Saturday, 1 November 2025

Rafts, plinths and islands

If you type into Google "Rafts, plinths and islands", you get a reply that points to the different types of land and structures found in the survival game 'Raft'. However I'm thinking about how we present artwork and how we sometimes try to isolate the work from the world, so that we can contemplate it.
Rafts, plinths and islands are three dimensional ways of thinking about framing. They are also usually associated with sculpture rather than drawing, however there is a fair amount of territory that overlaps and I have in the past looked at drawing as very thin sculpture, a reminder that all physical things, no matter how flat are all three dimensional. 

I can remember first coming across Anthony Caro's work in the late 1960s and one of the things that was fascinating about it, was that it didn't need to stand on a plinth. 

Anthony Caro, Prairie: 1967


By eliminating the plinth the work became part of the world you were in, it occupied the same space as you did. This was such a different feeling to encountering sculpture on a plinth. It felt at the time liberating and democratic, to bring sculpture down from off its aristocratic pedestal. 

Rodin: Hand of God: 1998


Sculpture presented on a plinth, such as 'The Hand of God' by Rodin, is presented to us as if it belongs to another place, in effect it occupies an island that you have to get to in order to appreciate it. The island plinth is rather like another country, the game 'Raft' taps into the psychic feeling tone we have when we encounter islands as places of intrigue, mystery and/or danger
; islands hold within themselves secrets that can only be discovered by exploration and getting there is sometimes a struggle. The plinth standing isolated in a gallery space, operates in a similar way to an island, the work that stands upon it may be new and uncharted, but we know someone has presented this work to us as something worth contemplation. 
The aesthetic 'struggle' to understand what art means is often encountered in galleries, especially if the work on display is of classical provenance. The 'special' nature or 'aura' of the work is signified by the plinth, you immediately know it is of cultural and monetary worth by the fact that it has been three dimensionally 'framed' and presented.  

From the Dauphin website

Companies such as Dauphin operate as art display consultants and if you are thinking about how to present work, it is always worth looking at what they do, if only to steal ideas. If you go to their website you will find that they operate as a service that adds value to the work they present. Compare what they do to shop window displays, where expensive items are spotlit and are given small pedestals to isolate them from other objects or set into felt or silk. For 
art display consultants the art object is no different to any other culturally valuable item, the job is to heighten the allure of the object and at times to give it an almost religious significance. 

Jewellery shop display

St Mark's Basilica treasury

Spotlit and behind glass, the religious treasures of St Mark's in Venice, are presented as objects for veneration. The sculpture as presented by Dauphin it is suggested ought to have a similar level of veneration. However the relics in St Marks are set into a vitrine, a way of presenting things that is closely related to plinths and pedestals but more concerned with religious value than monetary value. I shall preserve the issues related to vitrines for another post, as they not only signify religious value, but the idea of the museum gaze and the sanctity of research. 

The plinth is a modern version of the pedestal. The pedestal is a sort of shorthand version of the column and it signifies Classicism, which was and still is, an aesthetic attitude that suggests the primacy of the culture of ancient Greece and Rome. 

A classical pedestal.

If you place modern sculpture on a classical pedestal or niche, as I have done with one of my ceramics, or in the work of Lee Bul further below, it is framed or separated out from life, as well as curiously, unframed, the incongruity making the observers very aware that they are meant to see that a point is being made. 


Ceramic votive fetish presented on a classical pedestal

Lee Bul: Long Tail Halo 2024

Of course you can simply place your work on a domestic object such as a chair.


Contemporary artists are very aware of these issues, but perhaps the first modern artist to play with the idea of the plinth was Brancusi. 

Brancusi display currently at the Pompidou centre

Brancusi shapes his plinths into forms that chime with the sculpture placed upon them.

Dogon: Kambari style

Certain sculptures made in the area of Africa that we call Mali by the Dogon people are given the attribute, 'Kambari' style. Made at exactly the same time as Brancusi made Portrait de Mme L.R, and for many years before he began carving, these sculptures also integrated their bases into their body forms. They remind us that the carvings are made from tree trunks, the base often being both something that is a 'ground' for the figure to stand on and a formal device that echoes the shape and form of the material that the figure was carved from. Brancusi used to celebrate his 'primitive' approach, often by incorporating elements from Romanian folk art and African sculpture into his work, which he saw as a source of more authentic artistic feeling.

Brancusi: Portrait de Mme L.R. 1914–17

Brancusi's 'Portrait de Mme L.R.', is like the Dogon sculpture shaped out of wood, the supporting base, or plinth, is an integral component of the sculpture, you can't take the top part off and put it on another base. If Brancusi had been a painter, it would be as if he had begun painting onto the frame of his painting. Something that we see happening in the work of Howard Hodgkin, 60 years later.


