111001 false alarm

This week I was fortunate enough to spend a number of hours visiting two major art collections: first the Barber Institute of Fine Art in Birmingham, the second the National Museum in Cardiff. It is always fascinating to see artists represented in different collections; paintings produced perhaps a few years apart: different but complimentary. I saw two examples of Richard Wilson for example, two of Corot, two of Whistler, many by Gwen John, two by Howard Hodgkin. The first viewed in England’s second city, the second in Wales’ first city.

In Cardiff the visit was followed by a well spent half hour in the Martin Tinney Gallery in St Andrew’ s Crescent. This was followed by a boat trip on the aquabus down the Taff to Cardiff Bay via Penarth, followed by a quick dash into John Lewis where we watched a programme about my favourite US artist Frank Stella, then finished with an evening in St David’s Hall listening to the BBC National Orchestra & Chorus of Wales (with choristers from Hereford, Gloucester and Worcester Cathedrals).

The rendition of John Adams’ deeply felt tribute to the victims of the 9/11 tragedy was as expected very moving and there  followed an interval. It was just coming to a close with requests for us to return to our seats when the announcements were swiftly replaced by orders for us to evacuate the auditorium immediately. Traipsing at a snail’s pace down the stairs from level 3 behind the elderly and infirm we naturally thought of those caught up in the twin towers a decade ago. Fortunately for us the firemen soon declared our emergency all clear and we were allowed back in to the auditorium to hear Thierry Fischer conduct Beethoven’s Symphony no. 9 with Rebecca Evans, Hanne Fischer, Andrew Kennedy and Matthew Rose. It had been a false alarm.

If only that had been the case ten years ago.

110711 Malvern exhibition

An exhibition of thirty paintings by husband and wife artist duo, Sara Hayward and Paul Powis, has just opened at Malvern Theatres.  Sara’s distinctive paintings draw inspiration from her travels to places she has visited, for example, Venice and St Ives, whilst Paul’s landscapes are inspired by landscapes around the Malvern Hills as well as further afield in Italy and Spain. Sara Hayward studied at the Ruskin School of Drawing & Fine Art at Oxford University before going on to study printmaking at the Royal College of Art, London. Paul Powis trained as an abstract painter and became interested in landscape when he moved to Worcestershire from London in 1988. The exhibition runs until August 21st.

“As you enter the theatre, the paintings inspired by Venice which are hung on the main stairs, have an immediate impact due only partly to the richness of their colours. The apparent simplicity of these works belies the care with which the elements are arranged. Because these works by Sara Hayward are displayed together they successfully display the axiom “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” Each work enhances the next by its proximity and together they create a beautiful aide-memoire for those lucky enough to have visited this magical city.

Sara’s other works, inspired by coastal environments benefit by a similar unity. They reminded me of the seaside holidays of my youth. The viewer is invited to look through the open window, as if on the first morning of a fortnight away. It’s sunny, the wind blows the curtain aside and all’s well with the world.

In the restaurant area are works by Paul Powis. These draw their inspiration from further afield. Adopting a subjective approach to the colours in his palette and introducing semi-abstract elements, lift these works above the mere representational. The colours “sing”. The spacial elements achieve a satisfying harmony. It is clear to see why so many corporate clients have bought Paul’s work. It’s a pleasure to see so many of Paul’s paintings together,” says Humph Hack in his review for the What’s On online review site Remote Goat.

 Also on display in the theatre are paintings by artists Nicola Clark and Tracy Jolly.

110401 study of a foot

In layers of Prussian blue wash this is a lively study of a foot. As the model sat on the couch,  only her instep touched the floor. I like the roughly drawn nature of this study and the lack of strong outline: just the essence of the foot and lower leg have been depicted.

sketch book study in medical dictionary: Comrie, J.D 1931 News Chronicle Home Doctor Morrison and Gibb Ltd., London

getting lost 110123

Have you ever stopped to think about the clothes you most remember from childhood?

When I was young I do recall having a little red raincoat with a Peter Pan collar, a smocked yoke and red heart shaped buttons with white contrast trim. It swang as I walked and was an obvious throw back to the 50s, and I loved it. A few years later I was the proud owner of an in your face multicoloured anorak with a zip fastener that must have been in the sale because the first day it was worn was the hottest July day on record and I couldn’t wait to wear it round to my best friend’s half a mile away; needless to say I arrived two stones lighter and glistening to put it mildly. The next coat I remember was a navy, white and red ski jacket which was fitted and very flattering; having never been near the ski slopes I could say I felt a fraud, but I didn’t, just comfortably sporty and a willing standby if the Winter Olympic Committee needed an outrageously optimistic volunteer. These outer garments were all colourful, flattering in some way, and in some small way memorable.

