Whirring and clicking,
all jagged and covered in valves.
Enter the workshop.
has no mouth
and little dull lamplight eyes
It seemed his most recent work was horrible and incomplete.
Hand the hunk of silver over.
Watch his eyes blaze for a second,
a small pulse.
He snatches the silver back and opens up his chest.
It’s his heart, but things aren't quite right.
Removed again and placed on the work top,
down to the tiny little pieces he goes,
taking out all that’s broken.
He puts them to one side,
hopelessly gazing at the fragments.
Look to see if there is any way to fix them.
shake him and push him,
grab his hand.
Eventually, solemnly he turns,
and you repair the broken parts of his silver heart with gold.
Tenderly he screws it back in place and tests his voice.
It sounds as if with this heart he would craft better than ever.
‘My Son John’ – a sea shanty sang at Falmouth’s festival had the perfect few lines to get stuck into, a chance to make the most of a little dark humour involved in the tragic tale. Using a piano stool as a platform, the cannon was built using reclaimed sapele, walnut, and beech. The wheels have been made in the traditional manner with individually turned spokes slotting into the hub and rim, held together with the outer metal band, no glue required. Except for a few cogs and some chain, the mechanism is built from scratch, and is entirely powered by an old hacksaw blade.
'My son John was tall and slim
He had a leg for every limb
But now he’s got no legs at all
For he ran a race with a cannonball'
He is young, brash and somewhat naïve, but on the path to getting noticed – for better or worse. Primarily sculpted from lime wood and pine, with the hands and head made in clay, the figure is accompanied by an eccentric drum machine based upon a design for a self-propelled war drum by Leonardo Da Vinci. This is made using a combination of reclaimed objects and hand-made components, with a mechanism both ‘above ground’ and below to display moving parts.
'Marching to the beat of his own drum
Banned Boy sought opportunity in exclusion
Cobbled streets were his new stage
Escaping a life of minimum wage'