Hidden Talents International Arts Magazine Winter 2021 - Living with Art

Winter Issue

£3.50

Living with Art

Ira Volkova

In this issue

Madam P What can I not live without

Lady Luck David Irish

Nicholas Sims Reportage Artist & Illustrator

Charles T Maher Figurative abstract Landscape Artist

and more…

STAY CREATIVE Welcome to our quarterly E.magazine!

We are delighted to be celebrating our first year of Hidden Talents magazine, a magazine written by artists for artists, collectors, art lovers and industry.

It has been a challenging year, under at times difficult circumstances and we would like to say thank you to all our featured artists and subscribers for your continued support.

With the purpose of Hidden Talents magazine being to motivate , inform, inspire with our aim to bridge the gap between artists, creatives and paid opportunities within the art industry, we are very happy to learn that some of our featured artists from previous issues has had some amazing paid opportunities , increased traffic to their website and new commissions for 2022 A big thank you to our small team of volunteers who have been working energetically and continuously throughout the year I would like to take this opportunity in wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

Contents Madam P Nicholas Sims

Charles T Maher Hector Fuenzalida Ian Henery David Irish Ira Volkova Phil Buckley Rodrigo Costa

Page 2-4 5-6, 7-8 9-10 11-12 13-26 27-28 29-30 31-32

Evette Edmeade

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Editorial Info @thearchesproject.org Publishing Director Evette Edmeade Web www.thearchesproject.org Tel +44 121-772-0852 Thank you to our supporters

DISCLAIMER Every care has been taken during the production of this magazine in compiling editorial and advertorial. However, The Arches Project Ltd cannot accept responsibility for material supplied by third parties and excludes all liability relating to any products and services promoted within this publication or arising from any error, omission, or inaccuracy, nor is The Arches Project Ltd responsible for the content of external websites.

Finally, the views expressed in this magazine are not necessarily the views of the publisher, no part of this magazine must be copied or reproduced without written permission from the publishers.

Copyright ©The Arches Project Ltd. All rights reserved.

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Madam P

What can I not live without?

I was born and raised in Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark, it is a very beautiful and quiet city without tall buildings. Now I live in İzmir, the third largest metropolis of Turkey where there are so many tall buildings here with limited space for those living in them.

During the curfew period I loved watching the lights that were appearing in the high-rise buildings at night.

They were lights in a range of different colors in each apartment which reminded me of abstract and semifigurative works of arts.

Sometimes, the figures created by these lights were changing through lights switching on and off.

When I realized that my freedom and my right to decide do not belong to me 100%, this series was a series that came from the inside, from my soul.

You might have experienced the situation that we do not have time to visit and spend time with our elders.

Everyone who works like a bee has had it. We could not go this time even if we

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wanted, because we can infect them in this pandemic.

The black lines (dividing the boxes) that I drew in that series are actually the boundaries I dream of removing. In order for us to be human again, a family again, I think that the virtual world and borders that we have created within ourselves must be removed. Just like opening the cages of hundreds of pigeons at the same time.

Therefore, the question of how I can live my own freedom made me confused. In fact, what kind of freedom I want?

Perhaps freedom was just an art and never existed in practice.

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Each of them are actually voluntary prisons, I do not care how luxurious they are, one should step on the ground just in one step.

I believe that our freedom does not necessarily have to be restricted by forces like governments, in fact, we do it ourselves with skyscrapers, and we can betray our own freedom with our own decisions.

On the other hand, the Mechanical Age series has completed its quest. Before 2019, I tried to draw During the last two years, I have occasionally thought of what matters to me as a human being. I thought, what is there in my life that I do not want to die without experiencing, Or what can I not live without? Maybe my health, the most basic need to take care of my family, but I realized that it was something else and much more difficult to achieve.

attention to impending dangers. The biggest danger before 2019 was that the beings trying to remain human become increasingly lonely through the effects of the virtual world. People are alone in the same house. Just like those colorful mechanical age boxes, paint them in any colour you want, a lonely person can never be happy.

Except for a few, most people thought I liked to paint colored boxes. However, that was not the case. As a 46year-old person who remembers the family structure and this planet from 20 years ago, I realized that I never appreciated the old days.

We have seen that freedom can be limited by a sudden decision of governments. So, "Freedom" is not a fixed phenomena rather it is a state of change.

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artmadamp@gmail.com Hidden Talents Magazine

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NICHOLAS SIMS

A little bit of Somalia in Birmingham, pencil on paper, 50x50cm

Nicholas has been drawing since childhood. As a child, he was always drawing this was his form of entertainment, before he could read, or there was television at home.

Nicholas attended Waltham Forest College where he studied an Art Foundation Course, 1993-4; he attended an art school for teenagers in Ryazan, Russia for five years; 2002-6. He attended Wolverhampton School of Art, 2017 to do illustration. His art practice has changed over the years, whilst at Waltham Forest, and immediately afterwards, I would work on a selfportrait in any medium- oils, pencil, coloured pencil, charcoal, oil pastel.

After moving to Russia, he concentrate on oil painting, outdoors, street scenes, and this continued on my return to England. Currently,I am working in pencil work, done on-the-spot‘reportage’.

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However, due to ‘Inktober’ for some parts of the year, it is ink-based and this lingers on. For example, working in watercolour, when everyone else was dismissive of such ‘old fashioned’ working methods.

Achievements to date have been exhibiting in three solo exhibitions at the Birmingham Midland Institute, my work appearing in the Wells Contemporary show 2021, and in 2020 he also exhibited in Trinity Buoy Wharf. Nicholas solo show was held at Gunmakers Arms pub, Birmingham, 2020, where his illustrations were Inktober ‘loop’, aka Spaghetti junction, ink on paper, A3 (42x27cm), £150

being featured in a set of children’s books for Mike Finn.

Nicholas would like to become a reportage artist like George Butler, Lucinda Rogers, Jedidiah Dore or Paul Hogarth. He would also like to become a portrait artist and an artist who makes social commentary.

Exotic fish, pencil on paper, 50x50cm, £250

Scrapyard, coloured pencil on paper, 50x50cm, £250

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CHARLES T MAHER

Impressionism | Romanticism | Surrealism

Charles Maher was born and raised in Birmingham and spent most of his working life as an Engineer in the automotive and aerospace industries, and always having an interest in art.

