Tempietto del Bramante, Rome

One of the many treasures in Rome, this tiny building by Bramante is a classic example of Renaissance architecture, a history of architecture lesson in one.  It is within a cloister of the church of S. Pietro in Montorio and is thought to be the site of the inverted crucifixion of S Peter, hence its classification as a martyrium.  It seats 10.

Bramante's rather larger dome of St Peter's can be seen from here.

Where S Peter was crucified in centre of Tempietto floor

Never too late

After early aspirations, 50 years on, it is time to make up for time and paint, paint, paint. The joy of getting back to it after a break makes me wonder why it took so long. And some inspired teaching from Caroline Chappell has made all the difference.

The Backs

 

Not much to say - I just liked this image taken in Cambridge on Saturday.

This is a trial post

In an effort to help a friend, I am posting this with hope it can automatically post in my FB timeline.

Bah humbug

At this time of year, coming up to Christmas, my spirits sink into a nasty soup of over reaction to the horrible commercialisation everywhere you look.

This year, I have decided, since I can't change the situation, I shall change my attitude to it. I am observing my physical reaction to that TV commercial, or the music in the supermarket, becoming aware and softening to the feeling of tension.

As my dear Mindfulness teacher says D.R.O.P.S.S.  Don't resist and push, soften and smile.

Nature vs nurture

Spied over a garden wall in a Derbyshire village, glorious colour contrasts are perfect

Natural wild flower meadow on a steep hillside in Bonsall

A frothy garden on a hillside in Bonsall

 

 

 

 

 

Our recent visit to Derbyshire was full of delights. It was Open Gardens in Bonsall while we were there, with some delightful, unpretentious gardens (not to mention, stunning cakes).

Also, the meadows were looking glorious. There are wild flower meadows on farmland everywhere, which is a joy to see, good for the environment and particularly the bees.

The tendency to have 'loose' natural gardens is a testament to the beauty of nature's way. And where one blends into the other, there is the best of all worlds.

A task, duty, pleasure or chore?

 I wonder why some people feel the need to add structure ti their lives, to do one specific creative thing a day? Once during every 24 hours, there are painters who post their daily work on the internet to sell or auction. If you Google 'painting a day', thousands of hits will come up, including Duane Keiser in USA who seems to be one of the Daddies of the movement. Then there are writers who write a Small Stone a day,and photographers who post an image a day via Blipfoto.

Not a painting a day, just one of several in a few hours!

I've tried the last two, which became somewhat forced and lacked spontaneity. My fault, I am sure. Here is my small stones blog and being me, I had to give it an image plus words. I like the simplicity of it and the freedom; looking back, I am pleased that I did it, but for now don't want the obligation, self-imposed, of adding this to the many other things that should be done every day.

Taking a photo every day is easy for me, as I nearly always have my camera with me. But it can become an unwanted intervention between the eye and the scene. Nonetheless, the compulsion to record everything, anything, is strong and gives me great joy.

The reason for the painting a day phenomenon is that it sells paintings, for relatively small amounts, almost guaranteeing a steady income. The quality of these paintings can be exceptional, probably because they are done quickly, intuitively and uninhibitedly.

What about NaPoWriMo? This hideously named, but well-intentioned movement that sets aside one month when poets sign up to 'National Poetry Writing Month'. This idea came out of NaNoWriMo - yes, you guessed - 'National Novel Writing Month'. It remains to be seen whether a best selling prize winner develops from these practices.

My 'white dog'

Churchill talked of it. There is a rather good website devoted to it. It is an image which traditionally fits the feeling of depression lurking around. Black dogs and depression are inextricably linked. Which is a shame for black dogs and for my friends at Black Dog Media who seem very cheerful and do a great job.

So, how about introducing a white dog to the black. Let's imagine them meeting - a large black labrador and my favourite small white dog, a Westie. Particularly this one, Lulu, who has been a house guest here and a very cheery one. (That's David Beckham under her paw, who is about to be decimated.)

