Old Chapel Gallery, Pembridge, Herefordshire was established in 1989 and has become recognised as a centre of excellence for the arts where work by reputable local and nationally known artists and makers can be seen alongside the innovative work of talented newcomers.
Collectors will discover an impressive array of work in a wide range of prices.
Comments in the visitors’ book from all over the UK and overseas are testament to the pleasure given by a visit to this unique privately-owned gallery, with its professional, relaxed and friendly service.
Inside the gallery
Displayed on the ground floor gallery is an exciting range of crafts by acclaimed designer makers. Ironwork – a particular favourite, garden sculpture, contemporary furniture, wood turning, carving, three-dimensional work -often using recycled or natural material, fine hand-blown glass, ceramics, jewellery and textiles with a strong accent on knitwear. Yasmin started in the craft world as a knitter and has always had a special interest in finding new makers, including top knitters, in her exhibition line-ups.
On the fine art side, as well as an eclectic range of original, framed watercolours, gouaches, oils, pastels, etchings and aquatints in the £50 to £1,500 price range, there is an interesting collection of unframed prints in browsers alongside a huge selection of cards.
Exhibitions at Old Chapel Gallery
Exhibitions are held regularly throughout the year in the upstairs gallery – in a variety of media – which provides the opportunity to introduce new young makers alongside well-known names.
If you would like the chance to be the first to view new work and receive invitations to Private Views please join our mailing list by sending us your email address or you can subscribe on the home page of this web site.
This little story about Old Chapel Gallery was written by a customer and author of several illustrated books that we sell, he is the son of infamous Walter Gabriel (Robert Mawdesley) on the Archers!
“Have you seen the Old Chapel Gallery? No? Well come with me”
Wending a way beneath the dark-beamed and beautiful houses of Pembridge, from those latticed windows centuries of ghosts have leaned out on diaphanous elbows to observe the pageantry and progress of history, in East Street a flight of stone steps is reached which gives access to a steep path. From this elevated position, appositely facing Mecca, having paused for breath, a brick path may be observed rising further to the chapel itself.
Once, not so long ago, Baptists, keeping the Sabbath, processed this way in self-righteous indignation against the sins of the world, polished with pews with their camphored and creased Sunday best; gave thanks to the Lord, and amen-ed away the seasons and sermoned-hours.
Today, the path is bordered by rough grass from which spring flowers of steel and stone. Sculptured reflections of “that little nowhere of the brain’, welded and chisel-chased into new forms of fantasy to grace some gravelled path or garden of delight. These sharp and smooth exhibits , exiled from the chapel because of their size, are but the foretaste of the feast to come.
Once within the narrow doorway, the transformation from ancient to modern is as astonishing as it is brilliant. Gone are the pitch-pine pews, and the high-pitched roof echoes no more to hymn and psalm, but rather to one great shout of joy and amazement as the brimmed-beauty and kingfishered-colours which beguile the senses into believing that it is possible to stand in the end of a rainbow after all.
It would be impossible and unnecessary to catalogue herein every individual piece of creation, for the variety is seemingly endless.Suffice it to say that carved wood, wrought metal, fired pot and ceramic, woven wool, jewels, like fragments of a church window, etched, sketched and oiled images prisoned on paper, card and canvas, all have their sanctioned space on table, shelf and beam.
The phrase, “where two or three are gathered together” comes to mind in this hallowed spot. The Baptist no longer worships here but the flow of customers making their precarious passage between these isles of creation most certainly do.
Every temple must have its priest, or in this case, priestess. Yasmin Strube, herself a craftswoman, bought the chapel when it had, like so many others, been put up for sale. She took a financial gamble at a time when commerce was unsure, but her faith in herself gave her strength. She encouraged a new congregation and breather life into the building once more. The marrows and michaelmas-daisies of the old harvest blessing have bee replaced by a richer crop. All art is but a form of self expression; ideas, conceived in and given voice and vision by the mind, into which the hands whisper life.
We live in a mad world. A world of instant gratification and aggressive greed. We have forgotten that we are bound by the elements of Earth, Air and Water, but so long as there are galleries such as this, there is still hope for mankind.
Bruce Mawdesley son of ‘Walter Gabriel’, Robert Mawdesley, on the Archers.