Smallmouth Cove Portland Harbour. Acrylic on card 24 x 36 cm.

In the year 2000 Charles began painting, and in 2004 he achieved his Diploma in Art and Design at UCE, and he also attended Birmingham City University specialising in Fine Art and Printmaking.

Since moving to Weymouth in 2005 Charles, who paints in oils, acrylics and mixed media, has focused his work on Dorset’s Jurassic coastline and is a member of:

Weymouth Art Group & Artery; a group of artists who combine to organise exhibitions and promote the arts around the South Dorset area.

Charles has recently gained a BA (Hons) Painting degree with the University of Creative Arts and is very much influenced by the artistic visual language of landscape particularly late Romanticism, Impressionism, PostImpressionism and Neo-Romanticism; his art is directed

Whilst living in Birmingham he regularly exhibited at the Royal Birmingham Society of Artists, the Water Orton, Lichfield and Sutton Coldfield art societies.

by combining these influences with abstract qualities of: aesthetic romanticism, surrealism, gothic architecture, symbolism,

lyrical poeticism and speculative realism: Charles say’s “I find myself particularly drawn to the mysterious qualities of the quiet

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seclusion of ancient sacred and secret places while striving to evoke a sense of ‘time and place”. Charles T Maher 2017.

You can find out more about Charles and his work on his website:

https://charlestmaherblog.wordpress.com/ Lark Acending over Chesil in full Bloom, oil on canvas board, 52.5 x 62.5 cm. Framed £235

Low tide on the Fleet - acrylic on card, 23 x 30 cm.

In et aptent posuere sapien tempor, id nullam fermentum consequat metus ut. Hasellus quam dolor dui, vehicula a id fermentum amet. Sapien in, quo vestibulum, viverra vitae.

Passing Storm, oil & stone dust on mdf, 81 x 1220 cm

Sandsfoot Vista - low tide, oil on mdf panel

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HECTOR FUENZALIDA

Craftsman and artist from Chile

The Art of Repurposing

Hector Fuenzalida is a craftsman and artist originating from Chile

He spent many years perfecting his skills offering social engagement and therapeutic workshops in the communities of Chile and Spain, He states that his craftmanship skills are generational having learnt much of his skills from his father Hector currently lives in Gran Canaria where he is a longstanding member of the Gran Canaria Arts and Crafts Foundation

He states ; “I was once a fork is a fundamental expression of connecting both the imaginary and real worlds “; ”The fork is a utensil that we have in each home; something normal and a part of daily life "

In the expert artisan hands of Hector Fuenzalida the useless cutlery is transformed to become an expression of daily life and as such, the utensil manifests a new life

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Hector works with cutlery of all materials from these unwanted objects he designs exquisite original pieces of personalised jewellery, pictures and many decorative and useful art objects for clients

His figurative sculptures depict all aspects of urban life and professional statures; sports, music and office.

All of Hector sculptures and pictures are bespoke and the creation is directed by the clients His works have been commissioned as personalised and corporate gifts as well as trophies and awards.

Hector Fuenzalidas creative project "Yo fui un tenedor " originated from his connection with the artistic movement becoming more conscious of its use of materials in relation to the environment; being interested to fulfill his respect for the natural world; he began upcycling and repurposing materials and soon his urban artworks became contemporary expressions within the conscious dedication to conservation

For private commissions Hector Fuenzalida can be contacted at:

yofuiuntenedor@hotmail.es

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Bicycle Ride, wind in your face and sun on your back

Through the seasons, when skies are blue or bleak;

Ride, the hum of your wheels on smooth tarmac,

Banish the commute and long working week

But ride.

Ride as much or as little or as long,

Moulded together in a blur of wheels;

Ride, pedals and gears together in song

The freedom of the road is how this feels

But ride.

Ride, it`s not "a hobby" but it`s a need -

Another route done, another hill climbed -

Ride, work up the gears and crank up the speed,

Ride for the peace that comes and words which rhyme

But ride.

© Ian Henery

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Ride (Villanelle)

Ride the winter out, ride the summer back

Through the seasons, when skies are blue or bleak

For the hum of rubber on smooth tarmac.

Ride every carriageway, every dirt track

Through the woods, down the lanes and past the peaks;

Ride the winter out, ride the summer back.

Life`s like a bicycle, not a race track:

Keep balanced, keep moving, answers to seek

For the hum of rubber on smooth tarmac.

Just ride - pedals and gears are your soundtrack,

Ride away the commute, long working week,

Ride the winter out, ride the summer back.

Ride down towpaths, bridges like a humpback

Along the canal, flesh and metal streak,

For the hum of rubber on smooth tarmac.

Ride through the countryside, fields with haystacks,

Cranking up the gears, the bicycle speaks;

Ride the winter out, ride the summer back

For the hum of rubber on smooth tarmac.

© Ian Henery

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Lady Luck ©David Irish Who is this fickle friend called luck, from whence does it arrive, where does it vanish to?

Are we born lucky, do we make our own luck or is it a mere set of coincidences? For the archangel of luck, cannot be bullied or coerced, she will not be flattered by favours but waits patiently to snare us, sometimes through providence, sometimes through bad karma. Of course, you don’t have to be smart to be lucky, although smartness may assist you to be lucky. For luck, might smile on us, for no other purpose, than to make us feel good, if only for a fleeting moment. Departing as quickly as it appears, like a friend, who visits when we least expect it, sneaking up without a whisper, tapping us on the shoulder, when we look around, they've disappeared. Drifting away, until the next time.

Sometimes, we don’t even know it’s happened, whether through birth or circumstances.

Of course, our fickle friend luck, is relative to our status and situation. Should you be in the fortunate position to play the stock market, a million-pound jackpot, might be regarded as a good day’s work but if a certain set of circumstances, leave you scratching a living on the street, a twenty-pound note fluttering your way, would be more than a good day’s work.