From now on I shall try to introduce Lulu when my black dog is looming. In fairness to black dogs, my low moods will be clouds from now on, not dogs. Except, being greeted by Lulu first thing in the morning can stand for a cherished moment when I experienced pure joy, to be held mindfully in a safe place.

Memories

Imagine a lake, covered in ice with snow, deep, crisp and definitely even. This was at Walton Hall a couple of Christmases ago. The sun was brilliant and turned an already beautiful place into somewhere magical.

It was a good time and has been put into one of my special memory 'scent bottles'. This is where I capture the best bits of life and figuratively leave them on a shelf to be opened and sniffed when I feel the need. Painting from a photo also brings back good memories and is a satisfying way to become absorbed in the landscape once again.

I wonder if others do something similar?

Recognition

Yesterday I went to the funeral of my dear Aunty Betty. She was the wife of my father's brother, Peter, and a beautiful, warm and lovable person, who died aged 88. I never knew my father as he was killed in the war, on 13 May 1943. I was 9 months - 'do the math' as they say.

This is one of the very few photos I have of him, looking so young and smart casual. It was taken at Middleton, near Bognor, where my grandparents had a holiday house.

Apart from this picture, the only other one I had was a studio portrait of him and Mum with me aged 8 months taken just one month before he died. My grandmother had insisted they have this taken, and no doubt she paid for it. Sadly, she may have had a premonition.

Then, among Aunty Betty's things, my cousin Chris Geale found this photo of my father's squadron. Initially there seemd little chance of identifying someone I never knew.

Uncannily, within 2 minutes I spotted him, thanks to an old magnifying glass. He is sitting in the second row back and is sixth from the left. Immediately I knew it was him. The saddest thing is to think how very many of these young men died. Many of them were Canadians attached to the RAF. All of his crew, he was the pilot, were Canadian.

And now he is at rest in this beautiful civilian cemetery in Holland, at Amersfoort. We visited there a few years ago to meet the daughter of Kees, who had looked after the graves and set up a website in memory of all those buried here.

Finding a voice

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Painting continues to be my favourite occupation and now I feel that my painting voice is coming through. This acrylic painting was from a rather dull photo I took of a grey, sowy lane, one of my favourite places in the village. I decided to use a palette consisting of some favourite colours and within a couple of hours, this had emerged.

Could this be my voice?

Drawing from the life

For the first time in years, yesterday I did some life drawing. When I mentioned to someone later how exhausted I felt, he said what could be tiring about being with a naked body and a pencil. Life drawing demands absolute focus and concentration, to be relaxed and yet controlled, assessing, measuring and marking. This is mentally, and to an extent, physically wearing.

Our usually garrulous class fell into the silent, rapt attention, like a flock of rooks at roost.

Our model Dave, who had never posed before, was exceptional, perhaps because he was new to it. 10 x 1 minute poses were followed by 2 x 50 minutes.  He seemed staggered by the spontaneous round of applause we gave him and happily booked himself in for next week.

All of which took me back to my Foundation year at Brighton Poly, as was, where the majority of the life models were female. The one young male model we had kept his knickers on, which was puzzling. Evidently, they were concerned about arousal issues... Our Dave kept his pants on, too. Which was fine. Total nudity may have been a step too far for a group of, mostly, 60-80 year old ladies, but had he been totally nude I doubt that arousal would have been likely. 

All of which tied in serendipitously with a good Sunday Times article a couple of Sundays ago, by AA Gill (not my favourite) who organised a life drawing session for himself and other notable artists. At the end Emma Sergeant, the notable figurative painter, said "Amazing, isn't it? The feeling, the silence a nude body gives to a room." Spot on.

Memorial amaryllis

Those who know me well are only too aware of the loss I have felt since my dear friend Maeve died in December 2011. Fortunately, she has left many legacies in my life, from a Slightly Foxed tea mug, tin of string, a Persephone notebook which she insisted should be my commonplace book, a little cardboard box from Venice with lovely pink marbling, to knowing the importance of warming tea cups before pouring and, above all, the value of courtesy and kindness.

