century old vine sculptures CREATED BY ROD CAPPS
In 2017 the vineyard opposite our house in Southern France was removed of its century old vines and replaced with new ones. Some of the discarded vines were retrieved by myself and over time were created into figurative surrealism sculptures - and from there the story began...
© 2017 Rod Capps
Vinny Vine's Vineyard
To all those who choose to read this book,
it's time to give Vinny a second look.
The vineyard garden has a story to share,
of a magical vine with a surprising affair...
There are humans, there are animals, and then there’s me – Vinny Vine, a hundred year old grape vine.
Most grape vines stay vines forever, but one amazing day something happened that changed me & my creepy vine friends for evermore, from century old vines into a new life as shrivelled earthlings.
With my now human thoughts and feelings I can recall how my newfangled soul began…
In the hills of the Gaillac vineyards of Southern France, me and my fellow vines had been producing some of the best wines in the country for centuries. The problem was we were getting a bit long in the tooth and our production of grapes was declining yearly. This did not bode well with our growers and we were all to be replaced by our younger generation.
I was a tiny part of a very large vineyard. After the first day of the massacre - the tearing and ripping out of my fellow vines and throwing them onto the blazing fire, I knew the next morning would be my last. All night the smell of the fire, now smouldering, was a constant reminder of my fate to come.
It was cold, with that low lying type of mist hovering just above the canopy, with yesterday’s carnage still vivid in my mind.
Here he was, Monsieur Blanque, right on time and driving up the vineyard towards the fire. Parking his old battered red Renault 4 he proceeded to get out of the car. I could see it was with a little difficulty as he was an enormous man with legs the size of tree trunks and shovel-shaped hands.
He heaved his legs outside the car and changed his footwear into his working boots. Placing his shoes by the side of the car he wondered over to the fire to grab some warmth.
He pulled on his leather gloves, snapping each finger tightly into place. Stretching his long strong arms skywards, swooping down on his first victim of the day, he clasped the vine tightly, rupturing and gnarled from the earth, as it flew high into the air with deadly accuracy onto the fire. Time after time, one after another, he moved with an incredible ballet-like motion for his size, I watched as my fellow vines disappeared through the mist into the now blazing inferno.
Nearer and nearer with a sideways movement up the hill he came, my time was nigh. I could feel the ground around my roots breaking as he grabbed me and just as he was about to fling me skyward his feet slipped, which rocketed me out of his hands like an uncontrolled ballistic missile.
I flew way over the fire, spinning and spinning through the air, splintering the mist on my way back down to earth. With a loud bang I landed on top of the car roof and bounced roots first, plumb into Monsieur Blanque's shoes.
My roots firmly inside, I watched as they burst into all the colours of the rainbow. I could feel my body and mind invigorated and alive - I was conscious of what I had become.
Gathering my embodied thoughts I turned to see what Monsieur Blanque was doing. Dusting himself down he looked very antagonised and continued with even more voraciousness, filling the sky with broken and twisted vines.
I moved into position so not to be seen as another car pulled up beside the Renault. It was Madam Flo, the boss of the vineyard. She was an elegant lady whose vast vineyard estates held her in high esteem around the Tarn area of France.
She glided her legs out of the glimmering purple Maserati, replacing her stiletto boots with fleecy woollen ones. Moving in the direction of Monsieur Blanque she gracefully avoided the ever-descending vines. Positioning herself on the safer side of him she screamed at the top of her voice: "Stop! Look at the mess you're making!"
Right at that very moment a vine catapulted down and fell right beside me. I jumped up, ran over to Madam Flo's car and quickly grabbed her boots from inside.
Most grape vines stay vines forever, but one amazing day something happened that changed me & my creepy vine friends for evermore, from century old vines into a new life as shrivelled earthlings.
With my now human thoughts and feelings I can recall how my newfangled soul began…
In the hills of the Gaillac vineyards of Southern France, me and my fellow vines had been producing some of the best wines in the country for centuries. The problem was we were getting a bit long in the tooth and our production of grapes was declining yearly. This did not bode well with our growers and we were all to be replaced by our younger generation.
I was a tiny part of a very large vineyard. After the first day of the massacre - the tearing and ripping out of my fellow vines and throwing them onto the blazing fire, I knew the next morning would be my last. All night the smell of the fire, now smouldering, was a constant reminder of my fate to come.
It was cold, with that low lying type of mist hovering just above the canopy, with yesterday’s carnage still vivid in my mind.
Here he was, Monsieur Blanque, right on time and driving up the vineyard towards the fire. Parking his old battered red Renault 4 he proceeded to get out of the car. I could see it was with a little difficulty as he was an enormous man with legs the size of tree trunks and shovel-shaped hands.
He heaved his legs outside the car and changed his footwear into his working boots. Placing his shoes by the side of the car he wondered over to the fire to grab some warmth.
He pulled on his leather gloves, snapping each finger tightly into place. Stretching his long strong arms skywards, swooping down on his first victim of the day, he clasped the vine tightly, rupturing and gnarled from the earth, as it flew high into the air with deadly accuracy onto the fire. Time after time, one after another, he moved with an incredible ballet-like motion for his size, I watched as my fellow vines disappeared through the mist into the now blazing inferno.