It was on this note, Rowan found himself battling against the stinging wind and rain, as he steadily walks along the length of Hope Street. Past the many retail outlets and coffee houses, towards the Craven arms, situated on the corner of Gambler Terrace, opposite the municipal park. From early morning, it had been pouring down relentlessly, nonstop, as though someone had left the bathroom tap full on and it wasn’t about to change, until tomorrow. The dampness appearing on his shoulders, was beginning to penetrate his overcoat, the first line of defence, through to his un-ironed shirt, having now worn it, for three consecutive days. His thoughts however, were not dwelling on the present but his girlfriend, who had stormed out of their flat, due to a serious argument the previous week. It had been percolating for some time, finally exploding last Thursday evening, with lots of accusations and incriminations. Since then there had been no communication between the two them or should I say, she had blocked all his attempts to call her, including possible routes via social media, leaving him feeling helpless, isolated and in a perpetual state of intense misery. Endlessly over the last seven days, he just wanted the deadening numbness to go away. The persistent pain of loss, was all consuming, distressing his mind and soul. There being no means of escape from this loveless cell, love being at its most painful, through separation. If he could turn back the hands of time, he would but that wasn’t about to happen and he knew it. Comfort now, Hidden Talents Magazine

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could only be found in a pint, the only friend he was likely to share a conversation with, as he silently turns into the public house, through the heavy swing doors. It is one of those archaic pubs, which quickly deteriorates from the inviting exterior. Patterned black and white stone floor, tired wood chip wallpaper, including a series of faded Constable prints in thin brown and gold frames, all contribute to an appearance of a cheerless waiting room. The only cosiness was the warm air, generated by an efficient central heating system, causing a rush of blood to his cheekbones, which was more than welcome.

Ordering a pint, Rowan slips off his damp overcoat, which is beginning to whiff of wet wool. He then sits down on a long leatherette bench seat, having the odd split in it, clumsily concealed by strips of now tatty gaffer tape. A crumpled newspaper, turned inside out and back to front, lies on the table, partially displaying the racing page. In bold letters, the name Kempton could be clearly seen. Taking a sip of lager, Rowan attempts to forget his recent troubles, instead, dreams about a faraway place, the Caspian Sea. Imagining he is a Trojan sea-fairer on an ancient Greek vessel, gently slicing through a calm emerald green sea. A bright billowing white sail can be seen against an expanse of brilliant blue sky, as a steady stream of herons fly towards a group of jagged distant mountains. Which then reminds him of a history lesson he once had at school and further more a teacher, a Mr Williams. Recalling a time when he was with his mates, before he became a sensible adult, responsible for his own well being. When life was organised for you, instead of you planning life.

About a dozen or so people, occupy the bar, all men, mainly over forty. A couple of old mods, in their Crombie coats and stay pressed Chinos, are engaged in light conversation, chatting about football, transfers and new managers. Others are seated alone, either staring in no particular direction or reading one of the tabloids for the third time.

Concentrating with difficulty, to glean some hard information from the throwaway pages.

A young man, in his early twenties, enters the bar, dressed in a black velvet jacket, light salmon cotton trousers, the bottom of them stained from the rain. A colourful paisley neckerchief is wrapped about him, giving him an air of yesterday, while dank mousey blond hair hangs loosely around his face, swinging to the gait of his walk. His bony hands, grips a pack of cards, between them. Briefly he looks around, gauging the bar, its contents and the landlord, who fortunately doesn’t notice him. Furtively, he strides over to Rowan and politely asks if he could show him a card trick.

“Go ahead, no problems mate, be my guest.”

Placing his hands above the table, he deftly begins to shuffle the deck of cards, turning, twisting them, executing manoeuvres, with all the artistry of a masterful magician, mesmerising Rowan, before asking him to select one of the cards. Rowan promptly obeys, then carefully places it back amongst the pack. He shuffles once again. The magician confidently asks him to feel the inside pocket of his coat, lying not unlike a deceased dog

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on the bench seat. Rowan anticipates what he would find and proves to be right; his chosen card miraculously makes an appearance.

“That’s clever, I’m really impressed, if not a little overawed.”

Before he could add anything more, the magician hastily goes into another trick, going through the same shuffling performance and sleight of hand, before asking Rowan, to turn the top card. The Queen of Hearts, flips over.

“Place it anywhere in the deck,” again Rowan dutifully follows the magician’s instructions.

He nimbly returns to his routine, shuffling the pack in many different ways, before flicking through the deck and inviting Rowan to randomly stop. Selecting the card from the pack, the magician skilfully flicks it over with one hand, revealing Rowan’s chosen card, ‘The Queen of Hearts.’

“Wow, you’re pretty good, I’m amazed.” Briefly by default, the unexpected distraction had released Rowan from his tiresome tormenting thoughts, before the magician asks if he’s got some change, in a particular modest manner. Fumbling in his back pocket, no obvious change could be felt, apart from a note. Pulling it out, a ten-pound is revealed before the magician, they both consciously stare at it. Momentarily Rowan hesitates, before going to say he has no change, then for some unknown reason, decides to offer the magician the ten-pound note, without further hesitation or even one care. It didn’t matter, if he couldn’t make himself happy, at least he could make this magicians day and why not he thought, misery can create happiness.

Before Rowan could change his mind, the magician gratefully accepts the enticing note, “Thanks mate, I much appreciate it,” then promptly leaves, as quickly as he’d appeared.

Fleetingly Rowan observes him walking past the window, heading off at speed, down a side street, finally losing sight of him amongst the countless local shoppers. Stillness descends in the bar, the atmosphere returning to its previous incarnation, as though nothing had transpired. The interruption, was more an hallucination than an actuality.

Rowan takes another sip of his drink, he tries not to think about the ten-pound note, fighting rising feelings of stupidity, reflecting, ‘Ah what the hell.’ He gets up and goes to the gents. While washing his hands, he views his own reflection in the mirror, recognition and judgement didn’t quite coincide, briefly not identifying the person staring back at him. Feeling his unshaven chin with his hand, he looks tired, dark under the eyes and somewhat dishevelled, whatever happened to that fresh-faced boy he once knew.

Returning to his designated seat, a surprise awaits him, two brand new five-pound notes are invitingly lying by his coat. Perplexed, he picks them up, while hastily looking around, to see if anyone had noticed his unexpected change of fortune. Curiously he inspects them to see if they are counterfeit, he had no idea what he was looking for but felt it was necessary to do so. Convinced they were genuine; he places them in his pocket and sits back down. Did the magician accidently drop them or was it, part of the trick? Why Hidden Talents Magazine

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would he give them back or had they miraculously appeared through the guise of a guardian angel? Even in this last chance saloon, minor miracles can happen or was he being wistful, creating dramatic meaning from an inexplicable occurrence.

