egrets pick amongst the
empty trailers and heavy machinery, looking for insects, small
mammals and reptiles. A family of mongoose weave in and out of
corrugated shacks built around a giant silo. The convoy of sugar cane
snakes around this silo and into warehouses where cranes transport
the sugary loads into the dark recesses beyond. Above, more silos
rise amongst a network of overhead pipes. Chimney stacks reach even
higher into a static clot of yellow haze.</div>
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In late afternoon the
sun hangs above the factory, a visible disk smothered by smog, an
orange crescent around it, purple brown below. Macaques troop through
the factory in a long procession appearing and disappearing over
rooftops as they travel into the distance.</div>
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As night falls on the
31<sup>st</sup>, the convoy into the factory is double thick snaking
out the gates into the main road. Lorries hidden from above by the
gigantic bundles, spindly canes piled high and overhanging. Macaques
clamber over them, bathed in phosphorescent light. A boy washes
clothes on the pavement below, men mill around, a bullet cart starts
rolling, the farmer takes a running jump onto the edge of the cart
whilst examining his bill of sale he carefully folds it into his
pocket and pulls at the rains of his buffalo. The factory is lit
internally, the workings now visible, mechanical claws lifting cane
and piling it high in the yellow glow. Vertical sheets of shadow beam
into the night sky. Techno rumbles out of the streets beyond the
railway, mingling with the workers radio station punctuated by the
clang of metal claw and woody cascading of cane.
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0Modinagar, Uttar Pradesh, India28.8316307 77.57795920000000928.720351200000003 77.416597700000011 28.9429102 77.739320700000007tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-37987882436060272612017-10-17T01:39:00.000-07:002017-10-29T01:41:44.975-07:00Himalayas: Trithan Valley<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Shrine to Shiva</div>
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18th. We stay four nights in
the foothills. Steep sided wooded valley, fiery yellow hillsides,
terraces climbing high, crystal clear river below depositing granite
beaches and boulders. The road runs along the Southern bank, our
home-stay is on the North side serviced by a zip-wire with a hanging
basket that you can pull yourself across on. Well trodden footpaths
lead up in every direction, weaving between terraced maize and
orchards. They link the farmhouses together, the highest must be
several hours walk up very steep terrain. 200 metres up from our
home-stay the path leads us onto the porch of one old farmhouse built
into the hill, a bright green wooden veranda jutting out on the first
floor, supported by simple wooden pillars and clad in red panels. The
walls are lime wash, heavy granite tiles on the roof and a small
shrine just visible under the eaves. A larger shrine is on a terrace
above the house, green painted wooden frame on a stone platform
supports a roof. Underneath the roof; offerings of grain, flowers and
gold woven material are arranged amongst more permanent calved
figures, tin metal snakes nailed to the eaves and rows of iron
tridents on the outside. People pass by this family house and shrine
as the path network runs from house to house through one another's
backyards. Many carry maize or the papery leaves stripped from the
cob used as cattle fodder. Many stop to talk, one mentions the shrine
dedicated to Shiva, recognisable in the weathered carved tablets
leaning around the shrine platform, they look ancient, older than the
farms and the people around, yet there just there in the open
untouched. Shiva is the Hindu god of the Himalaya, Great Shiva the
Re-Creator and Destroyer.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOx_OGQLtMMp2g3Mzj-Etu7KfcqA89UBky-6CuZeBmR75QbP98zQNSgYc8o6U-I4j32cOIMcE-oUexHvyZ5ahNw6CdNgG6ipEKx-iv0-lBp_uBQ0idd6aMZxGPQiDDQEDiYyA9OJOduIw/s1600/Trithan_Farm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1090" data-original-width="1600" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOx_OGQLtMMp2g3Mzj-Etu7KfcqA89UBky-6CuZeBmR75QbP98zQNSgYc8o6U-I4j32cOIMcE-oUexHvyZ5ahNw6CdNgG6ipEKx-iv0-lBp_uBQ0idd6aMZxGPQiDDQEDiYyA9OJOduIw/s400/Trithan_Farm.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
Trithan Farm</div>
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Over the next two days
we get to know the family of the red house; a couple married two
years ago, in their early twenties with a 18 month old girl and
another baby on the way. An old gentleman said to be the younger's
father but must be his grand father. He is kind, bringing us fruit
from the orchard, straightening out the shrine when he sees me
drawing, a beam is out of place he mimes and some overgrown weeds are
pruned. His wife would come and watch us paint fascinated by the
process, then drift off to do some washing or spread out the chillies
drying on the roof. The old man is death, determined in his
communication and resolute in getting his point across especially
when he disagrees with how I have drawn something; as is often the
case in India, drawings with an audience like this one become a
democratic process. His son/grandson tells me he is an artist, a very
good painter but my enquiry into this got lost in translation.
Through out the days painting the son would visit, sit with us
sometimes with his daughter who he sung to, sometimes his wife would
come too meeting passing neighbours on the footpath. The old man
loved to visit but he was seen as a nuisance to us by the family so
would be shouted at a lot if seen sneaking up to peek at what were
doing, poke and point at the work in progress. He was a humorous,
mischievous character, who once made us laugh by setting down a
bundle of kindling on the lawn and lighting it with sparks that burst
into such vicious flames that he had to fling himself away onto his
back.</div>
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19th. We spend Divali here,
invited into the family home of our hosts, sitting in an upstairs
room with grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins and nieces eating
sweets. Everything builds up to the fireworks which is an exciting
display managed by the youngest members of the family. As a rule the
lighted fireworks are something to run towards or throw at each
other. 4 -18 year olds immerse themselves in the close proximity of
the explosions unscathed, whilst we suffer minor cuts, burns and
tinnitus as we try to shelter close to the farmhouse only to be
ambushed with bangers by the elders on the balcony above. In the
shadows of the farmyard a grandmother goes about fetching things in
buckets completely unfazed by the mayhem her family are creating.</div>
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<br /></div>
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20th. This morning I get up
to work on the farmhouse painting whilst it is still cool. I swim in
the river at midday and manage to stay in the icy water a couple of
minutes this time. Once the shade hits the river shore around 3pm, I
start a new painting on the beach. I lay out a piece of the large
printing paper and with a broad brush wash in the valley sides. Then
the wooded banks now turning to silhouette against the orange
hillside to the East catching the last light.
</div>
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I finish the river
drawing in the morning before the sun is up, adding the crossing,
highlights to the foliage and the boulders on the beach. (um, rs, ru,
aur, rmg, qr and pas ...I think). </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWLNyOMkp0WapQUKdFuc1krm0Yu0KRNxybp75EhHBzTcfRgjD1_ng3AZwFfbp72dDVC4kPxZQC-maE7k1deN_dwgs8Jzc2mqpdoHKDpEP8m8bLhyphenhyphen-V0OidUcf25pXo4urybyzqMbNNzc/s1600/Trithan_River_Val.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1139" data-original-width="1600" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWLNyOMkp0WapQUKdFuc1krm0Yu0KRNxybp75EhHBzTcfRgjD1_ng3AZwFfbp72dDVC4kPxZQC-maE7k1deN_dwgs8Jzc2mqpdoHKDpEP8m8bLhyphenhyphen-V0OidUcf25pXo4urybyzqMbNNzc/s400/Trithan_River_Val.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
Trithan Stream and Crossing</div>
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Afterwards, hike with
Matt towards the East peak, making it as far as eye level with the
Griffon Vultures, soaring on the first high ridge, probably 800
metres or so above the river. The views are spectacular on every turn
as we climb quickly on steep paths. We make some sketches before
descending with a much greater perspective of this valley and reason
to return with so much more to explore. A pair of oriental white eyes
pick at a plumb tree on the way down, a stunning acid yellow bird the
size of a goldcrest, sparkling white eyes; gems hidden on the vast
hillside.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVO203XanaRDsQCGoR3PPMrvWTFjZSmrwyZNLFPnPSvSAE-GeYiUbvgbCtG132h0F8ZNpBO4oyQcNUy1b_V8VGGP3fkYmS5lbKLWGz690E1ltYc11FHxrEoJ1Cwey0iNp4uu5BiO9wXI/s1600/Griff_Vulture_Trithan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1175" data-original-width="1600" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVO203XanaRDsQCGoR3PPMrvWTFjZSmrwyZNLFPnPSvSAE-GeYiUbvgbCtG132h0F8ZNpBO4oyQcNUy1b_V8VGGP3fkYmS5lbKLWGz690E1ltYc11FHxrEoJ1Cwey0iNp4uu5BiO9wXI/s400/Griff_Vulture_Trithan.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
Himalayan Griffon Vulture</div>
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We walk into Gitiorni
and eat a bowl of the fresh spicy pasta they make here, before I pick
up a fishing permit and spend the rest of the afternoon spinning for
trout in the river. I catch seven brookies, two of which we eat along
with three more hooked out by our host's brother in a tenth of the
time it takes me. We leave early the next morning for Shimla,
travelling ten hours over about 250km on the local bus.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6AAy_QEyKSx0EeB01y26QDB3j0i1ZNKEGVuRX9uh56voyInmTR__jtdsHeQqhHDcgwZhcOdoeHFc7LUUkKqOArIr-zazsOslXKdk6_tOTNotu2Q8iXOhwjendl_35CBvjUSrmNn1Kets/s1600/High_Trithan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1158" data-original-width="1600" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6AAy_QEyKSx0EeB01y26QDB3j0i1ZNKEGVuRX9uh56voyInmTR__jtdsHeQqhHDcgwZhcOdoeHFc7LUUkKqOArIr-zazsOslXKdk6_tOTNotu2Q8iXOhwjendl_35CBvjUSrmNn1Kets/s400/High_Trithan.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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Trithan Valley from High</div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-30653485353771036222017-10-14T04:10:00.000-07:002017-11-01T06:45:42.023-07:00Himalayas One: Manali<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>14/10/17 Manali Towns</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><br /></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRvwqgTjZxeDW-ojrQEws3RrqNeHfQQQhKtYNaWWqqE46fKZMdiNEUfPK5oKp1REjqPr6DRtemRXz74PZGlN0iQ7iMxjwpO7Ij62KD2B2iG-yjUMA-1oUWEpHsp3CEGxlhaYFPk0aIb_M/s1600/Old+Manali.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1119" data-original-width="1600" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRvwqgTjZxeDW-ojrQEws3RrqNeHfQQQhKtYNaWWqqE46fKZMdiNEUfPK5oKp1REjqPr6DRtemRXz74PZGlN0iQ7iMxjwpO7Ij62KD2B2iG-yjUMA-1oUWEpHsp3CEGxlhaYFPk0aIb_M/s320/Old+Manali.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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From the temple, Old Manali evening</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">New Manali is booming,
hotels and holiday apartments are going up everywhere, steadily
filling in the skyline to block all but the highest peaks such as
Nasogi and Bashisht that still dominate the sharply rising valley.
For the last couple of hours daylight we explore the surrounding
park; paths winding under a giant conifer forest canopy and amongst
glades strewn with huge glacial dumped boulders. In a clearing we
arrive at an unusual temple: wooden framed construction with steep
teepee shaped granite tiled roof within a round outer pitched roof.
The doorway and beams are carved with figures and all around the
outside hang horned skulls of Ibex, blue sheep and other mountain
animals. Stooping through the doorway into the surprisingly small,
thickly plastered interior that muffles all the outside noise, I find
a simple shrine dug under the floor in one corner, opposite is a fire
pit and in-between the two sits a plain dressed man amongst an
arrangement of brass dishes of dye powders, grains of corn and puffed
rice, orange marigolds for people to buy and make offerings of.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We walk another
kilometre or two, crossing the river to old Manali. Steep streets
wind past hippy hangouts, chill zones, cafes offering real coffee and
agents selling trekking tours each pumping out there own solemn
variation of a Goan trance beat. Real coffee and chicken burgers can
wait as we push on into the oldest part of town where some of the
traditional half timber long house type buildings with jettied second
floors still remain, all be it amongst the concrete new builds and
extensions that seem to be smothering the valley. Livestock occupy
parts of the long houses and loose hay is stored in the upper parts
of some, or in separate ricks neatly billowing out between the wooden
beams on all sides.</span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We reach the temple at
the top of the village and look out over the rooftops at the awesome
peaks beyond, changing blue to ochre and deep orange as the clouds
spill over, the sun drops behind us and the crisp cold air rolls in.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>15/10/17 Rhotang Pass</b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><br /></span></b>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbTNX_hnL4EyxK2ILpc4ZNYOaH6Vvg-4OPbwnVzKd5yaXyUR_MOjbQpvZB-a3Lpb0jK0i-bR1HAICWlhN5hA-WWG73YGZ2b4rWIUZJJcqEY-P3tFYbBBbw_75v-GiwqliV3s3LOTgirbQ/s1600/Rhotang1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1098" data-original-width="1600" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbTNX_hnL4EyxK2ILpc4ZNYOaH6Vvg-4OPbwnVzKd5yaXyUR_MOjbQpvZB-a3Lpb0jK0i-bR1HAICWlhN5hA-WWG73YGZ2b4rWIUZJJcqEY-P3tFYbBBbw_75v-GiwqliV3s3LOTgirbQ/s320/Rhotang1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Prayer Flags, Rhotang La</div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Start the day with
omelettes, two eggs beaten in a metal cup with milk, onions, salt and
chilli; fried on a gas stove with four pieces of bread soaking up the
mixture, folded up and served on a paper plate with chia, cooked one
at a time by a smiley street seller as we enjoy the cool morning air.
