FISHING FOR CORAL

Why is coral so special? The Greeks said it grew from Medusa's blood; alchemists, that it was plants growing under the sea, that turned to stone in the air; many people still feel it's somehow magical and protective. In Turin's Palazzo Madama is the coral branch above, carved as a Flagellation, Christ tied to the column with three Roman soldiers with whips; probably made in Trapani, Sicily, like the figure under an ivory baldaquin, below right, in the Munich Schatzkammer, as is the ivory St. Sebastian, carved by Leonhard Kern, 1625.

I love all coral, whether it's real, as on the extravagant Trapani Baroque frame for a small ivory group, above, and the ivory knives in Istanbul's Islamic Art Museum; or imitation, like the frame of the porcelain serving tree above them, in Florence. Tiny coral beads accent some silver embroidery, below, while a carefully shaped piece forms the hull and mast of a Renaissance ship jewel.

I collect tiny pieces like these, above, on beaches and love swimming on reefs among the huge antler and brain formations. I never tire of the subtly strange forms of these underwater gardens. In Renaissance Italy, children were given coral necklaces for protection, like these charming infant Christs in Perugia, below. I painted the little miniatures below, with two fish swimming past a stylised branch, and a tree sprouting two little, red corals. I’ve also made candlesticks, tray and cabinet handles, even furniture legs, inspired by coral forms.