Staring at the half empty pint, Rowan’s thoughts inevitably return to Lucy, the girlfriend who stormed out last Thursday. For the last eighteen months they had shared a two roomed flat above a traditional fish and chip shop, having previously met at Art College five years earlier. At the time, flirting and teasing came with the territory, however the relationship was never consummated, due to both of them, having respective partners. It was their love of art that brought them together and particularly painting. Lucy, the more naturally gifted artist, managed to gain first class honours, much to her parents’ delight and approval. Rowan, on the other hand, achieved a very respectable two one, leaving it much too late, to realise his true potential. He had a designed ability for distraction, which informed everything he was involved with. The two of them, had never even shared a clandestine kiss, until they literally bumped into each other, at a mutual friend’s party. Instantly they reconnected, rekindling their intense rapport. They slept together that night. An exhilarating exhausting experience, it would seem anticipation is a great aphrodisiac, reigniting their ardent passion for each other. Subsequently, they discovered other shared interest’s, kinky sex, alcohol and golf. That was the beginning of their tempestuous love affair and it was truly magnificent liaison, a bright shimmering flame, which burnt with a volcanic intensity. She was everything Rowan desired and loved. For him, there was certainly something about Lucy. She was one of those people where indifference never entered the conversation, an all-consuming force. An apt description would be mystifying, with her feline beauty, graciousness and enigmatic appeal, furnishing her with an air of quiet mystery. An allure, beyond any sort of rationalisation. Most could not fathom her out but most of all, she could not fathom herself out, which was the most beguiling feature. To lose her, was one of the most agonising experiences of Rowan’s life, one he could barely live with.

While being pre-occupied with these painful thoughts, Rowan’s mobile rings, waking him from his melancholy. A number of customers at the bar, glance over, as it continues to annoyingly disturb the silence, not recognising the number, reluctantly Rowan decides to answer it.

A softly spoken woman’s voice responds, “Hello, is that a Mr Scott?” Perplexed, Rowan hesitantly admits it is.

“I am from the housing office. You recently applied for accommodation and I was wondering if you are available to view a property tomorrow morning? I’m very sorry it’s at short notice but we have a cancellation and your application was next on the list.”

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Taken aback by this unexpected phone call, Rowan recalibrates his confused mind, replying “Yes, yes of course.” The woman, automatically continues in her softly spoken voice, giving details and confirming time and location before signing off. Rowan, carefully places the phone back on the table, avoiding the slight spillage, lingering from his lager. He couldn’t quite believe this unexpected turn of events. First the fivepound notes and now an offer of a flat within minutes of each other. Desperately he wanted to share his good fortune with someone, especially Lucy, that was an impossibility. Maybe she might come back, should she hear about the good news along the grapevine. They had only applied online a month earlier, which had taken them the best part of three hours, having pressed the send button with a distinct belief, that was the last they would ever hear about it. Rationalising, there must be hundreds of more worthy applicants, a means to anticipate disappointment, without feeling resentment towards the invisible labyrinthine bureaucratic system or for that matter other applicants. There are many times our lives hang by a needle and thread, due to things outside our immediate control, depending on a split-second decision or just a casual whim. Rhyme and reason, is no bedfellow of fortune. For many a songwriter has reflected on the fortunes or misfortunes of lady luck. Frank Sinatra being one of many, singing with lots of swagger ‘Luck be a Lady Tonight.’ If only we could make a private deal with our capricious friend luck.

Rowan calls his long-time mate Alex, having known him since their school days. He had to tell someone his good fortune and Alex was the most obvious person Rowan knew, apart from his parents, who he wasn’t about to inform. Answering his call, unexpectedly Alex offers to come along and view the flat, it might also be a reasonable excuse to celebrate with a few bevvies afterwards. Opportunities should never be ignored.

Contrasting to the previous day’s deluge, blue sky warmly greets Rowan and Alex, as though a new dawn was about to begin. The moment was pregnant with hope, an anticipated future, offering something, which was yet to be realised. Rowan, knowing he would be assessed on his appearance, had spent a good part of an hour regarding his ablutions, including brushing his teeth twice, before finally donning shirt and trousers. Let’s give them no excuses to reject the application, privately thought Rowan.

The 1970’s block, stood proud and tall before them, surrounded by splashes of nature, grass, shrubs and trees. It had recently been refurbished, extending its life expectancy.

While adjacent to the flats, streets of semi-detached houses and low rise, added to the reassuring scene. Most importantly it felt safe.

“Ah, Mister Scott.” Two women dressed in office attire, stride forward to meet them.

Self-consciously, they all shake hands, in a gesture of commencing business. Rowan made up some lame excuse why Lucy couldn’t attend, alleviating any thoughts of a deceitful application, which might be loitering in their minds. Taking the lift up to the seventh floor, the heavy aluminium doors slide open, to reveal a neat and tidy landing Hidden Talents Magazine

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area, giving access to the various flats. A slight aroma of bleach lingers from the early morning cleaning as the housing officer unlocks and opens the front door, to reveal a light breezy empty space.

“What do you think?” Alex promptly enquires.

Rowan quickly examines the flat, replying enthusiastically, “It’s fantastic, I couldn’t have wanted more. It’s perfect, just the job. It doesn’t even need any decoration or repairs.”

The two women wander into the kitchen to inspect its size and condition. Rowan and Alex sheepishly follow, then gravitate towards the broad window overlooking the vast expanse of the city, stretching out in all directions. The area was dotted with industrial units, green spaces, including an allotment, surrounded by long lines of terraced houses. A perfect example of a sprawling modern metropolis with its broken shadowy outline, forming the city centre.

“Are you happy with it, Mister Scott?” the taller of the two, housing officers enquires.

“More than happy, thank you and thank you for showing me around, it is very much appreciated.”

“Ok, we will send you a formal acceptance notice to sign, including an agreement which will contain terms and conditions. So, if you are happy with everything, I will get that sent off to you later today. If you could return it asap, you can have the keys almost immediately.”

