Elswyth

From Elswyth , a collection tracing the marks and meanings left in old stone. At St Mary’s , Woolfardisworthy, the painted texts across the chancel arch feel both formal and familiar – words layered through centuries of faith and restoration. I’m drawn to how language itself becomes part of the architecture – faith rendered visible in paint, pigment, and the steady hand of a craftsman long gone. We spent a very enjoyable morning admiring the writing on the wall at St Mary's in Woolfardisworthy (the Woolfardisworthy in Mid Devon). The only script missing seemed to be "Mene Mene Tekel Upharsin" itself! Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , a continuing study of the landscapes and relics that hold quiet histories. In South Molton , the arch and stones frame a view that feels both threshold and memory – a reminder that every wall once marked intention, every field once held meaning. I’m drawn to how such places whisper their stories through texture and time – the patience of stone outlasting our words. Oh the stories they could tell. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

 From Elswyth , a series exploring the quiet persistence of sacred spaces. At Dunkeswell Abbey , once home to Cistercian monks, time seems to have slowed – light falling gently across the arches of Holy Trinity Church , which now stands within the abbey grounds. I’m drawn to how stillness gathers in such places – history folded into the air, carrying both devotion and rest. Dunkeswell Abbey (and Holy Trinity Church, which stands in its grounds) - founded in 1201 by Cistercian monks and forced to close during the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1539, this place is still a peaceful respite from the demands of the modern world during this period of public examinations. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , a collection tracing the interplay of craft, story, and devotion. In St Michael and All Angels , Sowton, these sculpted figures of the Pomegranate and the Tudor Rose carry both artistry and allegiance – emblems of union and endurance carved into Beer stone more than five centuries ago. I’m drawn to how light restores their presence – softening the edges, revealing the hands that shaped them. Imagine if the British Museum announced an exhibition of 16th-century figures sculpted in Beer stone on a Perpendicular arcade to commemorate the marriage of King Henry VIII to Catherine of Aragon in 1509, featuring both the Pomegrante of Aragon and the Tudor Rose .... here in St Michael and All Angels in Sowton, you can not only see these capital sculptures for free, but also get as close as you want to them, touch them, even sit and watch the light changing on them as the sun goes down. Words and images © Kate ...

From Elswyth , my record of details that speak through pattern and silence. In the church of St Petrock and St Barnabas , Farringdon, the worn floor tiles catch the light unevenly – fragments of story beneath the feet of those who’ve passed for centuries. I’m drawn to the way beauty and sorrow coexist here – the quiet weight of history pressed into every surface. The floor tiles at the church of St Petrock and St Barnabus in Farringdon are very beautiful, but it always strikes me that they must be telling an incredibly sad story.  Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , my record of hidden sanctuaries and the textures of time. St Martin’s , tucked behind the cathedral close in Exeter, feels like a pause between centuries – its stone from Heavitree warm in the afternoon light, its stained glass flickering with gold. I’m drawn to how such places hold their calm – history gathered quietly within their walls while the city hums just beyond. Built of stone from Heavitree, with mediaeval stained glass and an 11th-century chancel arch. A peaceful sanctuary from the bustle of shoppers outside. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.  

From Elswyth , my exploration of landscapes shaped and reshaped by time. Along the avenue leading to Wellington Monument , the beech trees twist and fold around one another – remnants of an old hedge reclaiming its wildness. I’m drawn to how the land remembers its boundaries – human order giving way to the slower rhythm of roots, light, and decay. Once shaped by human hands, now left to grow wild. These beech trees still follow the old lines of a forgotten hedge on the edge of the Blackdown Hills. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , my record of the ways sound inhabits sacred space. At St Gregory the Great , Harpford, the worn keys of the organ carry the memory of countless services – each note layered over generations. I’m drawn to the meeting of craft and devotion – wood polished by use, air and echo shaping prayer into something both physical and fleeting. Centuries of music in worship at the church of St Gregory the Great, Harpford. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.

From Elswyth , my exploration of detail and devotion in stone. On the west front of Exeter Cathedral , the carved figures and beasts seem both ancient and alive – expressions of imagination weathered by centuries of rain and restoration. I’m drawn to their humour and endurance – reminders that faith and creativity often share the same impulse to watch, to guard, and to endure. Meeting up with old friends on the west front. Words and images © Kate Coldrick - part of the Elswyth collection.