Over the weekend we went ‘out’ out to Exeter Cathedral to hear the music of Radiohead played by a classical music ensemble.
In many respects a surreal experience . Watching the sun go down on the creamy Salcombe Stone of the cathedral’s walls was more magical than the flickering candles that were setting the intended ambience of the performance. Listening to English rock music from the nineties, played by classical musicians in a sacred space made us lose any sense of which century we were in or what genre of music we were listening to.
Outro from Karma Police
Karma Police was not a track played by London Concertante but they were certainly in the building.
I love an empty seat in a welcoming space. Two empty seats are better, but not essential. This empty seat is in an old stable block that has been turned into a cafe. The stable block is about 300 years old. Horses are no longer an every day essential, but a cafe is the beating heart of contemporary culture. It is absolutely possible to imagine horses in these buildings until cars pushed them out of their bespoke buildings. What is impossible to imagine or consider is what will be the next in line when humans no longer need a cup of coffee and a place to sit down.
Over the weekend I believe I finished my project of creating art inspired by the work of JMW Turner and his locations. I have been focussed on that for about 6 weeks. Doubtless some of the stuff I have learned along the way will stick with me. The random technique that I really like is staining watercolour paper with cold tea. So here are some tiny tomatoes in the saucer of a blue glass cup and saucer caught in sunlight. Nothing Turneresque about it apart from tea stained paper. To be clear Turner did not dye his paper with tea but it was an option to create paper that was more authentically matched to watercolour paper of 200 years ago. I might also try bolder colours like beetroot or turmeric.
Since I transitioned from a career in Medical Imaging that could never have been a balanced work/life experience to the life of a work from home artist, a state of equilibrium exists most of the time. Our move to a seaside suburb of a city was a deliberate attempt at making life more balanced.To throw a little spice into the mix I also do admin for a tennis club. Prior to that I did admin for a large group of Artists. That involved far too much driving and artists can be very slippery fish to manage. The tennis club is just a short walk away and the view of the office is enchanting.
As it happens some slippery fish also play tennis but not in quite the same proportions as the art group. Beyond the unpredictable admin of a tennis club my work/ life balance pivots on a fulcrum of domestic admin v creativity. The balance changes on a daily basis.
I don’t believe I have ever made a sacrifice in life.
I have, however,often given up something I valued for the sake of other considerations.
Surely that is just part of normal life and does not deserve the grandiose title of sacrifice.
This morning I got out of a comfy bed to let Hugo out for a wee. An entirely practical consideration in my opinion. I chose to do that.
I am wary of people who say they sacrificed something. The word is just all a bit too ‘drama queen’ for my liking.
But yesterday some light pruning occurred in our yard. Old blooms cut off to allow new blooms to flourish. That is about as sacrificial as it gets in our house. Anything else is a choice.
Creatively, I am embedded in a pre-1820s Plymouth. Trying to imagine life in my local neighbourhood as JMW Turner would have seen it, but also wanting to include contemporary aspects that would have been unimaginable and crazily futuristic to him. My normal life goes on around my creative thinking. When working in the studio radio and the dogs are my constant companions. The Work in Progress above is a concatenation of yesterday’s studio time. Apparently, mid-May is when semi-sea swimmers return to the cool waters around the British coast. Yesterday was named by the BBC as Dippers Day.This information was a news infill on the radio station I was listening to. A semi-sea swimmer only partakes May to September.
As a year-round swimmer I suppose I have noticed an increased number of swimmers in the last couple of weeks.
Lunchtime Thursday
Yesterday was glorious, my lunchtime dog walk was fabulous and there were many joyful Dippers Day Dippers. The whole concept set me off on a great procrastination when I returned to the studio. Sea swimmers in the 1820s in the style of Turner. Not on my schedule at all.
But it will be today, after I have joined the Bobbers for a post-dippers day bob.
All over the place, from my old on-call bedroom that overlooked Turner’s Harley Street backyard, in London, to a grubby underpass 1/2 a mile from home. Via a rubbish tip in Plymouth, which nestles into a quarry that Turner sketched while he was staying at Saltram.
Grotty underpass embellished with colourful graffiti.
It has had me reading a lot.
Coming towards the end of the painting bit of prep I had left the most local location until last.