Howard Hodgkin:Blue Movie: 1986/7

Picasso of course got there first. He realised you could use the frame to play a perceptual game.

Picasso: Still life with chair caning and rope frame. 1912

Picasso asks us questions as to how we see and what we see. The chair caning is a print, a slice of existing life, but non the less an illusion. The letters are real letters, the fractured viewpoints of the painted still life are reminders of the various positions taken by the artist as he looked at the still life and the rope frame asks us to think about the caning again, as its twisted material is of the same material family. But it also asks the question, "`Where does the image stop?" Does it stop inside the frame, or is the rope part of the experience? This conundrum is opened out in some of my earlier posts in particular in relation to the parergon.

We have now returned to the wall space and framing a flat image, hopefully it now makes sense as to why I'm looking at the plinth within a blog focused on issues related to drawing. 

There is a sort of halfway house for sculpture and that is the raft, something that in the case of a flat image is not that dissimilar to the shelf. 

Sébastien de Ga: Aluminium Sculpture on Pallet 1, 2017

The wooden pallet is often used as a type of raft when presenting work. It is high enough to separate the work out from the floor, but low enough to suggest that the work still bears some sort of floor relationship. Pallets also have a sense of a working life or everyday reality associated with them. They are made for easy manoeuvrability and suggest therefore impermanence. 
The raft can also be a small island, in the case of Hans Op de Beeck's still lives, he 'frames' the work by installing it on a low platform. That halfway house between a full blown plinth and the raft is as I pointed out similar to the relationship between the frame and the shelf, another presentation technique de Beeck uses.

Hans Op de Beeck

Hans Op de Beeck

Standing frames on a shelf or ledge

Standing a frame on a ledge reintroduces the physical presence of the frame. It is another of those contradictions that we sometimes encounter when displaying work. On the one hand we want to cut the work out of an everyday space to suggest that it is something different and that you ought to spend time focusing on the ideas that the work is holding. On the other hand we may want to suggest that the work is available or 'domesticated' is some way. There was some work presented in the last Venice Biennale on old chests of drawers. The sculptures therefore feeling more like ornaments. 

Objects sitting on top of a contemporary chest of drawers

Michael Samuels

Michael Samuels has made sculpture from furniture, therefore the plinth is an integral part of the sculpture, table legs still operating as table legs, even though the table is no longer a table. 

The image above could be a plan view of a gallery floor with island positions marked for sculptures or an elevation view of a gallery wall with flat works displayed as isolated images. On a flat wall the space between images set out like this can feel vast. The difference being that in plan view you are actually in the room space, standing on the floor, therefore you are also activating the room space as an additional three dimensional object, this is not the case on the wall. On the wall you can cluster a group of works together rather like islands and then put one larger work some distance away, suggesting a larger land mass off in the distance. The viewer it is suggested needs to travel between these images, just as you would when sailing at sea. However you travel in the mind, your eyes do the work, as you stand on the outside of the situation. 

So yet another series of things to think about when displaying work. There are always more issues and the next subject related to presentation methods I shall deal with is that of the display case and how that effects and affects the meanings associated with art work. I'll leave that for another post. 
See also:

Hanging work for an exhibition
Trapping and framing
More on framing
The frame and the screen
More theories about drawing (Includes more on the parergon)

Saturday, 25 October 2025

Three Men's Morris

The board for Three Men's Morris

For my birthday recently my daughter Ruth sent me the rules of the game Three Men's Morris. In order for me to play the game, she also sent six small shells that she had picked up off a beach in Uist, three of a cool grey colour cast and three of a warmer colour. The game is played with three counters per person on a board with nine points. The objective is to be the first to get your three counters in a straight line, something that is called a "mill". Players take turns placing pieces until all six are on the board. Once all counters are placed, players move one per turn to an adjacent, empty intersection following the lines on the board, aiming to be the first to align their three pieces in a row; a move that wins the game.

It's an ancient game and its moves reminded me of the dynamics of the square as set out by Rudolf Arnheim. He believed that everything we see is part of a visual field of forces and these forces are attractors that force us to look in certain ways. Using drawings he demonstrated how the formal elements that underpin visual thinking are integrated into fields of visual force dynamics. His diagrams pointed to the fact that perception and thought act reciprocally and after reading his text and looking at his drawings, I did find that I had become much more aware of the energy fields that emerge from a geometric form's inner dynamics.

The field dynamics of a square according to Rudolf Arnheim

In the diagram above, the circles represent centres of attraction and how they reach out into the spaces around them and the lines visual forces and their direction. 

