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Friday, 19 August 2016

Post early for Christmas.

So the children are being bought new pencil cases and fresh school shoes.The supermarket shout sheets talks of Halloween and Bonfire night.The fashion pages explain how to be chic this autumn.

Get organised if you will or must.Think of the treats and consolations of other seasons.Be my guest.

Can I point out it is August.
The momentum of the year will,inevitably, roll on but I'm going to live in the moment.

The novelist Colette said "we have only the present but it is the greatest gift we have".

I've complained about the humidity and wilted in the midday heat but that's not the whole story.

The silent bookish shade.
The delicious breeze that sweeps your bare shoulders.
The smell of summer rain through an open window as you lie in the dark.
An ice cold drink that takes your breath away.
The nights when the Mambo gives you the energy to defy the heat and dance till you drop.
The mornings when there's Mozart on the radio  and a pot of tea rouses you in the sleepy heat.
Diving into shivery water.
A really good ice cream cone.
Brown sails billowing on the sailing barges.

There is nobody who cannot take a minute, an hour or a day to simply be.
To savour a simple pleasure.
I am not going to get to winter empty handed.I will need these things in February.My shoes seem always to have a residue of sand in them.Its still a book in a rucksack not a compact in a handbag.

I will not leave the party early. I'm going to drain the bottle.

Sunday, 14 August 2016

Boats and Bustan.

Down among the boats again today.
The countryside intensely green as we twisted down towards the estuary.
Sat with a basket of things I'd baked looking out over a sea like a vast sheet of silk that seemed to ripple like the fabric.A pale metallic blue.

Made me think of the exhibition (see previous post).

The explanatory notes said that owners and artists of the manuscripts (the bulk  925-1490) were sensitive to aspects of the art that we aren't.
We tend to focus on the intricacy , the age and the religious content.They ,on the other hand , we are told , valued luminosity/brilliance and intensity/saturation of colour.
The very best were where the artist had built layer on thin layer of precisely placed colour.Vibrant blues ,reds and deep greens.Especially the French and Persian ones.

It's a huge exhibition.I'll go again around Christmas.So this visit was a general look and then homing in a couple of favourites.

Two had the saturation of colour but other particular treats.

One , French , (1376 - 1379) had stark black text.The odd letter jutting out into the margin.
Each jutting letter made a perch.
On one sat a finch , on another a cuckoo and on a third a magpie had come to roost.
The birds were explicit in detail. I'm a bird watcher but not an expert.I knew them instantly.
Explicit and exquisite.

The second one was by Sa'Di Bustan and was Persian. ( Bustan means orchard apparently ). So in 1257 the artist ,Orchard, painted hares , deer , oxen and a swooping bird.
The oxen had the huge round horns you'd expect . He was a corker.
I stood grinning from ear to ear as tourists whirred round me. They were glancing at everything and looking at nothing.

Time and specifics that's what gets you there. Honing in on things and giving yourself time for them to become meaningful.
Whether that's green countryside , serene seascapes or something else.

Those eyes looking out from the medieval manuscripts have been at it a lot longer than me. But , there we all are. Gazing out . Thoughtful . The magpie , the oxen and me.
 

Tuesday, 2 August 2016

Nodding to the peacock.

Yesterday to the old fortress town and the secondhand bookshop.Several like minded souls browsing and leafing through books.
It is my custom, in the depths of winter,to read a couple of childhood classics.
Last Christmas was punctuated by volume after volume of the Swallows and Amazons series.
This time I come away with a couple of possibles wrapped neatly in a brown paper bag tucked under my arm.
Today over to the secret gallery.
Eric Ravilious and Edward Bawden ; some old favourites and a couple of surprises. Lovely.
 Then in the fine drizzle to wander down the tunnel,along the gravel path and through the hidden gate of the sequestered garden. Strolling round the maze in the rain. Sitting silent and contented by the summer house.Nodding to the stone peacock as I head off for a pot of tea.
Smiling as I remember I've half a batch of coconut flapjack left to go with it.