released into the wild

I have been devouring books lately. Fortunately the library van is still chugging round every 2 weeks and the Wetterstones in town hasn't been closed yet.
Just as well as their advent closed all the other Indy bookshops in double quick time a few years back.
Finished The Rapture by Liz Jensen yesterday, she writes very well, richly and somehow in the "now" dunno what I mean by that. It just seemed her characters were living in a world I recognised, that is before it all went eco-catastrophe and religious mania..............but even that built on strains of behaviour and science I had heard of. It is set slightly in the future and goes a bit block buster at the end, but i did enjoy her intelligent approach to the madness.
Before that I read Mystery by JKellerman, absolute sensationalised rubbish.
I was so annoyed with him, that when I joined the Book Crossing website, his was one of the first to give away.
It is very happy contrivance for me. I have so many book cluttering up the house, even tho i do download quite a few, I do still prefer the actual pages.
With the Book Crossing wheeze I can just register them on the site, leave them somewhere and hope that one day I hear back from peeps all over the globe..................[well around here anyway] that someone has picked it up to read.
The other giveaway was The Gate at the Stairs, is that right, a novel by Laurie..........someone. It was a slow burner but in the end I enjoyed it. Of course I didn't want to leave 2 junk thrillers in the same spot, too shaming.
We went out to have a corned beef hash lunch at the Victoria, a country pub near us today, so i left behind my two prepared books - with Book Crossing labels to explain, stuck inside.
As was inevitable, a woman came puffing out after us to return them, just as we were making our Le Mans getaway.
So i had to explain the principle of releasing books into the wild.
Hopefully it will get to be a more slick operation.
In the past I have given books to friends [but do they really want them] and down to the charity shops [too much heavy lifting thru a pedestrianised zone] so this could be the answer.
I know the library is really perfect, as one has to return books but I am too impatient to get the new releases.
Have been to Wetstones already and replenished with The Sentry; The Last Werewolf and best of all the new Fred Vargas.
Yes, alright, they were doing 3 for 2.

blossom dearie

Yesterday was one of those sunny Spring days; no doggie to walk, but we went round the Long Fields anyway. We are learning to walk out without Hattie. Not our tree, it belongs to farmer up the lane, blossoms wonderfully every year and dares me to be depressed - about anything.

The magnolia is out again, too many flowers to count now, but cold windy day has made it easier yesterday

Our poor pear trees were cut back over the winter.

They are fighting back, but look very sad at the mo.

Goodness knows if they will have pears. Guess they will have a few just in desperation.

paper nylon

Yes the petticoats were "paper nylon" as Gillian says.

As I remember it we just used to soak them in hot water into which much sugar had been dissolved and then they drip dried on the washing line.

Dunno why we didn't use starch.

They used to stick out beautifully under the full skirts until the body heat from rocking and rolling melted the sugar again and we and our petticoats returned home somewhat limp but still sweet sixteen.

I have a pic somewhere but will have to add it later I guess. It is not very dashing, just me in black and white standing in my nana's back garden looking embarrassed and maybe in a fullish cotton skirt if I remember rightly. [Found it - only one petticoat i think]

I expect I was about 13, far too tall and with defiantly curly hair that led to me being nicknamed Golly, in those un-PC times.

My mother insisted I brush it back off my face, i hold much against my mother but that was one of the deepest crimes, she told me I would look awful with a fringe. Since leaving home I have never been without one.

stitchings

This hand stitched picture was on the wall of the Dorset house. I don't know if it was done from a transfer and instructions, it was certainly old.

I thought the variation of stitching in the clothes and scenery was really effective. It was also such an appropriate pic for the area. [double click on pic. to see the detail]

I enjoyed living with it for a week and thought i would bring this souvenir home with us.

I heard that I have sold the Dance IV piece at the library exhibition, this is good news as i wasn't at all keen on it.

I promised myself I would pull it apart and try again once I got it home, odds on I wouldn't, so it would just niggle.

So double good that someone else will take it home and hopefully enjoy it.

I did

I have been doing some "research" for my Open University assignment today. I have to do a bit of autobiography, so have chosen 1960 as a time of CHANGE. Hooray. I likened one of the boys at school to B Fury and when checking the dates, to see if they were close, I came across this video. Oh Boy, as we used to say, often, did it bring back memories. We girls used to get dressed up in very full and swishy home-made wide cotton skirts [at least 3 metres of fabric], supported by many petticoats [soaked in sugar to make them stiff], wide black elastic belts [with silver metal clasp] and pony tails [unfortunately my hair was short and very curly] and fore gather at each others houses on a Saturday afternoon to dance - together. I believe it must have been an early rehearsal of the mating ritual..........................

Corfe castle, everywhere we go it is grinning down on us.

The sun has been shining, blue skies, lovely scenery it is like a dream of summer. I expect to wake and find I am nestled drooling in damp leaves and mud.....presumably sucking a magic mushroom. But no, it is real.

suffering for art

On the way down to Dorset, for a few days away, we stopped off overnight in exotic Basingstoke. thought we would never make it as we got stuck on the M25.

Sailing round the clockwise ? loop we scoffed at the traffic jam taking root on the other side, and then passed miles of emptiness as that side of the motorway was closed because of an overturned car transporter.

As we were doing so well we decided to stop off at South Mimms services for an early lunch. All went well till we tried to rejoin at the roundabout.

What we didn't realise, was that this was precisely where they had closed the motorway, so all traffic trying to get on anti-clockwise was backed up to hell.

We spent an hour and a half stuck on the roundabout, all we wanted to do was go clockwise.

I nearly had apoplexy, no idea what was going on, no information. The driver is a persistent man and believes that in time all will work out, I tend to have a tantrum, it gives me something to do.

So it took 6 and a half hours to get to wonderful Basingstoke rather than a couple.

The satnav took us to the postcode, but no hotel in sight. Big Bad Basingstoke has a one way system, we now know it well, too well. At least half and hour rotating.

Next morning we went to the reason for all this faff, - an exhibition by Alice Kettle - worth every trial and tribulation.

Huge panels of her work hung in this excellent little museum gallery, the colours of the figures so stunning against wildly machined backgrounds.

Often she puts rich threads on the bobbin and stitches them from the reverse [silks would be too thick to go through the needle] mesmerising work, and maybe some clues for me and my background problems..........the gallery stewards liked the work, but not the wildly staring blank eyes "Zombies" one muttered.

Guess that wouldn't go down too well at home.

Pics can follow when I get back, not allowed to take photos, but 2 excellent catalogues can hopefully be scanned.

Saturday we drove on to the coast to this rather posh house we have rented for the week, cheaply because the weather is cold. So far the sun has shone every day.

daffs

Sploshed about a bit with a new box of textile paints. Then failing inspiration gave it a good seeing to with the machine.
Maybe I could work it up into a piece for Concept and Meaning exhibition, at a pinch. Who amongst the curators would dare argue [no-one really knows what it means]

Perhaps do another piece with a thin adolescent looking in the mirror and seeing a fat image.




However as usual have no idea what to do with the background. Maybe cut them out and put them on a background but "one I have prepared previously".




As usual nature does it better.















Pigeons don't quite fit on the bird table but they do their best.
Mr Pheasant is still sheltering in the garden, where he is most welcome, except that this week I filled the other bird feeders and dropped some seeds on the grass. Mr P strutted over to tidy things up, and in the process trampled at least a dozen daffs. Bloody men.
Keeping thoughts close to home as can't bare to think about Japan, Libya, Bahrain. Is it the end of times, no just usual chaos with everyone a bit scared of how many daffs they would trample if they try tidying up.

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.