Beneath the Willow?

"Do you remember when we named each other

'love' beneath the willow?"

No, I'm sorry anonymous poet, I don't!

Perhaps I wasn't paying attention.

I was probably the worst for gin, in which case

I would definitely recall nothing.  But what I have

no difficulty calling to mind, at even the mere

whisper of wind in the willows, is the name

Emma Stothard.

Emma having a bad hare day.

Emma does things with withies to make your heart sing

and your spirits soar.  She was born in Yorkshire in

the early 1970's with a love of nature and a talent for

drawing.  By the 1990's she had gained a BA Hons in

Fine Art at Southampton and then shimmied off to the

Somerset Levels to learn all there is to know about

growing, coppicing, bundling and weaving osier.

Stand back, let the dogs .......

Once little Emma had taken all this knowledge on

board she returned home to her native county to begin

work as a sculptor of willow and weaver of dreams.

.... see the rabbits!

Her creations are much sought after and can be found in

pride of place in the grounds of stately homes, galleries

and private gardens across this fair land.

She must have done this when she was a nipper.

Some have even traveled across the world to Japan

and one large sculpture of the Prince of Wales beloved

Jack Russell dog "Tigga", made from willow grown on

his estate, is sitting in the gardens of Highgrove.

It was a thank you gift to the Prince for Emma's loan

from the Prince's Trust which enabled her to start

her career.  How frightfully nice is that?

They look almost real in that setting.

Although Emma works mainly in willow she does on

occasion produce pieces in bronze and galvanized wire

and even hallmarked sterling silver as well as the

odd animal portrait.

You will still need to mow the grass when you've got one of these.

To see more of Emma's work and exhibitions simply

follow the link:  http://www.emmastothard.com 

Up the little willow hill to Bedfordshire

Meanwhile all around my hat I shall wear the green willow

as I try to figure out what on earth I was doing under the

trees with that poet.  Perhaps I should have chewed the

leaves as the aspirin in them might have helped with

the resultant headache which followed the gin

induced amnesia.  I wonder what else has slipped my mind?