Barbara Hepworth’s stone collection
The sculptor, Margaret Hepworth, was born and grew up in my home town, Wakefield, West Yorkshire. I have always been drawn to her beautiful work, which reconnects me with the landscapes of my childhood – the moors, the undulating hills, which have always felt to me like gigantic bodies, holding my own smaller one.
‘I, the sculptor, am the landscape. I am the form and I am the hollow, the thrust and the contour.’
Barbara Hepworth, 1971. A Pictorial Autobiography
On this visit, I was fascinated all over again by Hepworth’s personal collection of pebbles, stones and artefacts. Their influence on her later work is so clear: pebbles ringed with lines; carved and etched figurines; shapes smoothed by weather and time.
‘Many people select a stone or pebble to carry for the day,’ she wrote. ‘The weight and form and texture felt in our hands relates us to the past and gives us a sense of a universal force. The beautifully shaped stone, washed up by the sea, is a symbol of continuity, a silent image of our desire for survival, peace and security.’
Perhaps this is true of a poem or a piece of writing – or even a single word. We carry it with us. We hold it and are simultaneously held by it.
Here are some of the ‘scrying stones’ that I’ve collected over the years, stones worn through by wind and sea, making holes to peer through, into the future and the past, as well as the present moment. Sometimes, I like to hold them when I write.
