Portfolio

Ken Dickinson

A selection of interiors, furniture, objects, photos & writings.

Interiors

Kitchen Space, Regency Flat, Brighton.

I love the way rooms work and I love their potential to work differently, after a spot of re-configuration. I love the bit in the middle too, especially if I'm working for someone I care about.

The space above is my sister's kitchen in a fantastic flat on the seafront in Brighton.

I removed the door to allow the table to be moved away from the stove, and built the work station and open cupboard to facilitate the feeling of a family room, as opposed to one that's there solely for cooking and eating.

The  bold palette of colours, with their sidewaysey stripes added a Regency air and was a simple solution to provide an warmer, more relaxed feel in what was previously a sometimes shadowey and gloomsome space.

Mid summer sun working well with the stained glass window.

 

 

 

 

 The bathroom above was designed around a 1970s Avocado tub. I love the challenge of incorporating the past with the present to send it into the future, and by removing the box work from around the bath, painting the exterior bronze and adding some outlandish aubergine feet, I felt happy to design the rest of the bathroom with the knowledge that there was a solid style direction to follow.

With thanks to Alex Beleshenko for help

 with the glass

I developed this style direction into a submarine theme, and incorporated custom-bent copper pipework for the shower rail and used a ship's porthole to borrow light from the attic above using a complicated combination of light tubes and mirrors. The sash window was completely re-furbished, and ran up and down like a train, just, maybe, as God had intended.

I based the design for the window on an photographic image of a seated sculpture I'd taken years previously, where I imagined the birds flying around the sculpture in the photo as the sculptures' thoughts, as representations of the chaos or creativity that exists, albeit invisibly, as a force field around us all.

 

Adjacent study and kitchen, Swansea.

The spaces above incorporate a couple of items of furniture as important parts of the design. The sentry box display cabinet was constructed with mdf and hardboard laminate to achieve the curves at the top as well as providing the rebates to house the shelves themselves. It originally incorporated a filing cabinet below, but the digital revolution had it's way with that.

Round, rolling, friction free and fun doors are incorporated in this catering sized stainless steel kitchen unit. Roll either of the end ones to open and to pick up the middle one en route. They'll stay in the open position until nudged, when they'll obligingly see-saw back into the closed position, via a system of rollers and weighted handles. The middle one also opens independantly. There's a You Tube clip here.

The kitchen also incorporated a starry LED ceiling, and an original 'English Rose' Cabinet, built after the war by the guys that had made the Spitfire. Coloured Jenga blocks form the counter top edging and there's also a cantilevered surface that folds away to reveal a pull out ironing board.

  

Furniture

The chair below is reclaimed from a skip and extended with MDF panels. I've extended a few chairs and a couple of tables and this is definitely my favorite. I like to sit at stool height and I like to build from a starting point of re-claimed materials. I also like the eccentricity of this piece, with it's single arm. The desk and shelves behind are irregularly curved and the support is a smoothed beech branch from the woods.

Extended chair and lobby work station

I like to start with a hand drawn and coloured sketch before committing to accurate measurements and final computer generated designs for bespoke fitted furniture. This sketch worked through the elements of the brief to incorporate a period piece of furniture within a larger set of bookshelves. There were conditions regarding fixings and no fastenings were allowed near the period piece itself, and in theory at least, it can simply slide out from the wall. Some decorative scrolling and the incorporation of inset wooden balls into the centre of the shelves attempts to marry the two styles into one piece of furniture.

 

The ball detailing can be seen here in the inset photographs.

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

A three piece modular clock. 

Rearrangable in a variety of configuraions. Ceramic.

Boxing Hares. Constructed in multi layed OSB to create a feeling of energy and movement, the look that you get maybe from a photograph of movement via stroboscopic flash. The finished pieces were coated in the plastic component of GRP, and are aging well. They're planted with climbing hydrangea, that I hope will soften them over time.

Dancing Oak, Aldermaston Manor, 1986.

I painted this large fallen branch in emulsion paint as part of a sculpture project in the grounds of the Manor House at Aldermaston in Berkshire, in the mid Eighties. It's from a once giant oak tree now in the very last stages of its life, the tree itself remaining only as a huge hollow with a few twiggy beards here and there. This is one of a few huge segments of its fallen crown slowly disapearing around it. They say that an Oak tree takes two hundred years to grow, two hundred years to be, and two hundred years to die. I like this intervention in the death of a tree, to celebrate its form, and to mark one aspect of its longevity. The inset image shows a couple of other pieces of work from the project, and gives some idea of the scale of Dancing Oak.