“Ah, that would be great.”

Making their way back down to the ground floor via the lift, they all say their Goodbyes. Rowan thanked them one more time, knowing being extra polite, does not cost a thing.

Alex turns towards Rowan, “Well that couldn’t have gone smoother. How simple was that, they were very helpful and pleasant with it. Anyway, if you don’t mind me prying, what’s happening with you and Lucy, have you heard off her?

“Not a word, but let’s not discuss Lucy, it depresses me. Another time.”

Inevitably they head towards the local pub, which resides at the top of the street, rewarding themselves with a celebratory drink. The two of them once again find themselves facing a couple of pints, sharing a meandering conversation.

“What I need now, is about two thousand pounds to cover the furnishing costs and some electrical goods, you know the usual suspects, fridge, cooker and a television.

More importantly a double bed as well.”

“Where are you going to raise that from, I mean the finances, not the bed?”

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“Well, it’s probably going to be a loan, if they will give me one, I don’t have the best of records,” Rowan raises his one eyebrow, as a gesture of you know what I mean, “I will have a word with my friendly bank manager next week, do some crawling.”

“We’ve all been there, just be very humble Mister Scott.”

“Of course, I’m a very umble person Mister Copperfield, the umblist person going, in my umble opinion.”

“Well let’s hope the bank manager doesn’t grumble at you being umble, we wouldn’t want you to take a tumble Mister Heep, would we.”

Having stretched the joke as far as it could possibly be stretched, their conversation returns to a more conventional note, as Rowan explains what happened the previous day with the magician. The anecdote was so incredible, there was no requirement to embroider or embellish it with any additional material. Both of them, inevitably sought some sort of logical explanation to the mysterious encounter, without coming to any plausible answer, apart from, he must have accidently dropped it. They continue chatting for some time, without mentioning the now out of bounds Lucy. After two pints they decide to leave, a sufficient celebration, deciding to catch up soon.

The following morning, much too early for Alex, his phone chimes on his bedside table, fumbling for it in his drowsiness, it was Rowan. Before Alex could say good morning, Rowan blurts out, “You’re not going to believe this but I won exactly two thousand pounds last night on ‘HotPicks.’ I managed to get four numbers. We were only chatting about it in the bar as well. Somebody is definitely looking after me up there. It’s getting weirder and weirder.”

“Amazing. You couldn’t make it up, what a run of luck.”

“It’s becoming annoying now, a sort of pleasant annoying but annoying, as if I’ve used up a life times fortune, in just a few days.”

“Don’t complain, there might be more to come yet.”

“Who knows, anything can happen, I’m into a brand-new world. I need to put a bet on a three-legged horse, I’m sure it would win.”

“Yeah, you wait for a bus for an hour, then three come along at the same time.”

“I didn’t even know I was waiting for a bus,” Rowan continued, “Do you fancy meeting up in Foxwood, about twelve tomorrow, just to check out some furniture and appliances, I will pay for lunch.”

“You’ve convinced me, see you outside the charity shop, you know, the one that sells half decent furniture. Have a nose in there first, before going elsewhere.”

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“Good idea, ok see you then.” Rowan promptly goes back to sleep, knowing he can have at least three hours in bed, before he needs to get himself into gear and start thinking about the day ahead. The world can be put on hold for the moment.

Momentarily, his thoughts return to Lucy, wondering what she was doing and if she regretted leaving. Turning over, he falls asleep.

Standing outside the charity shop, Rowan flashes a glance at his phone, thinking Alex should be here any time now. Looking up and down the street, he spots him striding past the numerous stores, weaving in between the many shoppers going about their business.

“Sorry I’m late, the girlfriend rang just as I’m leaving the house, always the way.”

“No worries, no one’s rushing off with the furniture.”

Entering the large store through the plate glass doors, rows upon rows of different shaped and coloured settees confront them, privately announcing to the willing customer, ‘Please Pick me.’ Each with their own personal memoir, desperately looking for a good home, the next chapter in their life. Further afield, clinging to the magnolia walls, brown laminated wood and chipboard white wardrobes can be viewed. Each one representing a period of time, like records on a jukebox. The large room was over flowing with furniture and artefacts, every available gap was taken up, even a storage space could be viewed, just beyond the main shop, containing further items ready to be assessed and sold on.

“What do you think of this one?” Alex enquires as he places his hand on the slightly scuffed arm.

“It’s too similar to what your parents would have but I don’t mind the shape, it’s just the flowery pattern, that’s the problem. Good price though, well within my budget.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean, it does look a bit dated.”

Wandering down each aisle in turn, periodically they stop to inspect a possible candidate, touching it, sitting on it, feeling its comfortability, followed by a short appraisal and marks out of ten. Other customers can be seen going through the same procedure, while fidgety children look on in boredom. It was the least productive activity; they could possibly do with their time.

After further examination of various sofa’s Rowan exclaims, “This is the one, a very reasonable price as well, it looks relatively new, if not new,” exclaiming with the conviction of a regular salesman.

“Yeah it works, it’s a decent colour. Dark maroon, it will match most things,” responds Alex.

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“Decided then.”

“That’s what I like to see, positivity.”

After ordering a number of smaller items, including a relatively pristine nineteen sixties coffee table and lamp, Rowan gives his name and address to the cashier for delivery purposes, paying in full, with crisp twenty-pound notes. He couldn’t help but feel he had procured the goods for free, due to his recent unexpected windfall.

Without luck, he wouldn’t be here now. Without luck he would be staring at a pint.

Luck had motivated him. Having a reasonable amount of finances left in his pocket, they both wander over to the domestic appliance store, sandwiched between the newsagents and betting shop. Briefly they stop and inspect the goods in the display window, before entering.

Immediately Alex nudges Rowan and barks, “Look who’s over there, Lucy!”

Momentarily, Rowan stands motionless, glued to the ground, sensing his beating heart rapidly increase in pace, “Yeah, I’ve spotted her, she hasn’t seen us yet. Shall we leave?”

“Don’t be stupid, just go over and say hello, the worst she can do is ignore you. I will wait here, take as long as you like mate.”