Confident that some research on my morning dog walks would give me the prize of a replicated location. Imagine my horror, the old bridge, when viewed from the former military hospitals, had vanished. Lost to view by a modern busy road. The creek that Turner viewed was blocked off, dried out, and turned into sports pitches.
Finding the actual bridge from the south side took tenacity. Taking me to the underbelly of urban Plymouth. Dirty footpaths in industrial estates smelling of weed and piss. Littered with broken glass, gas canisters and abandoned knickers. But last minute luck was with me. Plymouth is the home port of Princess Yachts.
Their Stonehouse boatyard has the only view of the old bridge. A quick email to the company, to ask if I could have access, was required,because the perfect tide and perfect light only coincided yesterday and today. Thankfully unlike Turner I could turn up with just my phone and a small camera. Turner would have arrived with a horse and cart, painting boards, paper and an easel, paints and brushes in a box, sandwiches and some bottles of beer.
I was in luck, Christine from the sales team was quick to respond to my email and I was welcomed into their elegant reception area. Then taken to a room with a view. And what fabulous views, high tide, gentle morning light and boats. So many photos to work from.
Below are a couple of work in progress images.
I think the bottom image has more of a Turner vibe, lets see what happens over the next couple of weeks.
In a lovely twist of serendipity a couple handed me a book later yesterday, showing the old bridge from the direction of the industrial estate.
The arrow is roughly where I took my photographs from.
It is such a shame this piece of history is so hidden from public view and not celebrated as one of the world’s most influential artists chosen subjects. My thanks to Princess Yachts for giving me access.
The early distractions of yesterday, a misplaced work i.d and fob, a jumper delivered to a friend and the purchase of some dull, but essential art stuff all fitted quite easily into the early part of the day while the domestic goddesses, Madams Dishwasher and Washing machine did the hard graft.
All should have been set for late morning artiness but fate had other plans.
Yesterday was planned to be an art day with a side serving of domestica turned out to be quite a different type of day. Starting with a scene of domestic bliss, pale linens blowing in sunlight.
Our Springtime Yard
Moments later the springtime yard was draped in pale linens as the high (20 foot) washing line broke.
My Dad (born 1931) and my grandad ( born 1888) were very practical men and regularly mended high washing lines so I knew it wasn’t a job beyond me. I had even bought a spare washing line, when we moved into this house, for just such a moment. Planned , preventative maintenance was my thought at the time but I procrastinated and found myself in an ‘ emergency’ situation.
Nothing in my recall of stringing a high washing line involved the macrame nightmare that I created yesterday. Two hours later the washing was once again drying in the sun. All the colours of a domestic victory dancing in my mind, projected onto the twice washed linens.
Linens in the style of Tamara de Lempicka
Would I have been better off using YouTube for instruction rather than relying on intergenerational knowledge?
I don’t think so, and I am a big user of YouTube to fix things. But those ‘How to’ videos are so slick.
Learning from my dad and grandad taught me the art and tolerance of non-slick but effective repairing. My Grandad dealt with washing-line macrame by deep puffing on his pipe and a quiet walk around his garden with his arms held behind his back. My dad would retreat into his shed emerging with the macrame tamed into calm coils of new washing line ready to be strung up.
I have neither a shed or a pipe habit but I have tolerance and tenacity which in my own way beat the macrame.
What’s one small improvement you can make in your life?
If I could eliminate non-productive distraction from my life I would have an extra hour or two every day. My problem with being certain that I want less distraction is that I never know if distraction is an entirely bad thing. Distraction only happens because something interrupts me and I am too nosey to let it pass, usually because my interest in what I am doing is wavering a bit.*
*I am able to be super focussed and single minded. In the right conditions I can turn my ears off.
To be pedantic, I only want the right amount of dull and pointless distraction removed from my life. The joyous life-enhancing distraction is always welcome.
There has been way too much of this in our yard. Warm walls and gentle rain has brought out a parade of young snails on a Monday morning. My early morning cup of tea ,with birdsong, was somewhat ruined by watching dark snails of all sizes make their way up my crisp white walls.
Time to redirect the snail population off my white walls and into the snug, bijoux, terracotta paradise that is my composting system. Which means collecting them in a pot and moving them myself.
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