Delapidation to destruction

I can’t help thinking there’s something rather beautiful about this.

Neglected, abandoned and no longer of use, this is the old shed that just about stands at the end of the garden.  Until yesterday one side was completely draped in thick ivy; you can see where I’ve pulled most of it away, leaving just a few remains of its tenacious twisting branches clinging on with hundreds of feathery feet, like centipedes.

The ivy found its way inside too…

Growing without sunlight has blocked its colour, now it just blends into the wood of the shed as if it’s always been a part of it, as if it sprouted from the walls.

The end is nigh, though, and in the next few weeks this old outbuilding is coming down.

I’m looking forward to breaking it up.  I’ve already started pulling away the roof and clearing the ground around it, finding old bricks and dirty pots hidden under the ivy roots, where I rescued a few snails…

…and I’ve become a little addicted to this process of deconstruction. There is something about the mindlessness of it.   I usually spend my days trying to be creative, forming things from scratch and using my brain to work out how.  When I’m outside in the fresh air, pulling, smashing and battering, nothing matters.  The order doesn’t matter, nor does the mess.   Filth, cracks, rips and holes don’t matter.  And neither does my grey matter…!   It’s so invigorating – and yet therapeutic.  I recommend it.

I think there must be something very basic and instinctive which makes physical activity outdoors feel so good, especially if you’re not used to it.  Perhaps it tunes into a sort of ancestral memory from caveman days.  If I was male, I might think it’s also the testosterone….but, as a female, well…?!  Hmm, I’ll let you know if I start growing hairs on my chest by the time the old shed is completely destroyed.  Delapidation to depilation in just a few short easy steps.

Not just a load of old shed

I thought I would give you a little peek into my shud. Or should I say: my “hovel, swyne kote or howse…to kepe yn beestys”…?

I know that looks like some strange text message (u just have 2 read it phonetically) but it’s the Medieval definition of the word ‘shud’, from which it’s thought our modern term ‘shed’ developed.  My shed (which, being my place of artistic pursuit and thus my studio, has developed one stage further into a ‘shedio’), is indeed a hovel and a house in which to keep beasts.  There are a few real ones in there, usually of the eight-legged variety, but thankfully most of the beestys in my shud exist only as one-dimensional characters: bears, rabbits and the like, in paint on paper.

A very old picture of my (then) very new shedio.  It's changed...

I love my shedio and sheds in general and I’m not alone; apparently there are whole legions of ‘sheddies’ out there.  There is a ‘Shed Of The Year’ competition in this country,  a national ‘Shed Week’ and a popular website devoted to all manner of wooden hut type constructions for fans.  The traditional idea of it being the haven to which the man of the house retreats to smoke his pipe and practise reeling his fishing rod (nudge nudge wink wink) now seems dated, as sheds become offices, studios, worskhops and so much more.  You’d be surprised (or maybe not) at how many Dr Who ‘Tardis’ sheds can be found in back gardens here and one ‘Shed Of The Year’ winner went for a Roman temple theme. A shed can be just about anything you want it to be.

If there was a Roman god of untidiness mine could be a temple to such a deity, but otherwise it wins no prizes.  I’ve just finished a long project and I haven’t sorted or cleaned it since the final brushstroke left the paper, so I took these photos to remind me just how bad things can get.  There is an almost Mary Celeste feel to it right now -everything is just where I last used it, pencils are scattered in disarray like jackstraws, screwed up bits of paint-soiled kitchen roll remain where I threw them. Stacks of sketches are piled up in the corner and the waste bin is full of the ones that went wrong; I shall just have to get in there next week and give it a good tidy-up so it looks more like a studio and less like a swyne kote.  After that the only place here resembling a hovel to “kepe yn beestys” is the howse.

Some very new pictures of my not-so-new shedio