After we hire a car to take us up the Rhotang Pass, 3978 metres up,
gateway to the high Himalayas. Beyond here I imagine true
wildernesses existing in legendary places like the Spiti valley,
territory of wild blue sheep and the almost mythical snow leopard or
beyond the next, much more treacherous pass, Rangcha La, a few miles
on where landslides and avalanches cut of the civilisations beyond
for much of the year. Halfway up, our driver points out a tunnel
under construction that will bypass Rangcha La making the outlying
region easily accessible when it opens next year, surely this will
have a revolutionising affect on the region. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga8knYnGGAvdJX2x-eheakUASUuufOF0f_Iy2pc0JRYgWb13PS5km0-6NNq3niUWxbGN6VR3Q-9fPA68Br_rui0Zmgl00LxNhobNqeyZEQIZS7PBJw3RzdTqryp5mR3m_AfHBB-zHnUBI/s1600/Rhotang2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="1600" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga8knYnGGAvdJX2x-eheakUASUuufOF0f_Iy2pc0JRYgWb13PS5km0-6NNq3niUWxbGN6VR3Q-9fPA68Br_rui0Zmgl00LxNhobNqeyZEQIZS7PBJw3RzdTqryp5mR3m_AfHBB-zHnUBI/s320/Rhotang2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Looking into the Chenab River valley; snow coming down.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In truth the Rhotang
Pass is far from this kind of isolation and adventure, but a popular
attraction for Indian tourists, who pile out of cars in 1980's onesie
ski suits and long fur coats, hired on the roadside for a couple
hundred rupees. There are chia sellers, offers of rides on a mule or
photos with a yak, but most of the visitors aim for a selfie in a
snowy scene, in complete polarity to the landscapes where most of
them have come from elsewhere on the subcontinent. As slightly
eccentric looking Westerners with easels, paints and drawing boards
we however, begin to rival this awesome backdrop in the selfie
stakes. All this going on, hardly detracts from the epic panorama of
deep valleys, vast peaks spun with clouds that build and fade and
build with dramatic speed, sometimes clearing enough to reveal the
higher peaks hidden for hours. An animated landscape, shifting,
reinventing kaleidoscope, a never static, panning out on every side.
We paint and draw through flurries of sleet and snow, pausing only to
catch our breathe in the thin air.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIAFHfxTgRWFttFz-o422qxaDjajcNBZL4AfgygHNqsEQk0jd0Q3ICJRVHu2ZudMNHlt897N385Lhq1K27zAcY1ueUoNY7EmqRRPtHg0GcN5edxBQlkePdxDorNAlfr19LvDpSAo3zBQU/s1600/Rani_Nallah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1337" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIAFHfxTgRWFttFz-o422qxaDjajcNBZL4AfgygHNqsEQk0jd0Q3ICJRVHu2ZudMNHlt897N385Lhq1K27zAcY1ueUoNY7EmqRRPtHg0GcN5edxBQlkePdxDorNAlfr19LvDpSAo3zBQU/s320/Rani_Nallah.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Rani Nallah</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZleEgeerTPYFvyUOkQcfJGFHA2_A4uN5-vuzHN6GLD5izMlciOZm3QR5U3d-oSdmonSq3k_y9nLZLjeb5kZXPf2rJSEYMrrrJ_NUb_P7yoIy6hqj4-bnro1qNI6JhAu_jPkiMfYEMhcM/s1600/Rani_Nallah_Drw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="1600" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZleEgeerTPYFvyUOkQcfJGFHA2_A4uN5-vuzHN6GLD5izMlciOZm3QR5U3d-oSdmonSq3k_y9nLZLjeb5kZXPf2rJSEYMrrrJ_NUb_P7yoIy6hqj4-bnro1qNI6JhAu_jPkiMfYEMhcM/s320/Rani_Nallah_Drw.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Rani Nallah - Scale</div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>16/10/17 Beas River</b></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrq9bJL71nL52yRUKnD8DwpWQUDtabntZinl5JgBZNuRpqo89qQQaansVrtBWNTu6OhtrvYi6eOrt8o4_H2-wzhOAmSx8AWtw1cVNbc5Q4-raI8-Kk-icwHfUoOUzyqehokfrwNHhdMME/s1600/BeasLit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1180" data-original-width="1600" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrq9bJL71nL52yRUKnD8DwpWQUDtabntZinl5JgBZNuRpqo89qQQaansVrtBWNTu6OhtrvYi6eOrt8o4_H2-wzhOAmSx8AWtw1cVNbc5Q4-raI8-Kk-icwHfUoOUzyqehokfrwNHhdMME/s320/BeasLit.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Beas River at the Manasula confluence</div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We walk up river from
Manali Model this morning, over the steel girder military bridge
spanning the gorge and up river from the town to where views open up
towards the Solang Valley and snow capped Patalsu Peak in the North.
The extent of the river torrent in wet season is made apparent by the
200m or so width of the dry boulder strewn river bed. The main dry
season channel of icy clear water runs a bright cerulean blue in the
pools between the torrents. The valley is narrow and wooded with
mighty conifers that run up the steep valley sides. Brightly coloured
farmhouses cling to the river banks and high up the steep valley on
improbable terrain, precarious amongst the new build resorts and
guest houses going up all around. Above the road, golden bill magpies
flop from tree to tree dragging their long streaming tails, stray
dogs loyally trot alongside us, dropping away at invisible
boundaries. We find a way down onto the river bed, where tin roofed
shacks sprawl down the banks from the road, families finding space to
live below the flood line. A limping dog that tagged along a
kilometre back springs in to life at the site of hens scratching up
invertebrates. The commotion alerts some women washing clothes in a
brackish stream at the edge of the settlement, their clothes; lime
green, chilli red, fiery orange look brilliant amongst the neutral
grey river bed stones. I notice for the first time, a tawny coloured
cow motionless amongst the boulders behind me, a social plover reels
closely overhead, griffon vultures cruise along the rising air at the
edge of the ridge a thousand metres beyond. By midday it is too hot
and flat bright for painting, so we wait until early evening to find
a new spot at the confluence of the Manaslu river looking back up the
Beas. The Seven Sisters and the 5932 metre Hanuman Tibba peak rise in
the distance, snaring the first wisps of cloud seen all day,
reflecting the last colours of sun light.</span></div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0Manali, Himachal Pradesh, India32.2396325 77.1887145000000632.18591 77.108033500000062 32.293355 77.269395500000059tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-37565624932821980942017-10-13T05:10:00.000-07:002017-10-25T05:12:29.156-07:00Delhi Rush Hour<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's 8.10pm and Delhi
won't let us go. Our two taxis are jostling forward in five lanes of
traffic on the Mehraui Gurgaon road, a fifth of our journey down and
it's been an hour since we left Sanskriti 4km away; the bus we have
booked leaves at 9.15pm. It's time for a change of plan, a quick
phone call to coordinate and we divert to Haus Kaus metro station,
from where we can just make the 50 minute journey to the bus station
at Kashmere gate. Ground to a halt again, our drivers pulls up on the
free-way, point in the direction of the metro and tell us to run, any
problems call us they say. </div>
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<br /></div>
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We run between the grid locked vehicles
with the flowing melee of rickshaws and mopeds, looking for a way
underground. Down the escalator at the station, jam our back packs
through the security -just fits, forgot my travel card, no time to
cue, do what the locals do and push through to the kiosk and urgently
wave notes at the attendant – it works! Onto the platform and spot
the others as a train comes in and it's rush hour on the Friday
before Diwali so the carriages are packed solid to the doors. When
they open people push on regardless and the carriage gives way and
people compress and we nearly make it but not quite, try another
door. No room, We're on the verge of giving in, sweating and
exhausted, desperate faces in that split second pause before the
doors shut on a full carriage sealing the fate of our getaway when a
gap appears and Doug miraculously steps in and I step up flattening
myself enough for the doors to close, cutting of the others who mouth
to us to 'hold the bus'. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The next gruelling hour on that train is a
trial of contorted compressed discomfort, testing stamina and
physical strength just to stay upright and on the train. In rush hour
on the Delhi Metro getting on a full train does not guarantee you
will stay on the train until you want to get off or that you will be
able to get off when your stop comes around. This is because the
density of people pushing to get off becomes a powerful force that
can easily sweep you away unless you push against it. The area around
the doors when this force meets the push of people wanting to get in,
because no one waits for people to get off, is the most tumultuous
crush area. This also where you need to be to have a choice of
getting off. If were to hold the bus for the others we need to
physically fight to stay by the doors and on the train to stand a
chance of getting off at our stop. As we hit the busy central
stations I use all my strength to resist the crush of boarding
passengers, clinging to the roof rail, swaying like a battered piece
of drift wood in the torrents of the Himalayan valleys we so
desperately want to get to tonight. Of course everyone smiles, grins
and laughs with us at the absurdity of it as we all elbow, punch and
forcefully rub against each others bodies. Thankfully, enough people
want to disembark at Kashmere gate with us that the torrent
out-forces those getting on and we are safely jettisoned onto the
platform. </div>
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Five minutes before the
bus leaves I'm elected to run on ahead, leaving Doug to run with the
bags. Up the escalator and I'm immediately lost, no time to decipher
signs I ask everyone at every turn where the bus station is. Up and
out the station onto the street, I keep asking and soon people are
pointing the way before I get to them. The buses are hidden under a
multi storey car park so I need this help, people keep pointing
shouting when I go the wrong way. I am so literally relying on there
waving arms that I end up at one point jumping over a wall I am
pointed at, straight into a police man. We hesitate as he calculates
my offence, sees the desperation behind my sheepish grin and with a
disapproving shake of the head releases me. I speed walk a few paces
out of respect, then sprint to the security. Bag through and into the
concourse – I look in dismay at the departure board, I cannot
decipher the Hindi script but can see the time of our bus is not
there. Another man wants to help me, he wants to show me the bus but
I ask him to point, only 2 minutes to go. There are bus stands
everywhere but I ask enough people that I find our Manali bus pulling
out and manoeuvring like they do in eagerness to leave. The conductor
is still on the ground and he says no problem to waiting five minutes
when I ask, knowing the others will need ten at least. My Indian
phone runs out of credit, so I can't direct the others. I go looking
back to the escalator, concourse, departure board but nothing, it's
too soon. Back to the bus plead for five more minutes, bus driver
this time, angry, 'no waiting for passengers' as he climbs into the
cab. I think the conductors more sympathetic, its an eleven hour
journey to Manali after all, what's 15 minutes now. Even so, I doubt
he can override the driver, chomping at the bit to get stuck into the
traffic. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The others must be lost, I run for one last look doubting
the driver will wait, then I spot them jogging along the stands, I
shout and wave, there going towards the bus which is pulling out, I
run back, bang on the drivers window and he stops, boot opens, our
bags are on. All five of us have made it, sweating, exhausted,
bruised and unprepared for an 11 hour bus ride. After beating the
Delhi rush hour however, we gratefully savour every traffic jammed,
pot holed, precipitous verged, blind bend overtaking moment of the
journey North to Manali. I get a call, it's our taxi driving to
'thank god we made it'.</div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-44454960822466387902017-10-12T05:38:00.000-07:002017-10-25T05:39:09.255-07:00Delhi Birds<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvZVc3mapvytEwh3gLkIC_37OC49X972U-eX0ktHlaG29J2_Rh4aE1Y9JSxujRVuY-BOdPSD69TEn1jTsg35UuR-QKRdwjw7XhHK0XDmbAHzuVRoMD3wZO_x4Y_hGwCL8dCGChGiGi6nc/s1600/Kites_Jama_Masjid12_10_17+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvZVc3mapvytEwh3gLkIC_37OC49X972U-eX0ktHlaG29J2_Rh4aE1Y9JSxujRVuY-BOdPSD69TEn1jTsg35UuR-QKRdwjw7XhHK0XDmbAHzuVRoMD3wZO_x4Y_hGwCL8dCGChGiGi6nc/s400/Kites_Jama_Masjid12_10_17+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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Black kites, Meena</div>