“Your right, I will only regret it if I don’t.” The rest of the store becomes a blur, as he pushes past other customers, single-mindedly heading in her direction. Gently tapping her on the shoulder, Lucy swiftly twists around. A stunned look flashes across her face, the type of stunned look, that can only happen in these unexpected circumstances. “Rowan, what a surprise, I didn’t expect to bump into you here.”

Swiftly Lucy gets a hold of her exploding emotions, as they fully fly to the surface.

Her face feels flushed. Standing there opposite each other, neither one of them quite know what to say. The last thing Rowan wanted to do, was ask the obvious question, if she missed him. The correct answer might not come back.

“How you doing,” Lucy enquires.

“Fine, just fine. How are you doing,” Rowan awkwardly asks, to move the emphasis off himself.

“Good, trying to keep busy. Mum hasn’t been too well recently, but apart from that, like yourself fine. What you been up to?”

“Not much. I’m out shopping with Alex, he’s over there,” she catches Alex’s attention.

Self-consciously they wave to each other. They never really got on, due to his ‘Jack the Lad’ appeal.

“Anyway Rowan, what you doing in here, it’s not the sort of place I would expect to find you?”

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Instantly, Rowan considers whether he should mention his new acquisition or not.

Does it matter, she would eventually find out sooner or later anyway. “Well, you are not going to believe this, I’m shopping for a new cooker and washing machine.

Remember that application we threw together for accommodation, about six weeks ago, it came up. I was amazed to get a phone call. I’ve been offered a place not far from here, it’s a great little flat. I’m moving in later this week.”

“Oh, that’s nice for you, whereabouts is it?”

Rowan knew she would be curious, faltering he continues, “You know where the Library is by the roundabout, opposite there, you know the tall block of flats. They’re really smart. I’m moving in at the end of the week, repeating himself. Your more than welcome to visit, when I’ve got it all sorted, I will give you a call, that’s if you want to.”

“Are you sure, I don’t want to spoil the party?” Lucy defensively responds.

“No, you won’t be spoiling the party, you might be able to give me some pointers, decoration wise. You were always better than me when it came to interior design.” A little flattery and grovelling, goes a long way.

“Alright then give me a call when you are ready. I’ll unblock you. I’m sorry about doing that, it was too painful to discuss what happened between us, that’s why I did it. We just needed some time and space.”

Although Rowan was pleased with her positive response, talk of needing time and space seemed like an old cliché to him, something that happens in television dramas.

Without giving anything away he casually responds, as if the separation was nothing, “Don’t worry, I do understand. Ok, hopefully see you soon, if your still up for it.”

Without hugging each other, somehow it seems inappropriate, Rowan walks back towards Alex, feeling a little smug with himself, counting the accidental meeting as some kind of result.

“That was quick, what happened their mate?” Alex enquires.

“I thought best to keep it short and sweet, before I mess it up by saying too much.

She’s coming around in the next couple of weeks, to have a peep at the flat, her suggestion. Curiosity got the better of her.”

“You’re not getting back with her, are you?”

“No, but I’m not ruling it out. Let’s see how it goes first, I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Anyway Alex, I’m feeling somewhat peckish and I promised you lunch. What about the Fox and Goose over the road?”

“That sounds like a good idea to me!” Alex says, as they head towards the pub.

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A few weeks later, Rowan could be found adjusting two large paintings on the wall, ones he had completed at college for his degree work. A smaller one hangs in the hallway, a self-portrait by Lucy, having debated with himself, whether to put it up or not.

He had spent the best part of the previous hour, tidying and cleaning the place, including all the surfaces in the kitchen, before finally artistically aligning the cushions on the settee, having rearranged them three times. It made no difference to the overall look but for some reason made him feel better. There is an extended buzz on the intercom, he knew it was Lucy. He looks in the hall mirror, then runs his fingers through his hair, before answering the intercom. Lucy’s distorted voice comes over, “Is that you Rowan?”

“Yes Lucy, it’s me, I will let you in. Push the door open to the foyer when the buzzer sounds and take the lift to the seventh floor. Tell you what, I will come down to you instead, I will be a gentleman. See you in a moment.”

Walking towards the main door, they both give a familiar smile to each other, as though they were doing something forbidden. She looks beautiful, the embodiment of fascination. They greet each other with a light hug, then take the lift up to Rowan’s flat.

“I notice all the public areas are very neat and tidy,” Lucy comments.

“Yes, we have a concierge and I have to say, they do take pride in their work.”

Entering the flat, she gently removes her coat, in a faux girlie voice asks, “Do you want me to take my shoes off?”

“You can do, just leave them there, by the door. I’m getting really house proud. I know its unlike like me. I’m turning into my parents and you know what, it feels good. Would you like a fresh mug of coffee?” Rowan had the forethought to have it percolating as she walked in, there being a strong aroma of fresh coffee, permeating the air. Giving the flat a homeliness and permanence. What is it about the smell of fresh coffee, that seriously effects our senses? It seems to be common to all people, as if we are all born with the coffee response gene.

Entering the lounge, “Wow, this is fantastic Rowan and you’ve done this all yourself. I’m impressed?” came Lucy’s response.

“Yes, all with my fair hands. Do you like the settee?”

“It’s brilliant. I love the burgundy colour; it feels warm and friendly, suits the place. You must have gone into debt to pay for it.”

“In my rarefied circles we call it maroon, joking, I know, same difference. Let’s say I got an unexpected windfall; the gods have shone very favourably on me.”

“That’s a little cryptic Rowan, even by your standards.”

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“Well luck is a very strange being, we never know when it will come knocking on our door.” Rowan sauntered into the kitchen, to move the conversation on. Lucy follows.

“What a lovely little kitchen and they are all new appliances, you really have sorted yourself out. That cooker is impressive with all its tweedily knobs.”

“Yes, there’s nothing else to do, apart from live in it. I’m more capable than what I thought. Coffee then. If my memory serves me correctly, half a sugar and a tiny amount of milk.”

“You haven’t forgotten.”

Promptly Rowan prepares two mugs of coffee, in plain ceramic artisan mugs, with a minimal design inscribed on them, further indicating his transformation into a house-proud new man. Much to Lucy’s surprise. She slowly walks over to the small balcony, admiring the panoramic view of the city, pointing out where her Mother lives.