Playing the game Three Men's Morris, in some ways re-enacts Arnheim's idea. You gaze at a board that is marked out in the same way as Arnheim's square's emergent energy fields. Each move in effect destabilises the dynamic and as you play you are constantly looking for patterns that seek cohesion, in the case of Three Men's Morris, joining three points together. In effect by playing the game you reveal the underlying structural skeleton of a square. The counters, or in my case small shells, appear to move along the structural axis of the overall form. As they do so they create a 'flow', that moves through the square's focal points, leading your eyes' movements through one part of the square to the next. This 'flow' is a beautiful example of Arnheim's idea that perception and thought act reciprocally, as you think of the next move, you are at exactly the same time 'seeing' the pattern that is both there and implied. 

Perception and thought are tied together, but at some point within the timeframe of almost instantaneous action/reaction decisions, I suspect Bayesian probability theory could be applied by a statistician, in order to determine the probability of a particular move. However there are two types of approaches to Bayesian probability theory, objectivists interpret probability as an extension of logic, probability quantifying an answer that presumes we have a starting point or baseline that we tend to call common sense. However subjectivists, approach probability as something that corresponds to a personal belief. Therefore rationality is subject to substantial variation due to differing beliefs. The objective and subjective variants of Bayesian probability differ mainly in their interpretation and construction of the prior probability, i.e. where are we coming from in terms of an approach to reality? This is I think a vital question in a time of post truth. 

Because of my daughter's gift, I've been stimulated to think about board games as a way of presenting ideas. I have dipped my toe into the territory before and I did make a game once and had it made up with ceramic pieces made in the form of small boats as counters. 

Snakes and ladders type game 2016

I discovered this monkey game recently, which is a variant of The Game of the Goose, which was the first board game to be published commercially.

The new game of the monkey: By E. Wallis: 1820

I was fascinated by the new game of the monkey, as it seems to open doors for a wide range of stories, in particular those stories whereby there are no fixed formats. For instance in space 14 there is a monkey I think trying to seduce a woman with a saucepan for a hat and in space 23 there is a Little Red Riding Hood monkey. Both suggest a lascivious monkey, but without a particular narrative. This opens out the moments of action in the game into unknown territory. I have been using the figure of a monkey a lot recently, and was in particular thinking of the monkey's position as substitute for humans in scientific and medical experiments. My recent time in Gothenburg in particular re-alerting me to the way monkeys are used to test out the implications of new medical procedures before they are used on humans. Although initially working my ideas through as images and making the occasional ceramic, it is the game format that I'm hoping to develop. 




Monkey studies

A board game can be a substitute for a life's journey and another of my go to concepts in terms of how we visualise a life's journey is the Wyrd. This old nordic vision is of the intricate web of fate. Imagine that your umbilical cord at birth has an invisible twin. This one is never cut and as your life unravels it unravels too, winding itself around first of all your immediate family and the landscape of your youth. It gradually wraps itself around all the experiences of life, until a fabric is woven that is your life cloth. It represents the interconnectedness of everything including the past, present and future. Individual lives extend out threads that weave a tapestry of their own destiny. The Norns spin, measure, and cut the threads of life for humans and gods alike.

The final cloth is the result of an amazingly complex decision tree. As I looked at playing Three Men's Morris, the decision tree for that is I thought a symbol, that could stand for the one that underpins the Wyrd.

A decision tree for Three Men's Morris visually maps all possible moves and outcomes, showing each decision point where a player can place or move a piece. It's a game tree that starts with an empty board and branches out with every possible move, leading to a win, loss, or draw for the players. Building this tree involves mapping out the game's two phases: the placement phase (the possibilities surrounding decisions made as all pieces are placed on the board) and the movement phase (pieces are moved to adjacent, empty spots). There are four aspects to the decision tree that need to be taken into consideration. The Nodes, which represent the places from where a player must make a choice. The Branches, that represent the possible moves a player can make from a given node. The Options, that indicate which player's turn it is and what their options are and the Outcomes, that show the result of the sequence of moves (win, loss, or draw).

A simple compact decision tree of a game of three men's morris is an interesting structure in itself.



Three Men’s Morris placement phase has 9 empty positions at the start, when player 1 places a piece, 8 open positions remain. When player 2 places a piece, 7 open positions remain, then when player 1 places a second piece, 6 open positions remain. This continues until player 2 places their third counter, which leaves 3 open positions. There are therefore 9 × 8 × 7 × 6 × 5 × 4 × 3 = 181,440 possible placement sequences, all of which will have taken place before the game actually gets started. The decision tree that shows every placement sequence up to completion of the placement phase (the 6 initial placements), is set out below.  

