Bodfa Continuum

On my first visit to Plas Bodfa, my father insisted on giving me a lift, he wanted to go to Llangoed and see the village and the manor house too.

As we drove up to the house, he pointed out the lane he had learnt to ride a bike on (pity he’d forgotten by the time he was 85 when he decided to ride a bike again and ended up in hospital, but that’s a different story). He pointed out the steep hill that he had careered down on a go-kart with no brakes, and how when he was a baby, he threw his glass bottle of milk out of the pram in front of the Methodist church and how embarrassed his parents were.

He knew which apple trees in the orchard at Plas Bodfa to scrump, particularly when he would go out with his father to gather firewood in the woodland, they would treat themselves to an apple on the way to keep their energy up.   He told me about the 9 mile round trip, across fields, with his mother, to visit his grandmother, my great-grandmother.

At Plas Bodfa, he wandered around, exploring the lodge where his sister and brother-in-law lived, while I met with Julie, the artist owner, to explore the inside of the house.  The house had a welcoming feel, it is being cared for and loved again.  It feels like a house that needs the humans to love it, renovate it and live in it.  The stunning 1930’s intact bathroom a contrast to the 1980’s extension where it had been a care home.

The part of history I am responding to, is the Elizabeth Bradley Tapestry Company’s time there, the pioneered the use of the Victorian Cross Stitch and send their kits all over the world, they had a shop and packing area at Plas Bodfa.

I decided to photograph areas of the internal landscape of the house with the intention of transferring them into tapestries.  I don’t know how this will work out as it’s a new approach for me.

We finished out trip out by popping into the farm up the road, to visit my Dad’s friend Derek. (Pictured below)

My first trip to explore Plas Bodfa, started when I got off the train at Bangor Station and cycled on Judy across the Menai Bridge, treated myself to a sandwich from the supermarket and sat under the bridge to eat.  I’d been there about five minutes when my niece wandered past, and having not seen her for at least 3 years, we had a quick catch-up before I cycled on to Beaumaris.

I’d forgotten what is was like to bump into family.

I can feel the beginnings of a new idea, aside from the Plas Bodfa Project, beginning to stir.