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Returned to Jama Masjid to look for the black kites and find out more about if and why they congregate in this area. I walk around the mosque, on each side is an entrance, each slightly different; North side is where coach loads of tourists enter, East overlooks the Bazaar where people meet and chat on the way up the steps. South is on the road where car parts are sold and the auto rickshaws park up forcing pedestrians to walk with the traffic. A teenager is chasing a younger boy around the steps with a belt then lashes out a stray dog, a beggar is ignored, a small girl slips her hand from her mothers so she can skip in and out of the unmanned security gate at the entrance. Across the road is Kalan Mahal street, mainly butchers shops and restaurants preparing mutton and chicken. This seems the most likely source of waste to attract the kites.</div>
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I head back to the South side and into the bizarre that leads away from the mosque and along the wasteland, Meena Park, where the kites are flocking. The ground is hard and washed out umber with a weak fringe of grass tufts smothered with dust and building debris. Trees on the far side shade a small group of figures. The walled bank rises 20 metres to the street, cubes of aerial laced flats jostle higher still into a smoggy smudge. A dumper vehicle is parked, a man changes into a shalwar kameez and another paces in wide strides throwing his arms in the air grinning and proclaiming his views to the sky. Children and elderly men watch me draw, discussing my progress and arguing over which bit of the scene I am currently drawing. A woman in a sari, her child perched on the wall above me, physically follows my hand from paint box to paper, leaning in and out or rifles though the pages of my sketchbook whenever she can. One word I recognise is repeated over and over around me, 'cheel' the name for black kite in Hindi and Urdu, it seems to please the onlookers that I am drawing their birds, they admire them too I think. The cheels cousin the red kite was extinct in London by 1600 and almost nation wide until the hugely successful reintroduction programme brought them back.</div>
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As I finished drawing, a man approached me who I could question about the reason for the kites and confirmed that this area was used as a dump. The dumper moves and the flock draws in, magnetised to this visual cue. The bucket is empty though and the flock moves away expanding outwards, but without disipating. I wonder why there is no rubbish on this dump unless it is specific to meat in which case the kites play an important role in the city's sanitation. And will I find out anything about the man I saw from a distance feeding the kites?<br />
<br />
Back at Sanskriti, sticky dust of the city washed away with a bucket, I find a spot in the garden to enjoy the final glow of orange light you get here in the evenings. Still trees turn quickly to silhouettes, flecks of leaves sprinkled across the subdued sky. A crooked spindly shape breaks the silhouettes in ungainly flight. Another one a few minutes later; two grey hornbills going to roost in a tall fig tree behind the abandoned house.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0sHNMwXhyphenhyphenx9JjHADCj0FCf-qlIF04wJeyVbMmqUgIBjQjURhtrFPQu3D7oTbK8xjb2v8C-3LAFcOPcj6TXj4HUHjtGZDmwtGvMMFFi9FdR7UeFjZ5ULt6GUW8MxAk3lIXUzIqZoUW7ms/s1600/Hornbill_12_10_17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1197" data-original-width="1600" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0sHNMwXhyphenhyphenx9JjHADCj0FCf-qlIF04wJeyVbMmqUgIBjQjURhtrFPQu3D7oTbK8xjb2v8C-3LAFcOPcj6TXj4HUHjtGZDmwtGvMMFFi9FdR7UeFjZ5ULt6GUW8MxAk3lIXUzIqZoUW7ms/s400/Hornbill_12_10_17.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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Grey hornbill, dusk at Sanskriti Kendra</div>
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<br />
(Vashiel)</div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-2363140842954549162017-10-11T03:19:00.000-07:002017-10-13T03:20:21.261-07:00Arrival in Delhi: 8 -11 October<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Ceramic sculpture at Sanskriti</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Our base for the next
few days is Sanskriti Kendra, a complex of art studios and museums
housing collections of ceramic sculpture, textiles and everyday
objects from across India. It is built on the site of an old farm
like many of the neighbouring villas along the quiet wooded, and
gated, road linking us to the busy Mehrauli Gurgaon road. The sounds of life along
this road are always in the background, beyond our peaceful shaded
enclave. We walk along Mehrauli Gurgaon road, turning left at our
junction to reach the nearest village (Ghitorni) and left to get to
the metro station, linking us to the city centre. The road is a dual
carriageway, though the traffic makes its own lanes and often takes
over the brick paved footpath as well, especially during rush hour or
to go against the flow. The metro runs down the middle, raised 30
metres in the air on concrete pillars, it snakes and twists although
the road is straight. Light from the sky opaque with smog glows
between the pillars in the morning and turns pink in the evening.
Lighting at night is from the headlights. A digital billboard flashes
regular air quality readings above the road in severe red script,
cows fill their bellies in one of the unofficially designated dumps
where rubbish spills across the walkway. The way to Ghitorni is lined
with furniture shops, before a narrow street lined with food sellers,
market stalls and high adobe apartments, forks off and branches into
a maze of squeezing people, motorbikes and rickshaws crossing,
pushing and weaving there way through. Going the opposite way we
reach the Metro station, a massive hull of concrete hanging under the
snaking line. It is painted with incredible murals in fresh new
paint. Between these two points the urban sprawl is contained to this
highway, beyond is wood and scrub, which from the raised vantage
point of the metro platform spreads several kilometres on either
side. Despite the roaring energy and claustrophobia of urban life
being carried along the road it feels rural, as our way is shaded by
overhanging forest, in equal measures to towering concrete, green and
fresh from the monsoon rains.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>9th.
Gurdwara. Chandni Chowk & Nai Sarak</b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Volunteers making chapatis at the Gurdwara</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Listened
to prayer (drums) continuous people walking in and out sitting in
cool corners. Separate entrance into food hall. Kitchens, drawing
volunteers making bread. Men cooking, transferring food between vast
pots lined along gas cookers. Cook for 5000.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Nai
Sarak, densely populated street every space utilised for stalls
spilling onto pavement. Chai cooked under the counter of stalls, food
carts along the street. Dense crush of rickshaws, auto-rickshaws and
bikes. Tangled mass of cables take up the overhead room and the tall
sides of the narrow street rise in a complex tessellation of
terraces. Utilising this domain, only the troops of Macaques move
freely, whilst at street level the crush of human life swells and
floods into every space as the traffic ebbs and flows and jams.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In
the evening I paint amongst the rows of terracotta sculptures outside
the museum at Sanskriti.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>10th.
National Museum. Lodi Gardens</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaENpUuSUgx6ldM-w6tuStubyVTeSwa2DMyG-REuFLt8XVlv4b0F7eJSPyJDpGqXJKsdvQXVY1Fci6BlwpUZI_jtPQmTpILro3o_zkeX42-gjB3Ks3mwq2dOjcrKQ_Thhr9daWv4TiEBE/s1600/Krishna_Radha_10_10_17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1122" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaENpUuSUgx6ldM-w6tuStubyVTeSwa2DMyG-REuFLt8XVlv4b0F7eJSPyJDpGqXJKsdvQXVY1Fci6BlwpUZI_jtPQmTpILro3o_zkeX42-gjB3Ks3mwq2dOjcrKQ_Thhr9daWv4TiEBE/s200/Krishna_Radha_10_10_17.jpg" width="140" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">An
amazing collection of miniature paintings at the national gallery.
Spent the whole visit in two rooms of miniatures, 1st Pahaji
(17-19th) paintings and the many tangent styles of the regions under
it. 2</span><sup><span style="font-size: 11pt;">nd</span></sup><span style="font-size: 11pt;">
the Rajasthan movement and it's region styles; included discovering
Nidal Chand from Jodhpur, (layering of space and use of complex and
calm). I find I can paint in the museum as no one stops me! so free
to explore through colour studies. 2 minutes before we go I find
'Krishna peeping through the trees at bathing Radha' (Mewar, Choaka).
This is a small landscape of nocturnal palms and pools painted in
tones of entirely the same blue, then yellow pink figure in contrast
create incredible atmosphere. Makes colours brighter more powerful. I
see this later in the week on the spice market terraces: light moats
fall through chinks in the canopy highlighting ochres, orange and red
in the warm shadows, contrasting with the lilac walls of the
quadrangle in cooler light. (I lost this spice market drawing on the
way home. From memory could limit the palette at least for initial
drawing and exaggerate e.g. WB for CB then W over).</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGllpMhQLZo8ddPFXarzBwAKi_sFIasJP6X48MvUbgAxjPrWhXlvalSQxTZfwT0RYUyjSu6EfC_GKhueUmm0wjnv6RmjEbPY8NBhJhcsZSdu8raJI6ctEETdyLt_td9wuJeD8YYI49xsg/s1600/Lodi_Kite_10_10_17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1161" data-original-width="1600" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGllpMhQLZo8ddPFXarzBwAKi_sFIasJP6X48MvUbgAxjPrWhXlvalSQxTZfwT0RYUyjSu6EfC_GKhueUmm0wjnv6RmjEbPY8NBhJhcsZSdu8raJI6ctEETdyLt_td9wuJeD8YYI49xsg/s400/Lodi_Kite_10_10_17.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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Black kites at the Bada Gumbad tomb, Lodi Gardens</div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">After
the museum we went to Lodi Gardens. Peace, calm, lovers walking hand
in hand. Beautiful Mogul tombs and and mosques rise above lush mature
ficus trees so our discovered as we approach. Here Black kites gather
on a dead tree and rose ringed parakeets nest in the cracks of the
ruins. (look so much better here than West London) </span>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>11th.
Jama Masjid. Spice market on Khari Baoli</b></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3hmM4bhONu6mdwWmjhcxUX2lvf9sh2mWjwOOvfdN0EMhyphenhyphenl-I81t98_-fxZDRfytWBy3UmS5-irPd8neuipmGT3ehPCq1z5fXUVc6cADCT4CJT8lYsKazIVFkU5OTZWav_OWxXvk2iHQ/s1600/Jama_Majid_11_10_17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3hmM4bhONu6mdwWmjhcxUX2lvf9sh2mWjwOOvfdN0EMhyphenhyphenl-I81t98_-fxZDRfytWBy3UmS5-irPd8neuipmGT3ehPCq1z5fXUVc6cADCT4CJT8lYsKazIVFkU5OTZWav_OWxXvk2iHQ/s400/Jama_Majid_11_10_17.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
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Black Kites in front of Jama Masjid</div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In
the morning we visited Jama Masjid. Climbing the steps to this mosque
offers great views across the bizarres towards the Red Fort. Above us
circle over hundreds of black kites – a scavenging bird of prey
that soars and floats like a toy kite, using its long forked tail as
a rudder. I follow the birds to the source of this mega flock,
leading me through the Mosque courtyard and out the East gate. Here I
look down onto a park, although it looks like a wasteland. At the
centre of this space a man in a white kameez is throwing scraps of
meat into the air – above him a whirling column of 500 kites rises
100 metres high. They are stacked almost, almost queuing to position
themselves throwing distance from the man and catch one of the scraps
he tosses up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">After
this we visit the spice market at the Western end of Chandni Chowk,
goods laid out on three levels of terraces inside a quadrangle. Dust
form sacks of chillies, turmeric, cinnamon fill the air so that
everyone breathing the air coughs and sneezes, including the sellers.
A constant stream of couriers bring sack load after sack load through
the narrow levels, outside the road is blocked with carts of spice.
