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Jennifer Hedley



I graduated with a BA (Hons) in Fine Art at UCA Canterbury (formally known as KIAD). As part of my degree I studied as an exchange student at the Karnataka Chitrakala Parishath Art College in Bangalore. I studied in South India ten years ago and over the decade I have produced art work often inspired by my travels. My paintings are very modern and colourful and I am interested in India’s diverse spirituality and culture. During my visit to India I also improvised with materials and often created mixed-media art pieces using recycled materials. My art practice consists of textile art, digital prints, installations and sculptures.

I was selected for the Pizza Express Prospects Art competition in 2003 to find one the country’s leading artists. The piece of work I produced was a video called ‘Contrasts’ which overlapped images of Western and Eastern women. I have also exhibited at ‘Flash Machine’ in Ramsgate where Isle of Thanet Arts director Phil Oldfield said it was one of the bests shows they had staged. I was also an artist in residence at Minster College and made a giant art installation at the school funded by the Widening Participation in 2005. I became an Art teacher in 2006 and worked at Queen Elizabeth’s Grammar School in Faversham for two years and now currently work at Folkestone School for Girls in Folkestone.

Jennifer Hedley currently lives and works in the UK.

Jeanette Braithwaite




You are the delicate taste of my food
Gentleness in a face
Softness in a baby
Perfume in a rose
You are the peace in a moment
The perfection of a word spoken in kindness
You are the light
That makes colour brilliant
And the parting of the clouds
Which reveals the face of the sun.

I see you in the gentle eyes of animals
In the delight in their lives
Infinite gentleness in a flower
In a scene which unfolds before me
In the wind which rushes towards me
You are the life in death and decay
The blue of the sky on a summers day.

You are the silence in my heart
The hope in my meditation
The silken touch of gentle rain
You are the green of grass
The glistening of sunlight upon a day
You are my blessed life.



Each morning as part of my meditation
I sit upon you
I inhale your green
My eyes devour your love
So desperate am I to feel you
And I suck from deep within
To imbibe all the love you shed for me to enjoy
Birds come and sit
And one morning a fox
Russet coat deeply scarred
Jumped over the fence into my meditation spot
He didnt stay long.

Squirrels run up the fence, stop and survey
The stranger in their territory
Examining, twitching, front legs raised
As if begging me to be friendly
Friend or foe, conditioning tells them foe
Then as I can no longer contain the joy
My laughter erupts and they
Turn and scramble back along the top of the fence
Back to safety
And having survived a close encounter I know
Tomorrow they will come closer
For an even better look
And I can hardly wait.



No relationship can be as real as the one I have with you.
Not so satisfying or so loving
Each cool murmur surrounds my being with joy
No words to put into being what is and always was
No words to be said or needed.
No touch of a human hand could elicit such surrender and bliss
Each time I encounter you I am so joyous at the totality of your love
So accepting and forgiving
Already forgiven without a plea to make it so
I feel totally complete with you
Not daring to move, afraid to breathe, lest you leave
Each moment a lifetime
And after I feel it was my achievement and not your love that bought you to me
Already devaluing the purity and generosity of your love.



A garden plant and a way of being
One blue mauve that wavers in the wind
And when the seed pods form
They shine like pearls inviting theft.
And truth?
The truth is that we are love
Pure untouched innocent love
Inviting communion
More precious than any pearl.



Glorious exquisite and gracious
Are my three favourite words
To describe my loving Mother
And the gracious love she bestows on me
and the gracious love she bestows upon others.

Her touch is exquisite
so lovingly gentle
Bestowing waves of pure love upon me
Forgiving all I ever thought I did wrong
How can I not adore her
When she so clearly has, as her purpose in my life
My total emancipation
Something I have so heartbreakingly longed for
for so long.

I stumble over myself to pay homage,
then fret lest my haste become an insult to her love
and not the worship I intended.
I wish for more time to spend in my meditation just loving her in return
For all she does for me.

I seem to waste this precious time on so many wasteful things
I could burst sometimes with the love I feel for her and the love she feels for me.
This is the meaning of the word glorious.
But there are not words in the English dictionary to describe this glory
Only the devotion in my heart
Which wants to dance and sing my adoration
Shower her with the softest satin petals of the worlds most beautiful flowers
Surround her with the music of the most exquisite song birds
Decorate her beautiful being with organza and garlands
Caress her silken face
And, ever adoringly, sit at her perfectly graciously loving feet.

The early morning light
Brings the birds
To squawk territorily upon my window sill.
Jealously guarding the black sunflower seeds
That I leave there each day
For them to feed upon.

The jackdaws screech loudly
Like a radio turned up too loud for a moment.
They bring out their young
Nearly as big as their parents now
To feed noisily upon the sill.

The little chaffinches
Softly red and gentle brown
Go quietly and confidently
About the business of pecking
Followed by the house martins
Tired from chasing insect food
in the air for their young
And only too willing now
To feed their own hunger
on the seeds left there.

The Robin then, quiet and mature
Dignified and brave
Takes his feed
Then leaves in the quiet distinctive
Flurry of his feathered wings.

The blossom right now
Defies the winter
Adds glory to the early mornings
On my way to work
The colours and the freshness
The sparkle and joy
Just fill my view
Streets lined by so many flowering trees
Amazing in their abundance
Marvellous in their splendour.
The yellow of the forsythias
Bursts like sunshine upon the hedgerows and gardens
The dreariness of winter washed away.
And yet I remember the sun rising in the early morning
During cold winter days
And the glory of the red skies
Riddled with that irridescent blue,
A living blue.
I dont see much of it when I get to work
I work in London often
As a temp
In the dark dreary places
With no windows
No gardens
No trees
No sun
No so precious light.
But I live in a place on the third floor with plenty of light
And when I get home
I can look out at the sky
And the trees
Old trees magnificent in their height
With generations of squirrels amongst their branches
With woodpeckers and many varieties of birds
Living their lives among the leaves
Majestic describes them well.

