The Art

The Walking With Angels Art is a collection of signed Limited Edition Photographic Art Prints – moments – that tell the inspirational story of 33 exceptional days walking over the Pyrenees and across Spain for 800km to Santiago de Compostela.

14 signed Limited Edition Photographic Art Prints with a signed Certificate of Authentication, telling the inspirational story of one woman's walk with her sons, aged 16 and 12, for 33 exceptional days over the Pyrenees and across Spain for 800km to Santiago de Compostela
a collection of signed, Limited Edition Photographic Art Prints, by Melanie Gow

Click on The Collection for the SHOP

The Walking With Angels Art is a collection of signed Limited Edition Photographic Art Prints – moments – that tell the inspirational story of walking for 33 exceptional days over the Pyrenees and across Spain for 800km to Santiago de Compostela.

Each one is signed with a Certificate of Authentication, with a detailed description, verifying the authenticity of the accompanying Melanie Gow print, 1 of only 50 in the edition. 29x29cm on Photo Lustre paper 360gsm, care information included.

500 Mile Walk Featured in the Daily Express Newspaper

You know that moment when you wake up and find you are featured on a full page of a national newspaper, in the very best way? That moment!

Daily Express Feature on Walking With Angels Story Feature

You know that moment when you wake up and find you are featured on a full page of a national newspaper, in the very best way? That moment!

 CLICK HERE TO READ THE FULL ARTICLE ONLINE

Thank you Daily Express.

If you would like a copy of the book please do CLICK HERE and order it
it will be put in the post the next day

 

A Park Bench Meditation

Every day we are part of a miracle, the little things that are so easy to overlook, yet so awe inspiring when we take a moment to notice them with the wisdom of a child.

A Park Bench Meditation

On the way to somewhere today I paused and this is where I found myself…sit with me awhile in the colours of an English Autumn and let us just be.

There is a little phenomenon I happened upon this week, called Park Bench Meditation. A bench is a place where you can expect to sit for a moment, catching your breath.

The idea is that you find a bench on any given day, take a seat and, well, meditate; but, this is an ordinary and realistic meditation, almost in parenthesis. The most important thing is to decide to sit awhile and let go; put aside the phone, take no book or newspaper, no sandwich and a bag of crisps, have nothing to distract you, settle and simply let your body become heavy. Then breathe, and allow the surroundings to carry your attention without much focus; if something takes your attention notice it, and then let it go.

Every day we are part of a miracle, the little things that are so easy to overlook, yet so awe inspiring when we take a moment to notice them with the wisdom of a child.

It doesn’t have to be in a park, it will work just as well on a street and it doesn’t have to be a bench, it can be a handy rock or a stairway, just take a seat, put away the distractions, breath and let go; ten minutes will change your day.

What The Mushrooms Had to Teach

Sometimes the blocked way is a guide. Whether we like it or not, we are committed to the human endeavour and we have to keep going; the way we go may turn us away, and we may not go in the direction we want, but as long as we are moving, we are creating alternatives and possibilities, and there is magic at our feet.

In the middle of a couple of rough days where nothing seems to be working and I have to think again about a big pitch that has been rejected, I was between mundane places and parked to take a photograph of the Autumn trees on a hillside in the early morning light.

However, as I walked the clouds overtook me and the life drained out of the moment. I stood in the middle of a muddy field, in cowpats and trampled, soggy hay, as the black crows flew over, and let go.

Pretty much giving up on pulling myself out of the mood, I turned back trying to accept it sometimes goes like that, yet still stalking the gaps in hope.

Then I ran out of time on my parking ticket and found my way to the car was cordoned off; I had to cut across a scrappy patch of grass, and worm casts, and mulching leaves, and I will not tell a lie I felt almost despondent; I couldn’t believe I couldn’t find something exquisitely beautiful somewhere, and then I nearly stepped in these…

Hallucines and Madmen

I never set out to go mushroom hunting but I felt the rush, the excitement and the wonder at the dew drops and glistening caps and, if a leaf of grass is no less than “the journey-work of the stars” as Walt Whitman said, what then are daisies and coy mushrooms but stories woven by magic.

I knew nothing about mushrooms except that they are all edible, at least once. But an hour with these creatures and I now know they are omnivores, feeding off plant and animal matter, they breath and have their own immune system, they are as different from plants as plants are from animals and that we do not yet know how mushrooms use sunlight; only that they do. I know the difference between a morel and a toadstool and that I don’t know enough, but I am in awe.

