The madness of March

Barry Flanagan: 30ft Acrobats

What a month this has been! I have not blogged at all simply because I have had not a thought worth threading. On top of various other circumstances, my husband and I have the worst cold ever - still going strong after over two weeks. Surely it is time for the wheel to turn.

In an article on the wondrous television series The Killing, today I was reminded of a quote from Nietsche (not someone I normally turn to at periods of despair) about those who look into an abyss having the abyss look into them. This reminded me that one contributes to the luck one experiences, and that a positive outlook is what is needed.

Meantime I have been reading: Sara Paretsky Body work, the new V.I.Warshawski, Donna Leon A question of belief, Val McDermid Trick of the dark, Alice Thompson The falconer, and I am nearly at the end of Jane Smiley's wonderful Private life. These have sustained me in a pleasantly cosy cocoon while my fingers and creative brain have been idle. I have Lindsay Davis's Nemesis and an author new to me: Camilla Lackberg with her detective Patrik Hedstrom in The ice princess to help me back to full brain power.

Just before the Jane Smiley I read a book of many delights: Muriel Barbery's The elegance of the hedgehog. This is a beautiful book, full of detail, humanity, philosophy, and for me incredible sadness. Already inclined to be weepy if not wail-y these last weeks, this book had me in a deluge. But I loved the book, and immediately ordered The Gourmet, which I shall try before long.

With all these straws clutched, I'm sure that I will have fashioned a fair basket before the end of Spring!

Relief

After 'playing dodgems' with the crowds in the Watercolour exhibition it was a great relief to relax and enjoy looking at, contemplating, and being inspired by the Naum Gabo display. I have always found his work thought-provoking, and with my current longterm pondering of 3D within my own work, this quiet perusing of his philosophy and practice was a delight all round.

Mixed medium

Rebecca Salter: Untitled MM15 2008

Watercolour is the current blockbuster show on at Tate Britain. I try to avoid blockbusters, not only because I hate crowds, but also because the more the visitors the greater their rudeness, I've found. Anyway, despite that I gritted my teeth because I do like what some people do with the medium, and I wanted to see what the Tate had done with its presentation.

Jenny Franklin: Scorched Earth, Regeneration 2001

There were so many people that I gave up any idea of seeing each piece of work, and concentrated on spotting individuals to examine. I am sure that I missed a lot, but on the other hand there was more than sufficient there to keep me happy. I have included a few of my favourites here - the Rebecca Salter pictured is not the piece in the show; you can see that here. Another favourite was a work titled Ruin by Uwe Witwer, but I have not been able to find an image of that.

Edward Burra: Valley and River, Northumberland 1972

It was interesting to see a historical overview of the medium and techniques, but somehow that aspect of the show is more damaged by the presence of crowds. Really, it struck me that this was just like going to a quilt show where really it is the quality of individual works which make the impact.

Peter Doig: Driftwood (Yara) 2002

Reviews can be read here, and here, here, here, and here. The first of these points out another association with quilts in that the first mention of the medium can call up images of nice ladies amusing and distracting themselves. We found it a most interesting exhibition, despite inevitable gaps, and the crowds of course, and there were inspirations for me in individual finds, and an especial delight in finding a tiny atmospheric piece by Victor Hugo.

Not least of course was another chance to see the work of Turner. Such chances should never be turned down because every time, EVERY TIME I see his work in watercolour I see a sliver of pure genius and experience awe and joy. Indeed so powerful are the works of Turner that everything else seems to be on a different level completely.