Favoured category

Corot: Woman reading in a landscape

I have a habit of being attracted by the idea a particular geographical area - I don't know how it starts, but disparate inputs build up until I am consciously seeking them out. While I lived in New Hampshire USA I used to subscribe to many magazines - because they kept me company, because subscriptions are so cheap compared with the UK, because I wanted to learn as much as possible about the USA, because ... - and one was on Native American art of the North West. I'm sorry I cannot remember the title of the magazine. I used to have a pile of them, but they've gone in one of my clearouts.

Anyway, that raised area was snagged further when I read Jonathan Raban's Hunting Mr Heartbreak. I found it a brilliant book on the USA, but was definitely intrigued by his deciding to settle in Seattle. After reading Snow falling on cedars and Passage to Juneau , and finding out that one of my favourite (and most exasperating) authors Michael Dibdin had moved there too, the Pacific Northwest area was well and truly one of my 'favoured categories'.

So I was primed to be brain snagged by an article in the Guardian newspaper a wee while ago - a mention by Jonathan Raban about a book set in the Pacific Northwest sent me immediately to Amazon. I have just finished reading Bernard Malamud's A new life. (I chose the edition shown in the link because of the cover illustration and the publisher as much as the price.) I really enjoyed reading the more contemplative style: written in 1960 it had a universal feel that did not date it, concerned with a man's inner life and how those inner reactions to external elements change his life. The geography plays a strong part, just as important as human characters, but seen in a light so different from the books mentioned above, or by Raban's subsequent books (such as his novels which are set in and around Seattle - oh, except his very first novel, Foreign land which is about Britain, and like the others much enjoyed). It is great to have odd recommendations come in to tempt one away from the usual fare.

I'm never clear about whether visiting for real a geographical area which is a favoured category in my mind is a good idea or not. I was not disappointed with Arizona and New Mexico, but was very let down when I saw the California coast. Swings and roundabouts, I guess.

Now that I have finished the Malamud, and returning to that original article I see a section on Turkey (where my Pontic Greek ancestors come from) by Maureen Freely (who is a brilliant translator of Orhan Pamuk's books as well as an author in her own right - I'm afraid I have only read Mother's helper which I found hilarious), ... I'm just about to explore this fascinating idea of a transvestite detective in Istanbul (where I have been, and loved it for reminding me so much of the Thessaloniki I knew as a small child) ... lights definitely gone on in more than one favoured category area of my brain!

Favoured orientation

This is our front porch.

It is not something we thought about at all when we first viewed it eighteen years ago, but the front of our house faces South South West. The layout of the rooms is such that we have light all round, but in the summer the wall of windows which points North East keeps us in the shade while we view the gloriously sunbaked garden.This is the front door of the annexe, showing our front sittingroom window on the left, and one of my sewing room windows on the right.

The front garden too is in full sun, so our idea was to have strident brights there, as a kind of welcome when we return home, I love the three reds from back to front/right to left of the penstemon, the crocosmia, and the potentilla. I don't know what caused the kink in the kniphofia!

and something jolly to walk through as we go out. In the back, the much larger area, with interest in shapes and shades, the colours tend to relaxation and contemplation. This all benefits from the lovely changing light from dawn to dusk.The little clematis is a monster in that it vigorously gets everywhere - but is beautiful with it.

A second flowering for the alpina to keep company with her normal summer-flowering companion.

We are also lucky that our house goes in and out to make private areas and different views.

The annexe patio

My mother likes just to be surrounded by lots of bright colours and scents.I noticed this morning that the wisteria has brought forth a second flowering. It is keeping the long south-facing wall of my sewing room cool so that I can now go there to get on with the less exciting job of making and stitching on sleeves for the quilts.

Summer! -?

