I’ve been fascinated by spirals
since I was a little girl. Some time ago, whilst going through my parents’
attic I came across a pile of old schoolbooks, including my first ‘English and
Stories’ book from when I was six. In it, I had drawn a picture of a spiral and
spent a full page writing about how lovely it was. I still vividly remember
drawing it, and marvelling at how the rings seemed to go on forever and never
stop, drawing on outwards like the ripples on a pond.
Later, I discovered labyrinths,
spirals you can actually walk in! The slightly dizzying sensation of winding
your way slowly into the centre, a sense of satisfaction at having arrived
there, and the gradual unwinding until, step by step, you find yourself back at
the point you started. As I walked the path, I thought of pilgrimages, of
movement, of refugees, and the fact that we are all dynamic, constantly moving
and growing through our lives and never really stopping. Birth, life and death,
are all part of the cycle.
And then, more recently, I
discovered Celtic art. It had always been with me really. I bought a book about
the Book of Kells at university, and used to spend hours poring over its
intricate images. I have also always loved Mediaeval illuminated manuscripts,
with their boldness of vision and layers of colour. But I had never considered
myself worthy of drawing them. Until now. I think we all convince ourselves, at
some stage, that we are unworthy. We tell ourselves we can’t cook, can’t paint,
can’t sing, can’t write poetry. Which is not true. We might not be able to do
any of these things particularly well…yet. But we can all do them. The more we
do them, the better we will become. I wanted to explore the spiral for myself,
to feel it moving through the page as I had done all those years ago, when I
was six. I picked up a pencil. I drew.
Today’s painting, which I have
just completed, is based upon the Celtic Triskele, or Triple Spiral. It is, in
fact, a symbol which predates even the Celtic culture, tracing its roots right
back to the Neolithic era, as it can be seen at the entrance of Newgrange,
Ireland. The Triskele gained popularity in its use within the Celtic
culture from 500BC onwards. It was later adopted by Celtic Christianity,
and appears on cathedral carvings, illuminated manuscripts and stained glass
windows. It is most familiar to many from its usage on the Isle of Man flag
(the flag of Sicily is surprisingly similar!)
In terms of its symbolism,
theories abound. First, like the labyrinth, it can be thought to represent
outward motion, its three arms moving outwards from the centre. In a spiritual
sense, it might represent power or energies moving from the centre out into the
world. Like wheels, it indicates action, perpetual motion, revolution.
Secondly, it is split into three
parts. These can represent, variously, the cycle of life-death-rebirth;
spirit-mind-body; past-present-future. For the later Christian Celts, it represented
the mystery Trinity – Father, Son and Holy Spirit, the Three-in-One or Triune
God.
Finally,
of course, the nature of Celtic art itself represents a sort of sacred
geometry. The pencil hits the paper and follows a line with no clear beginning
and no true end. The line is Eternal, travelling forward to the Centre and back
out into the world, with no clear sense of where one begins and the other ends.
There is no clear division between the sacred and the secular, the inner and
the outer worlds.
The Celts
used to speak of ‘thin’ or ‘liminal’ places’ – crossover places from the
Earthly to the Spiritual realm. According to the Celtic saying, “Heaven and
Earth are only three feet apart, but in thin places that distance is even
shorter.”
Most of
us have visited places where we instinctively feel drawn towards a sense of
something bigger than ourselves. Often these may be close to water, a literal
crossing point from one state to another. I speak of this in my poem, Liminal,
which was inspired by a trip to Rhossili, on the beautiful Gower Peninsula, a
‘thin place’ if ever there was one:
Liminal
I have come to the edge
Of what I know
In this place, that is neither
Earth nor shadow.
You are water
And I, land-locked,
Liminal, face the tearing tide
Hear the ocean's voice
Confirm my calling,
Cling to ancient rocks
With limpet fingers
But dare not step outside,
For fear of falling.
It
is interesting that my sensation on visiting a liminal place seems first to
have been one of fear. Perhaps the message of the Triskele or Sacred Spiral is
to face that fear…and keep on going. I know that on the few occasions I have
dared to do so, what has struck me most clearly was a sense of unity and
interconnection, of being part of a much bigger picture. Much like the crazy
spirals I was drawn to as a child, what we see now is only in part. The real
ripples travel much further outwards than we could ever know – out into the
universe and beyond.
