Water is elemental, it’s what we’re made of, what we can’t live within or without.
So begins this wonderful book by Leanne Shapton. I’d seen her paintings at Lutyens & Rubentein but hadn’t realised she was also a writer. This is a memoir of her days training as an Olympic swimmer and of how that obsession shaped her later life as an artist. I’m no swimmer, maybe a gentle back paddle, preferably in a river rather than a pool, but I’m buoyed up by reading Swimming Studies.
We left the car by the duck pond at Wickham St Paul. After breakfast at Spencer’s Farm Shop of coffee and the best bacon sandwiches north of Columbia Road Market we walked down Rectory Lane past hedgerows heavy with hips and haws, and with elderberries and blackberries. There were hazelnuts and crab apples, hops, sloes, bullace, sweet chestnuts and acorns. There was ivy and bryony and guelder rose too, and there was lots of surprising blessed sunshine. Continue reading “Castle Hedingham”
Through this drenched and complex summer I have gazed in frustration at a garden weighed down with its own entanglements. As I hopped, skipped and jumped through incessant showers to the studio I was the beneficiary of some damp osmosis which gave me colour and form for my Deluge series, and a happy series it turned out to be. The only sting in the tail being exhaustion for weeks afterwards. Continue reading “Deluge”
Kenwood House is presently under wraps. It’s not a Christo sculpture. It is undergoing a thorough refurbishment, £6 million of lottery funding and some from English Heritage. The collection of paintings is now on a tour of the USA. Continue reading “Kenwood In The Rain”
See more work by Jazmin Velasco at The Rowley Gallery.
This arrived just too late. But the exhibition continues until 26th October so there’s time to see it. Mary Kuper celebrates 100 years of books in the Saison Poetry Library collection with an exhibition of images, poems and etymologies suggesting a play between the words poets use and the meanings buried in their forgotten roots and histories. The title is courtesy of Joseph Brodsky. There is also a beautiful handmade book printed by Mary herself. More here.
This is Dominic. He’s a picture framer. You’d never guess! But on November 4th he will break free from the constraints of conformity and for a few brief moments become a crazy vertigo defying stuntman. All in the name of charity. He will abseil down Battersea Power Station, but he needs your help. Please support his attempt to resist the power of gravity by visiting his JustGiving page.
Jelly Green‘s cows are now installed at Kensington Place. The famous mural has been put into storage to make way for a new exhibition space to be known as The Art Wall. As Dominic observed, it’s less of a mural, more a mooral. Which is one way of looking at it. They are very direct, very ‘in your face’ as one of our customers described Jelly’s paintings. They are a face to face encounter, one to one, nothing else is important, no need for superfluous background. There’s a spark kindled by those magical, energetic brushstrokes, a spark of recognition. Continue reading “Jelly Green At Kensington Place”
Whilst writing the previous post about Cornwall I remembered this set of Richard Long photos, the first thing I ever framed for myself. See the beautifully joined corners, marvel at those hand-cut windows, but note that I neglected to put any fixings on the back to hang it, so for 25 years or more it’s just been standing around. The photographs and text were printed by Coracle Press as a concertina booklet, and although I often visited their tongue & groove lined gallery in Camberwell, I think I bought it at Arnolfini in Bristol. It was titled A Day’s Walk Past The Standing Stones Of Penwith Peninsula. Kai took one look at it and immediately decided that was to be my challenge, to walk those nine stones in one day! I’m not so sure. Continue reading “Penwith Peninsula”
Running and painting surprisingly have much in common, the main similarity being that they are both totally engrossing activities. Both are an integral part of my life where withdrawal symptoms occur if stopped for any length of time. They both allow me to lose myself in the struggle and sheer pleasure of the activity and forget any other pressing problems. Continue reading “Running & Painting”