building

Five of us [not the Famous Five or even the Jackson Five, obviously] went to see an exhibition of paintings by this gent who used his paint tubes to draw long lines and make reeds.

So textural, us stitchers loved it.

He was a friend of Francis Bacon [always a dangerous habit] but when FB denigrated his exhibition in the 70s, our man gave up the brush, what a shame.

The artistic muse is a fragile spirit.

We had a very nice lunch in the cafe out the back and then had a wander round the new Arts centre which seems to have managed to squeeze under the wire before everything goes on Ration.

It is apparently the Essex version of a Guggenheim.
We lost a building in town last night as some clever person decided [allegedly] the the local Muslims should not take over a redundant church, and so burnt it down. We do have an awful lot of churches, all those wool merchants
adding to Norman edifices, there must be at least a dozen in town. All very lovely.
There are 3 in this small village, none of them lovely.
However this burnt one was only a Victorian brick built one so no great loss, and maybe a nice new mosque and minaret will rise from the ashes.

The morning call to prayer will raise some hackles tho.

hanging

Can't resist showing the GG on the phone to moi.

He isn't always this angelic. tho when we were Skyping [daughter and I] after a couple of tantrums and heels drumming on the floor, she drew him a dinosaur and then he sat on her lap "drawing" away for his fascinated g'ma, {"see how well he holds his pencil!"]

A high spot; a low spot was hanging the exhibition at the library yesterday.

Most group members wisely handed over their precious work and skedaddled.

As the tallest of the five small volunteers, I ended up precariously teetering on a tall ladder trying to hook the picture rail [it is an old library, probably originally a Victorian school i guess] for two and a half hours.

But exhausted triumph was short lived when the librarian returned and asked us to move everything around [2" to the left?].

We exited with a merryish wave and left poor J to accompany the librarian round again.

She claimed that for insurance purposes we had to personally put up the work in case it fell and injured someone. Thanks

In the end librarian agreed that she would move it if J just touched it last.

Hilarious, poor J was there for another 2 hours "touching".

tripping

Went to the annual Textile Show.

It was the last afternoon the reason I suppose for fewer stalls and no demonstrators, but still colourful.

Felt sad for some of the stalls where stitchers had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to produce work and stuff to sell, but weren't looking very busy.
May be the same for me when we put up an exhibition at the library.

I have two pieces for Sale and two not. Doubtless browsers will show unexpected taste by not lusting after those for sale, but instead showing interest in the ones I actually like.




The library is round the back, one way streets of the small market town and I wonder if I will even get my car and cargo in the vicinity before closing time.




We have about 30 pieces to hang [by about 10 artists] high above the book shelves on the duck blue walls. All of us are possibly past the stage and weight when we should be teetering about on ladders, but doubtless won't admit it.
We had a nice roast dinner/lunch at the pub at the end of Devil's Dyke in the village of Reach

I particularly like the church with the double doors. Presumably once a school seperating the young persons before they got up to mischief and dedicated to St Etheldreda who is a new on on me.

In early Anglo-Saxon and Viking times, Reach was an important economic centre. Goods were loaded at its common hythe (wharf) for transport into the fen waterway system from at least 1100. Reach was a significant producer of clunch, a chalky stone; a new wood has been planted on the old clunch pits, where chalky cliffs are visible from early quarrying. Reach's use as a port continued until about 200 years ago.
Reach Lode, a Roman canal, still exists, and remains navigable. The village church, originally Holy Trinity School Church[1] and latterly called St Etheldreda's,[2] was built in 1860, on the site of the former chapel of St John. The ruined perpendicular arch of the old chapel is visible behind the new church.
Etheldreda' was an East Anglian princess, a Fenland queen and Abbess of Ely in the English county of Cambridgeshirewho decided not to grant her second husband conjugal rights. Despite having been married once before, it is said that St Etheldreda (also known as St Audrey from where we get the word 'tawdry') remained a virgin

Thanks Wikipedia


At the exhibition I liked these very small scenes I think of the local docks which are to remind me that small is sometimes beautiful too.

exit stage left

Mostly the funeral was annoying. A gathering of the tribes, all old, grey and ..........grey.

The vicar bloke at the crematorium spoke well and conjured up the wraith of Uncle Ron from the war in the desert, motor bikes in his black leather helmet pulled firmly round his ears. Only turning to a car, it is claimed when it became illegal not to wear a proper crash hat.

Thru his engineering and electronics jobs and up to date with his many clocks.

His son cried when his dad was referred to as his best friend [only friend muttered in my head]. We were sat behind and I wondered who was this little dishevelled lady sitting crying next to son [far left] then I suddenly realised it was my big, impregnable Auntie Cinders [in blue].

