mister shaw

In my second year of university i was under the tutelage of a man named Norman Shaw.

I, without realising at the time, worshipped the ground he walked on.

He was modest, nervously funny and so damn talented it could break your heart.

(The above images don't even do justice to just how masterful this man is whilst wielding a drawing implement)

My first day of his class, i was sent up a hill in the freezing rain to draw what i encountered...which was mostly trees and my own soggy curmudgeonliness.

I didn't get it.

What the hell was i doing up this hill?

I returned to DoJ full of venom, cursing myself for choosing this particular class.

I didn't want to climb hills and perch uncomfortably on rocks to sketch leaves!

But then Norman Shaw did something.

That wonderful man started talking.

And i was done for.

He described different ways of looking at nature.

Varying ways of reproducing it on paper without directly copying.

He taught us to be intuitive.

To wait for the quiet moments in nature that we usually miss due to our modern vice of never slowing the fuck down.

...

And i did.

A fond memory of mine was discovering a desire line just a few yards away from a manmade path i had been staring blankly at for a good 20 minutes, not knowing what the hell i was going to do if i returned to class empty-handed.

It was an altering experience.

Yes, i'd noticed desire lines before, my cats had a specific one in my garden that i miss dearly, but i'd never taken the time to really look at one and find out what it was called or meant.

They were merely an imprint of an animal or rambler who'd wandered off to look for a shorter way to their destination.

Which they are but to me they are also an act of rebellion.

We so easily follow the paths laid out for us that we forget there are different ways to travel.

To leave the path is unthinkable in a way as we've been so conditioned to follow, not to wander.

There is something mysterious in seeing tracks that derail from order.

There's a lovely term for those who wander.

They are known as, Meanderthals.

I don't know why but this has always stuck with me and in the case of Norman Shaw's class, it had a significant impact on the work i was producing.

I, the girl afraid of getting lost just about anywhere, started to wander.

It was scary.

It was messy.

(Do not go trudging about the countryside in weatherbeaten Converse...yuck)

It was awesome.

I had been struggling with the work, not knowing where i was going with all these sketches i was producing, when i stumbled across a tree in the Ardblair Woods near my Grandmother's house.

It lay right across the path that runs down the centre of the wood, felled by some horrendously strong Scottish gales.

And it was perfect.

The instant i saw it, i started taking photographs for reference.

At every possible angle.

I returned home somewhat muddy.

Uploaded the photographs.

Commenced dissecting the tree by staring at its limbs until my eyes went fuzzy.

And then i started to lose my mind a bit.

There were creatures in that tree.

Living, breathing, ungodly creatures staring back at me from this seemingly innocent hunk of sap and bark.

They formed the very bones of its design like some Dante-esque structure of souls fused together in eternal agony.

And somehow i'd missed them until now.

Without Norman, i would not have seen those creatures and i would not have produced a series of work i am still proud of to this day.

I received an A for this project.

I couldn't believe it when i was told.

I do believe i pulled a rather befuddled expression at the tutor doling out the grades, which earned me a chuckle and a, 'Yes, really!'

This, my fellow miscreants, is what happens when a genuinely good teacher enters your personal universe.

It was a sad day when the class came to its conclusion and i had to move onto a new section of my course.

I pined for the days when Norman would amble over, plonk himself down, tentatively snatch my sketchbook and inform me of artists to look into - hello, my new found love for Graham Sutherland and Hans Bellmer.

He never criticised, which was confusing at first because all i'd ever really known at the university was criticism - too old fashioned blah blah blah.

He asked me about my work, took the time to question what i was doing and helped me develop my work further.

And i soaked up every second and every word because to me, he was the frickin' Messiah in a grungey jumper. 

I just wanted him to let me bring him cups of tea and talk with him about Yew trees all the live long day.

(Yew trees are cool, look them up)

I remember even talking with him about the Ents from The Lord Of The Rings at one point, which was a particular highlight.

In short.

Norman Shaw is awesome.

And he's the only 'in the flesh' artist who's ever inspired me.

And i may want to give him a hug or whatever.

Which i may do if i ever see him again, even though he will have no idea who i am anymore.

I will terrify him and i don't even care.

Ps. He makes music too. How can one person be this awesome?!