The summer has been hiding for so long now. On Friday this was what the English seaside looked like.However, today the sun is shining, and it's hot (well, I know that 25 degrees C. is cool for some of you, but it's all a matter of contrast). The garden at last looks appropriate in the bright midday light. I make no apology for the bleached-out look - indeed I sought it as I snapped at the plants outside the back of the house. The strong shadows work well with the different textures and shapes of the many kinds of green that we like so much. Sweet peas with a stunning dark wine colour, and such large flowers too. I have grown them for the first time this year, having ordered them as young plants from Sarah Raven. From three plants I get five vases full every few days. This one does not have a scent, but the other two do.
The cosmos will flower later in the year, but meantime the foliage is gorgeous.I always like to see the sun through leaves, or the faded petals of this euphorbia for instance.Somehow the seedheads are attractive mixed in with all the greens too when the sun is shining - although they do look a bit miserable when the clouds gather.The herb patch is full of parsley - on its way to becoming pesto: a fresh taste as a change from using basil. I really enjoy making a series of salads in the summer, so now I can start indulging myself. Well, there's sunshine promised for a week, anyway.

Grace in greys

Vilhelm Hammershoi: Interior, Young Woman seen from Behind (detail)
c. 1904 Oil on canvas 61x50.5cm
Randers Kunstmuseum, Randers

As well as visiting the RA Summer exhibition last weekend, after a pause for lunch to cleanse our visual palet, we also went upstairs in the same building to see Vilhelm Hammershoi: the poetry of silence. It was not ideal conditions for seeing the show - a symphony of greys, interiors and figures as still lifes, mood, light, and contemplation - but it was better than not going to see the show at all. I'm not bad at compartmentalising visual input, up to a point.

I was intrigued by Hammershoi's work when I saw a postcard many years ago. The rear view of a woman, with the fabric and the nape of the neck treated like still life along with minimal furniture, ceramics, and interior architecture stayed in my memory long beyond the circumstances of the viewing. Then I read bits of press about Michael Palin's 'discovery' of this artist, and the intrigue was stirred once more. Also, when I read In praise of painting by Ian McKeever, and he talked about the effect of the Botticelli, (see my post of 19 March 2008 - for some reason I cannot link to it directly) my mind brought back the image of that original postcard (now long lost).

I am too a devoted fan of grey. So how could I not see the exhibition - even though it would be on the same day as the multi-facetted chaos of the Summer exhibition, and there would be crowds - when the paintings should be seen in quiet solitude, .... Nonetheless, I shut out the rest and concentrated with joy. He is not Vermeer, nor Chardin, nor Morandi, nor Vuillard, nor Bonnard, ... yet he has elements of each of them. He was a driven specialist, moved by elegant line, form, light, air, and touch too. His ceramics tell you how smooth they are: how they would feel to touch, to lift. The fabric is velvet, or wool, or cotton. The empty rooms are quiet, but hold memories of harsh feet on the bare wood. The air is fresh, moving gently between all those open doors, cool but too light to be properly cold. This is the artist's Northern light.

Vilhelm Hammershoi: Resting 1905 Oil on canvas 49.5x46.5cm Musee d'Orsay, Paris

Years ago, when dealing with Japanese publishers, they told me how much they admired the nape of my colleague's neck. This part of the female anatomy was one which greatly attracted the Japanese male - and I thought of that as I looked at these napes. The nape excites tenderness and violence, perhaps in equal measure. Here the rendering looks like an exercise, an element like the ceramic, the glass of the windows, the wood of the doors or the floors, the fabric of the clothing - but also like the rendering of the carefully tidied up yet escaping hair on the top of that head (because it is usually his wife) there is an exquisite element of loving humanity. Love from the artist, and love from the sitter too.

Like in black and white photographs, the restricted palette of these paintings speaks in a more complex language, entreating the viewer to look, and to look in order to see.

This July 14 2005 post has a comment on the Palin film, here is one review of the current exhibition, here is another, and here are some reproductions. It is both a blessing and a frustration that Hammershoi's work does not reproduce well. The images in this post are also on two of the postcards I now have, and for once these serve only as reminders. Too often the postcard itself is the image which settles in the mind when it is the painting which should be referred to for the full magic.

Anatomy of a (probably failed) design

My best designs - well, best for me - come to me from the mysterious inner workings of my brain, and over time I can trace some of the threads of thought, influence, and emotion which took me there. Sometimes I try deliberately to build up a design, and rarely it takes on a life of its own, and works. More usually, however, it does not work at all. Now, I don't know if the latter would start developing positively if I kept at it; but so far I have learned to just leave go. Items on the back burner are rarely wasted and turn up later when my brain pops up with a successful solution.