It was hard to see her gazing at the coffin in front of her, just crushed.

But that is what funerals are for, once we were all out in the cold again, curtains demurely closed around Uncle Ron] the tribes spent what seemed like hours chit chatting about what they had been up to since the last funeral, while I looked on feeling angry and guilty at the same time.

Uncle Ron lives stubbornly on however, as G**gle Street Map was down their road last year and captured him in typical mode fixing his car.

growl

It is cold, wet and grey and so am I. I suspect I feel much like the latest pic of the Glorious Grandson, perhaps with not quite so much attitude, or jam.

Maybe more jam would be helpful.

Paradoxically stitching is steaming ahead, I guess being stuck in [in all senses] frees the mind to actually do something practical.

Agamemnon the Cat is following us around closely purring which must mean something is wrong. Guess he is lonely without Hatters. He is vomitty too - don't know if that is a comment or a symptom.

Should have gone up to London today to see the Threads of Feeling exhibition at the Foundling museum - some of the fabric tokens mothers left with their babes in the 18th century in the hope they could identify and reclaim their children in the years to come. http://www.foundlingmuseum.org.uk/

Probably not really in the state of mind to withstand the inevitable brooding that would follow. Exhibition closes on the 6th March, maybe I'll struggle up there on my Old Ladies Train ticket before then. Doubt it.

Can't find a book to read either. Blacklands was my last success, excellent read if your nerves are tough.

Have chucked a succession of library books, and worse ones I have invested my Xmas book tokens in. The library van is still chugging round the villages every two weeks, doubtless it will get cut in the Big Society even tho it is manned by volunteers. No library left to service it. We have a Save the Libraries arty exhibition next month

Possibly readers will pour in, probably not. We are not a country known for revolution but we sure as damnation need one now. Library readers unite you have nothing to lose but your books.

Had a book recommended - The Existential Detective by Alice Thompson, looks from the blurb to be a bit bleak, I probably need something a little more cheery..........

Uncle Ron

Uncle Ron died this week. Like the clocks he loved he finally ran out of tick.

He was nearly 92.

Auntie Cinders [93] is bearing up, she has lived in their home for 55 years and I reckon she will stay if she can.

I don't know if she can keep all his clocks ticking and chiming, it is quite a manoeuvre winding them all up each week.

Uncle Ron was a very singular man, with his own teasing sense of humour and determination to do things his way, at his pace.

He was in the desert war, in the army, from which he learnt to love motorbikes; finally they graduated to four wheels.

Every summer they would decide where to go on holiday, and the very morning of departure he would invariably decide to strip down the engine and explore every widget till he was satisfied. Often they left a day late

He played the piano by ear, vamping with his left hand. He liked kids.

He played Scrabble and card games with mother, Cinders and anyone else they could rope in, till the early hours.

He demanded soup with his dinner and custard with his suet pudding or spotted dick. Cinders has arranged for Meals on Wheels to call now, finally she can stop making Bread Pudding.

Ian is their only son, he has most of Ron's eccentricities without the charm.

fossicking about

Still working on another three dancers. A friend told me that if this is Africa the light on the moon would be on this side as they are ...............in Africa.

I was impressed until walking home last night under a clear black sky, I saw old moonie reflecting in exactly this same direction. Guess it doesn't matter, it is meant to be phantasmagorical after all.

Have also been working on the matriarchal side of the family, I want to merge the pics in somehow, probably should slap some emulsion on it or something.

The table cloth was a gift and it feels a bit informal to cut it up, but I may take some of the squares behind and put them on the front and put some more white fabric behind the pics........and then machine madly.

Mother suggests just framing them individually, she may be right but that is not what i want, if only I did know what I want, I really really want.

The Time and Tide title for the summer exhibition is coming along quite well.

I painted a lace doily and printed with it and through it to make what turned into three panels.

I am trying to restrain my habitual exuberance and do something more subtle.

The doilies resembled ammonites [by luck] so i am doing fossils.

This is a print of Ida, a small 47 millions year old mammal.

