My Commonplace Book

A few years ago my dear friend Maeve (now 82) gave me a Persephone notebook with this Duncan Grant design endpaper. She wanted me to use it as a 'commonplace book', which is what I am doing. And I love just holding it, with its trademark Persephone silver grey cover and delicious clotted cream paper.

Every time I read a poem, or a passage in a book, for instance, it is copied into the book. For some time, at our regular yoga class, we took turns to read out a favourite poem, and all mine are in my book. A sad, but good, source is the service sheets for funerals with some wonderful readings, the most of recent being the following from the service for Miles Claque.

Farewell to thee, but not farewell
To all my fondest thoughts of thee;
Within my heart they still shall dwell;
And they shall cheer and comfort me.


Life seems more sweet that thou didst live
And men more true that thou were one;
Nothing is lost that thou didst give;
Nothing destroyed that thou hast done.

Anne Brontë

My book is now sufficiently full to be a great personal joy. Nothing is chosen lightly, from a passage in Adam Nicholson's Seamanship, to a Sermon of John Donne - that wonderful one about equal light, equal music and so on - or in contrast a passage from a novel by Susan Elderkin called The Voices (why has she not written more, such a bright and promising writer?), or poems such as Louis MacNeice's Under the Mountain, Elizabeth Jennings' I Count the Moments  and Felix Dennis' The Hornbeam.

I hope this doesn't sound too pretentious. It is purely for my enjoyment, and yet I do hope that one day my children and their children will see it as a slice of  'me'. The choices are so personal that they should explain something about me. Obviously I am a nature lover, who cherishes language, likes happenstance and seredipity, is romantic with a sense of humour. The bleak bits are not there, but I shall work on that. I've never intended it to be read by anyone else,as it is simply a personal aide memoir. I see the definition of a Commonplace Book is a way to compile knowledge - hmmmm. Apparently they were once called Hodgepodge books. Now that really is me.

  This one is from mid-17th century

Mine looks nothing like as beautiful as this, but it does have my 'best' writing.

Jonah and the Big Fish

Would you believe it? St Barbara is the patron saint of architects abd is one of several saints depicted on the magnificent rood screen of St Helen's, Ranworth in Norfolk. We have known this church for many years through our dear friends, the Forsters. It is sublimely unspoilt, not only with this screen which is exceptional, but also a tower you can climb to view Ranworth and South Walsham Broads and further afield.

Another treasure is the Ranworth antiphoner which is kept under lock and key with protected glass and green baize cover. Under this is the perfectly preserved manuscript with its fine illuminations such as this one of Jonah and the Big Fish. Don't you just love that 'big fish'? 

Do follow the link in the heading to see many more of these exquisite images.

Ivory Towers and Warm Baths

An ivory tower, as symbol of Mary, in a "Hunt of the Unicorn Annunciation"

The term 'ivory tower' has become a mildly critical expression referring to academic pursuits which Wikipedia calls 'a wilful disconnect from the everyday world'. That'll do for me - I like that 'wilful'. 'Warm baths' refers to something said to a friend who was at university - 'it is time to get out of the warm bath of research '.

When an assignment is due in, and there are penalties for not submitting on time, the imperative becomes to deal with it, legitimately ignoring more troublesome, difficult, day-to-day truths and duties. But it occurs to me that we can create our own havens of curiosity and calm away from academia.What shall it be? William Scott appeals, Romanesque architecture maybe, the Renaissance in Northern Europe, take up my paints, start gardening again for my head's sake. Read novels, yes really!


Having just finished several years art history study, I now find myself facing practicalities which have been neglected. Difficult things, painful but necessary.


Now it is time to rethink, redraw my days giving them structure, but never losing the desire to research and explore. And to get out of that warm bath into the cold shower of real life. How good I will feel after that.

Mindfulness - A Sunday Sermon

This is Mull from Iona, taken years ago on one of our best holidays. That day has gone into memory as  perfect in every imaginable way, full of fresh and beautiful experiences. Minutes before I took this picture, with a very old battered SLR, hence the scratches, we heard a corncrake in the long grass by Iona Abbey. You rarely see them, but their call is unmistakable. Earlier in the day we had taken a boat to Staffa, glorious island of Fingal's Cave fame, and sat on the grassy cliff top accompanied by puffins, possibly the bird least frightened by humans, watching kittiwakes and skua swirl around. The boatman was the tourist's idea of  'a character'', a charmer who appeared not to have a care in the world, but actually had lost his son in that tragic drowning of three youngsters in the channel between Mull and Iona the previous Hogmanay I think. His manner, gentility and humour were impressive, even if you'd not known his history which we only found out later of course. So, all in all a day that touched many depths of emotion.

