Hilma af Klint – the Mother of Abstract Art.

As is usual with a lot of historical records, men often take the credit for work created or invented by women, overshadowing their achievements simply because they lived (and still do) in a white patriarchal society.

Other overlooked female luminaries include: Ada Lovelace, 1815-1852, (computer programming); Mary Anning, 1799-1847, (palaeontologist); Mary Wollstonecraft, 1759-97, (writer, philosopher, feminist); Rosalind Franklin, 1920-1958, (chemist and biophysicist); Marie Stopes, 1880-1958, (birth control). Obviously, I could go on.

And the same is true for the invention, or creation, of abstract art. Russian painter, Wassily Kandinsky is the self-proclaimed ‘father’ of abstract art, stating that the first abstract painting was made by him in 1911. However, Hilma af Klint’s work predates Kandinsky’s by several years.

Klint was born in Sweden (1862-1944) and studied at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Stockholm. She was an accomplished artist and made a living selling her realistic and representational work. However, it was her interest in spiritualism that inspired her to create abstract works. Klint joined the anthroposophy movement which explored the connection between science and the spiritual world, which they believed was observable. That we are spiritual beings having a physical experience. In fact, Klint showed her ‘abstract’ work to anthroposophy founder, Rudolf Steiner who hated it. Steiner later showed Klint’s sketchbook’s to Wassily Kandinsky. You may draw your own conclusions.

Much of Klint’s work explores the connection between, nature, (sacred) geometry, the universe, science and spirituality. She created ‘automatic drawing’ as early as 1896.

Primordial Chaos, 1906, Hilma af Klint.

Hilma af Klint felt she was being directed by a force that would literally guide her hand. She wrote in her notebook:

“The pictures were painted directly through me, without any preliminary drawings, and with great force. I had no idea what the paintings were supposed to depict; nevertheless I worked swiftly and surely, without changing a single brush stroke.”

It is a technique I frequently try to emulate. Whether it comes from a divine connection to the universe or merely the unconscious mind is open to debate. But it is a very therapeutic and expressive way to practise art.

Personally, I think her abstract work is stunning.

You can read a more detailed account of Hilma af Klint’s life and work here.

The Minotaur Dreams of Ariadne – Out now.

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The Minotaur Dreams of Ariadne is my latest collection of haiku poetry and is now available for the princely sum of 99p! You couldn’t even buy a hosomaki for that price!

Just click on the cover and, by a process of sorcery not yet fully understood by humankind, you will be miraculously transported over to Amazon where you can avail yourself of a smorgasbord of haiku penned by yours truly.

The Minotaur Dreams of Ariadne is my eighth e-book, following hot on the heels of my second collection of poetry, Go Tell the Bees, published at the end of 2023.

But if poetry isn’t your thing, worry not, my furry little friends, there are a couple of novels and a short story collection on there as well to whet your appetite. Just click here to visit my author page.

Happy reading!

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Making Friends with Death.

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Making Friends With Death.

By David Milligan-Croft.

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I made friends with Death

a few years ago.

She came to visit me

in ICU. She brushed

her cool fingers, softly

down my cheek.

“It’s not your time, child,”

she’d whispered.

Her voice was calm 

and reassuring.

I knew that when the time came,

I would be ready.

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* * *

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Years later,

I was walking to my car,

past the blossoming park,

the aroma of fresh cut grass

filling my nostrils.

The heat from the coffee cup

I was holding

warmed my fingers

on the chill April morning.

I drove across the Pennines

listening to an upbeat playlist

to take my mind off the inevitable.

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* * *

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When I arrived at the hospital,

I was too late.

Death had already been 

to visit my father.

I could tell She had been

because he didn’t look 

like the man I once knew.

His essence had already left the building,

leaving this waxy,

empty husk in its place. 

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I have seen enough dead bodies 

to know when someone 

isn’t there anymore.

His jaw had dropped,

his belly bloated,

his skin was still warm

and clammy.

He must have struggled against Her.

(It is not death that is painful,

It is the clinging on to life.)

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As I held onto my father’s hand

I wondered when She would visit 

me again.

Would She be satisfied with what I have done 

with the precious moments 

of time She had gifted me?

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Had I done enough?

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Are we having fun yet?

It’s been aeons since my last post.

Well, a couple of months.

But time is relative.

As is my auntie Mabel.

I endeavour to practise art in some shape or form every day.

Sometimes, it’s drawing and painting.

Other times it’s writing poetry or prose.

Here are a few pieces of art I’ve been doing these past few months.

I do it for the mindfulness aspect –

the process rather than the result.

I find it calming.

It’s very therapeutic.

