Escapism

I was talking to a man who had been a child in our village, and he was reminiscing about picking bunches of primroses on the railway banks, tying them onto a stick and bringing them home for their mothers. Now, I know everything in the past was not better, but it does make you think how wonderfully free children were and how much pleasure they got from simple things.

It also reminded me that primroses were considered to be in decline a few years ago, and you picked them at your peril, and theirs.

All over the country it seems that currently, happily, the primrose family is flourishing and populating entire banks, lanes, lawns - everywhere. So I didn't feel so guilty about sneaking a few from the bank by our house. When I first lived here, about twenty years ago, there were none there; now it is smothered in these mixtures of the primula family. And, naturally, that led me to get out the inks. These are Brusho crystals, which mix with water. I bought lots of cheap little plastic bottles, mixed all colours with water and labelled them. This was almost as much pleasure as using them.

I'm the one we drools over boxes of coloured pencils, or pastels, arranging them into the sensible order of colour gradation. Always have. As a child I adored the Derwent boxes and my aim was to own the biggest box of 72, was it? Now I have 24 Derwent watercolour crayons and they are a great joy to use, and, of course, arrange in the right order.

The small pleasures are the best ones.

Nostalgia

For me, the most nostalgic tree is the horse chestnut. Embedded in my memory is learning, at kindergarten school aptly called The Spinney, about the saddle and horseshoe marks, which probably appealed because I was pony mad.

The tree is a complete experience, from the optimism and promise of sticky buds, then these fresh, early umbrellas of leaves; the glory of candles of blossom; the curious game we would play stripping out the flesh of the leaves to make fish skeletons; glossy conkers and their prickly coated, softly lined shells; their early autumn browning and crisping of leaves and early spring, earlier each year when  sticky buds re-appear.


Just one of the many joys of mindful observation.

Two favourite things

What are they? A stoneware teapot given by a good friend, which is a joy to use - yes, it works, that is, pours without drips. It was bought in Somerset and is celadon green, probably fired with wood ash. It has a traditional, Japanese feel and look. It pleases me endlessly, being both useful and beautiful. (Since first posting this, I have now concluded it is by Paul Dennis - am asking him to confirm.)

The book is my Persephone notebook, which I use as a commonplace book and now that it is more than half full, there is enough written and drawn in there to make a true beside reader. I have a terrible weakness for good notebooks and am thrilled to have discovered an old Moleskin book, with the elastic gone, which is all graph paper with a super marbled endpaper.

Persephone books are perfect, to hold, feel and look at, not to mention great reads. This notebook has lovely plain cream paper and a Duncan Grant design endpaper. I make no apologies for having written before about this treasure. I hope one of my children will keep it and pass it on. I like to think it sums up my tastes and what amuses or touches me. Not least is the great satisfaction in writing with care, rather than bashing at a keyboard.

The endpaper - Duncan Grant design

It's been a while

For the past month I seem to have had no inspiration to blog. Because I hate the idea of feeling obliged, I''ve just let the water flow gently on. Today I feel like writing.

This week I had my best day for ages. Life has got no easier, the stresses are greater if anything. So what was different? Firstly, a long online meditation with Jon Kabat-Zinn. Secondly, I was on a creative high. These are some of my efforts on that day.

What interests me is that they are so varied. All were done in a rush of enthusiasm and energy. I've noted what a physical painter I am, moving about all the time, quite impulsive and spontaneous. Some might call this slapdash, and I would agree but out of this approach accidents happen and things emerge. This seems to me to be a reasonable metaphor for life. Take risks, grab opportunities, make the best of difficult situations, and keep smiling even when that is the last thing you feel like doing.

Speaking of which, today I tried posting on Black Dog Tribe, Ruby Wax's excellent initiative. Now that was the opposite of a good experience - sorry, Ruby. Partly because I couldn't insert an image, which was the point of the post and partly because even a breath near the advert on the right launched into a ghastly eulogy for winged false eyelashes. I know that age is no barrier to making the best of yourself, but I am now so sick of them that I feel like finding them in shops and shrieking out loud. I suppose ads help keep the site going but it needs a lot of fine tuning before it offers the support that is intended.  

The beauty of black and white

 There is something special about black and white photography. It distils the image, and makes you look more closely at textures, composition and atmosphere. Colour is wonderful but some images just look so much better in black and white. I took the photo above at Walton Hall, in the grounds of the hotel there, during the ice and snow (and sun) of Christmas 2010. Thanks to dear old Picasa I have converted it to black and white, which it very nearly was to start with, but this image seems even better to me.

Whereas, this picture taken at Brancaster Staithe in Norfolk in 2010 is enhanced by the touches of blue and yellow in an otherwise monochrome image.

