A self-taught mechanic, Andy McCloy fuses both his practical persona with his love of the aesthetic to create wooden sculptures that are frequently sold to be used as unique pieces of furniture. Ranging from coffee and dining room tables to benches and seats, his craftworks also come in a variety of different shapes, sizes, and colours, which are, interestingly, all purely natural in style. Of course, Andy works hard to turn the materials he collects into something useful, such as that of a table, but it soon becomes obvious that his main focus is upon preserving the naturality of them, with his passion for art and existential matters frequently outshining that of his desire to be practical. Indeed, you could say that his work is an attempt to capture and portray the abstract forms of art that nature produces. Since underlying all of Andy’s work is a deep spiritual connection between himself and the wood that he uses to craft them – a bond that could only be understood by seeing his workshop for myself.
It’s often said that a viewer should be left to interpret an artist’s work alone, for it is the beholder’s experience that truly defines art (there you are, our fundamental ‘truths’ at it again – a reference here to ‘Artworks from History’ from our previous edition of course). Heck, even when I go to open the graphic design software that I use to create the digital magazine it tells me that ‘designers are meant to be loved and not understood’ (a rip off quote from Oscar Wilde’s now outdated phrase ‘Women are meant to be loved and not understood’ no doubt). Of course, as I have been told personally by many a creative, sometimes it is indeed the artist’s intention to leave admirers guessing. So, according to this logic, if the painting is predominantly blue in colour, then it should be up to audience to decide how happy, sombre, or nostalgic they feel as they observe the piece.
On the other hand, as we explored in the previous edition of the magazine, some artists are most enthusiastic to convey a particular emotion or tell a story through their work. Yet this can be incredibly difficult to do, especially when dealing with the likes of abstract or surrealistic art forms, which are frequently complex in their design. In the same vein, many audiences are also rather enthusiastic to learn new ways in which to interpret the complicated pieces they’re looking at, so if the painting is blue, then they want suggestions as to what that colour could mean. What better way to gain such an insight is there then, other than to dive into the thoughts of the very artist who created the piece? But how might we bridge this gap between our understanding and theirs in the first place? The answer seemingly lies in great literature – or Art Etcetera magazine, as I unbiasedly like to put it.
If it is an accepted truth that art is only meant to be admired subjectively and that something only becomes an art when it is placed within the eye of some beholder, then it is also to forget that art is an expression – and to create an expression you need an expresser (or an espresso depending what time you’re trying to comprehend all of this).** In that sense, it’s also fair to say that we humans like to know what we’re looking at and to find out we often resort to listening to those who we believe to understand those subjects best, such as an expert or someone who was involved in the creation of the spectacle. After all, we don’t just watch the weather without a weather caster standing there telling us what the little symbols mean on the map, in the same way that a journalist doesn’t just look at a photograph of some massive event without speaking to those who were responsible for painting that picture – be it those people inside the image or the politicians and warlords who caused such a scene to happen. Indeed, we sapiens seem to have an inherent desire to have what we see explained to us and it is needless to say that without such an inclination this magazine would just be a picture book without words, much like a weather map without a forecaster, the news without a journalist or a foreign language programme without the subtitles.
**Despite what Microsoft Word says, I’m quite unsure as to whether 'expresser' is a real word, however I can see that it has been used in a number of published books, so I’m happy to use it here for the pun.
Bearing our innate curiosity in mind, including that of my own, with each edition I set off to get to grips with the underlying thoughts and ideas behind the artworks, something which I do by communicating with the artists directly. In that regard, I feel I ought to point out here that it’s a pity how so many art magazines are so keen to just take what artists say at face-value without questioning further. Yes, OK, so the artist creates their work ‘based upon a connection with the land’, but what of it? … Why? Who? Where? … I digress. On the other hand, I intend for Art Etcetera to dive as deep as possible into the realms – even the subconscious ones – of the artist’s minds to supply readers with the best possible analysis of the artist’s works (and in doing so, provide the artists whose work is presented with the service they deserve). Nevertheless, given that the majority of the artists in the magazine are from across the UK, meeting face-to-face in the old journalistic style is difficult and so most of my communication is via Zoom Call. On one winter’s day in January however, I made the trek to the Brecon Beacons to meet the magazine’s first, and very talented, artisan - Andy McCloy.
As soon as I arrived at this high-altitude location I was immediately taken in by the beauty of my surroundings. To my left stood a few scattered houses that gently sloped downwards, facing out on to the vast Brecon Beacon Mountain range that stretched for as far as the eye could see; the snow still glistening from their peaks. After taking this all in for a moment, I began to stroll down the street to where I believed Andy’s workshop to be, and it wasn’t long before I saw him kindly waiting outside to greet me. As he welcomed me through his wide garden gates the air instantly began to fill with a variety of woody scents and whilst I strolled around toward the entrance of his cabin style workshop, I could see that my senses had not mistaken me. For in front of me were a variety logs, stumps and various pieces of bark, all of which either straddled the ground or leaned against the wall of Andy’s creative cove. I felt as if I could’ve been in Alaska on one of those workshop documentaries. Much like his surroundings however, Andy was quick to tell me that the wood that he uses and what he does with it, are both sourced and crafted in a very natural way.