If you click on the heading to this blog, you will get to a video of a Sunday Sermon we attended run by The School of Life. It was given by Professor Mark Williams, one of this country's leading research scientists into the benefits of Mindfulness. If you can spend the time to listen right through you may be able to see why we appreciated the talk. And you may wonder what the connection is between our idyll on Mull and his wise words.

On the face of it, they are not linked, but actually one of the reasons that day was so special was that the whole time I was 'in the moment', relishing how I felt, what I could hear and see, the colours, all those qualities which attracted the Scottish Colourists, without for one moment thinking of the past or future. This is Mindfulness - living in that moment entirely. It should be approached openly, lightly, gently, with acceptance and awareness, and then you'll get more than you bargained for.

Tobias and the Angel

Filippino Lippi (painter) Italian, 1457 - 1504. Tobias and the Angel, c. 1475/1480 oil and tempera (?) on panel

I suspect my fascination with this story was inspired by Salley Vickers book Miss Garnett's Angel which artfully combined a modern story in the glorious setting of Venice, with this tale from the Apochrypha - that is, books which "Wickedpedia" (I meant that) say are useful but 'not divinely inspired'. And there I was thinking apochryphal meant a nice story but not necessarily true. This painting is in the National Gallery in Washington, and I quote from their website:

"This painting is based on the Book of Tobit which tells the story of Tobit of Nenevah. Tobit is described as a man of good faith who suffers from blindness and poverty. He sent his son, Tobias, to a distant city to collect money he had deposited there, and hired a companion to accompany the youth. The companion was actually the archangel Raphael in disguise. Their journey was successful: not only was the money recovered, but medicine made from a monstrous fish Tobias encounters along the way cures Tobit's blindness" 

There is more to the story than this. Tobias find a wife, Sarah and it all ends up rather well. The dog is always there, by the way. And the fish always features but is varying sizes. It is rather tiny in Tobias's hand in this one.

Many wonderful images have been made of this story, and it is thought this might have been because young sons of merchants were being sent out into the big bad world to do business.

So, one day I am going to find as many images of the story as I can and make a little album, or even a book of them. Then I have to move on to St Jerome. Once the gravity of my course is over I shall be free to explore whatever I like. What a wonderful thought.

Back to the 50s

The Festival of Britain is a vague memory for me, one of primary colours, earnest and worthy displays which bored a 9 year old. I can't imagine, or rather I can, why I wasnt' allowed all the fun of the fair at Battersea, but I can only remember the Skylon and trudging through endless educational exhibitions.

 This mural by John Piper was one of the many artworks commissioned for the Festival, celebrating a revival of spirit after the austerity of the war. It is called The Englishman's Home and is currently displayed in the underwhelming surrounds of the Queen Elizabeth Hall. Piper was past his abstraction phase when he produced these images of what he saw as archetypal English homes. Brighton and Hove are there, castles, cottages, villas.

So last week I went to see it, as it is so rarely displayed. Despite being in a dull place with the ceiling vents or something intruding it was well worth the visit. Originally it was on the outside of the Homes & Gardens pavilion.

I can't say I remember it, but am glad to have caught up with it, and it will serve as a useful comparison with a Lanyon mural.

Lulu

Here is Lulu - occasional guest chez Jackie. Adorable little lady who was a rescue dog, having produced many litters of puppies presumably abandoned as past her best (only 5) and now the much loved family pet of Cherry and her kids.

Because of her lovely white coat, she and I are supposed to suit each other. And her welcome on two legs every morning was something that set the tone for the rest of the day.

Below is Lulu about to demolish David Beckham - her easily destrucable toy. Butter wouldn't melt, eh?

Our house is really too small and the garden far from escape proof (one of her little games) so it is not easy to have her. I just wish she could meet Pepsi. She has a friend in the village here called Snowy who has a lovely life with her humans.

So, Pepsi, as promised, pictures of a Westie - none of that boring academic stuff. But might have to revert tomorrow!

Shock at the White Cube

As I have never been to a Chapman Brothers exhibition, this show at White Cube came as quite a revelation. Critics are talking of the 'same old, same old' but for a virgin viewer the shocks were strong, the implications and influences stark and ironic. The basement gallery at White Cube Mason's Yard is peopled by life-size (well slightly larger than life to me) mannequins dressed in Nazi storm trooper uniforms, performing an explicit sexual act in one group, being shat on by a pigeon in another, or peering at the artworks on the wall, specifically engravings which had been 'enhanced' bearing all the marks of being Goya's Disasters of War. Then you suddenly remember Hitler's Entarte Kunst (Degenerate Art) exhibition held in Munich in 1937 and sure enough you find an image which links these two far apart exhibitions.