Both should be good sources for paintings.

familiar objects

This sketch on too thin paper, in coloured aquarelle pencils, is something I will treasure if we ever have to move from here. Not because it is any good, but each object means something, the glass oil jar, old green glass ink pot, small stone jar, glass bottle stopper, miniature pewter mug, old glass salt cellar, a pot (more of which later) and a bowl.

They are in the kitchen on some green shelves and serve absolutely no practical purpose, but beauty is more important to me, and I love the way the light falls, and the spaces between.

Maybe I will become like Morandi, and just keep painting, drawing, photographing the same few objects.The painting from this drawing is here:

The white pot has the following written on it:

CLARKES

MIRACULOUS SALVE

FOR THE CURE OF ULCERATED BAD LEGS, BOILS, ABSCESSES

FISTULAS, BAD BREASTS & GATHERING OF ALL KINDS

Price 1/11, 2/9 & 4.6 Per Pot

PREPARED ONLY BY THE PROPRIETORS

THE LINCOLN & MIDLAND COUNTIES DRUG CO. LINCOLN

It is cracked and shabby, but a favourite treasure. Objects can give great pleasure without being valuable.

Being Mindful

Ten Mindful Movements - on YouTube

What more can I say? To balance your mind and body and to come into the present moment with awareness, this series of movements is perfect. With the beautiful Thich Nhat Hanh of Plum Village in France.

The tactile pot

Shoji Hamada
Square Plate
Kaki glaze with poured decoration
3 ¼ x 12 ½ x 12 ½"
box signed by Shinsaku Hamad

I have found this picture of a typical pot, or rather a plate, by Shoji Hamada. He is just about my favourite potter for his sense of form and exquisite use of colour. This one is for sale at the Pucker Gallery and no price is mentioned. What I do know is that it would be far, far more than we could ever pay.

I want to touch it and hold it, just as the potter did. For me, the greatest quality of any handmade pot is its tactility. Running your fingers over the glaze you can feel the potters hands.  This YouTube clip of Hamada turning a pot is classic, apparently in Australia in 1965.

The stones are piling up

Over a week and my river of stones is growing. I've decided I need to do what has been suggested, which is to look, just look for five minutes and then to write. Having to choose something every day has interesting side effects. For instance, I see something early in the morning and decide to focus on it, then later a more absorbing object or sight occurs. Also, it can feel a little contrived, this deliberate choice of something to write and publish.

However, it feels good. So I will persevere and try to relax. Above all I will try not to be too pretentious.

Here are a few of the images attached to the stones.

 my photo of Venice some years ago

my photo of tea yesterday

The Source of the Thames by Michael Andrews

Starting my River of Stones

Through the blog Writing Our Way Home I have decided to undertake to closely observe one thing, feeling, event every day and write a 'stone'. I have a separate blog for this and hope to include an appropriate image every day. So, that blog could be the only record. But then I remember buying this collection of notebooks, with beautiful handmade paper, in a box covered in images of pebbles.

Perfect! And each book has 60 pages, there are 6 books, so each one will be for 2 months. It was  meant to be.

Then I wondered why, in common with many people, I am drawn to pebbles and stones. For instance, this is one of my favourite mugs.

And it runs in the family. My grandchildren in Australia insisted their mother bring these in her luggage, specially chosen for me from their favourite beach, probably at Lennox Head. Yes, I know it's not legal, but hope the pebble police are not looking. It meant so much to think their small hands had held the stones that I now hold.

It is the primaeval, the tactile qualities, the resonance with water, rivers and seas, that makes them so special as if by holding them, we are capturing the spirit of the place and the person who picked that particular one.

So the idea of 'writing a river of stones' has resonances far beyond the practical. And that has to be good. It mustn't be a chore to write a small paragraph every day, but a joy in something held, like a stone, and examined minutely. No doubt with practice, they will be more polished, but it doesn't matter. What matters is the time spent observing, mindfully, of course.

Looking back

Years ago, I painted this from a photograph. It is the farmhouse at Charleston, although you would be forgiven for not recognising it.

Next year, I intend to be more creative and try to adapt rather than copy. Exercising the imagination should be entirely pleasurable, absolutely crazy and free of rules. For someone like me, whose dreams are elaborate, vivid and often completely barmy, this should be easy. I used to think there was not an original thought in my head; now I'm beginning to wonder.

The transformation has been mostly as a result of attempting creative writing for the first time since school. I find it immensely pleasurable to do something entirely for its own sake, not to make money or reputation. How many authors have the freedom to work this way? Great pressure would be imposed by the need to earn, and while earning would be a bonus I neither want or expect that by painting or writing. Maybe all authors should try to work within the framework of a selfish enterpise, somehow forgetting their efforts are necessary to put food on the table. Maybe a lot do that already.