Its stifling but the visual overload is addictive – return.</span></div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-57220509815984459082015-11-22T07:15:00.000-08:002016-01-02T07:16:24.628-08:00St Paul's Peregrine before Storm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEL0qe51zJzA9fJrY_dLRrVoeCeext_Vd4yAJHLzTcHBp-wqOxYdQQSDMaPMVfIeCSqKBGuxt6XMQ-4ApHg8Y0sDGGZRiqdZopTNeN3DCJwpHcXaUf181ztVWWUNK1_giIhRh_LfeoLxI/s1600/stPaulssml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEL0qe51zJzA9fJrY_dLRrVoeCeext_Vd4yAJHLzTcHBp-wqOxYdQQSDMaPMVfIeCSqKBGuxt6XMQ-4ApHg8Y0sDGGZRiqdZopTNeN3DCJwpHcXaUf181ztVWWUNK1_giIhRh_LfeoLxI/s400/stPaulssml.jpg" width="276" /></a></div>
<br />Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-13883537574276880952014-10-04T12:02:00.000-07:002014-10-07T12:04:05.670-07:00LOOMERY SCROLLS EXHIBITION<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">18 - 28 SEPTEMBER 2014<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A drawing
installation made by Chris Wallbank in collaboration with Professor Tim
Birkhead for Festival of the Mind, exhibited throughout Sheffield Cathedral. </span></b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b>INTRODUCTION</b><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Skomer Island off the Pembrokeshire coast, is famous
for its unspoilt scenery, carpets of wild bluebells in the spring and
populations of breeding seabirds in the summer. It is also the site of one of
the most important scientific studies of one particular seabird species: the
common guillemot. This study was established by Tim Birkhead, Professor of
Behavioural Ecology at The University of Sheffield and a leading expert of
ornithology who has returned to Skomer to monitor the island's breeding
guillemots every year since 1972. The value of his research lies in 40 years of
experience and data collection. The long term insight it presents reveals
remarkable natural history discoveries of a species that can live for 30 years,
returning to the exact same tiny breeding site to reproduce with the same
partner year after year. The guillemot breeds at high densities on cliff ledge
colonies known as loomeries, laying a single egg on the bare rock. Under these
conditions they develop loyalties, alliances, friendships and rivalries which
makes guillemot society one of the most complex and fascinating of the entire
animal kingdom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Guillemots are highly vulnerable to oil pollution
which has been a major factor in the species’ overall decline. Skomer's
population today is a considerable 25,000 pairs, but even this is a long way
off the 100,000 pairs estimated to be on
the Island as recently as the 1930's. In February 2014 consistently heavy
storms, the likes of which have become more common as a result of climate
change, led to the death of at least 40,000 seabirds including a high
proportion of guillemots. These birds were counted from those found washed up
in 'wrecks' along the Atlantic Coast of Northern Europe and only reflect a
small proportion of the total loss at sea. Three times the average number of
Skomer-ringed birds were found dead during this period. Guillemot populations
can withstand very occasional years of high mortality, but a run of them could
spell disaster and the added pressures of oil pollution, on-going depletion of
fish stocks and climate change make that a real possibility. Long term studies
like Tim Birkhead's are vital for understanding the health of a guillemot
population, but they also enable us to gauge the state of a constantly changing
marine environment. It is tragic then that Natural Resources Wales has recently
withdrawn the modest funding needed to run Skomer's guillemot monitoring
project, disregarding the benefits of continuing this long-term study.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">In 2014, for what may be the last season of the long
term guillemot project on Skomer, visual artist Chris Wallbank, supported by
The University of Sheffield’s Festival of the Mind, travelled to the Island to
draw the loomeries that form the basis of Tim Birkhead's research. Wallbank
worked on a large scale, necessary to capture the impressive size and formation
of a loomery with enough detail to describe many of the individual birds and
behaviour that the monitoring project focuses on. His method was to observe
with a telescope, panning through the mass of squabbling, preening, copulating
birds, unrolling and re-rolling a large paper scroll as the drawing progressed.
The resulting <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>work exhibited around the cathedral, tracks
the changing dynamic of Skomer's Loomeries throughout the breeding season. Made
from direct observation and informed by Tim Birkhead's insight into guillemot
society, close examination of these drawings reveals the order hidden within
Skomer's spectacular loomeries.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b>THE SCROLLS</b><br />
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<b style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">BULL HOLE LOOMERY, 9 - 10 MAY</b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The guillemots in these drawings have recently returned to
breed at their loomery located on the
scree and gullies that cascade down the cliffs of a precipitous inlet on Skomer
Island known as bull Hole. It was early spring when this drawing was made, but
Bull Hole still roared with the surge of a long fetching Atlantic swell and
winds gusting over 40 knots. Even this storm however could not drown out the
raucous chorus of the thousands of guillemots at the loomery on the other side
of the inlet. Their breeding season had begun and the whole colony buzzed with social interaction as returning
birds re-established old territories and reinforced bonds with their partners
and neighbours. Guillemots are capable of great tenderness towards one another,
developing friendships which at the very least serve to strengthen a loomery's
cohesion and its defence against predatory gulls and ravens. Displays of
aggression between guillemots are nearly as common in the loomery and squabbles
over territory frequently erupt into brutal fights. This is particularly true
at the beginning of the season when males desperately attempt to steal
copulations from the partners of other males.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The loomery at Bull Hole was the focus of Professor
Tim Birkhead's research when he first arrived on Skomer Island in 1972. In the
lower part of the left hand scroll it is possible to see some of the artificial
slate ledges he and his student Ben Hatchwell installed to enhance breeding
success at Bull Hole. In these early years of his Skomer research the island's
guillemot population averaged 2000 pairs, a fraction of today's total, now in
the region of 25,000 pairs. This increase in guillemots on Skomer bucks the
trend, because most of the UK's breeding sites, particularly in the Northern UK
are in decline. </span><i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Read posts on making Bull Hole Loomery </span><a href="http://cwallbank.blogspot.co.uk/search?updated-max=2014-05-13T04:49:00-07:00&max-results=7" style="font-size: 12pt;">here</a><span style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtBbAtsLJ4sRHLI_qNwQYcsTY8d3HAkVtNnL4LTvo7f28qsKbo8ifOrkUMZjEXcBj4re6HJs16Ol2eipezeUGvTPV9MyHWVlL3Iw0p95ursX0R2SL7T-SmnE19f7YlTKVEh3nGOSWlFw/s1600/Hb_6083SML.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtBbAtsLJ4sRHLI_qNwQYcsTY8d3HAkVtNnL4LTvo7f28qsKbo8ifOrkUMZjEXcBj4re6HJs16Ol2eipezeUGvTPV9MyHWVlL3Iw0p95ursX0R2SL7T-SmnE19f7YlTKVEh3nGOSWlFw/s1600/Hb_6083SML.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bull Hole, detail</td></tr>
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<b>THE AMOS LOOMERY 16 - 18 MAY</b><b style="font-size: small;"> </b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">In this scroll, many of the guillemots can be seen
incubating eggs, a marked transformation from the Bull Hole drawing made just a
week previously when no eggs had yet been laid. Guillemots at a loomery are
synchronized in their breeding, so laying tends to occur at the same time. This
synchrony enhances the value of dense breeding groups which form an essential
barrier against avian predators of eggs and chicks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The loomery in this drawing is found on an elbow of
volcanic rock folding out to sea known as the Amos which has been Professor Tim
Birkhead's main study plot colony on Skomer since the mid 1980s. Every year towards
the end of the breeding season Tim Birkhead and his team mark about 300 of the
Amos guillemot chicks using uniquely numbered colour rings. As guillemots
return to the same spot to breed every year Tim Birkhead has been able to build
up a database of life histories from the observations made of these colour
ringed birds. Being able to recognise the returning birds in this way makes it
possible to monitor factors vital for assessing the health of a guillemot
population such as</span><span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 9pt;"> </span><span style="background: white; font-size: 12pt;">adult and immature survival, breeding
success, timing of breeding and the chick’s diet.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Any of the colour ringed birds seen by Chris Wallbank as he drew the
loomery are included on this scroll along with their history. For example there
is a yellow ringed bird Y366 at the bottom right corner which the data reveals has
been returning to the Amos to breed for 14 years. It hatched at a nearby site
in 1993 making it the oldest bird
identified in these drawings. <i>Read a post on making The Amos Loomery <a href="http://cwallbank.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/skomer-18th-eggs-colour-rings.html">here</a>.</i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOVqMsYKmMEYeSFvdTgPnfn48nrHvv8ckbNL8428644ePhyD5A7a9umYBfkTNSL3le_DAz-mBtmPvpT1hrl-5a2SIR8_d5RJyh4e3kgw0d7DDP7q7gvRWXgAsESDR_fb_whYKKlfaAsvw/s1600/Am_5872sml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOVqMsYKmMEYeSFvdTgPnfn48nrHvv8ckbNL8428644ePhyD5A7a9umYBfkTNSL3le_DAz-mBtmPvpT1hrl-5a2SIR8_d5RJyh4e3kgw0d7DDP7q7gvRWXgAsESDR_fb_whYKKlfaAsvw/s1600/Am_5872sml.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Detail of the Amos showing some of the colour ringed birds</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvKZNcVOVSXiO6wpo1cD_2QIJaBigKb6wE3frSBSsQsCxVlCT8QLcLw7Gtugl-DppUwI1CI3F-lvgGKD8wiReqR3GuKsV6oISwPYXLWjh29XMrCC-3kOxDyQsvBLseqjHVpEMEac431hE/s1600/Am_6109smlcrp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvKZNcVOVSXiO6wpo1cD_2QIJaBigKb6wE3frSBSsQsCxVlCT8QLcLw7Gtugl-DppUwI1CI3F-lvgGKD8wiReqR3GuKsV6oISwPYXLWjh29XMrCC-3kOxDyQsvBLseqjHVpEMEac431hE/s1600/Am_6109smlcrp.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notes taken from the monitoring project's database, correlating to the <br />colour rings recorded in the drawing</td></tr>
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<b>ELEGUG, 15 JUNE</b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">There was no text accompanying this scroll
in the exhibition. It was made with brush and ink over a single sitting at a </span><st1:place style="font-size: 12pt;" w:st="on">South Pembrokeshire</st1:place><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> coast site where the guillemots form
very dense loomeries on top of sea stacks. The piece was an exercise in shorthand,
using calligraphic characters to describe the multitude of individuals as a
whole. <i>Read a</i> <i>post on making Elegug Cyfnos <a href="http://cwallbank.blogspot.co.uk/2014/06/castlemartin-scrolls.html">here</a>.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn944RVijz1qSC3ibAHOAj_ang3FOxvAXUGEmq609SEIQnOI9vaqK_h6gVzGSH8AUrSTEa5Rsevh7_pSRX5q3jFb83_ZvaMeSd5Lans68EBlzAvdbVqxcCLldsiSsnMJgbfDuFaZa-4K8/s1600/ElegugInkDtl1_5619sml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn944RVijz1qSC3ibAHOAj_ang3FOxvAXUGEmq609SEIQnOI9vaqK_h6gVzGSH8AUrSTEa5Rsevh7_pSRX5q3jFb83_ZvaMeSd5Lans68EBlzAvdbVqxcCLldsiSsnMJgbfDuFaZa-4K8/s1600/ElegugInkDtl1_5619sml.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>TIME LAPSE, WICK LEDGES 20 - 21 MAY 2014</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC7EaowtIrRLWyilYu10HPPeH11ovHDD4Us04UeEwgf54dX4_Okk3AVSqKB3L_Cwnz_bqafOCvT-5hdx2vXkcRrBI4CGWxWXJIWkIxyJ5TjRIm0-L5rukxgxVOxyxFVZxvJVFcIkXQlCM/s1600/T_5854sml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC7EaowtIrRLWyilYu10HPPeH11ovHDD4Us04UeEwgf54dX4_Okk3AVSqKB3L_Cwnz_bqafOCvT-5hdx2vXkcRrBI4CGWxWXJIWkIxyJ5TjRIm0-L5rukxgxVOxyxFVZxvJVFcIkXQlCM/s1600/T_5854sml.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMoCIcBgJ2csnm4nzPJMC2CrytMaJVvZt7WMI3P9y4Aj99mnQdyOvIeFo3V8CNX7njciNN15zbreBTFj0J792nG0cv1RhsMYoQGZCs6r2xcbYHsVWb14jBVNeHQZvlm4i3nxLKjFxwmJ0/s1600/T_5845sml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMoCIcBgJ2csnm4nzPJMC2CrytMaJVvZt7WMI3P9y4Aj99mnQdyOvIeFo3V8CNX7njciNN15zbreBTFj0J792nG0cv1RhsMYoQGZCs6r2xcbYHsVWb14jBVNeHQZvlm4i3nxLKjFxwmJ0/s1600/T_5845sml.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In these scrolls, Chris Wallbank has drawn the same
ledge repeatedly over several hours to produce a time-lapse image that records
the changing dynamic of a loomery. They are drawn after the main laying period on
Skomer, when guillemot pairs take it in turns to incubate the egg, relieving
