Rowley Gallery Blog
Piazza Vecchia, the Venetian styled centrepiece of Bergamo’s upper town, the medieval Città Alta, high on the hill overlooking the modern city of Bergamo on the plain below. Judging by the cars I’d guess this postcard dates from the 1960s, but there were no cars parked here when we visited last summer. The square was pedestrianised for the flocks of summer tourists. Continue reading “Bergamo Alta”
A walk around the narrow streets of the città murata, Como’s walled old quarter, a dense network of narrow, pedestrianised lanes at the centre of the city. An aimless wander through the maze of streets and some random photographs for souvenirs, mementos, frames of reference. Continue reading “In Como”
I discovered this film thanks to Caught By The River and Nowness. A brief evocation of Prospect Cottage and its endless garden by Howard Sooley, photographer of Derek Jarman’s Garden.
Busie old foole, unruly Sunne,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windowes, and through curtains call on us?
Must to thy motion lovers’ seasons run?
Sawcy pedantique wretch, goe chide
Late schoole boyes and sowre prentices,
Goe tell Court-huntsmen, that the King will ride,
Call countrey ants to harvest offices;
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clyme,
Nor houres, dayes, moneths, which are the rags of time…
Thou sunne art halfe as happy as wee,
In that the world’s contracted thus.
Thine age askes ease, and since thy duties bee
To warme the world, that’s done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy centre is, these walls thy spheare.
from The Sunne Rising by John Donne, 1633.
Bellagio is smack dab in the middle of Lake Como, at the top of the Triangolo Lariano, the triangle formed by the lake’s two southern branches. Think of Lake Como as an upside-down letter Y and Bellagio is nestled in the crotch between its striding legs. If Lake Como is a cyclist then Bellagio is its saddle and there were lots of cyclists climbing the road up from Bellagio to Monte San Primo. Continue reading “Bellagio & Bicycles”
Our house swap this summer was to Grasse in the South of France. Grasse’s inland location allowed us to make forays into the mountains as well as get more easily to various beaches along the Côte d’Azur. Our favourite area was Théoule-sur-Mer with its orange rock pinnacles, white pebble coves with azure pools. Continue reading “Contemplating The Depths”
The Cutty Sark at Greenwich was a good place to start. It was the weekend of the Greenwich Tall Ships Festival, the biggest gathering of tall ships in London for 25 years. They had all set sail from Falmouth to race to the Isle of Wight before celebrating in Greenwich. Continue reading “A River Walk”
Cathedral Green at Wells, the eternal stone partnered with an inflated upstart. We arrived just in time for the Somerset Schools Folk Dance Festival, a ceilidh for more than 2,000 primary school children, all stepping and skipping and turning circles on the green. Continue reading “Wells & Mells”
A line from one of Raymond Chandler’s thrillers inspired the start of this poem, Shelley’s Ozymandias inspired the end, and time gave me the middle, worked on through the winter and spring of 2014, taking for its model Richard Seifert’s 1972 Brutalist Kings Reach Tower by Blackfriars Bridge, where I worked for a number of years at a west-facing window on the ninth floor in the Programmes Department. The soundtrack includes field recordings from Novi Sad, Posnan, Rue Git de Coeur in Paris, and Soho, and the fire was lit in a pot belly stove sometime in 2007.
Tim Cumming / The Rowley Gallery
PS: Tim is performing in Bournemouth on Friday 27th June at the Vita Nova theatre for the launch of Issue 2 of Boscombe Revolution. Tim’s film will be shown alongside live readings.
This is Sailing To Shanghai, an early painting by Christopher Corr. We sold it recently to a fellow traveller who was curious to know its story, so I asked Christopher for more information. He sent us a few words and a lot more images. Continue reading “Sailing To Shanghai”
This large letter B is on a rooftop in the Born district of Barcelona. Is it B for Barcelona or is it perhaps B for Born in Barcelona (that old Springsteen classic)? Or maybe it doesn’t stand for either, especially since it’s lying on its back. Maybe it’s B for Brossa, the Catalan poet, playwright and artist Joan Brossa. He liked to play around with letters and it seems to be on the roof of his theatre. We found it when we came looking for Lottie who lives nearby. We met her under the B for Beer. Continue reading “B For Barcelona”