Four early cucumbers from the yard. But these are not the big-ticket items of the day. When I tipped them out of the bowl there was a tiny bead, in my favourite colour of verdigris. As I rolled it in the bowl it grew legs.
She was quite the big, small, surprise!
Her reaction to me is unknown.
Once a month a craft and food market sets up on the route of our morning dog walk. In good weather on a large grassy square and in bad weather in disused buildings. Either location gives the market a buzzy lively feel. Yesterday was market day and we set off on our usual dog walk with the added quest for Fig and Fennel Sourdough. Both were achieved alongside a bit of nattering to neighbours and fellow dog walkers. Our afternoon dog walk took in a quick visit to the JMW Turner exhibition that I am involved in.
Also quite a buzzy feel and plenty of people to chat to, just no hunt for an obscure flavour of sourdough.
A good Sunday,I think. Even if my mind is popping with all the images and nattering.
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.
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.
Where has prepping for this exhibition taken me?
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.
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.
https://www.princessyachts.com/
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.
We have been growing climbers in our yard for about ten months.
Last year we missed the most dynamic part of the growing season so none of the climbers bloomed with anything more than the short lived flowers they arrived with. This year, the first where they have had almost a full year in our care they are all slow to get going. But first a climbing rose and now the Wisteria are putting out flowers. Just as the first rose bloomed its stalk became too weak and it was rescued to live a brief life in a shot glass. Yesterday the first wisteria bloom snapped off the plant and has been rescued into the kitchen, this time in a milk bottle.
A good excuse for some still life photography but hardly the Yarden of Eden we had imagined. The pollinators are not queuing up to buzz and pollen-up their bottoms any time soon in our yard. In contrast to our blooms the wooden bug hotel is terrifically successful brown, scurrying non-photographic things live a busy metropolitan life under and around our water butts. Worms live a happy terracotta life in our improvised composters, enjoying coffee grounds from around the world, tea bags and the occasional dog poo. If yardening were a sporting event our Mid-May results would look something like this.
Brown Things 6- 2 Pretty Things
The pretty things scoring a two because the roses have learned how to both bloom and hold their heads up.
When I moved to the Plymouth area for the first time from Brighton, in the late eighties, I was not so sure it had been a wise move. The cultural and societal differences between a liberal and multicultural seaside city and a post industrial port were vast and uncomfortable for a long while. I quickly found my tribe by joining an art class.
Plymouth artists liked to drink in out of the way places. One such place was the Victualing Office Tavern, a grubby pub in one of the roughest parts of Plymouth. We went there to enjoy live jazz , rock and folk. Just as the quote says, we were a very broad gathering of people from all works of life. People creating art in council flats and some in homes that were mentioned in the Doomsday Book. There is a theory that artists are the first sign of gentrification….
Now I live in the exact same area as my 1980’s art excursions, after a ten year return to London. The VOT has gone up in the world, as has the area. Queen Victoria should have swapped the word dangerous for interesting.
Visionary rather than vituperative is a better way forward even for a Queen
Just a blog to use one of my favourite words that rarely gets an outing.
Queen Victoria was a Vituperative Old Trout.
The VOT best bar in Devon!
For many, Easter is a four day weekend. Thursday evening seems just a little more relaxed than normal in anticipation. But two days of great weather have given way to a deluge. Luckily I caught sight of a group of paddleboarders at high tide and sunset. When the weather was being kinder
I took one of my ‘bad’ photographs and, inspired by my puddle photograph of yesterday. I created an image with similar bold colours but enhanced the softness of colour reflected in water.
I decided to slightly change the location and relative size of the paddleboarders. I will tinker with them some more over the next few days.
I suspect that this will be my image of Easter 2025 as I tweak it into submission, in both senses of the word, ready for an exhibition in May.
As an aside to all this, my workspace is finally finished. It has taken us 6 months to find exactly the second hand furniture we needed to store regular life and art materials. We never intended bright pink to be an accent colour but an old sari is the perfect cover up for works in progress on the table, and my lovely old typewriter is just the perfect shade of beige.
Even as I write the words ‘perfect shade of beige’ I realise that this tidy work space is another piece of great procrastination. I need to set to and get on with the work for the Turner Exhibition at the end of May. But while it was in a tidy pristine state yesterday I sat and filled in the application form on line. When I was done, not a thing was out of place.
It didn’t last.
A silky morning walk with some breaks in the cloud. The quiet chug as the river ferry collects passengers. Just a whole lot more charming now the Greige has lifted. I fear this is a temporary lull. Storm Éowyn has booked herself a place on our coast from tomorrow.
Having never read or watched Game of Thrones I don’t really have an expectation of the name Éowyn. My JR Tolkien reading days are long ago and I have no recollection of his character Éowyn. But it is a really beautiful name so I am hopeful of a storm that does no harm and creates beautiful sunrises and sunsets. Most importantly I would like the winter greige banished for more than a brief moment. For now I am more than happy to accept the silky calm that precedes her.
23 Days to Boxing Day.
Pondering efficiency. Hmmm, Tuesday turned out to be rather efficient. Some Wednesday things were achieved a day early. Dawn today saw me with the realisation that I had some free time. The Bobbers had a morning swim planned which I realised I should no longer avoid.
I’ve been 5 weeks without a cold-water swim. 5 weeks also without putting the world to rights with my bobbing friends. 5 weeks without bobbing cake.
My early morning consideration was to wear a wetsuit or not. A wetsuit is a tedious adjunct to a bob so the decision was made to go into the sea in skin. A great decision as it turns out. Chilly for certain but a real mental and physical boost. Bobbing friends are one of the great positives of the COVID years.
My efficiencies of yesterday were largely centred on the tennis club that I help to run. I was there very early and took the photo below.
The tennis club has two grass courts, a fabulous garden and a spectacular location. I found a lovely piece of prose about gardens last night. Written by Derek Jarman in 1990, a favourite Punk Polymath of mine. The two needed to be put together.
So D for 26 Days to Boxing Day has emerged. D for Dawn.
August 31st and it is still summer, only just, the summer tide is going out. But not before the bobbers managed a historic bob, with P.S Waverley the world’s last working Paddle Steamer coming into the background of their evening swim. A paddle steamer and three choices of cake. It really was an epic bob.
Our Cornish bobbers got to see the Waverley twice, catching her again on their return across the Tamar.
Still summer, a phrase that uses the word ‘still’ two ways.
It is still summer but summer has also slipped into its still phase. The last summer storm, Lilian, happened a week ago. She was a screamer for a few hours, rattling chimney pots and screeching up our cobbled back lanes before stirring the sea into a murky stew for a few days.
Since Lilian we have slipped into the still summer phase, no raging heat, gentle rains, crystal clear seas and some really lovely days. Not that I am looking at Summer 2024 with rose tinted glasses. She arrived shockingly late when June had already started and Spring hardly made an appearance. Tomorrow we hit the first day of Autumn/Fall, lets hope summer drags her heels a bit and leaves as late, if not later than she arrived.
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