one another to forage and feed at sea. During this period the density of
guillemots on the ledge rises at certain times of day, usually early morning
and late afternoon when the pairs swap incubating duties. This process known as
'change over' can often be lengthy, since the incubating bird is usually
reluctant to move off the egg and needs to be persuaded through long reassuring
bouts of allopreening combined with gentle nudges that become firmer as time
wears on. Despite breeding in incredibly close proximity, in some cases up to
seventy breeding pairs crammed onto a single square metre of ledge, guillemots
are able to recognise their own egg because each one has markings unique to the
female that laid it. This results in an infinite variety of colour and pattern
occurring in guillemot eggs, ranging from dark turquoise to pale orange, wispy
streaks to heavy blotches and spatters, as can be seen in the long ledge
drawing here as well as in the Amos scroll. <i>Read post on making the time lapse scrolls <a href="http://cwallbank.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/skomer-day-12-long-ledge.html">here</a> and <a href="http://cwallbank.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/skomer-day-13-last-day.html">here</a>. </i></span></div>
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<b>LAND - LOOM - LEAP</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54LeeSr6FKARWlEgDV95j1yoh-Xsv_FSypKO3Q10hX5cmgLSWaMOf5Ccc8_fcfiGVnua-QBwfNoq2Lm7GSE1ly9zWnNZZ5P41fXH26I_9BS4lir34cmLXfOYAbTplcfURwh4GGrRRolw/s1600/LLL_5964sml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54LeeSr6FKARWlEgDV95j1yoh-Xsv_FSypKO3Q10hX5cmgLSWaMOf5Ccc8_fcfiGVnua-QBwfNoq2Lm7GSE1ly9zWnNZZ5P41fXH26I_9BS4lir34cmLXfOYAbTplcfURwh4GGrRRolw/s1600/LLL_5964sml.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjor3EZkjFugSYkKfqTEp-a7OznCDtL9bhKEGCvO3wt2QHQ7_dxqy275wRKmVgoC1mnB7NIWJlgjEUfOCZuY2OI1PzCRbWe0audU525aJTO2FT7UeMRSEXKHHqvCCPWk5Is71VruLLnCOk/s1600/LLL_6030sml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjor3EZkjFugSYkKfqTEp-a7OznCDtL9bhKEGCvO3wt2QHQ7_dxqy275wRKmVgoC1mnB7NIWJlgjEUfOCZuY2OI1PzCRbWe0audU525aJTO2FT7UeMRSEXKHHqvCCPWk5Is71VruLLnCOk/s1600/LLL_6030sml.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<i style="text-align: justify;"> </i><span style="text-align: justify;">Land - Loom - Leap, guillemots landing and their fledgling leaping from an imagined loomery to form a repeating pattern on a 4 metre long hanging scroll. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The guillemot young leave the colony around 21 days
after hatching. Although barely one third the size of an adult and still unable
to fly the young jump from the cliffs, often falling hundreds of metres to the sea
below. The young, make this leap of faith with encouragement from their fathers
who calls to them from below. On the breeding ledges they were vulnerable to
avian predation, now at sea they stand a better chance of survival, diving
under the waves and staying close to their father. They remain at sea with
their father for two or three months until fully fledged and it will be a
further two years at least before they return to Skomer and a further five
years after that before they attempt to breed. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdovoL5D2qPGjyjBSj1D54BkOhvY8qWmxbuSsOubjmQkBLgHz34_TavqsfXMoaa0VpEbHAcQ1AGeH18jdyjKCXOAmcf2waHUjz2_So6-uOzastJ4iOy6umsjHqPwnSGAmVgfu9LdudnBY/s1600/DtlTop1egg5374sml.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdovoL5D2qPGjyjBSj1D54BkOhvY8qWmxbuSsOubjmQkBLgHz34_TavqsfXMoaa0VpEbHAcQ1AGeH18jdyjKCXOAmcf2waHUjz2_So6-uOzastJ4iOy6umsjHqPwnSGAmVgfu9LdudnBY/s1600/DtlTop1egg5374sml.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>OPTIMUM BREEDING SITES</b><br />
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA2m0nZUemApMde6BATE2qZoP5z-2CVY-01_-D25vbLt3XoCDqNsT5Q7UlsLybFH8p0pWYrEjByKEWh8Q95RQz8qbxLZBEJtsE0YdJvarzUVWG_FNqma-PEDPk3I10nBec49gAomoN038/s1600/Op_5944sml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA2m0nZUemApMde6BATE2qZoP5z-2CVY-01_-D25vbLt3XoCDqNsT5Q7UlsLybFH8p0pWYrEjByKEWh8Q95RQz8qbxLZBEJtsE0YdJvarzUVWG_FNqma-PEDPk3I10nBec49gAomoN038/s1600/Op_5944sml.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">After the young have fledged Female guillemots remain
at the loomery for some 14 days defending their territory and laying claim to
the breeding site for the following season. Professor Tim Birkhead's research
on Skomer has found that the optimum breeding sites for guillemots are on
ledges where the greatest density of birds can <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>occur. In
this scroll Chris Wallbank uses colour to offer an impression of where these
'hot spots' might be found on Skomer's Amos loomery. Of course the paradox for
guillemots seeking such optimum sites is that they are protected from imposters
as well as predators by an alliance of neighbouring birds. How guillemots
decide which ledges to colonise in the first place is more of a mystery,
although watching guillemots re-colonise Skomer since the 1970's, Professor Tim
Birkhead has noticed their loomeries grow into the same formations as those
seen in photographs taken on the island 80 years ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0EQcfSuNx1-Tc7UzhTanXRe1z99RdJd6GGqt2pdyEHe_of3AC5ufao0C9OGZC2M05_adNP5oM_LDSqJ7XaydEcPfV4TERX2GITtElP3cNJl6ku9Iga_ushfijlkp5Do6vgbRUKNaXnc/s1600/Op_5954Shoped2sml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0EQcfSuNx1-Tc7UzhTanXRe1z99RdJd6GGqt2pdyEHe_of3AC5ufao0C9OGZC2M05_adNP5oM_LDSqJ7XaydEcPfV4TERX2GITtElP3cNJl6ku9Iga_ushfijlkp5Do6vgbRUKNaXnc/s1600/Op_5954Shoped2sml.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>This project has been made possible through the
support of The University of Sheffield's Festival of the Mind and Sheffield
Cathedral. Special thanks to The Wildlife Trust of South and West Wales, Shenaz
Khimji and Skomer researchers Elspeth Kenny and Julie Riordan for their assistance with the Loomery Scrolls
project on Skomer Island. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXw6VF90-GLQPtZ3e6m2N7L5DGR5Zxv86mUiUcoNL_s7CcyGINBifjJ6R7cL9XEh7XcuMP2M6LgmdAdESKF7MSQbQ-0544PIA9aj0GowN26mYIB89jRVBOYljt5kPGef7QOJhEkf_sD8w/s1600/TimLecture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXw6VF90-GLQPtZ3e6m2N7L5DGR5Zxv86mUiUcoNL_s7CcyGINBifjJ6R7cL9XEh7XcuMP2M6LgmdAdESKF7MSQbQ-0544PIA9aj0GowN26mYIB89jRVBOYljt5kPGef7QOJhEkf_sD8w/s1600/TimLecture.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim Birkhead presenting a lecture on his research at Sheffield cathedral<br />during the exhibition</td></tr>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-28817100303964204942014-07-17T08:22:00.001-07:002014-07-17T08:38:15.193-07:00ORCA Survey to Svalbard on the Saga Pearl II<br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Between 22 June and 6 July I took part in a marine mammal survey for <a href="http://www.orcaweb.org.uk/">ORCA</a> on the <a href="http://travel.saga.co.uk/holidays/ocean-cruises/saga-pearl-ii.aspx">Saga Pearl II</a> as she cruised North as far as Svalbard. The drawings below were made whilst on half hour breaks in surveying and brief moments ashore in an attempt to capture a sense of the breathtaking landscape and abundant diversity of wildlife during my first encounter with the Arctic. </span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">North Sea</span></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmD7UYeUFfXZGuODZTPqDRh7aiRurA8zLv0ZjiibPvY1mYD5UraGCissL_lR5BkpWZ77ypMiaIsvcinlKcUAfYgrwSWbjJ2xRRGIqLGRh_fr64JPy-7yjnasM2fKEPPKukPVIN-iRUfU/s1600/IMG_5162StavanSML.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmD7UYeUFfXZGuODZTPqDRh7aiRurA8zLv0ZjiibPvY1mYD5UraGCissL_lR5BkpWZ77ypMiaIsvcinlKcUAfYgrwSWbjJ2xRRGIqLGRh_fr64JPy-7yjnasM2fKEPPKukPVIN-iRUfU/s1600/IMG_5162StavanSML.jpg" height="158" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The North Sea tested our endurance as surveyors, we were faced with rough seas and an ever strengthening wind chill as we headed further north towards horizons studded with the contorted steel frames of oil rigs. A brief stop in Stavanger offered a glimpse into the affect of this industry on a booming Norwegian economy. Layers of old and new; the old town with it's fish canning factory and wooden houses sandwiched between a skyline of modern blocks of flats and a sea front dominated by the mammoth hulk of oil ships.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It's another day out of Stavanger and our forth day into the survey before the first shout of 'sighting!' ends the long wait since leaving Dover. Two fin whale roll in front of the port bow, the hanging blows whipped away in the north wind as fast as they exhale and they are gone. It is 04.40 June 26 and at 67 degrees North we had crossed into the Arctic circle. Here the Gannets that accompanied us further South have been replaced by fulmar and kittiwake gliding effortlessly on the ships updraft. The direct and purposeful flight of foraging auks such as puffin and Brunnich's guillemot contrast the fulmars euphoric movement dissecting our passage in ever strengthening numbers as we approach land. Soon after we arrive at our second port of call Leknes in the Lofoton Islands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">That evening we skirted the stretched Archipelago and in the calm southern lee of the land picked up further sightings of harbour porpoise and minke whale, their subtle presence on the surface given away by the disturbance of a bait ball. The evening ended with our first sighting of Orca, a sign of things to come.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Nordic Sea</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We surveyed all the day of the 27th on deck as we crossed the open Sea that separates Svalbard from Norway. Sightings ranged from early in the morning with an amazing three separate counts of large pods of orca within a couple of hours, the tall black upright dorsal of the big bull males unmistakable on the horizon. Although all these views were distant, around 2km away and viewed in the binoculars, the ferocity of these animals could be recognised in the way their sail like dorsal fins quivered and reverberated with a force that belied the power of their thrashing movements under the waves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">By midday sightings of orca, minke and white beaked dolphin had been replaced by the visible blows of the largest whales. A quick look at our position confirmed it, we had crossed over the land shelf and into the deep water where the ultimate megafauna thrives. Fin whale sightings were in abundance now, but also present were the rarer seen sei whale, which due to the confusing similarity between both species in the field presented one of many id challenges for me. I was however fortunate to have several sightings of sei whale, some even in close association with fin whale and was able to discuss each with fellow surveyors, Paul Burley, Kathleen Neri and Rachael Barber. I learnt first hand to distinguish the shallow surfacing sequence of the sei compared to the prolonged roll of the fin and the diagnostic but subtle difference between the dorsal of each species.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Soon we catch sight of distinct angled blows and closer encounters confirm sperm whale logging on the surface and occasionally with luck we catch the dramatic display of a fluking tale as these true giants of the deep point into a dive heading one, two thousand or more metres down. Perhaps the most memorable sighting for me that day was another personal first; the cue was as normal a blow near the horizon caught in a scan of the binoculars then more unusually a big splash which at over a kilometre away had to be caused by something big. Then confirmation, a tall white flipper rising straight above the duller white caps before crashing down heavily on the water, again and again, unmistakable, a humpback whale! Okay, it may only of been a dot on the horizon but it was an ambition realised and I could even make out the characteristic fin slapping and breaching behaviour.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Svalbard: Isfjorden and Longyearbyen </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> </span></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY766ZpHbMNWJLG_PYER-yYGP876enRZNL7g8oIZ0Ow6As7rX-SPaDTblih6muxO51aKUkvUTaVbQbXg5xNrakGHgTCkkukFf0117Uuo337njbu-mC9Yl4k3zhX1BWn6Du4eZpXtMp7XU/s1600/IMG_5144LyrbnFin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY766ZpHbMNWJLG_PYER-yYGP876enRZNL7g8oIZ0Ow6As7rX-SPaDTblih6muxO51aKUkvUTaVbQbXg5xNrakGHgTCkkukFf0117Uuo337njbu-mC9Yl4k3zhX1BWn6Du4eZpXtMp7XU/s1600/IMG_5144LyrbnFin.jpg" height="285" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">On the morning of the 28th the view from deck is of calm waters reflecting monochrome contrasts of dark rock and white glaciers surrounding Isfjorden, Svalbard. The mirror smoothness is broken only by the occasional scuffing of a wind pocket, a cluster of little auk rafts and the slap slap of paddling wings as brunich's guillemot scuttle away from the ship's wake. That is until the slick dark shape of a whale arches silently out of the water, the body silhouetted black but glinting a brown almost gold where it catches the light. There is no distinguishing blow but a swept back dorsal suggests a fin whale. We pass two more fin whale in the fjord, all swimming shallowly it seems with few visible blows.