Every obstacle, disappointment, and frustration led to the discovery of these gorgeous beauties.

And there’s the learning, sometimes the blocked way is a guide. Whether we like it or not, we are committed to the human endeavour and we have to keep going; the way we go may turn us away, and we may not go in the direction we want, but as long as we are moving, we are creating alternatives and possibilities, and there is magic at our feet.

The Marilyn Monroe of English Mushrooms

The Ultimate Sacrifice

My next door neighbour used to tell me the overwhelming memory from her childhood was the sound of mothers crying. Her mother ran the local grocery store during the First World War and the “It is my painful duty to inform you” letters to anyone in the area were delivered there. At six years old, she only remembered a village weeping.

Blood swept lands and seas of red, by ceramic artist, Paul Cummins, and stage designer, Tom Piper, 29th October 2014

My next door neighbour used to tell me her memory of her childhood was the sound of mothers crying. Her family ran the local grocery store and during the First World War all the “It is my painful duty to inform you” letters to those left home were delivered to her mother, who had to hand them over to her friends and neighbours. At six years old, my neighbour only remembered a village weeping every day.

Blood swept lands and seas of red, by ceramic artist Paul Cummins and stage designer Tom Piper, 29th October 2014, Melanie Gow photography
The Headstone

This evolving art installation piece commemorating the centenary of the outbreak of World War I has brought together countless people, including my sons and I, and united their thoughts with one simple vision; opening on August the 5th 2014 to mark the day Britain joined the war, poppies were added every day right up to the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month, Armistice day, to represent the people lost to war.

Blood swept lands and seas of red, by ceramic artist Paul Cummins and stage designer Tom Piper, 29th October 2014, Melanie Gow photography
In Memorium

Every poppy represents a person; someone who had a full life, a family, certainly a mother, maybe even their own children, and they belonged to communities. Look closely at one, just one, poppy and when you feel like you’ve understood that then step back and look at the whole.

Blood swept lands and seas of red, by ceramic artist Paul Cummins and stage designer Tom Piper, 29th October 2014, Melanie Gow photography
Lone Survivor

To convince that many people they need to make the ultimate sacrifice, and kill others, takes concerted force; and to then get them to act on that conviction takes a lot of forces working with a single intent.

One that uses all its resources to reach invidiously into the real lives of quiet homes, and it fires up, riles, frightens and silences where it needs until is has a consensus. Then it deploys numbers and ranks and units to the battle cry.

Blood swept lands and seas of red, by ceramic artist Paul Cummins and stage designer Tom Piper, 29th October 2014, Melanie Gow photography
Eternal Rest

The politics and morality, ideology, and technology, economics, histrionics and motivations all manifest themselves in the conflict. A nation acts.

Blood swept lands and seas of red, by ceramic artist Paul Cummins and stage designer Tom Piper, 29th October 2014, Melanie Gow photography
Pooling Ebb

War memorials, on the other hand, aren’t meant to be acted on in any way. They exist as a statement in hindsight, they are meant to be absorbed, then processed, then learned from.

A war memorial that meets art and theatre production can bring together people with little other in common besides proximity; it can aid communication wordlessly, effectively, within an ever-widening community, with needs and values as diverse as the individuals. It can even facilitate true accountability – between strangers.

Blood swept lands and seas of red, by ceramic artist Paul Cummins and stage designer Tom Piper, 29th October 2014, Melanie Gow photography
Tide of Sorrow

Where the blood meets the wall it seems to have soaked into the time-worn stone, like memories in our conscience.  This art makes order out of chaos. It creates a reverent and sympathetic response to the passion and pain of war, it makes us feel alive, present and in the moment.. To be able to powerfully connect to people and things, with all who see it is the uncomplicated force of moral judgement.

As artists, we always dream that this could open up the ability to create a new and, perhaps, a better world.

The generation that won that war went on to create the fairest society in British history; free healthcare for all at the point of delivery, free education, welfare, affordable housing, nationalised infrastructure. There are many lessons we are asked to think about; what are we doing with the sacrifice made by so many.

Rememberance isn’t only about those who fought.

That is what I think of in the two minutes of silence.