I am often intrigued by what my subconscious has cooked up from the ingredients of my experience, and so I thought I'd write a post about a recent design. This one was brought out of the oven too early I think and not useable as is; but it has a lot going for it, and it will turn up again soon I suspect.

The background input is my recent trip to Thessaloniki. My cousin and I spent a lot of time together, discussing a mutual problem: we both had difficult emotional relationships with our parents when we were children, both longed to leave those parents behind, yet have both ended up having to care for our mothers. We also spent an intensive day in the museum of Byzantine art discussing icons (I like them, she doesn't) and their symbolism.

Other visual ingredients were photos of plants taken on a visit to a garden just after my return from the trip, and of textiles during a sort-out of our attic. So the inputs were both recent and deep seated - usually a good combination.The drawing of the figures just flowed. I usually start with the vague size of image I want to end up with - and then resize the whole depending on whether I'm using photographs or scans for a background. If I'm starting from scratch rather than using a figure or drawing I already have, I draw the figure(s) with black or dark grey pen on a white ground, positioning them more or less where I want them. Sometimes I will use photos for reference - for the positioning of a limb, or somesuch, but not this time. This time the figures flowed very quickly (indeed the whole process was very quick for this design), probably because of the recent memories of so many icons. This is usually not the final manifestation of the figures, although I must say that I don't move them about much in general. But details like the hats I seem to have given this pair (goodness knows why!) or the predominant direction are changed.
Direction is an interesting question, and in this particular case it's a stumbling block for me. It's a question of positive and negative energy. Those of us who read from left to right read movement in a right-ward direction as being more positive, a movement forward. My problem is that this image is a dual one of mother and young daughter, with the mother as being the more dominant force - and older daughter and mother, with the mother still being the more dominant force even though she is the now the more vulnerable. What has happened is that I inserted conscious thinking too soon in the process!The initial background idea formed itself as soon as I saw photos I'd taken of shrubs and flowers: the range of reds, pinks, burgundy, etc. with greens, and with contrasting kinds of lines created by leaves. As I said, this all came together very quickly, and I posted this initial stage. Indeed it could be described as a useable stage. I think that this could be ok when stitched. But ok is not enough.
This design is still in many ways the sum of its parts, and in order to be a good design it needs to be more than the sum of its parts.

In clearing the attic I've been disposing of various bits of textile (or not: I still have too much stuff). However, I decided that I would photograph pieces anyway and keep them that way, perhaps being able to use them in future work. Included in that photo session was a woollen stitched cushion made by my mother when she was a girl, a touristy dress I'd been given on the Greek island of Hydra many years ago, and the first bit of patchwork I'd done when we lived in New England over 20 years ago, and just happened to be in the right colour areas.Dissatisfied with the design, I fiddled about with it - never really a good idea, although once in a blue moon fiddling does become positive creativity. Not this time: I went too far, and then beyond too far! But all the same, although the last stage is too much for various reasons, such as trying too hard deliberately to make use of the attic stuff, and perhaps because this is a Greek story, and the patchwork is alien to that, and other reasons including purely design ones,... all the same, this not a screw it up and throw away situation. Back it goes onto the back burner, until my subconscious can take the intellect out of gear, and do something worthwhile with it.

The annual mixed bag

Like Margaret Ramsay, we have our annual outing to the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition.The sculpture in the courtyard is a piece I know and love: Anthony Caro's Promenade, which we have always previously seen in the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. I personally much prefer it there, but I enjoy his work so much, I'm happy to see it almost anywhere.

The exhibition is traditionally a mixed bag of Academicians and others, professional or amateur, hung floor to ceiling, and cheek by jowl. Special rooms are designated for prints, tiny paintings, sculpture, and usually one chosen artist. But apart from in the last, other works sneak in - or sculptors submit drawings, prints, photographs or whatever rather than sculptures. There is far too much to see on one outing, but unlike Margaret Ramsey we only make the one trip.

This year the jostling of visual statements did not seem so bad. There was more clarity for each piece, not just because of marginally more space, but also because loud was hung with soft, busy with calm, colourful with monochrome. Somehow it was easier to rest the eye on one piece at a time - or mostly, anyway. But inevitably I think that most of the work does not give of its best in this show.