Not so yesterday when I was wearing a Weetabix coloured Michelin man duvet coat making me blend in with the bleached winter landscape and resemble a well lagged hot water tank. I didn’t mind since we were immersed in the Worcestershire countryside on the Three Choirs Way near Madresfield. Well camouflaged with the landscape and looking rather like one of the hills,  a fresh cold breeze kissed my chops as I plodded through the red earth taking most of it with me and my walking boots began to resemble clay goloshers. As the stream we were following meandered we decided to extend our walk by going off the beaten track. Our only mistake was not to have a map with us and as the late afernoon light started to fail and we’d covered another couple of miles the yellow footpath arrows fizzled out leaving us lost and on the wrong side of the water. I wasn’t so much worried about traversing the brook, feet and boots can always dry out after all,  but irritated I’d a) forgotten my waders, and b) might have my eye poked out as we scrambled through dense undergrowth flanking the stream.

Following our noses and with beating hearts we were lost for a while; indeed I was just starting to wonder if a search party needed to be called, when we came across a bridge further upstream.  Phew! Our adventure was over and I suddenly realised I’d quite enjoyed the sensation. Perhaps we”ll  leave the map behind more often. Maybe it’s good to get lost once in a while. In any case the generous padding of my coat had kept me cosy as the temperature dropped and protected me from the brambles as we brushed through undergrowth.  As with all our walks the steady rhythmic traipsing of our steps took on a meditative quality as oak leaves rustled beneath our feet and winter twigs cracked underfoot, ideas distilling. The January darkness descended fast as we came full circle to our starting point, I not only felt relieved but exhilerated.

My faithful beige duvet coat is a little more beaten up now, mud splashed torn and worn,  like an old family member in fact. But it can be washed and  mended and in years to come will be remembered by the walk we had on that day we very nearly got lost.

Thaw (extract) 110102

Thaw (extract)

Grey growler lurches forth

Past soft edged solid road

And low light snow surfaces

As disconsolate trees breathe…..

Dreary sledges in long night mist dim straight abreast

As white town turns

And leading magpies blankly glide;

Eternal ice flow drips and grey grime skids -

As this grey dawn starts to thaw.

breakdown 101116

red bracken hurdle

blackens underfoot; all part

of winter breakdown

single 101115

rambler now alone

skirts around bull field towards

single track highway

windfall 10113

as apple harvest

ripens and fruit falls from tree -

stumble on windfall

sitting down 10816

The other day was one of those post summer pre autumn days when the sky is unexpectedly the brightest blue and you’re tempted to drop everything and go up on the hills. Well I was immediately tempted and after scrambling up near vertical shale emerged on the summit of Midsummer Hill breathlessly, looking around for a place to sit down. Which particular tummock or hillock should I choose? A little to the left or a little to the right? Into the wind or out of the wind? Sunny or shade? Decisions, decisions. So I just sat down. Simple. Just where I was. All the vistas were spectacular so any would do for my bramble scratched limbs and aching behind.

Not so easy when you’re in Venice however. You might walk all day, taking in the sights, mooching around pretending you’re a local, but try to sit down for a moment and you’re stumped; it’s as though all benches have been banned. Plenty of squares, but benches? Non, Signora. You can park your butt inside a church on a pew, or outside on the pavement if you’re that desperate, but search around for a bench on which to rest your tired aching limbs, and you’ll be walking all day.  It’s alright for the locals, you see,  they can go home. Perhaps the Venetian community think they clutter up the place. Who knows. But if you’re an artist wishing to sketch and make notes – tough……you’ll just have to stand.

So maybe a campaign should be started, “Benches in Venice” Or even “BENCHES IN VENICE NOW!” which sounds a tad more urgent. That way the next time I visit I’ll be spoilt for choice, with benches everywhere – imagine,  I’ll be bench hopping like mad. Sadly the locals will also be up in arms, blaming that Venice is sinking due to all newly acquired benches; all that extra weight, you see: bums on seats.

landscapes 10824

delicious landscapes

make sweet the interior -

cherries on the cake