Nearer and nearer with a sideways movement up the hill he came, my time was nigh. I could feel the ground around my roots breaking as he grabbed me and just as he was about to fling me skyward his feet slipped, which rocketed me out of his hands like an uncontrolled ballistic missile.
I flew way over the fire, spinning and spinning through the air, splintering the mist on my way back down to earth. With a loud bang I landed on top of the car roof and bounced roots first, plumb into Monsieur Blanque's shoes.
My roots firmly inside, I watched as they burst into all the colours of the rainbow. I could feel my body and mind invigorated and alive - I was conscious of what I had become.
Gathering my embodied thoughts I turned to see what Monsieur Blanque was doing. Dusting himself down he looked very antagonised and continued with even more voraciousness, filling the sky with broken and twisted vines.
I moved into position so not to be seen as another car pulled up beside the Renault. It was Madam Flo, the boss of the vineyard. She was an elegant lady whose vast vineyard estates held her in high esteem around the Tarn area of France.
She glided her legs out of the glimmering purple Maserati, replacing her stiletto boots with fleecy woollen ones. Moving in the direction of Monsieur Blanque she gracefully avoided the ever-descending vines. Positioning herself on the safer side of him she screamed at the top of her voice: "Stop! Look at the mess you're making!"
Right at that very moment a vine catapulted down and fell right beside me. I jumped up, ran over to Madam Flo's car and quickly grabbed her boots from inside.
Weaving back and forth through the remaining unearthed vines, I gently eased the boots onto the vine. The stilettos burst into colour as the roots fused firmly into place. She raised herself into a standing position.
Transfixed, I stared into her eyes, which gazed right back at me with a seemingly stunned look. Veronique was born. I took her hand and we both instinctively knew we had to hide.
Making our way back up the hill of the vineyard we could see an old disused farmhouse. Pushing open the unlocked door we entered and found ourselves a viewing point.
In deadly silence we watched Monsieur Blanque and Madam Flo waving their arms in the air, as if arguing. They got into their cars and drove off into the distance, leaving the carnage of severed, twisted, spiritless vines strewed across the landscape.
Glancing around the very large room, my eyes screeching to a halt at what was before me. Dozens of pairs of boots and shoes, of all descriptions, lay neatly along wooden shelves across the wall. We had found ourselves in the storeroom used by the vineyard workers. We grabbed as many as we could carry and went out to the fallen vines.
The light was fading fast as we made our way down the vineyard. There lying precariously close to the now crumbling burnt vines of the fire was our first casualty.
We both heaved the vine away from the fire, placing on the boots which rapidly erupted into all the colours of the spectrum. The robust body of a vine rose up stretching every sinew of his frame towards the now star filled sky. With a loud enduring roar the spirit of Victor came to life.
Transfixed, I stared into her eyes, which gazed right back at me with a seemingly stunned look. Veronique was born. I took her hand and we both instinctively knew we had to hide.
Making our way back up the hill of the vineyard we could see an old disused farmhouse. Pushing open the unlocked door we entered and found ourselves a viewing point.
In deadly silence we watched Monsieur Blanque and Madam Flo waving their arms in the air, as if arguing. They got into their cars and drove off into the distance, leaving the carnage of severed, twisted, spiritless vines strewed across the landscape.
Glancing around the very large room, my eyes screeching to a halt at what was before me. Dozens of pairs of boots and shoes, of all descriptions, lay neatly along wooden shelves across the wall. We had found ourselves in the storeroom used by the vineyard workers. We grabbed as many as we could carry and went out to the fallen vines.
The light was fading fast as we made our way down the vineyard. There lying precariously close to the now crumbling burnt vines of the fire was our first casualty.
We both heaved the vine away from the fire, placing on the boots which rapidly erupted into all the colours of the spectrum. The robust body of a vine rose up stretching every sinew of his frame towards the now star filled sky. With a loud enduring roar the spirit of Victor came to life.
With cries of help from all around, we made haste among the dishonoured vines, placing the footwear onto as many as we could. One by one, rising from their deathly positions, there were thousands of colours cascading, flooding up from every corner of the vineyard.
Hundreds of us, now shrivelled earthlings, made our way back to the farmhouse. Over time many left to find life elsewhere in the world and eventually there was only me, Veronique and Victor. We can often be found enjoying a glass of wine with our creator, resting at the base of VINNY'S VINEYARD…
© 2017 Roderick Adam Capps
In early 2017, while clearing the unearthed vines in the vineyard opposite our home in Gaillac, Southern France, I observed the enchanting nature of these century old plants.
Over the following days and months the creation of Vinny Vine began….
Other sculptures with their own personalities followed and their story began organically.
Hundreds of us, now shrivelled earthlings, made our way back to the farmhouse. Over time many left to find life elsewhere in the world and eventually there was only me, Veronique and Victor. We can often be found enjoying a glass of wine with our creator, resting at the base of VINNY'S VINEYARD…
© 2017 Roderick Adam Capps
In early 2017, while clearing the unearthed vines in the vineyard opposite our home in Gaillac, Southern France, I observed the enchanting nature of these century old plants.
Over the following days and months the creation of Vinny Vine began….
Other sculptures with their own personalities followed and their story began organically.