One Hundred Years

In memory of Everard Chandler Stent, 

of St Luke's, Jersey, Channel Islands

died October 27 1918

His headstone bears the inscription;

"Born In Jersey, Beloved Of All; He Laid Down His Life For His Friends."

Jersey Evening Post - Monday November 4 1918

Roll of Honour. It is with very sincere regret that we chronicle the death
which took place in action somewhere in France on 27 October last of
Bombardier Everard C Stent, eldest son of Mr & Mrs T C Stent of 1 Lansdowne
Villas, St Lukes. The deceased was formerly a prominent footballer and one of
the most popular members of the Jersey Wanderers Football Club, he played
in many an inter-insular match, always with credit to himself and advantage
to his side. He followed his father's profession of schoolmaster. Of an
unassuming but most genial disposition Everard Stent had a very wide circle
of friends who will learn of the death of so fine a young fellow and so gallant a
soldier with great sorrow. To his father and mother and other members of the
family and to Miss Elsie Gruchy of La Prevalaie, Grouville, the deceased's
fiancee, we would offer our respectful condolences. The following is and extract
from a letter sent by a Gunner in Bombardier Stent's battery "He was not at
all well this morning and stayed in bed, but hearing someone was wounded
he rushed out in his bare feet and started bandaging when another shell
came on and killed all that were near, Everard among them. If ever there
was a man whose life had not been lived in vain he is that man and I am very
proud that he was a pal of mine. He was recommended for the Military Medal
some time ago but his whole life since he joined up has been a record of
thought for others and he was loved by every man in the Battery. We have
lost the bravest and most unselfish man I have ever met and, to me, it is like
losing my brother".

River Sonnet

The farthest eastern rocky shoreline shown
A glimpsed channel, a route mapped within
Barely visible unless somehow known
I paddle here to follow where I've been

Then, the daring love opening to chance
Now, a memory. A struggle to repeat
The river is still here - light, rock, flow, dance
Canoe moves so gently, bird song drum beat

The loss envelops like a pressing weight
And sorrow rises to the trees above
Red blood of sunset, on water, and fate
Opening the past, youth and urgent love

River, take my weight, sorrow and wrong
Light, hold me as the river bleeds my song.

Unfurling

'Unfurling'   Anne Renouf   -   Christensen Fine Art, Peterborough   -    April 2018

Studies For 'Above'

Abstract landscape works on paper...

New Works

'Moving Through Stillness'

(24" x 24" mixed media on birch panel)

'Against The Current'

(24" x 24" mixed media on birch panel)

'The World Turns And Goes Back To The Place'

(40" x 30" mixed media on birch panel)

(10" x 10" oil pastel and graphite on paper)

'Three Sisters'

(36" x 36" mixed media on canvas)

'Firefly Lake Portage'

(30" x 60" mixed media on canvas)

'Above Trinity Lake'

(60" x 30" mixed media on canvas)

'Sanctuary'

(24" x 24" mixed media on canvas)

'For Once On The Face Of The Earth'

(24" x 24" mixed media on canvas)

'Float 2 (Fugitive Water)'

(32" x 32" mixed media on canvas)

A Collaborative Walk In The Woods

                                                         
                                                        A forest in the making...

A studio full of eager participants... and paints, and brushes, and cutout shapes...

A walk in the woods!

Building Bridges

Saturday afternoon. 

A typical Canadian January in Peterborough Ontario.

Half a dozen kids are sprawled on the floor of the art studio, delicately handling a variety of somewhat unusual building materials - toothpicks, raisins, straws, connectors, newspaper wands, masking tape...

We are building bridges.

Well, not totally true. 

We're getting to that, but right now, because the unusual materials require some experimentation, the results are more like squares and triangles, cubes and tetrahedra and geodesic beginnings.

But we will GET to bridges...

In front of the large studio window, (with the wintry scene beyond the glass framing her), sits my new friend.

She is the mother of one of the kids. She sits patiently, smiling at the goings-on, occasionally speaking softly to her child in Arabic.

We had met before at a previous art group, got to chatting about her new life in Peterborough - home, family, getting around town, buses, schools.

The weather.

When she shows up to this session, we smile at each other in mutual recognition.

Her child, chatty and cheerful. 

But there is an edgy nervousness that may explain some of their difficult past - the many moves, the destruction of their beautiful homeland, a child's over-eagerness for acceptance.

She sits quietly, smiling warmly whenever our eyes meet. 

When she glances at the clock and stands, I make my way over to her. 

It is mid-afternoon, and she asks if she may use the empty room next door, for just a moment.

To pray.

She is a gentle woman. 

I am struck by the grace she carries with her.

In spite of horrors in her near-past, she is trusting, kind, loving. 

She tells me that Peterborough is such a peaceful place. 

Peterborough.

With the river running through it, it is a city of bridges.

Linking one side to the other, west to east.

Such a peaceful place.

(God, please let it stay that way.)