A book “Lighthouse in Kettle’s Yard” – and a Dandelion

My fascination with details will I hope never cease. Each object is a miracle.” (Jim Ede, “A Way of Life”, p.35)

Here is something for you to open on a rainy Lockdown afternoon …


I produced this book and basic website almost 18 months ago.  Since then, there seemed to be no leisure time to develop the project or market it!  And still there isn’t.  It finds its natural course like the way it was written.

The website describes my book about what it was like to grow up “in the influence of Kettle’s Yard”. It contains a blog and some (rather lengthy) readers’ feedback to plough through; and a link for you to buy it.


Photo from “A Way of Life” p.75 (1984)

What is inside your own house that you treasure and got so used to, that perhaps you forgot to notice it?


Kettle’s Yard itself is for the time being closed along with everything else, but you can visit https://www.kettlesyard.co.uk/about/ and take a virtual tour around Jim’s house (look under “Collection” or scroll down to Resources and then “Take a Tour”).

Jim’s spiral at Kettle’s Yard



And a Dandelion clock for the time of now …
found this on facebook:

Love laughs at locksmiths and at little viruses.  Love IS viral – a dandelion in a field of buttercups.  My evolving Co-virus “insight”  emerged from the beginning of the crisis, but continues to clarify:  a movement towards adjusting overall balance in the bigger picture.

How can a caterpillar’s worldly dirge comprehend … the butterfly inside … which inexorably cracks the chrysalis?

The inner nature of the co-virus is its homeopathic antidote. 

The condition is psychological; obsessive collective fear about covid19 causes many more people to fall ill and die of it than would otherwise.  The amplified attention and media dirge weaken the physical system into habit-channels of expectation.  

From what I have heard, the co-virus signature is an economic one – a depth change to the existing global Economy towards retrieving a real value-standard;  a more equally distributed wealth, and the coming forth of our humanity to one another.   This great Change initially generates fear, emotional insecurity and stress in relationships. 

Then we must turn to face our music, we must reach above and below the pattern of the “fields we know”  – reach deeper and higher, reach inward –  for an information source which touches and activates our natural resilience.

For this, we are in a general agreement to slow down, value what we notice inside our  houses, and take responsibility with our environment.  “I” start to see “you” in a different way.  In places where difficult issues are confined, this can be hard at first – almost unbearable. And it may take time and commitment to illumine those caverns often rocky and harsh – or confused and crowded.  The walking and the lamp are love. What is love?  A being-with.  Create space for our Self and children to dance in, and respect the other’s. Give room to come and go; to breathe.

What is the antidote, the inmost nature of co-virus?   Joy and the creative uplift of love for life and for others – a conscious choice.  It is incredibly catching.  The songs which keep coming and the way we hear our own – and turn to help each other in crisis – are doing just that.

Knock on door.
“Who’s there?”
“There is no room for two of us.”

Knock on door.
“Who’s there?”
“It is You.”
“Come.  We are within.”

Jalal Al DinRumi




Dancer by Gaudier-Bzreska in Kettle’s Yard

My adventure invites fellow travellers. I am a poet, an artist and a seer. I welcome conversation among the PHILO SOFIA, the lovers of wisdom. See also Aquariel and Gene Keys Diary.

All art and creative writing in this blog is copyright © Janeadamsart 2012-2020. May not be used for commercial purposes. May be used and shared for non-commercial means with credit to Jane Adams and a link to the web address https://janeadamsart.wordpress.com/


In Touch: Art as Healing

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PS – this is updated – I added a paragraph this morning.


This year 2012 is a time of change, a change of time, a river crossing the road. Some of us swim with the tide at tipping point.  For many others, the pressures from the collective subconscious, nationally and individually, are unbearable.   Like labour, there is pain, push and pull, and the rush of birth.

We each know someone – including ourselves – who gets overwhelmed by violent mood swings, stress, depression and obsessive disorder.    Any small unkindness may hit a deeply embedded nerve “i-am-rubbish” and amplify it to a hurricane, taking life.

Prisoners of depression cannot reach out, and they feel stigmatized.   The fragile one needs not words, but the presence of a friend somewhere, to support her coming through the crisis.   Whom can we give – today – that sense of connection, the living thread, a phone call even?   The smallest bit makes the difference.

Life doesn’t stop;  so I have to blog-along-a-bit.

This sketchbook fell open, early this morning, when I was busy with Odds and Logs.  They have your story in them somewhere, and contain a healing sequence.   Some of them are drawn with the left hand.  They are among many hundreds of similar drawings during 1987 -1988, when I was rowing across my interior Atlantic.  Creative art is a quantum-packet of healing, transcending the artist, and making waves.

The pictures tell their own story;  words are minimal map references.


Quantock ponies 2009



He art



Sunflower and Paddle Steamer



looking at me



Line dance 1



Line dance 2



Learning to



Learning (2) – a painting done in 2007



Get Well Soon.  The little house to the right, is the soul.  I sent this, and the one after it, to my father when he fell dangerously ill after swimming in a French river.  It is an angel, but he calls it “Boy with Rabbit”.  During his convalescence, he said each breath became a precious gift.  It is like being born again.


Gan Eden … Adam, Eve, the tree and the ship of the soul.



Ode.  This is moon talk, soul talk.



Navigation:  the Fool (creative play) and the Lamb (emotional baggage).  Hey-hey!



Flower, a despair of Painters.