She had a special friend and neighbour who was her rock during her last months, Pauline, a feisty, down to earth fellow nurse, whose humour and strength made such a difference to that difficult time. In fact, my last meeting with Maeve was with Pauline as well, and typically all I can remember is how much we laughed.

Maeve was no horticulturalist. So, when her amaryllis went over, Pauline took it on and grew it to flower the next year. This year she gave it to me. Flower it has, spectacularly, with the added joy of remembering Maeve every time I admire it.

I decided to paint it in my usual rather slapdash style, one which Maeve admired (but, then, she always admired everything with 'what a girl you are!').  So, here it is, to you, dear lady.

Birch bark and sticky buds

Trees of childhood.

Birch, particularly this one with its glorious apricot lined bark. Surely any children lucky enough to live in the country has peeled the bark and used it as paper? I've been told that it makes wonderful kindling for the fire.

Horse chestnut, picking a leaf and stripping it down to a fishy skeleton - small pleasures. Now, I love the way the sticky buds start to appear to soon after the leaves drop. So optimistic.

This morning on Radio 4 there was a delightful programme about the magic of trees. There is more than you think to hugging a tree.

Ditchling - Ethel Mairet & Tadek Beutlich

Having remembered Ditchling in my last post, recollections of houses and people have bumped around my mind since then. So, I have decided to write short posts on some of the people and their houses, as I remember them, either in myth or reality. During the twentieth century, Ditchling became a remarkable centre for arts and crafts and many notable artists have lived and worked there over the years. There is still a lively crafts scene as well as the notable Ditchling Museum (closed until next Spring for refurbishment).

Firstly, two weavers.

Ethel Mairet (1872-1952) was a craft weaver who moved to Ditchling in 1916, to a house she had built in the Arts & Crafts style. It was called Gospels. Here she created a vibrant hub for the craft scene, welcoming other influential weavers as well as the potters Bernard Leach and Shoji Hamada. Of course, the Guild of St Dominic and St Joseph, founded by Eric Gill and Hilary Pepler was the focal point, but Ethel Mairet was one of others working in the village at the time, not directly associated with the Guild.

A student weaver, Tadek Beutlich (1922-2011), visited Mairet at Gospels with his tutor from the Camberwell School of Arts and Crafts.  In 1967 he bought Gospels. This was when I knew the family. Our sons, my James and his Matthew, were pals at the village school. Many of my friends worked with Tadek as assistants, making it very much a village industry as it had always been. I believe there was a covenant which precluded anyone other than weavers from owning Gospels which was lifted after Tadek moved to Spain in 1974.

Tadek's work was created off the loom and this was the sort of wall hanging which I saw there. Bird of Prey (1972). They were magnificent and huge.

I remember Gospels as a lovely house with high ceilings for the main workshop room: Ethel Mairet had large looms there but Tadek needed the height  for these large wall hangings. The Lutyenesque details were superb, leather thongs for the wooden latches, high quality hinges, brackets, windows, doors, and yet with an overall modesty. Most impressive were the huge wall hangings being produced using hunks and loops of wools, and large woven baskets overflowing with glorious coloured skeins of hand dyed wool.

Next post? I'll decide later. Quite probably it will be lettering.


There is a plethora of information on the web - here are just a few links.
For more information and image - Ethel Mairet
Obituary of Tadek Beutilich
The University of Brighton has written about Arts and Crafts in Ditchling
Ditchling A Craft Community

Small kindnesses

Today the rather lovely Writing Our Way Home would like us to write about a small kindness we have received. Mine is in the distant past, probably about 35 years ago.

I ran a small estate agents' sub-office, in Ditchling. It was the middle, red brick and timber house in this picture and a lovely place to work. However, I was going through nightmare domestic issues. There is no need to go into details, but one problem was dire finances.