The pigeons coo on my windowsills in the early morning
Telling me its time to wake, meditate on this beautiful morning
And find some food, naturally, to share with them
Their cooing fills me with love
So gentle and caressing
A greeting on a bleak morn
A lovingness on a sunny one
They now bring their young to show me
The young are beautiful and strong
A new generation, full of variety and colour
each one different.
A creation of our Holy Mother,
A divine gift of love.
Sometimes they come into my room
They become daring, but then frighten themselves
With their daring
And leave rapidly
The earth here is magical
Cool and alive
I sit upon her in the mornings
And she engulfs me with her love and beauty
I could sit there all day
But I have to work
So every morning
I tear myself away
But her memory stays a long time with me
Longer and longer these days
Sometimes unending
I am truly blessed
Satisfaction in totality.

Homeless man
Living a cold existence
Wind blowing through your dreadlocks
Playing your tin flute
Sending golden music upon the wind
Trying to nudge indifferent people
Into more concerned behaviour
Obliging them to notice
The bleakness of your existence
Upon the street
Dirty blankets
Dirty clothes
Impossible to keep clean.
Using public toilets as your bathroom.
Your black gentle dogs
Share your bare existence
With willing love
And trusting attitude
Ever ready to receive the tokens of love you bestow upon them.
The ravages of your face betray the pain of your past
And your present existence.
Willing as you are to pose for my intrusive camera
Which captures the bleakness
of your existence and the pain of your loneliness
Upon the street.
Cold nights
Spent in fear
The reason for the dogs
Is protection and warmth
A necessity in our present world
Where entertainment by drunken thugs
Can mean a battering in the night
The reasons for your homelessness myriad
Bad conditioning which makes it impossible
to communicate with others
Let alone live with them
I fear for you gentle man
Upon the street
Facing little understanding
from your fellow humans
Who think you take your benefits
Spend them on drink and drugs and cigarettes
And then beg on the street
For the crumbs of their human compassion.
And how will they feel when
One morning they find your cold crumpled body lying beneath newspapers,
Will they just wheel you to the morgue gentle man
Glad that their streets are clean again.

I am typing in an office
with no windows
It is like sitting in a large box
Closed off from the light of this immortal day
From a beautiful sky
Which watches and lives and breathes
Beyond my sight
Day after day
Which would cool me when too hot
Which would blow on me when too still
Which would blue itself when it wished
And all for the likes of me who sits in a box
Closed off from the light of this immortal day
Torture I call it, they call it Barclays Bank.

I sat in the garden today
As I do every morning
Early, before most people are awake
I watch the animals
The squirrels, but especially the birds,
The birds centre me
Bring me down to earth with their flight
They no longer notice me
I have been there so many mornings
They sit on the fence next to me
Puffing themselves up
Sharpening their beaks on the fence
Singing to each other
Pulling sometimes at the lawn,
Or rather the insects in the lawn
Busy with their lives.

When i come home from work there is a green woodpecker
frantically pecking at the lawn
Scarlet head going back and forth
Feverishly eating the ants
Barely finding time to look around
Before the next pecking session.
Occasionally he blesses me with his flight
And then he shows his beautiful green tail
Before he hides again in the trees with his mate.

Two squirrrels chase each other across the lawn
One has a bushy tail, feathery at the edges
The other has a thin, nothing special tail
But is full of mischief as if to make up for the tail
They seem to laugh as they chase each other around the garden
Sometimes tumbling together in giggles
And then as fast as they come they go.

The flowers bloomed in the late spring
And then were gone
There are not many flowers in the garden
But they are wonderful when they are there
A huge rhododendron bush, gathers bees
In her full bloom, which rest upon my windowsill
sunning themselves in the early morning sun
Their buzzing slowed, an indolent sound,
Lazily absorbing the heat with the collected pollen
To make honey for the saintly deserving
You can feel the luxury of the taste,
The trouble our Mother goes to.

The sky has a deep light at that time of the morning
Which seems to live and change by the minute
Pink and white and blue, sometimes glowingly orange
The sun when it rises always burst upon the horizon
Luminous light exploding everywhere
A magical time, a time to feel the love and joy in your soul
To write down later
A time to feel the connection with our deepest being
Sheer loving quiet enjoyment
More precious than any gold
A gift, along with the honey.


Jeanette lives and works in the UK.


(Click on pic to see more works by Meredith)


‘Recent Works’ @ Artist Deli / Michael Gray Fine Art, Milk Factory

Bowral NSW Australia

9th july – 31st july  2011

-Opening Saturday the 16th of July,  2 – 4pm


A Few Nice Art Quotes

Nature's Bounty II


Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.

-Henry Ward Beecher


Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes.  Art is knowing which ones to keep.

-Scott Adams


Painting is just another way of keeping a diary.

-Pablo Picasso


Every child is an artist.  The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.

-Pablo Picasso



I feel that art has something to do with the achievement of stillness in the midst of chaos. A stillness which characterizes prayer, too, and the eye of the storm. I think that art has something to do with an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction.

Saul Bellow (1915 – 2005)

Priya B


Click on pic to see more work.

Melody (Zihui)

Oana Ciulei

Pauline Jollow


Click on pic to see more of Steve’s work

Shri Krishna & Gopis

Painting by Konstantin Sterkhov.

Pauline Jollow

Pauline Jollow

(Click on pic)

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