Handing the mug of coffee to Lucy they wander back into the living room and sit down on the maroon settee, leaving the coffee to cool.

“I like this sixties coffee table, its solid wood as well, ” stroking her fingers along the edge, “There becoming rarer.”

“Yes, I knew you would like it, I was lucky to get it. Mid-twentieth century furniture is all the rage at the moment, not that I particularly follow fashion or trying to be trendy. I’ve always admired its European feel and Bauhaus modernist lines. That’s the last time they made real furniture.”

They were still sparring with each other, carefully dancing around, avoiding any direct personal questions. It was rather a question of when, rather than if they touched on their relationship. Rowan knew Lucy hadn’t just turned up out of curiosity, to admire the apartment. Taking a sip of her coffee, Lucy raises her mug, “Here’s to you and the new flat Rowan.”

“Thanks Lucy, I appreciate you coming around, you didn’t have to, considering how we ended.”

“Well I didn’t think there was a finality to it, we both just needed some space for a while.

That’s the problem with couples, sometimes they never give each other any space.

Living together can be incredibly claustrophobic, especially in a small apartment.”

Sensing Lucy was already preparing the ground to say something more substantial; it gave him his first opportunity to relax and really study her at close proximity, realising his attraction had not evaporated or lessened to any degree. She was flawless as ever, with her feline beauty and elegant manner, not to mention her dress sense which was highly personal. She had the creative skill, to throw on a few casual items, without any effort, appearing as though she’d just walked off some Italian catwalk, which all added to her allure. Although he still adored her, it certainly was not in his nature to be possessive, however he couldn’t imagine her with anyone else, or even sleeping with someone else. The thought was absolutely abhorrent to him. He was fully aware, she

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would have many suitors willing to spoil and flatter her, given the opportunity. She didn’t belong to him; after all she was a free agent now. Since acquiring the flat, there had been plenty of time to ruminate on the question of getting back together, having already made his mind up should the question arise.

“You don’t mind if I have a look at the bedroom Rowan?”

“Of course, follow me.”

They both get up and walk into the hall way, the bedroom being at the far end by the entrance.

“Ah you’ve bought a double bed, expecting visitors, are we Rowan?” Lucy provocatively comments.

“Oh, all the time, there’s a constant stream of them through the front door.”

Lucy smiles, “You haven’t lost your sense of humour then.”

“There have been times where I felt I had.”

Lucy moves closer towards him, tenderly placing her hand in his, before saying, “I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you madly.” Affectionately she kisses him on the cheek, then wraps her arms about him, holding him tightly. Rowan returns the kiss on her inviting lips, then reluctantly interrupts the flow of the moment, “I don’t think we should do this.

Lucy, I’ve got something to say to you first.” They both automatically sit down on the bed, still holding each other’s hand. Music could be faintly heard from the flat below, it was Ella Fitzgerald, ‘What is this thing called love?’

“I know what’s this is about, you’ve met someone else,” came Lucy’s suspicious response.

“Not at all, that’s the last thing I want at the moment. As you can imagine, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, especially about us but more importantly about me. This separation has taught me lot, a lot about myself and how I had become more than reliant on you, both emotionally and socially. I was beginning to lose my central core, if not lose me, what I’m about. During the last month I have found me again, mainly through luck rather than design. Most my friends apart from Alex, are in the same position, including my Dad who has lost his identity. He has sacrificed it on the altar of matrimony, unfortunately he no longer knows what he is about. He has shrunk, not that doesn’t make him a good person. Can you see where I coming from Lucy?” Having given his short soliloquy, Rowan waits for her reply, she didn’t look at all happy, if not somewhat shocked.

In disbelief she responds, “I feel pleased for you, now that you’ve found yourself, that’s the most important thing for you at this time,” there was more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice. No one likes rejection; whatever form it takes.

“Look I still love you with all my heart and always will. You are special to me, in every way. There will never be another you,” somehow it sounded hollow, empty, devoid of

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meaning. It was an inadequate attempt to soften the devastating news. Clumsily Rowan continues, “We can still go for a drink in the future,” the old cliché further adding to the gloomy atmosphere, as though there was no future apart from a drink.

Lucy could not contain her raw emotions, the unwanted news cut deep, like never before.

Her eyes began to well up, a single tear trickles down her cheek. Wiping it away, “Look, thanks for the coffee but I think its best I leave.” Rising from the bed Rowan hands her a tissue before she collects her shoes and coat from the hallway. It was both the first and last time.

With her hand resting on the door handle she despondently says, “You don’t have to escort me off the premises, I will find my own way down.” Her face looks sad. Rowan desperately wanted to hug her but knew it wouldn’t help matters. All he could do was stand there speechless; words could no longer form on his lips. She had rolled the dice, expecting a double six but luck decided on a double one. Rowan forlornly opens the front door, briefly looking at each other one more time, saying their sorrowful farewell. She presses the down button for the lift.

There would be no tomorrows for them anymore.

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IRA VOLKOVA

Living with Art I was born in a small town in the south of Ukraine, every summer I spent visiting my grandmother in the village. I can confidently say that my childhood was happy and bright. It seems to me that during that period I accumulated so much sunlight that I still give it back in my paintings.

I have been drawing for as long as I can remember. It was enough for parents to give me a sheet of paper and pencils and the child was busy for several hours. Therefore, I had no difficulties with choosing a profession; from early childhood, I firmly knew that I would be an artist.

In art school we were taught to paint with watercolours and pencil, in college, we tried gouache and oil, there we also were taught the basics of academic painting. I really loved working with watercolours; I liked their lightness and ability to transmit light. This is how my idea was born - to start with water-based paints to give lightness to the object, and then finish with oil paints to achieve the depth of form and good details.

Later, when I studied art restoration and conservation, I learned that this idea is far from new and that artists used this technique back in the era of classicism.

I’m inspired by nature in its endless variety. Even the most common object changes when you try to draw it. You understand that you did not know it; you even never really saw it.

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Therefore, I love the large format of canvases, they allow people to show much more than they are used to seeing. On my canvases, a whole macrocosm of petals, the play of light and shadows, sun glare are deploying.

I love photography and for me, photography is a good and also necessary tool in the hands of a modern artist and a hobby for the soul.

