Waders and sketchbook

On my visits so far, I have met a few of the local residents who’s gardens back onto the Crane. We have conversations about herons, ducks, kingfishers, high tides. One woman told me about the writer A G Linney who took a skiff up the River Crane at high tide 91 years ago. He paints an idyllic picture:

…During one summer I made a voyage up the River Crane of an evening about high water in a skiff. It was wearing to the close of a sweltering day, and the cool, green tunnel which the mouth of the little stream presented was captivating. Tall grass hung down over the rough camp-shedding on one side, and trees swept their branches on the other, right down to the water.
About a hundred yards from the river the road to Richmond passes over the Crane, and immediately beyond it one was astonished to come upon a flourishing boat-building yard, of which no hint appears until you are close up to it. Squeezing our way past the boats, we went forward up the next section of the stream, here, perhaps twelve or fifteen feet wide. The (Port of London) Authority’s jurisdiction ends, I believe, at the bridge where Talbot Road passes over the Crane River; and I suppose that the Middlesex County Council here takes over.
From here we were moving slowly along between ends of back gardens belonging to modest middle-class houses. The gardens, as we saw them in the golden light of a hot summer evening, were fully appreciated by their owners for whole families were sitting in arbours or on the turf enjoying the end-of-a-day rest… People came running down, calling, “Look, here’s a boat!” Family bathing was in full swing from every back garden; youngsters were splashing around, full of glee; City typist daughters had hustled back from the office to don their chic bathing suits and gay rubber caps, and were either swimming seriously, or posing for admiration on the banks; even respectable papas had got out their bathing suits and come in for a dip, so that grey heads or bald craniums showed above the little waves of the little stream.
Just before we had drifted down to Talbot Road Bridge a native was fishing. I asked him if he had ever caught anything; rather plaintively he replied, “Not yet.” He looked about twenty-one years of age.
Emerging into the Thames through the tunnel of green I vowed that I must never even cast an eye at the River Crane save near high water, or should see that Rivulet of Happy Families as a mere trickle in the middle of slimy mud.
– “Lure and Lore of London’s River” by A.G. Linney (pub 1932.)

 

I’m sure I’ll be looking out for grey heads and bald craniums next time I go – even if at low tide the river is “a mere trickle in the middle of slimy mud”!

There’s a slipway that I can access the river by, saving me the walk along the Thames. Once again I silently blessed my friend for her waders as, stepping off the side of the ramp (the submerged bit looked too slippy) into fast flowing water, I lost my footing and ended up sitting, waist-high, but completely dry, in the river!

The plants that grip onto the river walls and banks, surviving a twice daily submersion at high tide, have really caught my attention. Like Buddleia that grows in cities, in gutters, walls or concrete, any derelict space, it’s remarkable that these plants have been able to germinate and grow against all odds. They seem to represent the plant world at this time, struggling with their environment and everything it throws at them. I am drawn to their vulnerability and yet their tenacity and ability to survive.

Charcoal seems to me the most suitable medium for the plant drawings. I like its crumbly fragility, making each mark vulnerable and susceptible. You can smudge it, move it around, make it incredibly black and dense or barely a whisper. It enables me to make emotive botanical drawings in opposition to the purely observational, scientific drawings of this genre. And as charcoal is derived from plants, this connection gives the drawings a sort of circularity and history.

The dampness of the river, and where my work might be shown (in a hub, yet to be renovated, next to the nature reserve), has made me think more about the type of surface I want to draw on.

I like the simplicity of paper. The drawing is then all about the image. I have been showing my drawings mainly unframed but this raises practical concerns about how to store and preserve them, especially as charcoal comes off so easily.

Red Campion, charcoal on paper, 180 x 120, 2023 | Cowslip, charcoal on paper, 120 x 90, 2022

But paper can cockle in damp environments and needs to be framed. Linen, which is also natural and plant-based, can be put on a stretcher so it won’t warp or distort and doesn’t need framing. It’s not as smooth as paper, even the extra fine linen. But the charcoal can be fixed and varnished so it won’t come off.

But I am also thinking about making my own paper from used cartridge paper (I knew I kept all my life drawings for something!) and water and plant matter from the river. And about using recycled materials – packing cases and cardboard, or driftwood from the Thames might also be more appropriate.

For the last 3 years, I have been making large drawings of wildflowers in charcoal on paper. I have had several exhibitions and so I put off this project until I had a bit more time and space to work on it. But I was planning on continuing in the same way – making more large charcoal drawings on paper, highlighting small and large plants along the Crane and at the nature reserve.

But on my second walk along the river, I am beginning to think perhaps a change of materials, approach, scale, or all of the above might be needed.

I have a small plant in my studio that I collected last visit so this time I came back empty handed – except for tons of photos and the experience of the walk.

The River Crane flows into the Thames at Isleworth next to Richmond Lock. You have to walk along the Thames at low tide through squelchy mud and turn up into the mouth which forms a cascade of fast-flowing water over steeply stepped concrete.

On day 1, wondering how I was going to get up the slightly treacherous looking steps and not wishing to be washed out to sea on my first attempt, I walked along the far bank and lowered myself onto the top step. The water was waist deep and I hoped my waders would come up high enough. They did.

I can’t say how grateful I am to be borrowing my friend’s waders. They are size 10 and have steel reinforced soles, so each footstep feels like you have a weight attached to your ankle. Even getting to the river mouth wore me out. The river bed is uneven, with large, slippery boulders that you can’t see until you are nearly falling over them. But the heavy waders helped keep my feet on the ground!

I took way too much with me: bucket, trowel, large garden spade, gardening gloves, sketchbook, art materials, water bottle, phone, credit cards(?!) and large stick to help keep upright. Next time it’s going to be phone, sketchbook, large stick.

The first thing you notice is how high the manmade walls are. At low tide the river is ankle to knee deep but waist deep in places. But it has 3, 4 or 5 metre high banks to contain the tide when it comes in.

Many of the marginal plants were hanging upside down over the edge, having been almost washed away but gripping on for dear life. Grey from the river mud.

I came across this small plant (below) growing close to the water’s edge. I was struck by how arbitrary its existence was: sure to be submerged at high tide, it was rooted in soft mud, half its roots exposed and washed by the river. I decided it would be my first drawing – and took it back to my studio. I’m not sure what it is – Google Lens thinks it could be curly kale but I’m sure it’s not!

I thought I only had about an hour at low tide so made my expedition quick – I have discovered since I have about a 4 hour window at least. Happy days!