Three Men’s Morris placement phase decision tree

As the decision tree grows it reminds me of when I was getting fabrics made using a Jacquard loom. Although the loom I was getting my work made with no longer used a card file and was now driven by computer, I was very aware of the complexity that underpinned the process. We tend to forget how complex many of our computer programs must now be. For instance when BBC computers were introduced into the college back in the late 1970s, we were taught how to write code to place a dot into a position on a screen. Then we could join that dot to another by defining co-ordinates. Therefore just to draw one line we had to write several lines of code. Many years have passed since then, but deep down within the complexity of some 3D animation software there will still be the code for joining two points on a screen, but millions of operations have been conducted since then and it is unlikely that I will ever get even an inkling of what they entail. However that doesn't stop me from thinking of that complexity as being not unlike the woven tapestry of the Wyrd. Several people have observed in the past that complex technology when seen by people from non technological societies will seem like magic. Indeed Arthur C. Clarke in his essay, "Hazards of Prophecy: The Failure of Imagination", stated as the third of his laws for future prophecy, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic". My present awareness of new technology is already making me worry that we are now entering a new magical era, whereby AI magicians will conjure new realities out of nothing.

Punched cards used to operate a Jacquard loom

The complex matrix of threads that are interwoven with punch card directions

As I play the game of Three Men's Morris, which is also my granddaughter's favourite game, I'm reminded of the wonderful complexity of life, of how from that initial moment of our conception, when a sperm fertilises an egg and they combine to form a zygote, that single cell will begin to multiply and a decision tree begins that will eventually be of such complexity that it is impossible to hold in the mind, except as an idea and in my case I still find the old nordic vision of the intricate web of fate as being as good as any other that humankind has produced. 

See also: 

Saturday, 18 October 2025

Speculative grace

The plane journey to Gothenburg and back to Leeds was broken by having to change planes at Amsterdam, therefore I had a lot of time to fill and so decided to re-read Adam S. Miller's 'Speculative Grace: Bruno Latour and Object-Orientated Theology'. I had read it initially some time ago and happened to spot it on my bookshelves just as I was thinking about what to take with me to read. It's a strange book, as it tries to tease out the religious concept of 'grace' from the writings of someone that developed a body of writing focused on how science makes meaning. 

Latour was though a life long Catholic and therefore as a Christian his thinking would have been coloured by his Bible readings. He was not trying to argue the importance of Christian beliefs but his arguments do suggest that certain Christian ideas, helped him shape his thoughts. For instance, Matthew 5:5; "Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth," and 2 Corinthians 12:9 that states, "He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness'". After looking at the way that science actually operated in real life situations, Latour had decided that you can never actually be objective, he had then developed the idea that you cannot separate opposites out from each other and that reductionism, or the focusing down on one direction or way of understanding the world was not just wrong, but that it was actually an impossibility. An idea therefore, of power residing in weakness, could have helped him to think about dissolving distinctions between culture and nature or subject and object. By stating that the world is actually an amazing network of interconnections and that everything relies on everything else, Latour suggests that if any one thing pulls itself out of the matrix and acts as if it has power over other things, it will in effect eventually undermine itself, as it would cut the very ties that enable it to be what it is.
He also argues that nothing is ever actually a thing, there are simply nodes or centres that are connected to everything else. Although at times there could be a suggestion of an object's separate identity, this could only be a constantly shifting one, one that was in itself determined by all the various connections that thing might have from moment to moment. This is a type of strength through harmony; something that could easily have emerged out of Latour's Christian beliefs, for instance many Christians believe that the unity of believers is built on humility, forgiveness and mutual respect. A unity that is achieved not through uniformity, but by valuing diversity within a common faith. I was also reminded of the Markov blanket concept, whereby, although for the sake of the way they use communication systems it might be useful for humans to be able to nominate a tree as a separate thing, in reality it is an event or aspect of a process. The boundaries of biological systems, from individual cells to trees (or indeed people) can be thought of as the supporters of free energy, or places where that energy meets other forms of energy and where interactions take place that both help to stabilise the entity and to ensure it is in constant communication with all the surrounding energy fields that it depends on for survival. If so, something called a Markov blanket can be used to define its boundaries in a statistical sense, i.e. instead of a solid wall you have a series of probabilities whereby something is and isn't at the same time, called in this instance, the active inference scheme. But Latour goes much further than this, he believes that all things operate in the same way, both organic and non organic and that some things might be processes. I was then reminded of Timothy Morton's 'hyperobjects', which could also be things such as global warming. 

Latour looked at the complexity of the everyday and in doing so, he helps us value what is going on right in front of us and Adam S. Miller opens out an argument that 'grace' can be found in Latour's writings by this very fact. 
I wrote the note below in a very shaky biro hand whilst flying between Gothenburg and Amsterdam. 