So far i am pleased, which is unusual, not as smug as it sounds, as it happens so rarely and will doubtless end in whimper rather than a bang

exclaiming

Went to Cambridge on Tuesday, lovely sunny day, which was welcome as Cambridge can be very cold and windy.
We were looking to buy a new sofa-bed as daughter complains, when she visits, that the present one cripples her. Side effect of down sizing.
We decided not to be undersold and went to Jlewis and purchased a very low tech pull out brown thing. Doubtless she will say it is hard, but at least the struts won't cut into her hip. However now she is a working girl she is demanding we visit her, - maybe the money would have been better spent on a plane ticket....................except I hate flying.
She has somehow managed to take time to go to the Tuscon Rock and Gem fair with an admirer and GG. The latter is probably not so admiring at the mo, as she is now Manager of a creche and he doesn't appreciate not being the one and only, so he is biting! Better than packing a side arm I suppose.
I remember biting when I was a kid, the joy of that clenched jaw, but i think I only bit myself, or maybe I graduated to that when victims began to complain.
No.1 son is going to yet another wake of a friend whom, it would seem, has drunk himself to death at 36! merits another punctuation mark I think.
They had a White Trash wake combined with super bowl party as they decided the two teams were not interesting enough to have a special theme.
Class warfare alive and thriving in the states, surely not.
I have been going to stitching groups with well brought up and polite persons, so am feeling a little white trashy myself.
However the stitching is in a good place for once and my Poem has got a good response so far from tutor.
First line "Searching through the pockets of the dead" goodness knows where that came from, I heard it somewhere, but couldn't find it on googlies, but it is one heck of a start!

planted

Hattie the dog returned to us in a small but sturdy box, as she has been cremated.
Hmmmm.
Strange but true, at least we feel we have completed the job now as we drove out to a posh Plant Nursery and bought her a "rampant, semi evergreen?" rose to mark her spot, next in line to the 3 cats and Delta the dog, her lovely predecessor. Clara the chicken is on the other side under the pear trees.
One would think you would get used to this kind of thing.
The rose is Rosa mulliganii , white and banana scented flowers! Requires sun and well drained soil. Ours is very well drained and on a slope so that should be OK, only glitch might be there used to be another rose which died of old age nearby, and too late we remembered you are not supposed to plant another rose in the same place, so hopefully Rosa will be OK.
Now we are wondering what to do with the freedom, maybe a quick trip to warmer climes, possibly not the pyramids this time. One day hopefully when everything has settled into a glowing democracy. I am ashamed to think that I didn't really realise they were under military thumb, tho so far the army seems to be trying to be neutral.
When I was teaching I had a pupil who was the son of an Egyptian diplomat [such things happen in North London]. Mohamed was having a deal of trouble coping with the new language and a fairly lively comprehensive.
Obviously his dad sometimes helped with his homework, and I felt Mohamed was obviously bright so I recommended he come out of the learning difficulties stream [it was a while ago] and enter a class of his peers in the hopes he would catch on more quickly. I left that year so never knew what happened but did get a nice commemorative wall plate enthusing about Nasser from his dad. Felt a bit like I had been bribed, even tho it was reward not an inducement.
Maybe Mohamed is in Tihrer square at the mo giving voice to his opinions. Hope he is OK, he was very quiet in class.

PS the pic is of our rose as it hopes to be one day. This one is in the Sissinghurst White garden.

sights for sore eyes

It's raining catkins, and we have the first snowdrop in the garden, so life is returning, slowly but suddenly.

Walking without Hatters is a strange experience, I chunter on as usual, whether there is anyone to listen or not, but there is no lithe figure bounding ahead or snuffling behind.

We hit the tide just right to see these waders down at the hard. Think they are sandpipers in amongst the oyster catchers and redshanks.........maybe. Where are the binoculars? never where I am.

Adam

This is more like the real colour.

arting about

Fortunately had already arranged a Day Return to London to see my lovely friends Ruth and Adam. So that took my mind off sadnesses for a while.










Since a spotty teenager I have been besotted with Epstein's sculpture and the Modern Sculpture exhibition at the Royal Academy gave me the chance to see Adam.







Even more dramatic from the front. He is so gorgeous, huge in honey toned marble, I wanted to lick him, but Ruth [who is usually up for a lark persuaded me to desist]









Ruth, recently moved back to London, is 82 and walked my feet off. She was trial running a new posh wig, it had got a bit lively by later in the day.
We especially liked seeing a Hepworth inside a building for a change. Altho the artists like their work to be seen out in the elements, it is actually engrossing to see it dominating a smaller space [and warmer].

Damian Hurst's Eating Outside wasn't much of a shock having formerly made friends with his shark and sheep, most of the flies have died and pile grotesquely on the floor even tho they have recently been refreshed with new steaks to suck.
The pics are all from their website by the way as they wouldn't allow photography and the catalogue was pants.