I am inspired by the Flemish artist-masters of the 17-20th centuries; I made many copies of their works during my studies in order to understand their technique and compositional methods.

I love impressionist artists for their ability to convey light and changeable states of nature.

Furthermore, I love traditional Chinese painting for its brevity, subtle symbolism, the beauty of lines and attention to detail.

And for me, the most difficult task, probably, is the ability to convey the beauty of things and details, like the Flemings and the Chinese, but preserve the lightness of form inherent in the impressionists.

“I’m inspired by nature in its endless variety.”

For water-soluble paints (such as watercolour, acrylic) I use traditional Chinese brushes, for oil paints - flat brushes are made of artificial bristles.

At the moment, all my time is occupied by working on custommade paintings, often months in advance. But, in the future, I dream of organizing a large international exhibition to collect many works in one beautiful place.

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info@iravolkova.com

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Phil Buckley

Photographs around the countryside of the Midlands I am Phil Buckley, a keen photographer since I was a young man who obtained my first SLR camera. I also love fishing, the countryside and the sense of tranquility that these give.

My father was very knowledgeable about the countryside and took his four children on many walks into the rural areas around Walsall, teaching us about local history and the wonders of nature. These were amongst the happiest times of my life.

I am now a retired social worker having worked in Child Protection for most of my professional career. During my holidays and at weekends when at work I often combined photography, and my love of the countryside to escape the rigors of a stressful job.

After marrying, I passed on my love of the countryside to my own children Rebecca and Luke (pictured), and was for some time rarely seen without a camera around my neck particularly at weekends!

Photographing nature and my children in this way has helped me to develop skills of spontaneous non posed photography which has held me in good stead when developing community arts, project and event photography. I don’t think there’s anything more mundane than seeing a group of posed people after involvement in outdoor

Jodie Duckwotth Miss Birmingham 2019 at a World Against Single Use Plastic (WASUP) Exhibition of Children's Artwork at Walsall College wearing eco-wear.

activities, a festival, or cleaning up the countryside than a group pose! But if you can capture the action and the joy on peoples faces in a non-posed way then this really communicates the fun to be had and the benefits of such activities to others.

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For the last four years or so, and particularly since the onset of the global pandemic, I have been involved in community arts, media and nature photography and have founded a social media site known as Karma Times which engages communities and voluntary projects and publicises their activities, giving me the opportunity to be involved in all the things I love.

Red Deer, Norton Bog. Staffordshire.

Swan bonding ritual. Phil Buckley 2020.

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The Little Pond on Pelsall Common.

Walsall

Buff Tailed bumblebee in White 31 Rhododendron.

VOLUNTEERS WE NEED YOUR HELP March 2022 - September 2022 We are Creating a team of dedicated and dynamic volunteers, who will be at the heart of our events, during Birmingham Commonwealth Games to be held in 2022. we are looking for a passionate community of people coming together in helping to deliver the biggest art and cultural event in Digbeth.

If you are Interested in getting involved and you are 18+ and you would like to join us, send us an email with a brief outline on how you would like to be involved and any experiences you may have.

The Arches Project, Adderley Street, Digbeth, Birmingham B9 4EE

Tel: 0121 772 0852 Web: www.thearchesproject.org E.mail us at: Info@thearchesproject.org

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Rodrigo Costa Rodrigo Costa is a Madeiran visual artist currently based in Madeira Island, Portugal.

He graduated with a BA (Hons) in Fine Art from Coventry University in 2020. Some of his exhibitions include 'a balloon that flew', Birmingham (2019), 'view//point', Coventry (2019) and, more recently, he was part of the group exhibitions ‘pela paisagem dividida, retalhada', Galeria dos Prazeres and 'AQEA', galeria.a, both in Madeira.

2021 has been the ‘year of working on what I want to do, where and how.

As an emerging artist and having studied in the UK, my plans were to return to England after the pandemic was under control.

Unfortunately, this will no longer be going ahead because of the length of stay outside the country… now feeling barred from the area where all young art goes to flourish and fraternise, and in turn, stuck in my old island

The Tortoise' - performance video still Rodrigo Costa (2021)

habits and life, was a true punch to the stomach and meant I have had to completely

Madeiran Visual Artist

'KLOKY & POPLY' PERFORMANCE VIDEO STILL Hidden Talents Magazine

'MEMORABILIA SAMMY SLEEPING AFTER A BATH

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redesign my professional (as well as personal) reality and expectations.

At the end of 2020, I organised a self-funded artistic home residency, starting a YouTube channel and trying to work on a million ideas from my parent’s basement space, I was invited to present a project to the European Solidarity Corps., I became the manager of the solidarity art project ‘play(ing) grounds 2021' (PT ‘recreios de cri(ação) 2021’).

This last year has been about sharing my knowledge and skills with other people through discussions, workshops and artist residencies as well as growing and learning from these interactions – which is notably amusing when considering I never wanted to become a ‘teacher’ figure.

Much thanks for this opportunity, I have also been appointed to create, manage and curate a gallery space for the young emerging artists of Madeira: 'anona – young art gallery', which opened in November 2021.

In between projects and other professional activities, I always try to continue creating 'amateurish', 'unfinished', DIY-like objects and situations that evoke a simpler era – childhood The Hare' - performance video still Rodrigo Costa (2021)

– and look into the concepts of playfulness, evasion and obliviousness from our overwhelming reality. Most recently, recently I have been sharing on social media a series of drawings I made in September and October hope that you will enjoy my work.

Instagram: @rcalcos_art

E-mail: rodrigocaldeiracosta@gmail.com

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© Ira Volkova

Create a beautiful and Unforgettable memories in your life

CALL FOR ARTISTS

The Healing Power Of Art

Exhibition will take place: 22nd July- 13th August 2022 at The Arches Project, Digbeth Birmingham UK We would like to attract artists and creatives interested in art that is positive, healing and uplifting and seeking to gain global exposure to our international audience, which will direct more traffic to your websites and expanding your social media presence.

Inspirational Art in mixed media

When imagination, skills and innovation is added to their use of mixed media, there are no limits to what can be achieved Artists are invited to submit their application with two samples of their work to be considered by registering on the link

Exhibition 2022

https://thearchesproject.org/artist-registration-form/

Entry Deadline: 13 June -2022

© Madam P