An artist I much admire is Ian McKeever, and this year his big painting was set clearly in a prominent place so that it could breathe. But still it did not sing as I have experienced his work soaring before. And his two smaller pieces were lost for me, low, crammed in. As this is a common experience I no longer expect to enjoy artists whose work I seek out in other contexts. The Summer Exhibition for me is like a pot-luck bag which provides pleasant interest, shrugged shoulders, boredom, and the occasional gasp of delight.

The moving image captured my attention this year. I was not impressed with Michael Craig-Martin's self portrait in changing colours, but on the other side of the arch was a delightful series of shorts by David Marchant. As someone who was lucky enough to see a great many brilliant animated films from Canada and Eastern Europe when I was young, I would include this in a similar category. More contemplative were two very different pieces in the room which Tracey Emin organised and chose the hang.

Shaun Gladwell's Storm Sequence was one I could have watched for almost as long as I can watch the sea. A skateboarder at the sea shore moves in a dance, with the sound only of the sea so that there is no grating clatter of the board. A wondrous contemplative piece.

Contemplation of another mood resulted from watching Barbed Hula by Sigalit Landau. I was drawn into this, compulsively watching the apparent horror of a naked woman hula-hooping with barbed wire. On one level it feels almost amateur in the making because of a woman in a black bathing costume and large watch who walks by without seeming to notice the horror - but in another way it adds to the horror. And I wanted to peer to see whether the weals and tears in the flesh were real because they don't seem to relate to the swing of the hoop. But nonetheless it is a compelling work which is thought-provoking, a political piece which both shouts and cries.

Two large paintings which did seem to benefit from their position were Untitled by Julian Schnabel in Tracey Emin's room, and Freund 66 (Remix) by Georg Baselitz. These two faced each other, each at the end wall of their rooms, and with three rooms in between their own stood out in the crowd.

Sculpture which appealed to me included Ron Arad's beautiful stainless steel ping pong table which can be seen in some of these Rex photos of the exhibition. Also in polished stainless steel was Untitled 2008, a piece by Anish Kapoor. And at the other end of the sculpture spectrum a delightful small work which I would love to have: Measuring Personal Space by Bill Scott. It is mostly carved bits of painted wood, a three storey space about a half metre cubed, laid out rather like an acrobat's gym, with the figure there himself. I am sorry that I cannot find a picture of it or anything similar, but I can link to perhaps my favourite item in the show: Anthony Caro's model for an installation.

A Romanesque church is attractive enough to excite my interest, but one with an installation by Caro is definitely a must-see, and the large model on show got me very excited. Not only do I want to see the final installation in the Bourbourg chapel, but I also received a shot of inspirational energy.

Not just knees - but mostly

Henry Moore: Seated mother and child

A trip to Farnham just twenty minutes away by car is usually a pleasant one. We have also discoverd that the Oxfam bookshop there is just the destination we need for recycling our unwanted books. There are three galleries we visit in Farnham, and we went to all three after dropping off five boxes of books (we are having a serious clearout!).

The New Ashgate gallery is a commercial one which also has temporary shows. At present they have some prints - the Modern British Print collection on loan from a London gallery - which we very much enjoyed seeing. My favourite by far is the Henry Moore above, and I particularly love the knees! I find that the movement they suggest animates the couple even more than the two heads of the child. I do so like those knees.

The two other galleries we visit are connected to the University College for the Creative Arts - a bit of a mouthful, but quite an inspiring place with a distinguised history especially in ceramics and textiles. For instance it was here that the textile exhibitions leading up to Cloth and culture now originated. The James Hockey gallery at the college has interesting temporary exhibitions, and the current show is also in the third gallery: the Crafts Study Centre.

Sandy Brown's The still point and the dance exhibition of ceramics was quite a challenging exhibition for me. By that I mean that I did not immediately like it. Indeed my initial reaction was one of dislike.