"Votives and the Pluriverse"
If we take a point of view that everything is interconnected and that everything is always becoming, in flux, never quite establishing fixed boundaries, then a votive practice that is multi faceted would seem to make sense. The need to create a flow, to establish the conditions of constant fermentation, can be met as a practice evolves out of parallel views. Grace emerges from the fermentation of the multitude. It is embedded in the bustling give and take of objects. A votive always emerges from a complexity. Ceramics allows us to make forms that are collapsing and emerging at the same time and as they do, at some point we can come to a temporary stop and see how this evolving object can now talk to the situation that it emerged from.

My votive making emerges from a complex something that comes out of a conversation. The conversation may well be far too hard to simplify or clarify what is needed, so there has to be a process of finding a line through what is being said. I push back against someone to see what will come out of the dialogue. They then push back at me, often with a statement such as, "It's not like that, its more like..." In this way forms arrive out of the flow, rather than an object being made from a pattern. 


Votive forms made of psychic animal body parts
I.e. what your organs might look like if you were inhabiting the soul of an animal

In Gothenburg I had been giving short presentations to medical professionals about the work I had been doing at Pinderfields Hospital. When not having to be doing that, I was free to follow anything else that was happening, and the other much more comprehensive presentations were being given by scientists that were very interesting. I had been reading Craig's book on interoception just before leaving, therefore I could see how important neuroplasticity was to the way our nerves operate and how our body parts are connected through our backbones. I saw two presentations in particular that looked at ways to use stem cell growth to foster the development of new neurons that could reach over divides made during traumatic injury, when a backbone is broken. It was hoped that these new discoveries would lead to a way to repair broken spinal networks and in doing so get limbs moving again.  

The patients who were involved were very similar to the group I had met in Wakefield, all had suffered traumatic spinal injuries. However the 'actants' as in Latour's use of the term, also included several non-human creatures, including mice and monkeys and machinery. The images of the injuries were made using powerful electron microscopes, giant sections of backbones were projected on several screens as presenters pointed to newly grown dendritic shaped fibres beginning to spread out into bone substrates. Craig had made me aware of an evolutionary history of the different types of nerve fibres running through the spine and therefore I was not surprised when for instance one presenter pointed to the existence of nerves carrying visual information through adjacent channels. No one mentioned that nerves carrying more emotional information would also have to pass through the backbone's super highway. I was though now beginning to see these presentations as entries into a type of micro world, one that I entered guided by science, that was re-shaping my visual spinal image bank. This caused some sort of oscillation of my being, that also included the mice and monkeys that had given their lives to the research conducted in the many medical laboratories that had been working on these issues. I was being connected via a series of networks that were previously unavailable to myself, but which had already been invisibly shaping my experiences. 

Bruno Latour's ideas level the playing field between things. He used the image of a constant fermentation that arises as a physical/chemical/quantum/emotional/psychological and economic mix that is achieved by the constant swelling and current mixing of energy seas. It's an idea that for many would be too disconcerting, people often want some form of certainty and the rise of rightwing philosophies points to this need. You need a certain confidence to ride the waves of uncertainty. An idea of time as a relative thing that operates in different ways as it interacts with small and large scale events, can for some people be very disconcerting, as people are in many ways already dead, as well as not yet born. As an artist I can see how objects effect me, they shape my mind, they penetrate me and I am worked on by them from within. I need to accept this, if not I could have no real belief in the power of the objects I make to effect other people. As you read this post, another non-organic thing enters your mind and as it does it begins to reshape your body. This may only be for a moment, you may well decide that this text is boring and stop reading, but in the short time you were reading, you were being re-shaped. Any perception of rightness is just a temporary "momentary truth", that sits within a larger, ever-changing process of constant becoming. It is a fascinating thing, one that can either be embraced or rejected, and as it is embraced there are wonderful opportunities for becoming immersed in the flow of possibilities.

Grace is normally defined as an acknowledgment that one's well-being is a result of God's undeserved kindness, benevolence, or blessing. Grace is something that reminds us that luck or good fortune is not a product of one's own actions, it is a game of chance. However in a world where there is no God, there can still, it has been speculated, be a form of 'grace'.
This is a way of thinking about the implications of a world where the idea of a deity, sits within or on the same playing field as a game of marbles or a TV set. The wonder is in the everydayness of it all and the fact that you are indeed special. No matter how insignificant you might feel you are, you have existed and still exist as a something. That existence is a complex amalgam of events and physical happenings that has during all the time it has been with us, been rubbing up against other things and in doing this it has in turn, shaped them. You might not be able to see this, you might be too close to the happening that is you to see it, but it is still happening and in that happening you are bathed in the speculative grace of now.

See also:

Saturday, 11 October 2025

From making votives to visualising Interoception

Image from a visualising interoception workshop

Stress influences the way we perceive pain. Our worry associated with pain, especially if the pain is long lasting, can make it worse. There is a feedback loop that will eventually lead to anxiety and depression and it is this feedback loop that I am hoping to break when I work with people who have experienced severe pain. 