But the difference is that the Chapman armbands are 'smileys' and the faces and hands are black with ravaged skin on the face which looks almost maggot eaten.The room is crowded with these hideous presences and it is disturbing but arranged in such a way that nervous laughter is near the surface. 

Also interesting to me was the ground floor gallery with 47 constructions on plinths. Most were made of painted cardboard and reminded me at once of the constructions of Peter Lanyon, my dissertation topic. As one piece of work it was beautifully curated, being arranged to create a totality of view. The brothers worked separately, so the work only came together in the gallery. It is not important who made which, but with these it is quite clear that separate artists have a different approach, some being quite roughly made and others more meticulous.
A visitor to the exhibition was interested in buying one of these sculptures and didn't understand that it was one piece.


So as a Chapman Brothers newbie, I have to say I was impressed. But then, what do I know?

Haunch of Venison - Giuseppe Penone

On a brilliant day in London last week an unplanned moment occurred. Giuseppe Penone, I am ashamed to admit, was unknown to me when I spotted a Richard Long/Giuseppe Penone exhibition at the Haunch of Venison's temporary accommodation in the old RA Schools building.

Carving wood, working with trees, forests and the environment are the themes of Penone's work. As opposed to our great contemporary wood sculptor, David Nash (whose work I admire hugely) Penone evaluates the wood from the inside and this piece is an example.

It is called Ripetere il bosco - frammento 28 (To repeat the forest - fragment 28) 2007. Quoting from the exhibition notes "...a beam of wood from within which emerges a bare sapling like a butterfly from a cocoon. The growth-rings in the manufactured, utilitarian length of wood are followed inwards and reveal 'the way the tree rose into the sky...'"

At first it looks as though the sapling has been stuck into a block of wood, but in fact, he has worked back to 'extract' it from the solid form, back to it's early life.

Having admired Richard Long for many years it was a joy to see new works. this large Portland stone circle is bisected by Delabole slate from Cornwall and is positioned on the North/South axis. I knelt down to look at it more laterally and one of the stones nearest to me had the marks of an ammonite. These works are subtle and reward careful and considered observation. But that is the same for all works of art.

My day out in London was exceptional in many unforeseen ways. Tomorrow I shall blog about White Cube and the Chapman Brothers.

The trough of anxiety

Well, maybe it is not quite this bad, but my newly acquired mindfulness is being tested to the core. Having learned that living in the moment is the best, and that worrying about the future is stressful - what am I doing? Tight with anxiety and discomfort, almost pain.

So what I intend to do is have a long mindfulness practice and report back to see if things have improved.  Watch this space.

One hour later, yoga for mindfulness kept my mind focused, which is good. Let's see how things are from now on.

Journal writing

A couple of years ago this wintry glorious sunset was the view from the bedroom. Picking it at random brought back precisely what I felt at the time and my awe at Nature's magic.

At a time when going away is not an option, I've decided to revisit the hundreds of special moments in the past, to re-appreciate them rather than rush on hoping for something more in the future. This is not to dwell in the past but to live the moment in this moment.

Ten years ago we went with a girlfriend to Burgundy, staying in a newly refurbished cottage and I kept a journal. This week, in one ofour regular, rather long telephone chats I was saying we couldn't go away for several reasons, and how I had found the diary I had kept of that holiday. It was a brand new Moleskin notebook, with pages too beautiful to spoil. But I did. I read out to her some fragments, such as (in my inelegant prose) "The Hautes Beaune and mountains, wooded gorges, peaceful and fresh revealed a great treasure on the circuit to Nuits St George - a flower meadow so beautiful that might have been designed by Dan Pearson - but too good to be anything but an accident. Bright fuschia orchids, blue salvia, yellows, creams  fabulous. Stopped on roadside for picnic. Foray into woods revealed two horses who were sheltering from the sun, beautiful cobby farm horses."

And there we were, back in the warm Burgundian sun, with joyous hearts at Nature's power. Without the written journal, maybe it wouldn't have become such a vivid memory. So, we won't be going away, but we will go back to our photos and diaries of some wonderful holidays

The joy of a good short story

The Swimmer by S J Butler is just one story in The Best British Short Stories 2011, selected by Nicholas Royle and  published by the redoubtable Salt Publishing, (who I can't recommend strongly enough, not just because they publish my daughter-in-law's poetry).So far, every story has been a fine example of the genre, and I am reading them slowly to savour each one.