Queen Vic on the left is looking down her nose with full "we are not amused" at the plastic contemporary version of Genghis Khan on the left hand side. The Royal mound is marvellous, so solid and pompous but with such a cheery gold frippery above her that at first I thought it was ironic, guess they may have sarcastic responses bubbling under in the mid 1800s


I guess the reason I loved the exhibition so much was the clever curating that juxtaposed
ancient [from Easter Island; Ancient Egypt] and modern and for the first 3 rooms it was all accessibly figurative
Even the Eric Gill's could be appreciated if one didn't allow ones mind to wander to his abuse of the daughters he carved so delicately.
Lots of artists have been omitted from the show. I would like to have seen a Rachel Whiteread Elizabeth Frink maybe not a Gormley [don't take to his wire figures] and won't go far to see the gore of the Chapman brothers.
Gilbert and George are already on show else where.





Of the modern stuff I probably like this Switter? hut best, it has a vaguely textural feel. There is another in the front entrance which many walk by not noticing it as "Art"













Behind the Academy there is another exhibition of Art Fashion Identity



These felted tunics took my eye and more disturbingly they were showing that video where in 1965 Yoko Ono did "Cut Piece" where the viewers were invited to come up and cut of pieces of her clothes. Which of course they did. Very chilling and not in the cold sense, but there again it was cold in that it made my blood run cold, as they say.

There was another video loop where two naked people stood in a doorway, man and woman facing each other and persons in the room had to squeeze between them to get out of the gallery.







My skin afterwards felt as if I was wearing this pin dress, very prickly and ...........cold.

The Sixty Minute Silence video made in 1996 of a formal pic of a people dressed as a phalanx of police was a much warmer and funny experience, especially when one of then fell asleep and had to be nudged by a "superintendent".



Lovely trip, thanks Ruth.

hattie the dog

Sad news is that Hattie the dog had a bit of a stroke on Friday. We nursed her over the w/e but she got no better and although she was obviously still willing in her mind her poor old body had had enough.

So today we had to take her to the vet.

RP carried her in, and I stayed with her at the end. She was happily chewing a biscuit as she left us.

We miss her very much. I am so angry, she was a perfect pet, a bouncing joyful part of the family.

in memory of Nigel

One of my stitching groups is faced with a Regional Challenge. We are part of the SE Forum of stitching groups, so each has to concoct a collage type thingy of aspects of one's region. We discussed at length and have about 20 possible areas to develop. One that caught my eye is pargetting, of which there is quite a bit in Suffolk.

So when in town this week I took some pics of the local Ancient House, with my new camera lens. Dropped the last one and broke the focusing motor whatsit.

New Year Resolution Do not hang camera on door knob any more

Do more sketch book work.

I quite like this one and may have a go at an Sample. The other Suffolk trademark is Suffolk "pink".

This was the tinted whitewash that used to painted on the cottages to refresh them each year. Some say that the pink tint was achieved from crushed fruits and berries, others that it was bulls blood and some red wine.

These were taken by Felting Needle
blogger.

I especially like this simple mark making

There is also some rather sweet wood carving

adrift in Norfolk

Before we wended North I started this piece, possibly to cheer the grey day.

However as it is quite large it is a bit too chirpy so I have taken the ladies off and put them on a darker background..............and added hair.

Not sure Picasso would approve. Now of course I am stuck in exactly the same place as before, what to do now.................the ladies were stuck to the background before, having peeled them off they are now merely tacked on, so I have to think of a way to stitch them down I suppose...............oh dear.

Whilst in Norfolk I solved the problem by taking lots of balls of wool with me and crocheting a big squarish "throw" from the ever reliable trebles. Half done so I can revert to it tonight when I am sick of poking the above.

Millions of pink footed geese fly over head clacking away, camera can never catch enough of them, probably they are actually chuckling, especially at all the twitchers anxiously twirling their long lenses and not having much more luck.

Hattie the Dog can still do a tight turn at speed, but she did flag a bit after the long walks. Given her unreliable rear end RP took her out 4 times a day to make sure we maintained our £100 deposit, [rather than hers] so she really had a work out.

The cottage had 4 televisions! living room had a 42" and bedroom a 32" - frightening. We have one 28" at home. Rather than march around with Hats I watched a lot of very colourful snooker or read Xmas books.

The Reversal by Michael Connelly was a return to form as they say.

Three Seconds by Roslund and Hellstrom was an intricate tale of how long it takes for a missile launcher to crash into the prison hostage before the taker can move and hide in the ventilation shaft. Guess how long? Hope I haven't spoiled it for you. I could have left them behind on the traditional shelf but they are both spanking new hard backs so I will try and loosen my hold and pass them on from here.

From the shelf I read a Lisa Scottoline, a sort of slightly tighter Stephanie Plum type tale.

One day we went to Blakeney to pick up a new cup for RP as we had broken the last one. The church there does a nice line in fine bone china mugs, and the man does like to stick to his traditions.

