Dingle Peggy

Beach Peggy 1
My book Dingle Peggy will be published next month, a sequel to Connemara Mollie. It’s taken 30 years of hindsight to make me appreciate just how much I owe these ponies. When I started the trek, with Mollie, I was still in the mindset that the most important part of horse management was control. Was the pony obedient? Could I make it do what I wanted? By the end of the trek I had learned that it was as important for me to understand what the pony was trying to tell me as it was to impose my will on the animal. Mollie was a calmer, more phlegmatic personality, so it was Peggy who was the catalyst in that transition. As I’d remarked when I first had her, I’d never known such an extrovert, sociable horse. Communication was her thing, so communicating with me came naturally. I am ashamed now at how slow I was to learn that any strange behaviour was her attempt to tell me something, rather than sheer naughtiness.
Horses are perhaps unique in our animal-doting world. We love them, we try to bond with them, and then we sell them on. A talented horse will have several owners during its 30-year lifetime, and goodness knows how many riders. Each time it changes hands it is expected to make the adjustment and respond with generosity. Most horses do. That is an extraordinary and deeply touching fact.
My thousand miles through Ireland changed me forever. I learned how to cope alone with triumph and disaster, how to enjoy my solitary state and to live in the present as time slipped by. I learned about generosity, and about the old, old human attribute of hospitality to strangers. I learned about the history of Ireland and the uncomfortable fact of my country’s oppression, and I learned that this is one of the most beautiful places in Europe. But above all I treasure that opportunity to get to know, and be friends with, Mollie and Peggy.

The finale of the Horse of the Year Show is a Salute to the Horse. It has always brought tears to my eyes:
Where in this wide world can man find nobility without pride, friendship without envy, or beauty without vanity? Here where grace is laced with muscle, and strength by gentleness confined.
He serves without servility; he has fought without enmity. There is nothing so powerful, nothing less violent, there is nothing so quick, nothing more patient.
England’s past has been borne on his back. All our history is his industry; we are his heirs, he our inheritance.
Ladies and gentlemen: the horse.

SAND SCULPTURE: HOW THEY DO IT, HOW I DID IT

Brighton 047

Earlier this month I spent a weekend in Brighton learning about sand sculpture. Now this is something I have never even seen close up, only photos, and as a sculptor myself I couldn’t imagine how they were done. Now I know, and I’ve had a go myself and can say authoritatively that as sculpture material goes, sand is not at all bad.

But first, if you live anywhere near Brighton, go and take a look yourself. This is actually the first ‘proper’ sand sculpture festival they’ve had. By proper I think I mean where there’s a theme and professional sculptors from all over the world for an intense week of creativity and then head home, leaving a couple of repairers on site in case the odd nose falls off.The festival is organised by Nicola Wood. It’s what she does – so much so that she’s given up her house since she’s always on the move creating these festivals in different parts of the world. She sources the sand (in this case from Redhill since Brighton hasn’t got any sand), finding the right stuff that bonds together properly, decides on the theme, employs the sculptors, teach would-be sculptors like myself, and Brighton Beethoven 1generally ensures that the festival runs smoothly until the whole lot are bulldozed in September.

Here’s how they’re done.

First the sand has to be compacted so that it’s almost as hard as sandstone. Wooden planks form a removable frame, sand is added gradually, mixed with water, and compressed using a mechanical trench-rammer. More frames are added, building the block into a pyramid shape. For my small-scale sculpture I just jumped on the sand in the frame and banged at it with a wooden block.

Part of Nicola’s job was to find out beforehand which musician the sculptors wanted to do and provide photos so they could get a likeness. And do they ever! The portrait of Beethoven was utterly wonderful, I thought. My favourite of the whole show, but then I know what Beethoven looks like, whereas most of the pop musicians remained a mystery to me even after I was told their names. Still, Bob Marley was certainly recognisable by his dreadlocks, and Elvis with flairs.

Because sand is soft, tools can be anything the sculptor chooses. You don’t need chisels. Almost everyone worked with a plastering tool and anything else that they fancied such as palette knives, spoons and so on.

I’d given a bit of thought as to what I would carve. I didn’t want to do a portrait because I’m rubbish at people, though I did consider doing Leonard Cohen since I reckoned he should be there. I sculpt animals, so I thought that “Elephant blowing its own trumpet” would be doable and in keeping with the music theme. It went fine until the trunk and trumpet fell off. So the finished sculpture is “Elephant about to blow its own trumpet” in an altogether less ambitious pose.

I wonder if it’s still there?

Photos by Phoebe Oliver

Brighton 063   sand elephant (2)      Brighton finished elephant