What impresses me about The Swimmer is not only that it is a beautifully crafted story, and yes, it features a swan who is not the swimmer, but that it was the first story this writer has had published. Here she is, amongst some of the finest fiction writers around, such as Salley Vickers, Hilary Mantel, John Burnside and Michéle Roberts. I would be interested to know how she was chosen. I guess that Nicholas Royle read a great deal of stories in magazines and literary journals, before choosing this selection.

This piece by the anthologist is a thorough examination of the state of short story publishing today.  THRESHOLDS

Dissertation time

Peter Lanyon (1918-1964) Construction for Lost Mine 1958, glass, paint & Bostik, Tate Collection
Lost Mine, 1959, Glass, paint and Bostik, 53.8 x 48.3 x 27.

Together with thousands of young people, mature students like myself are deeply embedded in writing dissertations. The notion appalled me. I am a disorganised writer who muddles through - to quite reasonable marks I have to say - so the thought of keeping 10k words in control was daunting. On the other hand, it is a wonderful opportunity to really dig deep. Even deciding the topic has been hard. I have 'my man' who is Peter Lanyon (1918-1964), the Cornish artist whose work is deeply involved in movement in and through space, above ground, below ground. I have chosen to debate the position of his lesser known 'constructions' (he did not want them referred to as sculpture, reliefs or collage).

Initially, under the tutelage of Ben Nicholson, and inspired by the Constructivist Naum Gabo, he started 'thinking outside the box'. He learned to see things differently, from fresh angles and sometimes all in the same piece, and his early constructions were autonomous works. Then he began to use the concept to create works that were intended to be an aid to his painting, such as this one. He liked to work with found objects, bits and pieces lying around his studio, often broken perspex or glass, stuck together with Bostik. Then he would put them in front of his large canvases and use them in relation to his painting. Actually he mostly painted on board of varying kinds. This was probably due to his practice of layering colours, then scraping away. In 1951 he overdid it on the canvas for Porthleven which was shown at a Festival of Britain exhibition, and having gone through the canvas he then had to repaint on board. (Having worked for many months on the canvas, he completed the ultimate image in just four hours, and its spontaneity shows - surely there is a message there).

He died young (46); well, that is young to me! All his constructions stand alone now, as fascinating works in their own right. He was showing tendencies of Pop Art, although this was more encouragement to others. He would never have stopped painting his environment in huge semi-abstract swirls of beautiful colour. But his attitude to mmovement and himself in and outside space informed his wonderful constructions. And, until his premature death the most fascinating aspect is his deep rooted Cornishness. He was the only one of the modernist St Ives painters who was born and bred there. He travelled quite a bit, but always came home to his beloved West Penwith.

So, on, on I must go. Writing this has helped me consolidate some ideas - another lesson learned. If we just ramble to an unknown and maybe non-existent audience, with no pressures, clarity can come. Watch out for more rambling blogs.

Spanish thrills

Joan Miro - Still Life with Old Shoe 1937

The exhibition currently at Tate Modern would not have been my choice. Miro has always left me somewhat cool. Surrealism is not in my comfort zone. However, it was a study day and I had no choice.


As so often in life, because my expectations were low it proved to be a hugely exciting and interesting show. Another reason for enjoying it was that we only focused on a few paintings. Normally one feels obliged to work hard at every image. What I discovered was a man who was able to convey his joy, and sometimes horror, in life and love of his country, a love which was sorely tested at times. This image is supposed to represent Spain at the time of the Civil War, with the old shoe being Spain. It is a large canvas, and the colours are almost fluorescent.

The later paintings were a revelation. Miro burnt holes in a series of highly abstracted canvases and then hung them (in an exhibition in Paris, for instance) from the ceiling so you could see through the holes. It seems the antithesis of what an artist would choose to do - partially destroy his creation - but it is a stunning.

Joan Miró: Burnt Canvas I (1973)

Read what The Guardian said




Despite some reluctance initially, this was one of the most interesting shows I have seen in a long while. Go if you can.

Riverbank joys

Just over a week ago I was working in Richmond and at lunch wandered along the towpath. On the opposite bank were these summerhouses and houseboats which looked back towards Crown Estate fine house (and on of the Great Trees of London - TimeOut says - a magnificent copper beech in its soft pink foliage stage). It made me think how a few days living on a houseboat might be a therapeutic experience.