Meanwhile, I shall return to the OU coursework and paints, inks, brushes and glue (don't forget the glue) for the sheer pleasure of escaping into the world of my imagination, with my eyes open.

Return visits - Kettle's Yard

This fabulous montage is copyright Claire Leggett whose blog Paint Drops Keep Falling is a joy

A special place is like a good relationship. Never stale, never dull, always offering something fresh. Such a place is Kettle's Yard in Cambridge.

Having visited many times over the last twenty years, yesterday was a new experience. Firstly, it was a group of people none of whom had been there before. (Two had been undergraduates in Cambridge, and even they had not been in the house.)

We were ushered into the extension, a very beautiful part of the house which Jim Ede added on during the '70s, the architect being Leslie Martin of Festival Hall fame (and much else). A typically enthusiastic young lady explained the history and collection, and most importantly that the artworks are not labelled. Jim Ede believed that people should absorb the artworks as part of the overall experience, which is an artwork in itself. Every tiny detail, from the famous lemon on a large pewter charger, to the glass vase with whisper light feathers in it, is perfection. We were encouraged to look this way, so the lemon echoes the yellow dot on the Miro painting nearby, and the daffodils in the Christopher Wood painting.

And despite, or even maybe because of, the familiarity I saw the building and its contents completely afresh, through the eyes of my friends who have experienced this joy before. And the truly thrilling thing is, next time it will feel different again.

The happiest man?

What a beautiful face, radiating goodness and happiness. This is the French Buddhist monk, Matthieu Ricard and someone who appears about as well balanced and genuine as it is possible to be. There are claims that he is the happiest man alive, but I suspect that sort of hyperbole would not please him.

He was a pioneer into scientific research into the effect of meditation on the physical brain and emotions. It is suggested he has done more than 10,000 hours meditation himself.  I can't possibly do justice to this man, so do have a look at his blog

There are also a lot of video clips of him speaking on YouTube. In addition he is a brilliant photographer, mostly images of Tibet where he has been for 40 years.
 
I think he is literally extra-ordinary and radiates love, in the way of so many Buddhists. I hope you want to know more. Have I made you curious?

Leonardo - hype or heaven

Unusually, we booked tickets for the National Gallery's Leonardo show as soon as they were available. Yesterday was the day. The plaudits are justified, despite the huge amount of hype. To accumulate a relatively large proportion of his paintings under one roof was an amazing feat by the curators, but be prepared for their small size in general, and that some are unfinished. It is important to focus on the paintings themselves, because we have seen them in so many papers, TV programmes and books, that you have to remember now you are seeing the real thing. It is brilliantly hung, but very crowded, in fact just as bad as any other blockbuster in the basement exhibition space of the National Gallery. (Such huge stairways, such small rooms.) So, be patient, and you will spot the chance to stand as long as you like in front of the iconic, dainty Lady with an Ermine.

The girl, mistress of Leonardo's patron in Milan, Cecilia Gallerani, is holding the ermine (don't let's call it a ferret - Eddy Grundy never had anything like this). It is supposedly a symbol of purity.  These equisite drawings are thought to be sources for the ermine's head and paws. But they are small and very difficult to view. Get the catalogue first and this won't be a problem as the illustrations of drawings are lifesize.

This painting is an extraordinary portrayal of a personality, who was very young but looks quite assured in her position. Apparently and unsurprisingly, she was unloved by Ludivico's intended. But he went on to marry Beatrice and gave Cecilia, or rather his son by her, a grand house. She lived there, married and became something of a poet.

So, the show is a mixture of heaven, hell and hype. But it is an opportunity that will not arise again, so take the time to be patient in the queues waiting to look at drawings not much larger than a postage stamp (the bear) or extraordinary portraits and scenes by a great master.

Don't mess with the Gods

One of my favourite myths is that of Apollo and Daphne. The one about a daughter of the river god, Penneus, who never wants to marry. She is pursued by Apollo, who has been shot by Cupid thus falling in love instantly with D. She has been shot by Cupid with an arrow which means she will hate whoever she sees next, poor old Apollo. (Keep up at the back there). He tries to force himself upon her, she prays to her father who changes her into a laurel, in fact a bay tree. From thenceforth Apollo wears a laurel wreath. Some might say this wasn't much of a good turn for Daphne. On the other hand, the leaves of bay never rot and stay glossy, fresh and green (unless we have a fierce winter). It's a strange story, but what I love is the various images it has inspired. And here are just a few...

Bernini

Pollaiuolo c1470-80, National Gallery

Veronese c1560-65, San Diego Museum of Art

Mosaic in Antioch

Poussin, 1625, Alte Pinakothek, Munich

There are many, many more. Strangely, I could find few contemporary works, but there is this illustrative drawing which is fun for its spontaneity. It is by Paul Thomas

Power of the smile

Quentin Blake is a delightful person, at least I feel sure he must be, judging by his work on show at Compton Verney in Warwickshire. Appropriately the exhibition is called As Large as Life, partly because they are large watercolours.