Art is Medicine.

If you’d like to read any of my poetry or prose, take a look at my books here.

I thought I was a bird.

Eros and Psyche by Antonio Canova.

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I Thought I was a Bird

By David Milligan-Croft

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I think about you less and less,

which is a blessing, considering the years 

I have spent in myocardial purgatory.

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Finally, you are slipping

from my consciousness,

into the maze of memories.

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To be consigned to a vault

marked: All hope abandon, 

ye who enter here.

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It was my own transgression.

I climbed to the top of the mountain,

which you warned me not to do.

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But I kept ascending,

until I reached the summit.

And the vista took my breath away.

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You cautioned me to step back 

from the precipice, but I would not listen.

As I beheld the entire universe spread before me,

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I was consumed by the ecstasy of knowing you. 

I thought I was a bird, 

I thought I could fly.

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If you’d like to read more of my work, take a look at my books here.

All hope abandon, ye who enter here, from Dante’s Divine Comedy.

Eating with the Crows

Eating with the Crows

By David Milligan-Croft.

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I took some stale bread out to feed the crows.

It was raining, so I didn’t think it would bloat them

if it was already wet. I tore pieces off

and scattered them on the grass.

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The crows usually waited until I went back inside

before leaving the safety of the branches.

I dusted the crumbs from my hands and glanced around,

then went back to my basement apartment.

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A few minutes later, I was standing at the sink

washing the dishes, when a crow landed

on the window ledge in front of me, 

with a piece of bread in its mouth.

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It dropped the bread on the sill, pecked a piece off

and ate it whilst looking at me with its obsidian eye.

When it had finished the morsel it flew off

and returned, momentarily, with another piece.

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My heart was thrumming like a hummingbird’s.

I wanted to slide open the window 

And break bread with my newfound friend.

But I was fearful I might frighten it away.

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So, I stayed there. Motionless. 

Watching this imperious creature, watching me.

Sometimes, it is better to do nothing,

than to reveal how we truly feel.

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If you like what you’ve just read, you might want to consider purchasing my new collection of poetry, Go Tell the Bees.

Christmas #1!

What’ll be at the coveted #1 slot this Christmas?

Will it be, Last Christmas by Wham? Wizard’s I wish it could be Christmas every day? Or, my personal favourite, Go Tell the Bees, by David Milligan-Croft?

Wait, what? That’s not a song.

No, it’s a fantastic, moving and heartfelt new collection of poetry by David Milligan-Croft. Think of them as lyrics for the modern age. You can sing them if you like.

It was Amazon’s #1 in Hot New Releases in both Contemporary poetry and British & Irish poetry when it came out at the end of October. Unfortunately, it’s slipped down the rankings now.

It would be nice to get it back up to #1 in time for Christmas, wouldn’t it? I mean, just imagine the look on all those hungry little kid’s faces when they see me tucking into a family size tin of Quality Street. Bless ’em.

So, you know what to do, folks. Let’s get Go Tell the Bees back to #1 where it belongs!

Meanwhile, here are a couple of proper Christmas ditties from yesteryear.

RIP Shane MacGowan

Not Today

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Not Today.

by David Milligan-Croft.

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One day,

my heart will stop beating.

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One day,

the electrical impulses firing in my brain

will cease to flicker.

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One day,

my eyes will close

never to witness another bird of paradise.

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One day, 

the bellows of my lungs will stoke

the fire of my existence no longer.

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One day,

the blood in my veins

will grind to a halt and solidify.

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One day,

I will stop loving you.

But, not today, my love.

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Not today.

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Where to buy Bees around the world

My new poetry collection, Go Tell the Bees is now available on Amazon around the globe if you would like a copy.

Just click on your particular country link below and it will take you straight to my book.

Many thanks.

(And, remember, if you don’t buy a copy, a little fuzzy bee sheds tears of sour honey.)

USA: amazon.com

India: amazon.in

Germany: amazon.de

France: amazon.fr

Spain: amazon.es

Italy: amazon.it

Netherlands: amazon.nl

Japan: amazon.co.jp

Brazil: amazon.com.br

Canada: amazon.ca

Mexico: amazon.com.mx

Australia: amazon.com.au

War & Peace

Remember

How ironic that thousands of people will march to commemorate those who have lost their lives in war and thousands will march to call for an end to war. Well, a ceasefire at least. The irony being, the Tory Home Secretary, Suella Braverman trying to pit them against each other by whipping up anti-Palestinian, anti-freedom of speech hatred.

I am reminded of this poem by Wilfred Owen, which encapsulates war in all its grotesque horror. Of course we should remember them. And, of course, we should march for peace.