Shergar

But you, you run like Shergar.

Shergar was the winner of the 1981 Epson Derby. But he didn't just win; he left the competition standing. If horses had rear view mirrors the rest of the field would have been tiny specks in the distance. And, to add insult to injury, he made it look effortless. He was a class horse, grade a winner, sire of champions, a hero of the racing world. 


Devastatingly, on the 8th of February 1983, Shergar was stolen and never recovered. His groom and family were held at gunpoint whilst he was loaded into an unknown horse box and driven away never to be seen again. A ransom was demanded, his owners refused to pay. Nobody knows what happened to Shergar for sure. Realistically and knowing horses, I imagine he did not survive long; a thoroughbred stallion in the heat of the breeding season would be difficult and dangerous to handle, and not only that, the world was on look out for the distinctive white blaze. But I like to imagine him somewhere, physically or spiritually, using his brilliant turn of hoof to run free.

These Old Bones

These old bones, they've travelled too far.

This is a piece I did in my own time last summer, to go with a poem I wrote called 'These Old Bones'. This is the original poem:

These old bones, they've travelled too far.

Strung up with ligaments that snap like cotton,

And muscles that weigh of lead;

From a brain that's almost forgotten,

And a heart that's already bled.

I think there was a second verse, 'these old bones covered with scars' and something about a lock, unfortunately I cannot find the original copy. Whilst hunting for it I found this piece I wrote in the winter of 2010, and I think it fits quite well too:

I love the bones of you.

Elegant and strong.

The Substance.

Your upright stance.

The mind in your skull.

The foundations of you.

Your hair could fade.

Your skin could peel.

Blind, deaf, mute. 

Cold in the grave. 

I love the bones of you.

Time won't change anything.

Let me lie on your grave.

Throw the soil over me.

I cannot be apart. 

Laced with death.

Bleached and naked.

I love the bones of you.

I guess I was on a bit of a skeletal theme last year. This is a different style for me, a more experimental piece that wouldn't normally escape from my sketchbook but there is something about it that draws me back to it. Maybe I'll explore it a bit further now I don't have university projects to complete. What does everyone think? And which poem do you prefer? 

Her White Hart

The White Beast has me in his eye, I cannot escape him.

There are several reasons for the title of this blog; firstly 'hart' is an amalgamation of my name and 'art, i.e Hannah's Art or 'H.Art'; secondly I've lived most of my life in the town of Hertford, so called because it is the place where four rivers meet and the hart came to drink at the ford. Don't ask me why it's spelt with an 'e', that's just bonkers English spelling for you. 

The final, and main reason, is because during my wild country life (okay, I'm exaggerating a little bit there) I have been, on several occasions, attacked and chased by a white deer. Not kidding. We have a lot of very big deer around here, I believe they are Sika deer or some kind of Red deer relation, and not only are the enormous but they also appear to have a genetic mutation which regularly throws out creamy albino deer. 

I have survived my deer attacks largely due to the scope and speed of my bonnie pony, Stroller, who has nimbly escaped the antlers, but I have a lasting attachment to the creature that is so elusive and unicorn-like. 

Also, as you may have guessed, I just really like drawing deer.

Layers of Time

“The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.”

Albert Einstein

This was my entry for the 'Picturing Time' competition held by the Worshipful Company of Clockmakers. I focused on time as layers, rather than being linear, and in the end came up with the concept of a diary. This is my first proper piece of any kind of animation, and is still quite experimental.