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotRbxsS2rxg9PtW-IVDwQkwtEoSiGkGm_wuxv-RWI0HuWqvEHZYPt2gMv957cgw2wUZOmC2QrGYs8VN8i4jFAIJsUn8ZKWWRcZWAIp77uaZK9Zgm1DSUBHNYX-FdDFicTUwMU2fYnk1M/s1600/IMG_5139LyrbnMntSML.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgotRbxsS2rxg9PtW-IVDwQkwtEoSiGkGm_wuxv-RWI0HuWqvEHZYPt2gMv957cgw2wUZOmC2QrGYs8VN8i4jFAIJsUn8ZKWWRcZWAIp77uaZK9Zgm1DSUBHNYX-FdDFicTUwMU2fYnk1M/s1600/IMG_5139LyrbnMntSML.jpg" height="287" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">On land we hike up the Longyearbyen valley to the edge of a glacier where we find fossilised plant material in the rocks scattered amongst the moraine under foot and hear the wonderful call of little auk on the colony ledges high overhead. On the outskirts of the town but within the permitted safety of its perimeter (beyond is polar bear country), boggy tundra holds a wealth of bird life; eider duck nesting in the safe shadow of the husky kennels, brackish pools on the side of the road attract purple sandpiper and the grey phalarope which is in fact a deep rusty red here in its breeding plumage. There are barnacle geese on the estuary and the mountainsides whilst Arctic-turn defiantly guarding their nests are a constant hazard even in the most built up areas. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSeBMfiDmTuDTa4kRo64rVcB6lvtZduHWo-olrYVrQs5qRh5862-B63W59tsJ6muWoT_yK4E3kffaVqz2BYqv-fPbjTl5xuiPsZKMBue_-lfHiNNgrzXXvy7e3Oo5rl0m84AFFyqBEYM/s1600/IMG_4788.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSeBMfiDmTuDTa4kRo64rVcB6lvtZduHWo-olrYVrQs5qRh5862-B63W59tsJ6muWoT_yK4E3kffaVqz2BYqv-fPbjTl5xuiPsZKMBue_-lfHiNNgrzXXvy7e3Oo5rl0m84AFFyqBEYM/s1600/IMG_4788.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Svalbard: Ny-Alesund</span></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDZw4xV88IGfydA5XVYJVQ_KEG4Fn1COSRHaWhyRaJRo_bZlrPkCvwG-2xI5ZC3YBmxcu14yzTAXkluSfdKQryndwoM7YbWyEDcNeckpWTAXWwkBzzKPrRsyQfLtoHru12vhK_P_tojbc/s1600/IMG_5151NyAlesundSML.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDZw4xV88IGfydA5XVYJVQ_KEG4Fn1COSRHaWhyRaJRo_bZlrPkCvwG-2xI5ZC3YBmxcu14yzTAXkluSfdKQryndwoM7YbWyEDcNeckpWTAXWwkBzzKPrRsyQfLtoHru12vhK_P_tojbc/s1600/IMG_5151NyAlesundSML.jpg" height="161" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Undoubtedly Ny-Alesund was my favourite land day, our Captain Wesley Dunlop had secured a long stay at port until 11pm and with sunset not due for another month at least, I had time to explore and sketch. The painting above is of the peaks and glaciers surrounding Kongsfjorden from a beach below where the Pearl was moored with the small town of Ny-Alesund behind me. The day was still, sunny and mild and with the air incredibly clear views appeared bright and sharp.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Anyone who had not seen a whale from the Saga Pearl II up to this point, had done so by the end of today because kongsfjoren was being patrolled by a single humpback whale for most of our stay. Not only could we see it as it lunge fed, surfacing with bulging pleats ahead a tell tale sequence of bubbles, but it was possible to hear the exhalation with every surface. Also audible was the loud cracking of the glacier it fed below, diving repeatedly around a large ice-flow dotted with resting terns. Eventually it entered the centre of the bay and closer to the town, which is when I drew the sequence below before it finally swam towards the open sea passing close off the Pearl's port-side to the delight of everyone on-board.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv__o2nHt2drMOBTnN357NxErxRucGy3NJC5epldiHRxcszOcNE57gRwYO7pIQ1nVu3e9WgaTqfU9mp4PcNylyzk3WqSBhc_P7noFM3EtIHdg_gehx0wB0rqd3MA0Lh8pnWw7TsIFqBHM/s1600/IMG_5156Humpy2SML.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv__o2nHt2drMOBTnN357NxErxRucGy3NJC5epldiHRxcszOcNE57gRwYO7pIQ1nVu3e9WgaTqfU9mp4PcNylyzk3WqSBhc_P7noFM3EtIHdg_gehx0wB0rqd3MA0Lh8pnWw7TsIFqBHM/s1600/IMG_5156Humpy2SML.jpg" height="152" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Svalbard: Magdalenefjorden</span></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTSQMfh4Y4nRJQlo29NSv8Dmlwlw4_DxOXsVPcMgzcl62x8ZKzHKZsAoWSmbiT05yY8eNot8l1PXnPbgUrdvfHbEgeHSLUk7UbruHHxAr5h34L_mN3VDyoX9LaKHeeTrPdr5aft0NmF8/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTSQMfh4Y4nRJQlo29NSv8Dmlwlw4_DxOXsVPcMgzcl62x8ZKzHKZsAoWSmbiT05yY8eNot8l1PXnPbgUrdvfHbEgeHSLUk7UbruHHxAr5h34L_mN3VDyoX9LaKHeeTrPdr5aft0NmF8/" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">At almost 79 degrees North Magdalenefjorden is our most Northerly destination after which we begin the Southward journey home. The fjord is a large horseshoe bay surrounded by formidable mountains rising steeply and immediately from the waters edge. At the Eastern, opposite end to the seaward entrance a large glacier feeds ice flows into the bay; drifting jewels of refracted blue light in a monochrome landscape.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGuaBs2xbdfccofANw5J5K0-r1u4XsqAlMdwlaSkBPBkW9c-HZhsAFrf3Ou2FDxvD_RYXVWh-C22UMkjUYuZpYySE6ApbWEE3rQhNhhJYmXHvXeI-yCL1Nl0Dzn7ZNqSGY_rkH_QrvD_o/s1600/IMG_5141LittleAukSml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGuaBs2xbdfccofANw5J5K0-r1u4XsqAlMdwlaSkBPBkW9c-HZhsAFrf3Ou2FDxvD_RYXVWh-C22UMkjUYuZpYySE6ApbWEE3rQhNhhJYmXHvXeI-yCL1Nl0Dzn7ZNqSGY_rkH_QrvD_o/s1600/IMG_5141LittleAukSml.jpg" height="287" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The scale of this landscape is immense, almost incomprehensible and my instinct is to put my binoculars to the mountain slopes to search for a recognisable detail that might give me better bearings. But nothing is familiar here and I am again astounded as I focus my binoculars on an apparently barren slope of ice and scree to find it teeming with life. Clouds of what seem like insects in their hundreds of thousands swarm on and off the slopes, a quick adjustment of scale and I realise I am looking at a vast breeding colony of little auk. It is possible to just make out the auks in this picture represented as tiny groups of dots.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Whilst I paint the little auk colony, Paul picks out distant walrus in his scope for people to see. Just before we leave at midday I have to train my scope where he is looking, far far away I can just make out the bulk of walrus hauling themselves onto a beach, though they are hard to make out I am very pleased to be able to draw the first walrus I have ever seen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">As we depart, the Pearl passes closer to the walrus and from a new angle we can just make out approximately twenty hauled out on top of one another. After this we start to pack up ready for dinner when there is a shout, someone has spotted movement in the water, we rush to starboard to see a group of walrus swimming in a porpoising fashion. They move fast in a tight group that seems to rive with blubber and tusks in a wild frenzy. What seems like panicked behaviour is in fact typical I am told and not just a reaction to the ship; travelling in tight packs in this way to me seems an effective way for the walrus to deter aquatic predators.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We pass through the mouth of the fjord into a heavy sea. After an hour or two surveying in unproductive conditions of sea state 5-6 we notice a band of calm water on the horizon, we cross this visible divide and as if by some sudden enchantment the sea state instantly drops from 5 to 1 and then zero. Along this boundary we immediately pick up sightings of porpoise, minke and white beaked dolphin and then continue with more and more sightings of blows sometimes accompanied by the role of a fin whale or hump back. Amidst all this, the level of excitement is suddenly turned up when amongst a trio of blows Rachael notices something very different, I rush over from port side and get onto the blows as she confirms it, a blue whale! along with two humpback and a fin whale.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlF85bDRI2jmBU6Qzov-PKnXUMzQ2eXEuMF5IE9kxTUA2jxwYJvCTx83rzjwNDksZRRJm7KPkyh2ML9IMIe45cbgjkRMxpm_qrG2iBgr5N-_jJk4cpNaiKI-_HpmufYi9GyMeoz80TUkQ/s1600/IMG_4948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlF85bDRI2jmBU6Qzov-PKnXUMzQ2eXEuMF5IE9kxTUA2jxwYJvCTx83rzjwNDksZRRJm7KPkyh2ML9IMIe45cbgjkRMxpm_qrG2iBgr5N-_jJk4cpNaiKI-_HpmufYi9GyMeoz80TUkQ/s1600/IMG_4948.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The most unexpected sighting of the trip was of harp seal travelling in packs sometimes several hundred strong. The video below is of one of several of these travelling packs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Heading South again on July 1 we traversed the Western edge of the Barents Sea. For most of the day we followed a land shelf where deep water upwhelings provide conditions for nutrient rich habitats that sustain the top predators we hope to catch sight of. The water boiled with the tell tail sign of bait balls, prolonged scrutiny of which was rewarded with the sight of minke whale patrolling the corralled fish. Further out in the distance the horizon was interrupted by regular blows from the large whales feeding along the deep water drop off; fin whale 14, Sei whale 1, hump back whale 5 and other unidentified rorqual whale totalled 15. At one point a fin whale blow caught the eye at 4km or so, a flash of white that dispersed quickly, but then behind it something different, a blow that began to rise and rise until it broke above the horizon, a vertical jet of water powering straight up and reaching a height that dwarfed the others before it. The volume of water must of been immense because it kept powering upwards before a second slightly weaker but equally tall blow refreshed the drifting cloud of vapour marking the distant spot. By now some of the other observers were onto it, it had looked like a blue whale blow, we watched the approximate patch of water as we passed closer hoping to glimpse a view of the giant, but the moment slipped behind us as we steamed on ever southwards. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">More conclusive was the view of this fin whale which I was able to draw as it passed at one point no more than one hundred metres off our Port bow. It had been the most incredible day of surveying with little let up on sightings, many now engraved onto my memory especially that tentative glimpse of a blue whale blow erupting silently on the distant horizon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The next morning, July 2, we docked in Tromso after which our onward journey took a course through the narrow fjords before emerging into the open water of Vestfjorden, South of the Lofoten Islands. In the fjords we only sighted small Cetacean; porpoise and white beaked dolphin. Bird highlights included a very distant soaring white tailed eagle, Arctic and great skua, eider ducks and Arctic tern for whom nothing is to big to take on when protecting a nest, even our ship which they would mob without fear if it passed too close.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-small;">Long finned pilot whale</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We woke on the 3rd in Vestfjorden with conditions a perfect sea state 0-1, mist hung threaded between scattered islands and below the snow strewn massifs of the mainland. There was the faintest orange glow, suggesting a mellowing in the sunlight that until now had been relentless. The water rolled silver and smooth so it was easy to pick out the distant black shapes of long finned pilot whales. For several hours we traversed the coast and this tranquil scene remained as we picked out the forms of more pilot whale, white beaked dolphin, minke whale or porpoise silhouetted in the mirror calm.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYaAOs6rFhfFwT2uR1csMebQG_974qXkQZSLqgIDimZmFkK10RuuDNc0P7Cc2P-kKesWqG1n4VEsdjlaJPQJUDv5NbAbEW7tF4TU7zvXkPGKxF7G0APTZS5evWoFfsYnlXx2FSQ_IRd7o/s1600/IMG_5149OrcaBrchSML.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYaAOs6rFhfFwT2uR1csMebQG_974qXkQZSLqgIDimZmFkK10RuuDNc0P7Cc2P-kKesWqG1n4VEsdjlaJPQJUDv5NbAbEW7tF4TU7zvXkPGKxF7G0APTZS5evWoFfsYnlXx2FSQ_IRd7o/s1600/IMG_5149OrcaBrchSML.jpg" height="208" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">By mid morning land was out of sight and the wind strengthened as the sun rose. As the sea state deteriorated sightings became more infrequent, but there was one more surprise in store as Rachael picked up the unmistakable quiver of black dorsals on the horizon. Orca! and this time we were on a direct course to pass close to them. Everyone on the sun deck were able to hone in on the dark shapes of ten dorsal fins rising out of the water in staggered formation. As the distance between us and them closed, the white patches around the face of each Orca became obvious as they surfaced. Passing them on Starboard the biggest bull male (there was at least two in this pod) suddenly erupted into a display of breaching and tail slapping.