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The Death of Summer: by Bev Jones
4th January to 10th February 2017
Open evening 4th January 7-9pm
Bev’s work captures beautifully the extraordinary nature of ordinary moments, evoking wonder and magic through vibrant colours and intricate detail yet never quite losing its roots in everyday city life.
During the summer most of us barely notice the leaves on trees, artists might try and pick out slight differences in shades and tones but mostly leaves are ignored, an anonymous mass of silently waving green. All summer they ply their trade as alchemists, transforming sunlight into sugars, chemical energy, the stuff of life for trees. All summer they casually pump out oxygen breathing it out as easily as we breathe it in. All summer leaves go on working, unnoticed and then they die.
If trees are going to survive the winter wind and snow then leaves need to die and trees know how to read the signs: the shortening days, the cooling temperature. Sultry nights become nippy evenings and balmy winds become howling blasts. It’s time to pull in. Time to call back all that can be saved, all that can be safely used or stored for future days. Time to leave the dying leaves, to leave them with all the immobile, the poisonous, the useless, all those bright sharp colours, lime and yellow, orange, red, pink or purple and eventually brown. Dried out, bitter, brittle and sooner or later blow away.
Now we see them, now we can’t ignore them, leaves scattered over gardens and grass verges, forming colourful blankets on roads and pavements, causing consternation on railway lines. Autumn leaves are suddenly beautiful, irritating, fun, ubiquitous, un-missable, dead. The useful summer leaves are dead and the death of summer brings a riotous, colourful, glorious celebration of the wondrous alchemy we have previously taken for granted.