When Andy used to work on cars, there was both a utilitarian (a practical) and an aesthetic element to it but what such a process lacked, Andy tells me, was life. ‘Metal has no soul’ Andy says, clearly deep in thought, ‘but wood has an equilibrium in terms of its moisture content which changes with the seasons, allowing it to shape and crack much like it does in nature’. It is this equilibrium, when compared to other materials, that makes the wood in Andy’s eyes ‘alive’. On this point, he only uses trees that have been storm damaged, and whilst this is an environmentally friendly way to collect the wood it also helps to extract the very human stories behind them. ‘Collecting in this way is just perfect for me; big beautiful old giants destined for firewood or Planks but with a story to tell… people often tell me where a tree grew, why it had to be cut or felled. For instance I bought a large piece of gnarly shaped Ash, and someone said that it came from a town not far from me Brynmawr, unknown to them I grew up in Brynmawr, he then explained it was taken from the play area in the Park, over 50 years ago - I played in that tree! It now lives again as a large abstract Table in a Los Angeles Home.’ Much like us humans however, trees also create their own expressions, something which Andy is keen to preserve and portray.
A Glimpse into Andy's Process Of course, this isn’t his entire process, nor does it include all of the processes involved, such as his second cuts, the sanding, etc. but it’s nevertheless interesting to see some of it from a visual standpoint - it is an Art magazine after all.
COLLECTING
The photo here is one that was taken when Art Etcetera went to visit Andy’s workshop. As you can see, there’s multiple bits of wood that have been collected, many still clearly damp and in need of drying. What is perhaps most interesting about this image however, out of all the others we took that day, is how Andy will look to preserve their aesthetic; even the most intricate of nature’s pieces such as the rounded piece in the centre.
INITIAL CUT
Once Andy has then narrowed down the pieces he would like to use from his collection, he will then make an initial cut. See how the piece above is transformed during this initial process.
DE-BARKING & DRYING
Once Andy has made his initial cuts, he will then begin the long process of debarking the timber before then leaving it to dry in one of his drying rooms. As you might have read in the article however, this drying process can be one of the most exciting parts. Once dried, he will then begin his second cut.
FINAL PIECE
After the second cut, a bit of shaping, sending the piece back to the drying room, Andy will begin to sand it down before giving it a final finish. After then giving the wood 6/7 weeks to acclimatise, it’s ready to go - looking something like this.
Once Andy collects the storm damaged wood, something which, given that he chooses the timber based completely upon his own improvised ideas and without any special loading equipment, is a monumental task in itself, he will then begin his cutting and drying process. Throughout the first stage of his cutting, Andy spends quite some in finding a ‘datum point’ in the wood upon which to base his ideas and his initial cut, ‘everything will relate to this point’ he tells me, ‘the first cut is important as it will lead to all other cuts… every angle has my attention it must appear as natural as possible’. Interestingly, this was when I began to realise that being able to visit Andy’s workshop for myself would really help to provide me with some important insights. ‘Look at these’, he says to me, pointing at some of his initial cuts, the wood still clearly moist, ‘I want to keep these patterns in the wood as much as possible’. Upon him saying this, it dawned on me that Andy was perhaps no different to the likes of the printmakers in Edition 10, such as Mandeep or Caroline. For just like them, here was someone looking to bring to the forefront the beauty that already exists in front of us and who further aimed to expand upon the charm found in nature’s designs through environmentally friendly means.
After completing his initial cut, Andy will then commence the ‘tedious’ task of debarking and drying the wood. Though, whilst this process can take up a considerable amount of time, Andy is enthusiastic to point out that this is also one of the most exciting parts. ‘Now I see pieces that are drying or dried, splits twists and cracks appear some are just fabulous and are so essential to the design’. Interestingly, this is what happens in nature anyway, the only difference being that Andy guides the process with his tools and merely helps to elaborate upon nature’s beauty. So keen in fact is he to maintain the naturally occurring ‘abstract designs’ within the wood, that Andy forfeits his own creative ideas when it comes to the final cut and the sanding process (that smoothens out the piece) that follows, ‘I often sacrifice my own imagination because the wood’s concept is better’ he tells me. ‘Wow, what a very natural sounding process’, I think to myself, before Andy then says – ‘though, you’ll have to come up here in summer when I’ll have the flamethrower out’.
‘Burning the wood provides it with a very different finish’, Andy says, ‘It’s an age old Japanese method of preserving and decorating wood; very beautiful, very tactile and very dangerous!!’ he funnily exclaims. ‘After setting fire to many things, including myself, I'm now an expert! After burning then rubbing down the charcoal, re-burning and repeating the process a number of times, you finally achieve a rich hardened surface that is then finished with either hard wax oil or natural wax, an extremely laborious process hard on the hands and mind but ultimately fabulous’. Some of these darkened pieces are indeed ‘fabulous’, to use Andy’s favourite word, but just like the rest of the ensemble of crafts that Andy creates, they can take an awfully long time to make, sometimes as long as 18 months. Though, as you will see as you continue to traverse through this edition, to truly craft anything by hand is rarely achieved quickly.
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