Sue Yarnell

For as long as I can remember, I have been a devoted gatherer of natural forms.  My childhood was marked by seasonal rituals: visiting secret woodland where bluebells and wild daffodils grew in spring, beach combing on summer holidays, foraging for blackberries and conkers in autumn and gathering festive branches as winter approached.  My father would guide us to all the richest sources, sharing his deep intimacy with the Cheshire landscape.  Our home was a place of invention where goose feathers became pens and walnut shells were transformed into tiny sailing vessels.  Alongside my sisters, I made daisy chains, rose petal perfume and used fir cones to forecast the weather. 

 

Today, the discovery of a beautiful feather or an intricate seedpod still sparks a profound sense of wonder.  Some of these discoveries immediately find their way into my work, while others are secreted for months or years, waiting for the perfect composition.  As these treasures dry, they evolve; some turn leathery and tough, while others become as delicate as parchment.  I often pair these natural elements with paper or ceramic fragments, binding them together with visible stitches of linen or wire.  By framing these fragile forms, I isolate them from the wild and invite a closer gaze, giving them a new identity as precious objects.  I am endlessly inspired by the complex engineering of nature, where every structure is as functional as it is beautiful.

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