  Photographs

Under a Quickthorn Sky

 

 

 

I enjoy interventions in photography. I like the mixed media feel that the intervention, once photographed in juxtaposition to the original photo, lends to the photo itself. The original image above, prior to the intervention of the quickthorn flowers, speaks to me of solitude. Of a journey, a pilgramage, or a transition. It's one of the last photographs I took of my mother before she died.  We were walking in the Pennines in the North of England and when we stopped for a rest we noticed little snow flakes gathered on our coats, looking like those magnified photos of symmetry that you see in school science books. I remember us both being entranced, and it made the day. Years later, I wanted an image of Mum for the wall, something to remind me of her, evocatively. I played with the quickthorn flowers in an attempt to represent the magic snowflakes, and loved the way the two components of the composite harmonised. Like the words chosen for a poem create a meaning beyond their literal sense, the elements of this composite image, that of  a journey and the beauty of moment take on a larger meaning. I think that there's feelings of care, the care of the universe, and purpose, the purpose of the journey, contained within the final  image.

I love aspects of Reportage Wedding Photography, and in this photo I love the juxtaposition of action and portrait. As the groom sparks up the genuine Trotters Independant Trading  mobile for the drive to the church, his still pyjamed son looks to the camera like the cover boy of Mad magazine. I love the straightforward documentry role that the camera can play, and I love portraiture. I've had the pleasure of having had two portraits selected for the Taylor Wessing Portrait Award and have loved the previews for these exhibitions at the NPG, hobnobbing around the exhibition with free wine.

 

Photography for me has always been about telling stories with pictures. I photographed the top image of this set of three through the letter box of an old church hall near Cwmbrwlla, Swansea. It wasn't possible to make out much detail through the gloom of the letter box with the naked eye, but the camera took this in its' stride and the revealed interior intrigued me in the way that only forbidden places can. Bright white poo and feathers from the pigeons in the rafters above carpeted this long abandoned workshop, speaking of  the way time passes, about how the human environment changes without the presence of humanity.

A few years later there was an awesome arsonic fire in the church next door and the workshop lost most of its own roof in the tragedy. I was mooching about looking for photos when the owner turned up. He told me his tale. How he'd bought what was then the church hall in the 50s to use as a workshop and how it had latterly been used as a store for the evangelical kit that the church used to take round various Christian Outreach ventures. The word 'word' in the final photo was all that was left from a display that had quoted the Biblical book of John:  'In the beginning was the Word'.

I took his photo as we mused about this. How that all that now remained amidst the ruin was the the word 'word', that, according to Biblical John at any rate, had been there since the begining of time.

 

  Writings

The two pieces above are extracts from larger works, an illustrated short story about love and a poetically annotated set of pictures from Rasquera, Catalunya, Spain.

And there's a link here to a children's story, A Cake and a Cat called Forget-me-not.

A Childrens story

 

A Cake and a Cat called Forget-me-not.

 by

Zachary Twoshoes

Henry and Irene live next door to each other, in two little houses on a hill, just around the corner from here.  They've been friends ever since Irene locked herself out of her house, and Henry helped her, and now they often spend their weekends together, so that it's not so far, from Saturday to Sunday.

Henry's eyebrows are the lowest you've ever seen. They're so low that you can't even see his eyes, and this makes him look as puzzled as a jigsaw that's still in it's box. Henry has marvellous ideas for inventions, but, because he always looks so puzzled, nobody listens to him.

Sometimes this makes Henry sad.

Irene has a heart shaped face, with a mouth like a rosebud. She doesn't like to wear her glasses, because she thinks that they make her eyes look a little too large.

She loves to bake cakes and has delicious ideas about the ingredients, but, sometimes, the cakes taste quite, well, quite surprising. The last one she'd made, with raspberries and raindrops, had smelt of seaweed, and tasted like a tomato.

Henry has a clockwork cat, called Forget-me-not, & Forget-me-not suggests that since the sun is shining, as well as the moon, they should call for Irene, and go together, to Ring-a-bell River, and watch the fish play.

Henry and Forget-me-not knock on Irene's door. She opens it wearing a yellow coat, and a purple hat. Her belt matches her eyes, which are a greeny-gold colour, the colour of the sea when the sun is setting. Irene is beautiful, and always has a tale to tell. Everyone listens to every word she says, even when she's whispering.