Making votives alerted me to the fact that rituals and objects associated with them could be used to take away the pain or distress associated with a difficult experience. A votive materialises a thought, it congeals around a feeling and gives it literal weight. Once objectified, the votive releases the feeling from the person and can pass it on, become a holder for it or become a channel for the intervention of a higher power. The psychology of the situation involves the release of the trauma from the person who is suffering and 'takes their mind off it', as one of the people I was working with put it. 

Votive made for someone with chronic lung problems

Making votives led me to have to devise rituals for their use. However I didn't take that aspect of the work seriously, until by chance I met John Fox and Sue Gill, of Welfare State International and when John Fox saw what I was doing he wondered if I could extend the votive idea into rituals for funerals, something he and Sue Gill had been doing for some time. I was somewhat in awe of them, as I knew of the amazing work they had done over the years and was honoured to feel that John thought what I was doing interesting. Their 'Dead Good Guides' are designed to work in real situations and to show how art can be seamlessly integrated into the lives of everyone. I never did get to show him what I came up with, because he died not long after our meeting, but he had impelled me to move my work on and to really think about how and why my work should be more available and accessible to everyone, not just people from the art world. Not long after meeting John I had to attend a funeral of someone who had been cremated and it was obvious that people didn't really know what to do with the ashes. So my first venture into the territory was to think about rituals and associated objects, that might help people come to terms with the problem of how to dispose of someone's ashes.

Sketchbook page used to communicate the idea


Votives made to hold a body's ashes after cremation

The shell-like objects above are made very simply using pinched clay, which is then fired. Although I made these, the idea is that they should either be made well beforehand by someone before they die, or in response to a post funeral need, by a close relative or friend. Making small objects like these with your hands is an easy thing to do and the process solidifies imprints of every maker's fingertips into each object. Designed so that they can be easily pushed into the earth like a seed pod, they are closed with sealing wax or modelling wax to keep the ashes in. You can also make these seed or shell like shapes in the form of a necklace. One aspect of a pre-ritual workshop is to get the people involved to agree how these objects will be used. The more religious will perhaps want to use them like traditional votives, whereby a candle is lit and prayers said. If so these ash containers can be made into candle holders or have a wick inserted into their hollow insides. Mourners may want to add specific elements that remind them of the person who they wish to celebrate; before they release their relative or friend back into the earth or waters they came from. The more that people get involved the better. 

The ritual of letting go: Skimming votives off into the water

Ceramic votive in the form of a skimming stone filled with ash and sealed.

Another form these ritual objects can take, is that of skimming stones. Again made out of fired clay, two shallow concave forms are put together to make a 'skimming stone'. A hole is left in one side which allows ashes to be inserted and once that has been done, again wax is used to seal the hole, before the final ritual skimming of the ashes out into a lake, river or sea. 

From a sketchbook page used to communicate the idea

The work with votives always involves a drawing led conversation and that conversation leads to the visualisation of a desire or need. This is very emotional. The study of interoception grew out of this work and it has made me very aware that emotions are built within the body, that they are physiological responses to both interior and exterior change. When trying to visualise somatic awareness, I have begun gradually to build up a language of forms that have emerged from both workshops and one-to-one drawing conversations; conversations that are centred on the correspondent agreeing that it is possible to develop an image of their feelings, in a not too dissimilar way to how a police artist would sit with an observer of a crime and work with them to construct an identikit image of the perpetrator. Is it more like this...or like this...? The good thing about this approach is that the person involved doesn't need to know anything about art, they just need to make basic yes/no decisions. 

Which of these two drawings is more like the feeling you are trying to describe?

We often start with a simple comparison drawing such as the one above. Then rough drawings are made as the patient begins to open out about what they feel and we begin to sort out what is possible. 




Initial drawings done during a first meeting

Where is the feeling located?

Then we move on to where is it located in the body. Once I think I have enough information, I take the drawings back to the studio and then work them up. They are then scanned and turned into digital images and printed off. I bring these back to the hospital a week later and these images then become what is critiqued by the patient and ideas as to colour and its effect are developed. 

Annotated images developed with two different patients

As conversations move on I often get to visualise concepts such as how pain moves through the body. Typically this is described by participants as being like a zigzag of lightening. In the case of the image below I was asked to imagine a field of lightening that was also like a spider's web.

An idea worked up as a digital print

The final stages often require several changes, especially as colour is such an emotive aspect of visual language. At this stage images are digitally developed using Photoshop, which allows changes to be kept, because sometimes the patient wants me to take the image back to an earlier stage and it is so much easier to change colours. The digital version also allows me to print off copies for the patient to keep and they can be shown to other interested people.  

