Alexandre Tharaud joue la Gymnopédie No.1 d’Erik Satie au coeur du musée. Continue reading “Gymnopédie No.1”
I’ve been suffering woods withdrawal, I’m yearning for a dose of the green stuff. It seems like such a long time since we ventured more than a few miles from home to go for a walk in the woods. So I’ve been scouring the archives for unposted photos, stashed away overlooked down the back of the sofa or hidden in the depths of a forgotten rucksack. Epping Forest has been out of bounds because of COVID-19 restrictions, but I managed to find a few photos we took earlier, before lockdown. Continue reading “Walking In The Woods (1)”
A blogpost by Robert Bruce:
It is a year since lockdown and during the whole period I have found it helpful to look upwards to the skies. It soothes and calms. It reminds us that the world goes on, mostly beyond our control. From our small roof terrace in Maida Vale and, when allowed, from elsewhere, this has been a year when clouds, mostly free from the vapour trails of aircraft, have become towering and tumbling symbols of freedom. But first: A wave of farewell to the old world we knew before lockdown. Now look upwards from the roof terrace. Continue reading “A Head In The Clouds: A Year Of Looking Upwards”
Bastien Weeger on saxophone and Julien Stella on clarinets, together called NoSax NoClar, recorded at the church of Notre Dame de Bon Port in Nantes.
Ever since they met on a train platform one day during a strike, Julien Stella and Bastien Weeger have never stopped intertwining their voices and imaginations in search of beautiful escapes. Their deliciously traveling music has the genius to invent its own imaginary folklore in the course of the dialogue, the two blowers mixing timbre, rhythm and harmony in the same gesture of a never ostentatious virtuosity and an astonishing maturity.
The River Lea at Mill Bridge in Wheathampstead one day last September. Another walk from the between lockdown daze. It seemed we were always walking back then, but nowadaze it’s let your fingers do the walking, typing keyboard dreams of freedom, stuck indoors again. Continue reading “Wheathampstead & Back Again”
For February we’ve a window of richly coloured paintings by Isobel Johnstone. Unfortunately the gallery is still closed, but we’re back in the workshop again, and socially distanced purchases and collections can easily be arranged by phone. Come and see. It’s a feast for the eyes. Continue reading “Oil Paintings by Isobel Johnstone”
This optimistic little painting was given to me by Christopher Corr. I’d told him about my idea to put seven trees on the roof of the new tower at Seven Sisters in Tottenham. Seven Sisters got its name from a sacred grove of seven elms that grew there in the seventeenth century. Christopher was very enthusiastic, but it has proved more difficult to convince the tower’s owners of the benefits of having trees on their roof. What follows begins with a Twitter thread I first posted in March 2019. Continue reading “Seven Trees For Seven Sisters”
We’d picked up a little brochure of local walks from Tourist Information in St-Florent, and this one was just up the road from the spectacular black and white church of San Michele de Murato. It was listed as Balade dans le Nebbiu (stroll in the fog). The Nebbio is the region of Corsica inland from St-Florent, a hinterland enclosed by an amphitheatre of hills, that takes its name from the heavy mists that descend in winter. Today was not sunny, but thankfully we were not enveloped in clouds. Continue reading “A Walk In The Nebbio”
Stuck inside my quarantine cell on a sunny April evening, sheltering from the coronavirus epidemic outside on the streets, sunlight and birdsong streaming through the open window, remembering how freedom of movement was once taken for granted, and how quickly we’ve adapted to our new limited horizons. I tell myself it won’t go on forever and escape into daydreams and memories of last year in Corsica. This was our first view of the church of San Michele just outside the village of Murato. Continue reading “San Michele De Murato”
We were on our way home, driving back to London by a circuitous route, still dazed and drained after my mother’s funeral, going through the motions and not really focussed, just not wanting to arrive too soon. From one Barbara to another. It seemed a fitting tribute to visit the Barbara Hepworth museum to remember our own Barbara. After a beautiful eulogy these beautiful sculptures can be remembered as a monument to her passing. Somewhere to pay our respects on our way home. Continue reading “At The Hepworth Wakefield”