QWERKY

On creativity

There's a deal of information available about creativity these days. Creativity is a peculiarly human attribute: an infinite number of monkeys given an infinite amount of time would ultimately, by the laws of probability, duplicate The Sistine Chapel ceiling, but that would be a random outcome, a chance happening, not a work of art.

Scientific analysis is finally starting to help us understand how our brains work. Some of the complex patterns of neural activity firing inside that mysterious three pounds of flesh can be viewed as the collaborative effort which precedes creative thought.

My own musings have given me a personal definition: creativity is imagination made manifest. We take our ideas, then make them tangible. We move from abstract to concrete. A mathematician shows us patterns with numbers. An author tells us stories with words. A child makes sandcastles on a beach.

Thus we are all creative. Creativity is a fundamental facet of our nature. The joy of the Internet is that we can share our creations with others so freely, so immediately and so widely that we can now see so very clearly that creativity is no longer the preserve of a privileged few elite who are labelled as "artists". As individuals we are certainly all placed differently on a spectrum of skills, ability and talent, but that's true for just about everything worthwhile to which we aspire in life.

So go on: create something today. You'll make the world a better place simply by doing so.

Poppies

The parish paddock at the end of the lane where I live was ablaze with poppies this morning, so I delayed my commute by five minutes to make this picture. Well, poppies are ephemeral flowers and I for one won't be lying on my death bed wishing I'd been a more punctual employee.

Honey

One of my friends gave me a jar of honey today. As soon as I got home I made an e-card to thank him. With a smartphone, it's only the work of a few minutes to bring pleasure in this way.

The jar pictured here is set against a background of Bee Lavender, which flourishes in a bed of purple slate in my little front garden.

Wild and exotic mushrooms

Salisbury Charter Market maintains the highest standards for local food producers. If I'm there when it's open on a Tuesday or a Saturday, I can't resist looking at the wares on offer.

These New Forest mushrooms were definitely wild and deliciously exotic. A punnet full just had to come home with me.

More details at http://www.newforestmushrooms.co.uk/

Cherries

Red-robed, all crimson,
Succulent scarlet fruit pairs:
Juicy temptresses.

What a difference a day makes

Yesterday's toadstools seen 18 hours later under an overcast sky.

Photography offers a powerful way to compare different moments in time.

Tribe of toadstools

The warm, damp micro-climate in some of the long grass of The Tree House garden has encouraged a tribe of toadstools to spring up this week.

Shadow flowers

Sun-struck buds and leaves
Shadowed on a wooden fence,
Scribed by Ra himself.

Finger knitting

Tyler is a cool bear. He is a fashionista. In today's photo he is modelling his latest acquisition: a woollen bracelet which I made for him.

Two weeks ago I had never heard of finger knitting. Then I bid on an auction of promises, eventually winning an introductory lesson. The prize was part of a fundraising scheme run by some of the students I work with. My tuition a couple of days ago was a revelation, an epiphany: here was something I'd found I could do with wool which didn't involve juggling a pair of stubbornly unwieldy, dangerously pointed wooden sticks, or fiddling with a thin, hooked metal rod alive with an unbreakable, fidgety spirit. To my surprise, after mere minutes I was producing a continuous strand of woven fibres using nothing more than a minor amount of manual dexterity plus a major dollop of determination to succeed where previously I had failed.

My novice's one-finger technique soon gave way to an internship involving three digits. Tyler's bracelet was a learning landmark: it had no dropped loops, with a reasonably neat and secure finish. Perhaps four-finger knitting will be a trick I'll be able to trot out next time I'm called on to present a more memorable kind of micro-teaching exercise. Or maybe I'll just adopt it as a way of coping with the boredom of those interminably mis-managed meetings I can't always avoid. The risk is that it might be construed by some as a passive-aggressive way of saying "get knotted", but that'll have to be a yarn I'll save to spin for you another day.

Oilseed Rape

Cash crop

The injection of billions of pounds from European agricultural subsidies in the last two decades has dramatically changed the appearance of the English countryside. Some strains of oil seed rape can be harvested twice in a growing season, making it an attractively profitable venture for farmers. The crop can be used to make biodiesel, industrial lubricants, cattle cake and is a source of nectar for honey bees.
The distinctive acid-yellow flowers of the invasive oil-seed rape are at odds with the softer, warmer yellows of our older native meadow plants like buttercups and primroses. Escaped rape seeds have self-propagated along our hedgerows and in our ditches, where, unchecked, they stand tall, shining -- a little too brightly for my taste -- in the spring sunlight.  Fields in and around Worcestershire are full of it at the moment. The landscape is so striking that one enterprising local farmer is charging Japanese tourists by the busload to visit his land, their cameras constantly clicking at the citrus scenery.
Lucrative or not, the plant creates controversy: not only is it at the heart of an international political row between the USA and the European Community, it is also thought by many to be a major cause of seasonal misery for those who suffer from pollen-induced irritations such as Hay Fever.
My photograph today shows the land immediately next to the school where I work. My migraine diary tells me that my "Hay Fever" headaches coincide with the blooming of this rape. Some medical experts point to evidence which supports Oilseed Rape Allergy Syndrome. My watering eyes squint at the garish hue of the flowers, but like it or not, the species looks as though it's taken financially firm root in our British culture.