From their shelf I plucked Sarum by Edward Rutherford the epic yarn of Salisbury from Ice Age to recent times..........1344 pages. I have found the Stone Age hard going but hopefully it will pick up.

on TV

Took a box of Xmas amaretto biscuits to textile group today as part of New Year generalised good wishes, now I have tooth ache.

Is there no justice. Usually I take a packet of crisps and watch everyone else get fat, but the festive season got to me and I tried to be nice.

New Year was quiet, watched the fireworks on TV; before that passed the evening watching In Ception also on TV.

Strange film, sort of metaphysical and wham bam thriller at the same time. Far too much bamming and not enough exposition about getting into the 3rd layer of the dreamers subconscious. Never really believe Leonardo de Caprio either, to me he is stuck as a puny teenager even with a beard.

Have been lusting over the Swedish Wallandar films tho, sub titled on TV, the guy is fat and blond but somehow extremely ...........ooomph And then there was the new Zen series on the TV, I don't care if Rufus didn't look or act at all like the book, he is beautiful.

It is my Mr Spock syndrome that is my undoing. These intellectual bottled up types, very wowy.

xmas is over

Daughter, flying without a safety net as usual, sent me these slippers she had made by felting a sweater. They fit perfectly and I feel like an amiable panda padding around in them. I have often admired people who can do this kind of thing, daughter knows no fear. I would never try, being convinced they would never fit etc.

Another plus, after comfort, is that unless I stitch leather soles onto them i can't go out to the bins. Oh what a shame.

Tragically the parcel I sent her and GG hasn't arrived yet.

Also the Christmas Cactus has flowered on time, maybe it waits for the snow. It's a nice splash of colour.

Everything outside is a very muddy brown, except for the holly berries. I didn't get round to making a holly wreath for Xmas.

Mother insists that the day is now definitely longer, being past the solstice. Doesn't do much to cheer me yet. The fairy lights are all we can rely on for a cheery glow.

The birdies seem to be back, goodness knows where they hide to survive. Now it is milder we have the tits and finches scrabbling on the feeders, so tiny and fragile. Gulls and pigeons bullying each other for the bits of ham and bacon on the Van Gogh.

The cat doesn't even lift an eyelid preferring to sleep by the radiators.

I have knitted RP the back and front of his boring grey sweater if it doesn't fit it won't felt, even if I was brave enough to try, as he chose cheap acrylic wool.

Asked Ma to do a sleeve as I thought she would welcome something to do, of course she just interpreted it as me needing the help to get it finished before Next Xmas. I swear she doesn't have a positive thought in her ancient old noddle. No wonder my generation are scared to try anything challenging. Boo Hoo.

She stomped home off home clutching the wool and the remaining mince pies, I guess Xmas is over.

Dino and friend

Happiness is a warm dinosaur

mixed Xmas news

Sparkling bright but freezing St Stephen's Day. [Apparently Boxing Day is the first week/working day after Xmas.]
Have horrible bullet hole in my left shoulder blade, well that is what it feels like. I guess it is some arthritis type thing and seems to zing excruciatingly between shoulders lately. A hot water bottle is the only relief known to woman.
Xmas Day went well, if you like the peaceful kind. Wrinklies all turned up and ate and sported themselves in front of the roaring fire, with Aggers the cat. The fire didn't actually roar but it did send out atomic heat from the primeval age when the trees first hit the swamp.
No TV, as Retired Person's retired father is deaf and can't/won't hear without the hearing "loop" installed. RP's retired mother took the opportunity to do a long Hattie walk with No 1 son while I sat and knitted RP's jumper. My ma regaled RP's father with chat, most of which he was blissfully unaware of.
There is now far too much turkey, chocolates and biscuits in the house.
I did discover the joys of a whisky mac, which made everything seem even cosier. Also have invented a Guiness/lemonade shandy which pleases. [I stay away from wine because of headaches]
All the offspring phoned/Skyped and warm words were exchanged. GG was seen pursuing an electronic dinosaur round the house. It was almost as big as him.
I remember [dire phrase] being presented with a giant plastic clothed elf doll when I was smaller than it and screaming the house down in fear. GG is made of sterner stuff.
He also has a giant bag of giant lego which may prove constructive once he stops tossing it at the dinosaur.
No 1 son had finally got off his bum and rented a holiday house near San Francisco with 7 other stick insects [messengers in lycra] and was actually sounding happy, which was encouraging.
RP's son lives in Bristol but not near where the poor young woman got deaded, I presume she was murdered, either that or the golf was particularly boring. The sight of her anguished parents appealing for her return was unbearable.