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">That afternoon we hit a long distant swell pushed on by a deepening low off Iceland to the West later accompanied by heavy winds and a sea state 6 which puts an end to our day's survey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Final Ports</span></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nezFO6E84fHtN9bTIVRMhCCgJfCnT2bUBmLKEe97GxYHySTZY3Pq-HGPXORhtB8avekMAHAOlzrnuXE3gC5bRRn0bja7iNQWqRPih3o88TJr-UbwqqHW2ImQD6ljmTDTEZVU431l0tc/s1600/HoodedCrowBergen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_nezFO6E84fHtN9bTIVRMhCCgJfCnT2bUBmLKEe97GxYHySTZY3Pq-HGPXORhtB8avekMAHAOlzrnuXE3gC5bRRn0bja7iNQWqRPih3o88TJr-UbwqqHW2ImQD6ljmTDTEZVU431l0tc/s1600/HoodedCrowBergen.jpg" height="221" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In the days that follow Saga Pearl II navigates an inshore route similar to that of the famous Hurtigruten. We find ourselves often amongst jaw dropping scenery of fjords fed by free falling waterfalls emerging from a carpet of forest at the base of dark massifs; serrated ridges, jagged peaks and snow filled cols. It is the perfect place to recover and reflect on our journey into the Arctic, although we continue to observe finding the fjords rich in life, especially recording incidental sightings of porpoise frequently. It is pleasing that after all the big and showy animals of the deep, everyone on deck is just as keen to scour the waters in the hope of glimpsing the brief splash or role of these more diminutive of cetacean. We visit Geirangerfjorden, the archetypal picture postcard scene, before heading on to arrive in Bergen. In Bergen I entertain myself drawing hooded crows, coxed down from their perches with crumbs of 'the best in Norway' Skilligsboller, a cinnamon bun I didn't think much of, but I needed to get rid of my kroner on something. The final voyage on the 6th took us back across the North sea in rough conditions producing few sightings, although that night I am happy to see darkness fall for the first time since our departure two weeks earlier. The following morning we a greeted by brilliant white cliffs on a sunny day in Dover. </span> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGV6F-AhYnO39fdSRTGsdGIuTmwF-poxDaISv8PQ0Vk1yvh9efO8ZelILfETjW6BAKqMAvnUSW7EEs4FKW_424g-BBqVQ-pIgClAEbnHIntX5OwBrMY3Sx9H3CsMScteLCp5ZwvGR2uQ/s1600/IMG_5366FulmarWake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyGV6F-AhYnO39fdSRTGsdGIuTmwF-poxDaISv8PQ0Vk1yvh9efO8ZelILfETjW6BAKqMAvnUSW7EEs4FKW_424g-BBqVQ-pIgClAEbnHIntX5OwBrMY3Sx9H3CsMScteLCp5ZwvGR2uQ/s1600/IMG_5366FulmarWake.jpg" height="400" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-small;">Fulmar in the wake of Saga Pearl II</span></div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-28514631581637926032014-06-17T05:29:00.000-07:002014-06-18T05:38:14.235-07:00Castlemartin Scrolls<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEKha6cxC9N6EiX9gujT13EvqA7-O6kGpjSWAFvuKNdlK0TWdfYkhMugV04EKqmV1pdR0Z2YPdCKzLQqQVuXJuTpjAFfMVzfNEoqNBVQpmT-o1v7JHetMJpOkdaOR8d7XQzHs2lURFoBQ/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEKha6cxC9N6EiX9gujT13EvqA7-O6kGpjSWAFvuKNdlK0TWdfYkhMugV04EKqmV1pdR0Z2YPdCKzLQqQVuXJuTpjAFfMVzfNEoqNBVQpmT-o1v7JHetMJpOkdaOR8d7XQzHs2lURFoBQ/" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Drawing Craig Elegug</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglvc0d9T2lNljtFihHB_6lj4CqYfaalzC_FN2J4uDPPUQs6clVZQZbSg_zHeMtXuUD2SlrfjCLFxoJntFnS2ZLVlCn3WIjlLsEaC2WS2C-xZakDmEGGTX2TbzhldSydUc0CbkXXvE4NGo/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglvc0d9T2lNljtFihHB_6lj4CqYfaalzC_FN2J4uDPPUQs6clVZQZbSg_zHeMtXuUD2SlrfjCLFxoJntFnS2ZLVlCn3WIjlLsEaC2WS2C-xZakDmEGGTX2TbzhldSydUc0CbkXXvE4NGo/" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Vertical section on Elegug</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I visited Castlemartin this weekend, an area of coastline
used as a firing range by the MOD and closed to the public except on odd
occasions. It is the site of some spectacular loomeries, mainly on flat topped
sea stacks close to the cliff ledge, most notably Craig Elegug (guillemot rock)
which allows close eyelevel views of the birds. I wanted to focus on these
really dense groups, as a type I had not yet explored in the loomoery scroll
drawings. This density resulted in some pretty intense and laborious drawing,
working in detail over the whole weekend to produce a drawing of a long
vertical ledge cascading down the left side of Elegug. Last night there was no
night firing so I had a chance to visit Castlemartin from five until dark. As a
remedy to the detailed drawing of the weekend I wanted to cut loose and did
this by working in ink and brush, using minimal brush strokes to describe each
bird. I was able to cover a lot of ground quickly this way and see the colony
as a complete entity. As the drawing progressed from left to right as I always
work on a scroll, the colony became denser and I soon lost individuals in the
mass of movement. In response my mark making had to grow faster to cope with
the constant movement and I soon found a new rhythm of working to describe
whole formations of birds rather than individuals. I felt my drawing became
more energetic the more intense the energy of the colony became deep in the
densest sections. In this respect, despite losing my more illustrative approach
I feel this drawing approach responds to and therefore documents the energy and
cohesion of a loomery even if it is visually a more abstract expression. I
finished the drawing at 22.47 in total darkness which may of helped the drawing
progress as well.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyTorDN5brfuzSZjfZBtPZT2YtXT2x0yc67js6ecQOpf92v249B4cXnXkj2lBcLLoKpo8dPdBfiS0zilqyndyj7tKIgE8LRBk4nXj8kynple6qUisVY4yi5jnsrr-mwguX1NnICZJTP8/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyTorDN5brfuzSZjfZBtPZT2YtXT2x0yc67js6ecQOpf92v249B4cXnXkj2lBcLLoKpo8dPdBfiS0zilqyndyj7tKIgE8LRBk4nXj8kynple6qUisVY4yi5jnsrr-mwguX1NnICZJTP8/" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Detail of very dense section on Elegug, brush and ink</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; text-align: justify;">This may be the last of these drawings I make form
observation this season, unless I can return in time for fledging. It seems
appropriate to end with a night drawing, on a still night and a near full moon
rising but also with new ideas to give the project momentum.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPrmyLEr3IP9d2h_P9CAdY9pPt-uxzcXoaKDaGKCg4l2-F23MBIc45B3v4mvdvT5P5QRZqx_ggnmw9bmRuEU_0OiX1pgsuu7KVxWIjfGdDOS6-ADnc1g3pjMVQrq8QLnAkXcwxJz9kR4/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPrmyLEr3IP9d2h_P9CAdY9pPt-uxzcXoaKDaGKCg4l2-F23MBIc45B3v4mvdvT5P5QRZqx_ggnmw9bmRuEU_0OiX1pgsuu7KVxWIjfGdDOS6-ADnc1g3pjMVQrq8QLnAkXcwxJz9kR4/" width="225" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcI-2-aVdZa7UDn1eLfr-7BHv0W_LAZ1gbpho_Zwo-X7DOoxuu77u7GwTiVU8p3dCs-_B8qW9uRPiTPPBNk3T6GUvlcR15GW_h3LQ4kGBIuKMbZniqyjjdex4PHWqV0OWUdr8znMN-WoI/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcI-2-aVdZa7UDn1eLfr-7BHv0W_LAZ1gbpho_Zwo-X7DOoxuu77u7GwTiVU8p3dCs-_B8qW9uRPiTPPBNk3T6GUvlcR15GW_h3LQ4kGBIuKMbZniqyjjdex4PHWqV0OWUdr8znMN-WoI/" width="224" /></a></div>
Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-84174772476339737022014-05-28T10:12:00.000-07:002014-05-28T10:17:57.867-07:00Skomer Day 13: Last Day<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4dVtJIza6Q5HIUaTiVyqhUE19dMKBnxRHgTpwvnpJWw1ae-HkCNIZ_MhvjHnnQP0K6hAqANm4FCqvoMhbrsMMm1KGhOlh6fCEHO3PjzUQ-jMCSnGkyEICzLZO5eBkFjHZb2jHN1cUdo/s1600/SkwickShorttimelapse210514Sml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib4dVtJIza6Q5HIUaTiVyqhUE19dMKBnxRHgTpwvnpJWw1ae-HkCNIZ_MhvjHnnQP0K6hAqANm4FCqvoMhbrsMMm1KGhOlh6fCEHO3PjzUQ-jMCSnGkyEICzLZO5eBkFjHZb2jHN1cUdo/s1600/SkwickShorttimelapse210514Sml.jpg" height="640" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-small;">Time-lapse ledge, showing imposter<br />being challenged.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I have had to manage my last day on Skomer carefully to make sure I collect all the information I need to help make the final scrolls for the exhibition in September.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">First stop the Wick to try out a different time-lapse drawing to yesterday based on a shorter ledge. I wanted to try this because the shorter ledge meant drawing versions of the ledge in quick succession (about 20 mins each, the theory being I would be more likely to capture any changes happening over a short period, about an hour in this case. In fact I did manage to record an interesting interaction, which came as a complete surprise. In the image below, the first line in the series to be drawn being at the bottom, I recorded one bird returning to the group of four on the left making it five in the second row from the bottom. This guillemot allo-preened the nearby bird for the next forty minutes or so until, as shown in the 5th line up, another guillemot returns flying straight at the back of the first and wrestling it off the cliff before taking up this usurped birds position to make up the pair. I can only assume that the first returning bird was an imposter and the second, having made a direct line of flight to this spot was the true partner. In the last line at the top we can see it courting its mate. Only by using this time-lapse approach to observational drawing could this relationship reveal itself to me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">After this I move further down the Wick to add another line to yesterday's long ledge time-lapse drawing. I wanted to include midday because this is supposedly a quieter period for the colonies in comparison</span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> to the morning and evening periods I already had represented in the drawing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Next, I move on to the Amos for the evening, where I recorded the major groups on the South side of the peninsular for a second scroll. This scroll, combined with the one from the beginning of the week will complete a panorama of the entire Amos loomery. </span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Finally, I couldn't leave the island without another night amongst the returning Shearwater. A particularly still night and with so many breeding birds, I could stop and listen to the whole island alive with the gurgling whoops and cackles of hundreds of thousands of shearwater. This noise of the whole islands subterranian world reverberating gave me a sense of Skomer as an enormous breeding colony, dormant in the day and coming alive at night. Bleary eyed and half asleep at one in the morning surrounded by birds flopping in and out of burrows, brushing my head as they crash to the ground is a surreal experience; surely there must be folklore explaining this fantastical night time realm. For me the whole dreaming experience is epitomised by the wonderfully bizarre contrast of these sleek, hardy ocean navigators grounded amongst a fairy landscape of midnight blue bells and curling bracken furls.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-small;">Shearwater grounded in midnight blue bells</span></td></tr>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-56689829284657905402014-05-20T08:28:00.000-07:002014-05-28T08:59:12.646-07:00Skomer Day 12: The Long Ledge<br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I returned to the Wick this morning and the long ledge I discovered yesterday. I began drawing the ledge at 08:30 and ran out of paper (3 metres) a third of the way along at Midday. The plan was to repeat the same section of ledge below but Skomer was hit by an incredible thunder storm and I had to escape the cliff. On the way back the rain was so heavy the paths ran with a foot of water, draining into the burrows, even flushing out Manx Shearwater that would never normally leave or enter their burrows outside the cover of darkness.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-small;">Manxie above ground in daylight, rare opportunity<br />for a close study before it shoved its head into a<br />hole as if in the hope that if it can't see me<br />I can't see it (bottom left of page).</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Dh4arx6mS_hskCDr-FfQfwhbexVMnyDRDzemxrkl2qk7vVdR44RRaIGVZxhQ1Dk7XkeXZtM3WXCY1NtH_i-qr7j5Hud1N5yEai6r7Kgyt_73Pb4pK1DDtkcMJyE84I7FSCRP6DgKIv4/s1600/Skwicktimelapse200514DetSml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Dh4arx6mS_hskCDr-FfQfwhbexVMnyDRDzemxrkl2qk7vVdR44RRaIGVZxhQ1Dk7XkeXZtM3WXCY1NtH_i-qr7j5Hud1N5yEai6r7Kgyt_73Pb4pK1DDtkcMJyE84I7FSCRP6DgKIv4/s1600/Skwicktimelapse200514DetSml.jpg" height="200" width="162" /></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The storm passed quickly and I managed to return late afternoon to add another two drawings of the ledge section. The aim here was to create a time-lapse drawing that showed any change in the number, density and behaviour of guillemots on the ledge throughout the day. In the evening I certainly noticed an increase in numbers as expected because around 4-8pm is a change over period when pairs swap over incubating the egg, there is also apparent heightened tension around this time with allo-preening and aggressive behaviour seeming to increase. However what really stands out when comparing the time-lapse is the way the overall composition of the groups remain unchanged, so that hour after hour it is possible to pick out the same birds by their location within the mass of activity, because of their loyalty to the same few centimetre square nesting site. </span> </div>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-30789579409919838402014-05-19T07:04:00.000-07:002014-05-28T08:54:43.112-07:00Skomer Day 11: Exercise Lines<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New';"><span style="font-size: medium;">Today I decided to explore a part of Skomer I have never seen despite it being the number one destination for most visitors to the </span><st1:place style="font-size: 13.5pt;" w:st="on">Island</st1:place><span style="font-size: medium;">. Many come to the grassy cliff top plateau known as the Wick for close encounters with its particularly amiable colony of puffins, but I am more excited about the rocky ledges below the main attraction. For the last three days I have been drawing guillemots in clumps on flat wide ledges and in the week before that more clumps on steep broad scree slopes. The Wick cliffs are different; they are sheer and flat with straight narrow ledges that underline neatly formed strings of guillemots. Amazing, that this slightly new type of loomery formation should seem so exciting to me, but after days absorbed in the detail of one site it comes as a revelation. With barely time to smile at the puffins whirring in and out of burrows around my feet as I carefully tread the path shown to me previously that leads past the boulder and into a shoulder width head high crevice. Squeezing through I feel like a pot-holer bursting into a forgotten subterranean world, the water is sapphire blue in a cavernous inlet; a hidden sanctuary away from the mingling puffins and puffin-lovers above, their hubbub replaced by the bustling of breeding kittiwake and guillemot clinging to the shear rock face, cutting the squeezed airspace with their lung bursting calls.