This short video clip shows his technique.


Each room has a themed series of works that have been commissioned by various health facilities, such as the St Vincent clinic for eating disorders in London or this Fire Eater for a hospital. The following has been taken from the Compton Verney website.

 
"Friends in the circus series - Ellington Ward in Northwick Park Hospital, Harrow.
This is an older adults’ mental health ward for which Quentin has made a series of pictures on a circus theme. The series of circus characters – jugglers, tightrope-walkers, fire-eaters and clowns – all of an older age group, forms a display which can be seen as celebrating the lifelong persistence of well-practised talents."

These works were commissioned by The Nightingale Project who aim to cheer up mental health facilities. I feel sure these wonderful circus pictures do exactly that.

And the most noticeable thing was the way everyone looking at the pictures was smiling. Hopefully those struggling with the despair of mental illness feel happier when they see these enchanting images.

Dabbling day

Today, at last, out came the paintbrushes and off I went to a class with a brilliant teacher, Caroline Chappell. I knew it would be good, because I love her work. No, this is not hers, but my playtime effort with inks, quills, sticks, brushes and bleach. Oh, and Quink!

The smell of Quink brought back vivid memories of schooldays, and the doubtful privilege of being the ink monitor, filling those little ceramic pots inserted into desks. My, how things have changed.

Back to the painting. Lovely colours, a dish of bleach, Christmas baubles and these beads. It felt like a liberated episode of Blue Peter meets what-his-name Hart without the sticky-back plastic and empty washing up liquid bottles.

Brushes were rough from tiny, worn ones to big bristly decorating ones. Everthing was acceptable whether it was sticking glitter or using oil pastels as resist.

And to crown it all, I signed up for the coach trip to Kettle's Yard and Vermeer in Cambridge. So, an absorbing, fun creative time with lots to look forward to. Next week, landscapes with trees.

Pots of pots

Shared interests are the lifeblood of a good relationship and we are lucky (Rob and I) to have many. One is pots. Studio pots and good domestic ones. Here is a beauty.

This is by Jim Malone, one of our greatest living potters, who works in the Japanese and medieval tradition. We were lucky enough to visit him twice when he lived in Ainstable, near Penrith. He told us how he was first inspried by medieval jugs in York Museum and the influence particularly on this earlier work is plain to see. On the second visit he took us round his studio, showing us the woodfired kiln which he fired twice a year. The tremendous physical labour required to stoke a kiln like this for 48 hours without sleep and with the vigilance required is where the skill and strength of the potter is most tested.

On our first visit he welcome us in to his house, gave us a mug of tea and we bought a fine pot for a client and one tea mug for us.

The mug is used daily, but studio pots are for looking at, and from a practical view, useless. The mug gives satisfaction every time it is picked up because it is made just right. The handle works, the balance is right. Most potters want their work to be used, but at the same time the high prices are in the large artworks. And this raises another point; the oft debated distinction, if there is one, between art and craft.

I spotted the pot above in a photo of a selling exhibition of the paintings of Peter Joyce (for another time - lives and works in France, but paintings so remininiscent of West Penwith and St Ives). Without realising who it was by, I said what a fine pot and later discovered it was one of Jim's.

Because I love them, I will blog of some other favourites like De Waal, Spira, Pleydell Bouveries, Bernard Leach and for us, the supreme Shoji Hamada.

Meanwhile, we enjoy what we have and enjoy looking at some and using others.

What was lost...is found. Or is it?

 

The 'discovery' of lost masterpieces continues, and this one in particular has been the subject of debate for many years. It is possibly by Leonardo da Vinci, in fact Martin Kemp, the Oxford art historian and one of the world's leading Da Vinci experts believes it is his La Bella Principessa.

This image shows it as it might have been produced, as a page in a book. (The paper has stitch marks where it would have been sewn into a book, and has been carbon dated to the right period but that proves nothing - earlier paper could be used at any time. More interesting would be analysis of the colours). An interesting article relates the differences of opinion which continues. If it turns out to be the real deal, Christies in New York will be embarrassed by their sale at a mere $21k.







What about this one, Salvator Mundi, which has been categorically authenticated and will be at the National Gallery exhibition starting soon. For the first time since its restoration the public can decide for themselves, and no doubt its presence will add to the great excitement generated by the coming together of so many Da Vinci masterpieces.

And, there is the hidden one in Palazzo Vecchio in Florence.... Forget Dan Brown, the real stories behind these paintings are all the more fascinating for being true.