One Friday, the door opened and in came a friend who shall be nameless, but was a barrister colleague of my then husband and is now a judge. He was wearing his court suit and over it a baggy Barbour jacket. Out of one of the inner 'poacher' pockets he produced a large leg of lamb for us the weekend. He was worried we might be going hungry; which wasn't really the case as I was resourceful. Nonetheless I was grateful not just for the food but also particularly for their love and support.

Follow this link to get Fiona Roby's book 'Small Kindnesses' which is free today.

Toys for ... girls

Having dropped my elderly compact camera on a cobbled street in Lagrasse in France, resorting to using an iPad as camera which was brilliant but awkward, today my new camera arrived. I'm told it is a bridge camera which means it is more complicated and does more than the compact but is not quite as hard to learn as a DSLR. Eeeew, I hear you say, this girl's a geek. I'm not, but I do love photography ever since I had an OM1 thrust in my mitts, loaded with black and white film and was told to go out and use all of the film around Brighton. (I was a mature, 34 yr old, art student doing the Foundation Course at what was then the redoubtable Brighton Poly Art College.)

The zoom is 42x which is superb considering you don't have to change the lens. Here are a few trials. I didn't know the snail was in the second one, until I looked on my laptop screen. Tomorrow I hope to try some atmospheric landscapes while we have these amazing autumn colours, and also black and white for my trees project. Oh bliss...

Seedheads

 There is a particular beauty of seedheads which may be their promise of fecundity, continuity or is it just the aesthetics of form, colour, texture? I love the dessication, the wisps and crispy bits, the prickles and pods. The colours are subtle and soft, autumnal and gentle. The runner bean pod cocoons polished ebony beans with splashes of magenta; the chinese lanterns are the exception to the subtle rule, glowing as they do in fluorescent orange (mine are rather washed out); teazels are protectively spiky. All are delicately beautiful.

The art group I belong to with tutor, Caroline Chappell, had a glorious day last week mucking about with these lovely specimens. Inks, frottage, monoprint, glue, bleach, all enjoyed with a large helping of good company and excellent cakes.

Shall I split the sheet, or leave it as it is?

We have an exhibition coming up at the end of November, so will decide nearer the time.

Stop, think, be in the moment

I've just seen the title of my last post, "Pinepple"  which sounds like one of those phonetic interpretations of upper class pronunciation, such as Prince Charles's "hice" instead of "house". Never mind. It is not critical, but does serve to show the importance of being in the moment and concentrating on what is, instead of what may be coming or what has been.

Mindfulness: finding peace in a frantic world is one of the best books to help anyone who is interested in Mindfulness, particularly as a way of avoiding recurrent depression (that's me). Mark Williams is a Professor at Oxford and at the forefront of the scientific interest in the benefits of meditation and Danny Penman describes himself on Twitter (@DrDannyPenman) as: Award winning investigative journalist.

For anyone who is interested, this is a way of conducting the recommended 8 wk introduction to the practice. Personally, while I admire and refer to it constantly, nothing can replace the real world experience of a course. Fortunately for me, Hugh Poulton who is local, runs these courses and I recommend him highly.
After the 8 weeks he provides continuing refresher sessions, sometimes drop in by donation and other times booked whole days.

Now all that remains for me is to breathe deeply, focus on this moment and proof read what I have written.

Pinepple poll

It's been a while. Painting, not writing, has been my priority. And surviving life's vicissitudes. So now, when I shop, I am thinking of my health and creativity. I buy objects to paint, then eat. Pineapples are one of the most gorgeous objects to paint, with their intricate patterns, subtle colours and particularly the blue green leaves. Pears are the same, with purple and yellow hints. 

The strange object behind is an old, unwanted (yes, really) paperback with the cover removed and the pages folded to create this rather beautiful piece. The tanned pages and the text add to the texture.

They sit in an marked and stained antique French wooden bowl.

 

 

Two earlier pineapples, one collage and the other ink.