DAVID NASH IS NOT YOUR FRIEND
Think about it. Wood's the perfect friend
for those who don't want to talk. Work
and rest in silence, let time do damage
to ash and oak, while rain echoes from
mountains of slate. Everything is grey.
David Nash is not your friend. He carves
and shapes the world, takes forests
for walks, sells drawings of the journey,
charcoal shadows smudged on the page.
Images and actions are equal players here.
If you think about it, it's too perfect,
the wooden rock that looks like a rock,
rolls like a rock, but floats if you need it to.
There goes nothing, drifting out to sea,
going round and round in circles.
David Nash is not your friend. He'd warp
and split your future, turn light into dark,
change red to black, black into green:
charred promises of natural forms
burnt upon your laddered eye.
"Situations underpinned with instability."
© Rupert M
DAVID NASH COULD BE YOUR COUSIN
On and on some artists go,
posturing and pirouetting,
talking themselves into a corner
to be more conceptually distant:
no mess or emotion involved.
David Nash could be your cousin
with his fallen trees, cut trees and tree stumps
taking all that blackness from a forest
where he can feel the inside become the outside
and shape a sculpture with a sense of place.
He wants to get right in there
so he walks around smudging sketches with soot
to catch the moody atmosphere,
then burns magical signs into trunks
for geometrical posterity.
David Nash could be your pagan cousin
for his land is the old land:
and monoliths, clumps of ancient trees.
He connects space, presence and time
by making use of what dark woodland provides.
"A ceremonial bell stood nearby."