They walk over Remember-me Hill and down to the bridge at Ring-a-bell River. They stop here, resting their elbows on the edge of the bridge, and watch the fish play.

The fish are playing on their phones when an idea pops into Henry's head, like a pinball. One minute he's watching the fish play, and the next he's wondering why doors are square, instead of round. 'Because', he says, looking as puzzled as ever, 'if they were round, then they could just roll along, and they wouldn't get stuck, and Forget-me-not would be able to open them too, and could help me when I make tea'.

There's a silence, which goes on for a little too long, and, as Henry's expecting a reply, he says 'Pardon?', quite loudly. Irene's been thinking about baking, instead of listening to Henry, and hopes that Forget-me-not will say something.

But Forget-me-not's having a little cat-nap, so Irene says the first thing that pops into her head: 'Moonbeam cakes taste better, if you batter them with butter', she says, looking as beautiful as ever.

Henry very nearly says 'Pardon?' again, because Irene's moonbeam cake was the worst cake he'd ever eaten, and had smelt of rats, and tasted of sprouts.

Forget-me-not purrs, the sort of purr that cat's purr when they're not quite sure what to say, but want to seem friendly, and suggests that after they've said their good byes to the fish, they walk back home, and put the kettle on, and have a cup of tea.

They link arms, walk back over Remember-me Hill and settle around the table in Irene's kitchen. In the middle of the table, is a cake. 'It's a lemon cake', says Irene, proudly, 'made with real lemons, and rainbows'.

It's a pink colour at the bottom, green in the middle, and violet on top. Henry has a little taste, and Forget-me-not has a large mouthful. It tastes so peculiar that it makes Henry's eyes water and Forget-me-not's whiskers change from straight lines, into zigzags.

'Golly', says Henry, trying to be polite, 'What an unusual taste, for lemons.'  'And what an unusual taste for rainbows, too', splutters Forget-me-not, who's had to drink three cups of tea, one after the other, before being able to speak at all. Because the cake smells like bonfire night, and tastes of pickled eggs.

The taste of the cake takes up all the room in their heads, and they're quiet for a while. Forget-me-not is far too busy straightening his whiskers to say anything anyway, but in the middle of the quietness you can hear Irene say: 'I'm sure they were lemons, and rainbows, because I saw the labels on the jars, with my own eyes'. Henry burps, softly, and then says: 'Pardon?'.

There's another silence, as silent as the sound of a snowflake, landing on a toadstool, when a thought falls into Henry's head. He coughs, delicately, looking at Irene's shiny hair and her perfect outfit. 'I wonder', he says, 'I wonder if it's possible for a person that makes cakes to get the ingredients muddled, and, instead of lemons say, they put pickled eggs in, and maybe fireworks instead of rainbows?'  And then adds, quietly, 'Especially if that person is not wearing their glasses'.

Forget-me-not looks thoughtful, and then, all of a sudden, realises that when Henry says 'a person that makes cakes', he really means Irene, and this is why his whiskers are zigzagged, because instead of lemons, Irene chose pickled eggs, by mistake, and fireworks instead of rainbows, because she wasn't wearing her glasses.

Irene isn't really listening to Henry, and she starts to sing a little song, instead of replying, and doesn't stop until Forget-me-not holds up a paw:

'We should listen to Henry,' says Forget-me-not, firmly, 'because  this cake has made my zigzags quite whiskered, I mean, my whiskers quite zigzagged, and the muddles are ingredients. I mean, the ingredients are muddled. It has fireworks instead of rainbows, and pickled eggs in it, instead of lemons'.

Irene swallows, and has a little sip of tea, and Henry's so happy to be listened to, that, one after the other, his eyebrows slip slowly up his forehead, until he doesn't look puzzled any more, and you can that his eyes are shining.

'Let's make another cake' says Irene, and her eyes are shining too, 'and this time, I'll wear my glasses, and won't get the ingredients muddled'. 'And then', says Henry, smiling, 'we'll know what lemon cake really tastes like, when it's properly made with rainbows'.

Forget-me-not purrs, sounding surprised. Because, now he can see Henry's eyes, he can see that they're a beautiful greeny-gold colour, the colour of the sea when the sun is setting, exactly the same shade as Irene's.