Image with annotations as reminders of the story behind it

The final image

Although I hadn't consciously tried to predict the visual shape of the final outcome, in several cases I realised that because we were dealing with the visualisation of normally hidden feelings, that this was not that dissimilar to visualising hidden energies. Patients would talk about the release of an electric charge within their body, or waves of emotion, descriptions that reminded me of the way that earlier researchers had described what they were discovering when they attempted to visualise invisible energies, such as the Odic force.*

In my own work, whereby I tried to visualise personal somatic experiences, such as a difficulty I had breathing due to covid19, I had also sensed that I needed to visualise a certain flow of energy, in this case how it was compacted and then released due to a blockage. 

The moment of a breath breaking into the lungs from a previously closed throat

My academic research has over the last few years looked into earlier attempts to visualise hidden or invisible forces. Initially I looked at visualisations that were the products of quasi-religious thinkers associated with Theosophy, partly because I knew that their work had influenced artists such as Kandinsky and Klee. However I gradually found more scientific thinkers and as I looked into their theories, I began to feel that there was a real need for a belief system that could explain why we feel as if there is something mystical about the universe. 

When researching older areas of esoteric thinking, that have now being debunked by science, such as geometrical psychology, Rayonism and other para-scientific theories, I began to see certain common beliefs, that might not have stood the test of time, but which do reflect an intuitive set of feelings that point to some sort of vibrational understanding of our reality. 

Visualisation of Chakras: From Leadbeater

The idea of chakras, the concept of body auras or the captured energy fields as seen in the work of Dr. Hippolyte Baraduc and the shapes of thought forms, are all attempts to visualise the invisible energies that flow through our bodies. Both colour and sound are vibrational energies and there are many examples of how sound can calm the soul and although the research surrounding colour theory is far less clear in terms of how effective colour can be in creating or changing mood, I have no doubt that colour's vibrational energy does effect emotional change. However after working with a wide range of people, I now realise that colour response is very personal and that it is not something that effects everyone's emotions in the same way.  But that doesn't mean I cant use it, in fact because it is so personal, it opens a door for idiosyncratic visual responses to deep inter-personal communication and one-to-one conversations, which is where most of my work is initiated. I don't though normally have to agree with someone else if my imagery is communicating. Outside of the work in the hospital, I am free to take the imagery wherever I feel it needs to go. The construction of meaningful to myself colour communications has become an essential aspect of my recent work and although colour is hard to pin down, so are emotions and the more I go on to work in this area, the more I feel that it is in the struggle to find an authentic colour voice for a feeling, that I will find a something that allows me to communicate whatever it is that I need to communicate. 

This image emerged from conversations about poor circulation in a leg

In my drawing conversations with people I often hear that they feel anxious, a state of mind that in Chinese culture is sometimes understood as a type of inner body chaos, or the blowing of 'internal winds' and sometimes their descriptions of the internal state of their bodies are less like a medical anatomy diagram and more like an immersion into a strange landscape or contact with alien energies. In Chinese medicine, our bodies are regarded as elements of and inseparable from, the natural world. We are an embodiment of the Earth and the Universe, the patterns of internal change that occur in our bodies, resonate with the external forms of landscape. All are manifestations of the universal Qi, the “substratum of the cosmos,” the essential quality of being, that I personally think of as another type of underlying vibration. 

An animation of an inner body form 

Each of these understandings allows me to develop imagery. By working with a range of overlapping viewpoints I can cross fertilise ideas and allow myself the luxury of imaginative play, whereby I 'freeform' with the visual elements that I have surrounded myself with in the studio and play with various interconnections as they reveal themselves.

The more I work with others, the better prepared I am to set up workshops designed to help people develop their personal interoceptual visual language. These workshops have often involved communicating the things learnt during my one-to-one drawing conversation sessions. I work with people in pairs, helping them to respond to each other's growing awareness of a chosen interoceptual feeling. People often chose a painful experience to try to visualise, but someone in a group will quickly realise that it could be a pleasurable feeling or a very different feeling, such as one that gives you goose bumps, that could be explored. I always encourage this as my research is about the benefits of a wider awareness of interoception than just pain. Craig, in his article 'How do you feel?', a paper that he went on to develop as an excellent book with the same title, points to an awareness of interoception being central to our feelings of being alive and that it is essential to our development of a subjective image of our sentient selves across time. He demonstrates how important interoceptual feelings are and shows how they are inseparable from the way the body knows itself and that emotions are inextricably linked to everything from muscle tone, to a need to go to the toilet. I'm writing this post from a hotel bedroom in Gothenburg in Sweden, having just spent the last three days at a conference devoted to the current medical understanding of issues related to spinal injuries. I sat and drew during several presentations and as the conference went on, I found myself coming to another visual conclusion about the inner body, one more to do with dendritic shaped fibrous growth at the scale of microscopic neurons. I think this was because I had been reading Craig's book and he looks at the evolutionary history of our nervous systems. He welds together ideas about both physical and mental feelings being transmitted to the brain; in such a way that I have an image in my mind of an emotive feeling being no different to a feeling of coldness, when it comes to an electrical signal, carried by neurons and stimulating the brain to make a decision about an action. I also began drawing mice and monkeys, perhaps to make sure I did not forget how grateful we should be to their contributions to spinal injury research. When I draw a monkey, it is a substitution for myself, an image that reminds me I am an animal also. I do realise that without the research that is done we would not be able to further our knowledge but I hope that when animals are used great care is taken to treat them with respect and to minimalise their discomfort and pain. 