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-small;">Brush and ink - quick and fluid, possibly good for <br />dense groups later.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13.5pt;">I have often thought of the rhythm of drawing guillemot over again as being like forming characters in calligraphy. Seeing the groups of guillemot punctuating the wick cliffs in neat lines left to right makes this idea even more legible to me. So I begin to write guillemot, copying one of the ledges nearest me over in neat lines as an exercise. Each line takes between 7-8 minutes and I realise that this is a way of recording the changing structure of guillemot groups. A recurring theme throughout this project has been the way loomeries fluctuate in density at this period in the season, first during re-establishment of territory and later the sharing of incubation between pairs. I try this method in both ink and as a line drawings. Ink is fantastic, fluid and fast but less legible for what I want to do here – the line drawing works better to record the behaviours more precisely.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New'; font-size: 13.5pt;">Later I explore further along the inlet out to sea and find a continuous ledge of guillemot, several hundred metres long. Evening spent painting studies at the Amos. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-52168332343254253422014-05-18T10:05:00.000-07:002014-05-28T07:58:42.058-07:00Skomer (Week 2) Day 8-10: Eggs and Colour Rings <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVuVSIIhZCogkNDLh59KesCRNWvvlVr3m5ZkwqMKRjRP5Nlr4BsCxs7UZv_v5EC7x8VuwaDkkLBugtLjjU3e5yZiCneRZF11c1AYAo2x_jPBPkZGeNPXRmGbSzj3VzqErrJ6D5XpDl7mM/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-small;">Drawing at the Amos, with a puffin onlooker.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I returned to Skomer on the 16th and with calm weather took the opportunity to work at the more exposed South West facing Amos site. At the moment I am tackling a larger composition on a 3m scroll of the entire study plot that is the main focus of the monitoring programme run here by Tim Birkhead. The majority of the Amos's Guillemot pairs have laid during the time I have been away, so there will be lots of colourful eggs in this drawing when finished. The patterning of birds across the loomery is also turning out to be different, not just because the geology of the ledges they use are not like the steep scree of the Bull Hole site I focused on last week, but because their behaviour has changed with many birds taking on a sitting incubating posture. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Pairs take it in turns to incubate eggs in 12 hour shifts and there are change over periods at around 5-8am and 4-6pm. During these times, the loomery grows in density as birds return, from foraging perhaps and long greeting, allopreening displays and behaviour occur as guillemots commence in the process of persuading often reluctant partners to leave the egg they have been on for 12 or so hours so they can incubate it. Tension is often high at these periods as returning birds often need to reassert their dominance and claim over both nesting site and partner. Fights are common, often to deal with imposters - guillemot fidelity is not as clear cut as I previously thought. </span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbYPCpOXFNHlqoY-EQRkEPf8otrKljrzmIysrGGWgyAXKDkw0adJ26Mm_dhcOfKR9xrPMPbTObKpHmDSRQyX89Tk_rpvVPlkY_XBWmM_JH8vgjLumUPwqCpeFouN7EdeEm784ViCnU7o/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqbYPCpOXFNHlqoY-EQRkEPf8otrKljrzmIysrGGWgyAXKDkw0adJ26Mm_dhcOfKR9xrPMPbTObKpHmDSRQyX89Tk_rpvVPlkY_XBWmM_JH8vgjLumUPwqCpeFouN7EdeEm784ViCnU7o/" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-small;">One of the main groups within the study plot</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"></span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlKdZOjxa_8YczEaW75fy6gPz1F8Pa_IGFFVZ2KdcK1_8NCjxauZVXltbK5A57I6juTswIbkCuGIIet917gIMTCEoGqZQr6yH0EECAyipDOjulbWmrdqU-eHVHBP6n8lSEy-O3_x7I5k/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIlKdZOjxa_8YczEaW75fy6gPz1F8Pa_IGFFVZ2KdcK1_8NCjxauZVXltbK5A57I6juTswIbkCuGIIet917gIMTCEoGqZQr6yH0EECAyipDOjulbWmrdqU-eHVHBP6n8lSEy-O3_x7I5k/" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-small;">The main study groups are rich in ringed birds, recorded on the<br />drawing with a letter and number e,g R (red) 210</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The other focus of this drawing are the guillemots which Tim has ringed with coloured numbered rings which enable researchers to keep track of individual movements, breeding success and even social bonds amongst the loomery. Putting the number on their rings into Tim's database will return a wealth of information about individual lives, I plan to include this information so that single birds can be identified and learnt about. Before evemn looking at the database, the rings have already proofed useful; I am pleased to include in the drawing, two birds which Julie identified as two which had laid early and lost their egg in last week's storm. Today we saw the female return hopefully to lay another egg after the usual four day average period away from the colony feeding at sea. These are the kind of stories that make the whole experience I want to convey so fascinating - only possible because of the dedicated monitoring on this site.</span></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu8odrm_rUeGF-v3_nz7IY-mBbKLqkhr3RfQw98rV0Gxds_KYpnIOMKypFyUCYtCxAKi_In7hmHmsybVquzE8TAbMYvkPT7IYsXYejyFIJgi7TCDRMqAnnPDh7y_SgRdz7b9874R-ZaK4/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu8odrm_rUeGF-v3_nz7IY-mBbKLqkhr3RfQw98rV0Gxds_KYpnIOMKypFyUCYtCxAKi_In7hmHmsybVquzE8TAbMYvkPT7IYsXYejyFIJgi7TCDRMqAnnPDh7y_SgRdz7b9874R-ZaK4/" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-small;">At the half way point by the end of day 2</span></div></td></tr></tbody></table>Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-67276827656129564862014-05-13T04:49:00.000-07:002014-05-14T04:49:54.294-07:00Skomer Guillemots Under Threat<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-2YM3rvd2MW_Lfz-53Ki-injrfx4R3UfuK2J8mjdw6fUiSR75gIxksDyqSAjinvUZTD36L9JMNiGe4Sytdwttm6TlRaGCheO8FWIHOXtUjXm358hza01y3KU7yJwecUmidAs_bzp_tho/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-2YM3rvd2MW_Lfz-53Ki-injrfx4R3UfuK2J8mjdw6fUiSR75gIxksDyqSAjinvUZTD36L9JMNiGe4Sytdwttm6TlRaGCheO8FWIHOXtUjXm358hza01y3KU7yJwecUmidAs_bzp_tho/" /></a>T<span style="font-family: Courier New;">he work I am carrying out on Skomer covered in the previous few posts has given me an insight into the value of long term research. In this case, data from forty years of uninterrupted monitoring of guillemots on Skomer provides a massively important and rare long term study on which to soundly base research,developing knowledge and conservation decisions. It would be counter-intuitive and irresponsible to end such a long term study as this, especially when its modest annual cost far out ways the long term investment of research over forty years or the damage caused by breaking the data set. Not to mention that the current need (and promises) to understand a natural environment under increasing pressure, should make long term studies of marine life including Guillemots one of the more priceless resources available to the environmental bodies who have the responsibility of protecting such important environments. However.....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Natural Resources Wales have cut the £12,000 annual funding they provide for the ongoing Guillemot monitoring study on Skomer Island. This is a hugely important study, and gives valuable insights into seabird life and what affects their populations. Not only is it a shame to end such a long-running (and therefore valuable) data set, but the cut couldn't have come at a worse time, considering the huge impact the recent storms have had on seabird populations (current death toll 25,000 and rising).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">This is a very bad decision on the part of Natural Resources Wales, and we'd like to see it amended.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Please sign the petition to reinstate funding for Skomer Islands guillemot research here:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><a href="http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/reinstate-funding-for-skomer-islands-guillemot">SIGN PETITION</a></span></h2>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3874311794845764014.post-21742075678609506592014-05-11T03:05:00.000-07:002014-05-14T05:26:13.395-07:00Skomer Day 7: Bull Hole for a Triptych<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5W6CpMiX3xLmFZ4Y7eJaAn0K0agkZHNBQFWaZGaB2An-j_VWArKfz6KNIVRiMIjJ1WiPHU4L54jRU_erhYa8lrMv5f653_cIAZOzEED5Ce0JZbc8qYbPbHh_OsxHF9Qg3O9xzumotKGc/s1600/WP_20140511_002sml.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5W6CpMiX3xLmFZ4Y7eJaAn0K0agkZHNBQFWaZGaB2An-j_VWArKfz6KNIVRiMIjJ1WiPHU4L54jRU_erhYa8lrMv5f653_cIAZOzEED5Ce0JZbc8qYbPbHh_OsxHF9Qg3O9xzumotKGc/s1600/WP_20140511_002sml.jpg" height="240" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-small;">Photo of Bull hole section taken at left, 08.15 and right 18.30</span> </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New';">When I arrived at Bull Hole this morning
the loomery was extremely sparse, illustrated by the photo on the left. By 4pm
however, the number of birds was higher than I had seen all week, with many new
ledges occupied and familiar ones heaving with birds. As well as guillemot returning to claimed ledges I noticed groups in flight approaching the colony
in sync but landing in different areas, usually being chased off only to
regroup and try again. I began a third scroll around this time, of a section
stage left of the second scroll that incorporates research groups B and C.
Again I used the faster method of line drawing to capture most of group C before 6pm.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One bird attacks another and </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">appears to couple with its mate</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">This third Scroll, makes up a triptych of vertically hanging scrolls partly inspired by groups of hanging scrolls made in the Chinese tradition (e.g Wang Jian 1598-1677) but necessitated by the formation of steep cascading colony ledges at Bull Hole. Developing the drawings has been a learning curve first to establish what is achievable in this environment, secondly to work as economically as possible and thirdly to practice patient observation so that reacting to capture every movement and posture becomes more and more intuitive. The drawings I made towards the end of this week are minimal almost diagrammatic in the way they describe the essence of each individual behaviour. However the view they present is an insight of the colony on an individual, pair or small group level of detail restricted by the speed I can draw one to a few birds. Next time I visit Skomer in a few days, I will be looking at how to describe mass or synchronised behaviour over much larger groups or the entire loomery, using rapid marks or symbols that can be later deciphered into a recognisable drawing - visual ethograms. Weather permitting I hope to carry this work out at the Amos, so I can aim for a series of drawings covering a range of study sites used by Tim and at the same time follow the progress of G907.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: xx-small;">Bull Hole</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Sea Studies at Bull Hole, auks on the water, razorbill <br />'butterfly flight'.</span></td></tr>
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Chris Wallbankhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07374539324530150180noreply@blogger.com0