In The Dawn of Magic (also published as The Morning of the Magicians), Jacques Pauwels and Louis Berger celebrated suggestively, a certain alchemical wildflower.  They said she was saxifrage, and every painter failed – like the princes who tried to climb up a glass mountain to the bride.  What could it be that makes the painters despair?   Why should I be like them?  I heard a sort of music around her, and drew what I saw in my mind’s eye.



flower the Despair of painters 1988

A painting done perhaps the following year.  I wiped my dirty palette from the previous painting across the canvas, and that was my landscape.  I outlined the found geologies and polished them a little.  The Flower floats up to me from a pegged-down Violet Crystal, and near the Crystal, a little green man seems to fly her as a kite.  Or he might be a painter, trying too hard.   I didn’t draw him – he was just a splash of paint.  But you might see something entirely different.   What do you see?

Smeared paint with knife or brush turned into fishes, the fish of my dreams, swimming through.


The Elephant’s Child

When my mind raced, I would go outdoors for a walk around the block, slow, conscious and curious, like an elephant or a four year old, and notice things.   To peg the mental dynamo to body tempo, earths and slows it right down.   I used to have a chatter in my head all day long.   I discovered that when I look out of the window and hear each word, at the actual tempo of speech, it gets too bored to endure itself, and collapses.

Walk the talk to calm it down, and not get carried away!   To yourself … or to someone who hears … say each word.   Soon you may not want to say any more.

Tie the tempi of the mental centre to the moving centre (the body), and learn to dance.  Mindstuff moves like lightning, much faster than real life.   That is where all the trouble starts.



Quantock heather path after rain

The point, with these drawings for self healing, towards world healing, is that anyone can do it.   Drawing goes wrong when we try to do it too fast, like the grownups – then we are out of touch with it.    I slowed right down, and learned to draw  the feeling slowly, using my whole arm’s movement in that space, letting my body move like a child, a path, not knowing what the line might do, or where it might go, but believing in it.  Sometimes I drew with my eyes closed, then looked.   It was liberating.  It is liberating to find and feel what is true to myself, and stick to that.   It is liberating to dance, to take a stroll with charcoal and the line.

There might be a bit more to this, in the morning.


22 August

It is now tomorrow morning, and as I thought, there is a bit more.   Souls move off the grid and into the medicine forest.

But “In Touch” was written towards all persons who get depressively suicidal.  My cher ami told me another;  the black girl up the road called him again and again at the weekend, and at last he went, and he saw her through, sat with her, jollied her out of trying it again.  We discussed suicidal feelings for a while.  He is a very firm person.

I am a river and I find my valley.  Other souls see my pebbles and Quantock paths.  Depression, locked in syndrome, is when nobody sees what you are and what you see.  There is no worse pain.

So perhaps with one depressed – can say, say to me what you see;  and see it too, without chatter.

This doesn’t turn the clock back for one who took her life;  or for those who love her;  but a sudden death – (I saw a guy on the Underground, just after I heard the news, he wore a SUDDEN DEATH tee-shirt and shades!) – a sudden death traps that fleeing soul in the tears and shock and guilt she leaves.  I – we – go on seeing what she sees, until she loosens and is able to move on.  As far as I know, and have always felt since childhood, death is no end, it is a gateway –  like birth, but into a consciousness whose continuity is not “on-the-line of life”.  The consciousness encircles it.   A lifetime is one detail in that sphere, a whorl, a dust-devil dancer, a moving-centre lost, wrapt within itself.   So perhaps what she feels more acutely than she can say, is the LOSS.   The being lost.

But a point of Life within a circle of Consciousness, is circumpunct, the ancient Solar symbol.

Seeing what another sees, is not explicit, for we are built open, and yet are private.   It is more, a willingness in the essence, to be open.  (I am always on the learning curve, with this.  I chip away at my conditioning.)

So go well, violet flower child, along your moorland paths and through the rain.   His love, your friend, is with you.  Let him live, for he carries your wild colour in his heart.

He carries your amethyst to whom he may next love, and their children.  Nothing ends.  It all flows on.


Having written this, a transpersonal pattern clears.  There is a meeting whose roads cannot quite move on through each other – a Karmic cul de sac.   Rising up, up above the Violet Crystal to the flower which is the Despair of painters, I see that she in her subconscious roll and pitch, gives him liberty.   See the picture.

The existential despair of a suicide, is not the full picture.  They are pressed to do it, and they exaggerate the prompt, because their boat rocks wildly.  But the full picture is the way all the pieces move around, together.  The sudden death is yet a gate for her to move through, and for him to go through into his new chapter.  He is a Capricorn, and the amethyst is his true grit.

Many souls feel suicidal in life’s spiky graph at this time.  Being touched, this is written towards all who are feeling this way, to try to companion them … a strong pulse of the violet healing radiance in the dew.  Don’t try to end it, because you can’t, ever.  Keep going.   Go well.


World Compass:  Go High, Deep, Far and Wide


My adventure invites fellow travellers.  I am a poet, an artist and a seer.  I welcome conversation among the PHILO SOFIA, the lovers of wisdom.

This blog is  a vehicle to promote my published work – The Sacred India Tarot (with Rohit Arya, Yogi Impressions Books) and The Dreamer in the Dream – a collection of short stories (0 Books) – along with many other creations in house.  

I write, illustrate, design and print my books.   Watch this space.