We started at the Crafts Study Centre which is a beautiful, elegant building, where craftsmanship sings out not only from the exhibits of the permanent collection, and from the display furniture, but also from the building itself. I find the temporary exhibitions are a delight in their display as well as their content - normally. I was disappointed to see a room which looked half ready with a few large pieces and a paper and wood Japanese tea room off to one side. The tea room and its wooden benches and table were elegant, but the ceramic teapots and tea bowls struck me as lumpen and without any kind of inherent spirit. Ah well, not my taste, I thought: I did not even like the black teapot on the brown and grey ceramic stand, the photographic image of which I had been drawn to - I found here no Still Point.

On to the James Hockey gallery round the corner, which containes large exuberant pieces of sculptural ceramic: The Dance. There is certainly spirit, movement, and a joyous hand here. But, still it did nothing for me. The photographs online had been more attractive than what I saw in front of me - not helped by the regular high pitched ear-piercing brain-sickening bleep of some security system!

Yet I was determined to see something positive. As I wandered between the pieces it struck me: surely they are in the wrong place. They should not be in a white cube gallery. They have the natural joy of spontaneous expression about them that is found in glorious graffiti. These pieces should be amongst people, outside in a busy built environment.

In a garden I think that they would fight with nature, would compete and lose. But where people walk on and in hard grey surfaces these swirls and roundels would certainly lift the spirits. In such a setting I could see myself enjoying the dance. I believe that moving the exhibition to the adjacent courtyard of the red brick college buildings would have set it free. Although they have been photographed in a white room on Sandy Brown's website, it is interesting how photography can distort just as easily as it informs - but the truth-telling of photographs is a whole other thought to thread.

Context is an aspect which does not arise much in exhibitions, because the content of most exhibitions automatically tends to fall within the context of the venue. Galleries tend to show the same kind of stuff that they are known for, or which suits the spaces they have - or spaces are manufactured or adapted to suit the art. Having gone to many many exhibitions over the years it was interesting to be discombobulated for a change, and to feel so strongly that the work was in such the wrong setting - in my opinion.

Here is another, different opinion of the exhibition, and here is a biography of the artist. In retrospective contemplation the exhibition mellows in my memory, although I still do not personally like the work (perhaps I'm just too much of a control freak in my taste) - but what stands bright and joyous in my mind are those Henry Moore knees!

An eloquent elbow

On my recent trip to Thessaloniki I acquired this delightful figure. I am very fond of these little terracotta figures, and this one appealed to me in particular. She sometimes looks feisty, sometimes sceptical, and sometimes resigned - but somehow never the same. She is full of personality.This small (10cm/4 inch approx.) figure is an exact copy of the original in the Archaeological Museum. It is possible to buy from a large selection of such figurines, and also metal figures too - all with their authentication documents. I acquired other copies too: two photographic prints of paintings by a member of the extended family, and a copy of The game of hands by Michel Francois. This last was a print of a photograph taken by the artist, and given free to take from a pile on the floor of the Museum of Contemporary Art. It took us a long time, reading and re-reading the instruction next to the pile, and even then I would not have taken one if my cousin had not rolled it up for me. Whether it is my 'Calvinistic' Scottish upbringing or some other influence, I have always been reluctant to take something for nothing. I'm always looking for the price to pay.This seems to be out of step with current society however which tells us 'you deserve it', 'you're worth it', etc. to such a point where some folks just reach out and take whatever they fancy right then. So often those who would throw up their hands in protest if described as a thief are just that when they copy someone's work.
But we all copy, don't we? There are many shades of grey between the black and white. I often use photographs by other people when I'm drawing figures. I will use elements of composition from artists in many media - or even use a photograph of a part of a sculpture, for instance as part of a design of my own.
The design above is one I used for my new mousemat. I don't think it's right for stitching, but I like it and like having it around me. I drew the main figure. Her garment is derived from my photograph of some knitwear I designed and knitted - so far so good. The background however, is derived from a photograph I took of a sculpture by William Turnbull at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. In a way I stole the result of all the original work he put into the surface of his carving - even though I overlaid colour, and adjusted it in other ways, and am not passing off his work as mine.

Or is it borrowing? Or is it being inspired? Do not we all use the art and designs of others as springboards to our own solutions, our own expressions? Centuries of tradition in crafts and art have grown through the copying of designs, colours, techniques. But we should be completely honest with ourselves about acknowledging who constructed the springboard, whose shoulders, hands, minds we are standing on.