Aviation Project.
The sculptures in my Aviation Project are contemporary, handmade wire forms in incorporating fragments from World War II fighter planes from crash sites in the UK. They are memorials to the servicemen who lost their lives.
I am a child of the 1960s, who grew up in the West-Country, surrounded by ex-servicemen. My father was an ex-chief petty officer boiler man, who served throughout the war and beyond. Many of my teachers were ex-servicemen, including my technical drawing master, who was a wartime Lancaster pilot, and my woodwork teacher, who was part of a glider team. They were all, including my father, quite humble men, who spoke very little about their experiences.
When I was a young boy, one of my father's friends made a wooden model of a spitfire. He was an ex-maritime engineer, so it was precision built. Some of its parts were made from a real spitfire. As a youngster, the significance was lost on me, but it planted a seed. My own father passed away from Mesothelioma in 1995, but I kept in contact with his friend, who is now in his 90s. He was a teenager during the war years and, with a friend, he would cycle to crash sites and collect these fighter plane relics.
A few years ago, he gifted me a red holdall bag. Inside it were wartime period Quaker Oats boxes that had decomposed through age but contained pieces of wreckage - some identifiable and some not. It is with these that I have created this body of work. I have encased a lot of the pieces in new wire sculptures, hanging them from invisible nylon thread so they are airborne again. I see them as a memorial to both sides as I have not selectively separated one from the other - the coming together is intentional.
It's an emotionally and spiritually challenging project that I have worked on for several years but a small price to pay to honour both the servicemen who lost their lives and those whose lives were changed forever.
When I was a young boy, one of my father's friends made a wooden model of a spitfire. He was an ex-maritime engineer, so it was precision built. Some of its parts were made from a real spitfire. As a youngster, the significance was lost on me, but it planted a seed. My own father passed away from Mesothelioma in 1995, but I kept in contact with his friend, who is now in his 90s. He was a teenager during the war years and, with a friend, he would cycle to crash sites and collect these fighter plane relics.
A few years ago, he gifted me a red holdall bag. Inside it were wartime period Quaker Oats boxes that had decomposed through age but contained pieces of wreckage - some identifiable and some not. It is with these that I have created this body of work. I have encased a lot of the pieces in new wire sculptures, hanging them from invisible nylon thread so they are airborne again. I see them as a memorial to both sides as I have not selectively separated one from the other - the coming together is intentional.
It's an emotionally and spiritually challenging project that I have worked on for several years but a small price to pay to honour both the servicemen who lost their lives and those whose lives were changed forever.