Notebook page

In their book, 'Your Brain on Art', Magsamen and Ross use the term 'neuroarts', which is defined as 'the study of how the arts and aesthetic experiences measurably change the body, brain, and behaviour.' When highlighting art's effect on pain awareness and how it can shape it, they state in relation to people interacting with an art form, (2025, p. 37), 'The physical pain may still exist, but how they emotionally relate to that pain has changed'. It is the visualisation of both a change in emotional relationship and an awareness that the physical nature of our insides is intertwined with these emotional changes, that I hope to continue to develop my art practice out of. It takes me into the unknown, which is where as an artist I need to be, but not only that it gives me an audience that perhaps for the first time begin to see that shapes and forms might actually carry information and communicate it in ways that they had never previously noticed. 

However I'm also still probing around at that old problem, of how in making an image do you represent a feeling of being alive? In German there is a term 'zitterbewegung', a sense of vibrating, oscillating energies, that is often associated with quantum mechanics, a term I quite like as it deals with things we cant see, but which need to happen if the things we can see are to behave in ways that result in the world appearing to be as it does. The hidden processes that go on inside our bodies are for myself similar, if they go wrong, the outward appearance of the external body is also changed, another tied together set of happenings. 

The making of an animation based on a feeling of the body as a landscape, is one approach I am taking to the visualisation of inner and outer somatic interrelationships, hoping that after watching it, someone might be able to put their own inner body feelings into action and thus begin their own journey to externalise feelings. As well as exploring how some existing interoceptual visualisations of inner body forms could be animated, I've been looking at Faraday wave phenomena, another aspect of vibrational energy depiction, that I've intuitively linked to a personal understanding of the work of Dr. Hippolyte Baraduc. 

Dr. Hippolyte BaraducIconography obtained without light, electricity or photographic apparatus, due to the right hand of Dr. M. Adam

Dr. Hippolyte Baraduc and Dr. M. Adam, must have at one point in time conjoined to produce the image above. Their activities were I'm sure serious and purposeful and I would like to think that they felt that they had seen something special related to the invisible nature of our existence. They may even have found a way to visualise dark matter, not that it matters, what does matter for myself is the never ending journey of enquiry that as a species we continue to go on, each generation trying in its own way to find ways to visualise those things that we cant see, but which underpin everything that we do.   

The old lungs in action

Recent attempts to make images based on a feeling have been made in response to my own asthma. That harsh rasping feel of lungs struggling is one I know well, but to make an image of it is challenging. This time I have tried to think more about spatial aspects and have looked at stretch, perspective and our sense of vertigo when we are too high up and looking down. I never quite get it right, but each time I try something emerges and as it does it adds to the iconography of inner body speculation. 

• The Odic force was a hypothetical energy or life force, proposed in the 19th century by Baron Carl von Reichenbach. Named after the Norse god Odin, it was believed to be a pervasive energy that permeated all living things and could be influenced by other invisible forces such as magnetism, electricity and sunlight.

References

Craig, A. How do you feel? Interoception: the sense of the physiological condition of the body. Nat Rev Neurosci 3, 655–666 (2002). https://doi.org/10.1038/nrn894

Craig, A. (2014) How Do You Feel?: An Interoceptive Moment with Your Neurobiological Self London: Princeton University Press

Magsamen, S. and Ross, I. (2025) Your Brain on Art: How the arts transform us Edinburgh: Canongate

Baraduc, H. (1913) The Human Soul: Its Movements, Its Lights, and the Iconography of the Fluidic Invisible Paris: Librairie Internationale de la Pensée Nouvelle*

* In his book 'The Human Soul' Baraduc describes something he calls the 'fluidic invisible' or 'Odic liquid'.  We in effect swim in an invisible sea named by Baraduc, 'Somod'. The link above is hopefully still live and you will find images of his exposed photographic plates at the end of the book.