Frames of Reference

These Paintings Are Of Themselves

I am grateful to James Kalm for giving us a private view of this Brice Marden exhibition of new work in New York. I love it. I love these beautiful, shaky, trembling, late paintings. To look at them is to unravel them, to see how they were made, and witness the hand that painted them. These paintings are of themselves, but also of everything else. They’re calligraphies written with hand-held branches, they’re a web of tree-top canopies, they’re the mycorrhizal networks in the forest floor, they’re the internet cables that connect us and separate us, that tie us together and keep us apart, they’re the vessels that run through our bodies. They’re survivors of a world that is fast disappearing, they’re reminders of why we are here. Thank you Brice.

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These paintings are of themselves

The Truffle Hunters

I’m still waiting to see this gorgeous film, but for now here’s a little taster. Dogs, fungi, trees, what more could you possibly ask for? Except to see below for an extended preview. Continue reading “The Truffle Hunters”

In Siracusa

Long ago and far away. 2018, in the back streets of Ortigia. Before Brexit and before Covid, when holidays were not so unusual. I’m looking back at old photos as a kind of vicarious vacation, an escape from our day to day to yesterday. We’d been here for a couple of weeks, exploring the island and the countryside round about. On this day we walked from Ortigia back into mainland Siracusa to discover the Latomia dei Cappuccini and the Catacombs of San Giovanni. Continue reading “In Siracusa”

The Life Breath Song

A wee film poem nature song. I found this over at Caught By The River. Kathleen Jamie asked the Scottish public to submit lines for a communal poem. She received hundreds and hundreds and knitted them together with help from the Scottish Poetry Library into three films. This is one of them.

Half An Alphabet

David Hollington’s Florilegium continues in the Rowley Gallery window through November. The first thirteen paintings of an alphabet of flowers, from A is for Aquilegia to M is for Monarda, though some have sold and been taken away, others have sold and remain for the duration, and others still remain to be sold. In the meantime David has added thirteen illustrated miniature letters, A to M, half a painted alphabet. Continue reading “Half An Alphabet”

Gymnopédie No.1

Alexandre Tharaud joue la Gymnopédie No.1 d’Erik Satie au coeur du musée. Continue reading “Gymnopédie No.1”

Dido’s Lament

Dido’s Lament is the final aria from the opera Dido and Aeneas by Henry Purcell, performed here by Annie Lennox and London City Voices, first heard a year ago, and now again, more than ever, its echo resonates. Continue reading “Dido’s Lament”

The Armada

I drove to work early but I arrived late. I’d forgotten about all the extra school-run traffic. It was 9:30 when I got to Notting Hill Gate and my ticket was for 10 o’clock at Piccadilly. I walked through the park, dodging cyclists, dazzled by trees, energised by the green space on our doorstep that I so often overlook, thinking I must do this more often, but knowing I wouldn’t. I should’ve been working. It was 10:10 when I got to the Royal Academy. Continue reading “The Armada”

Jabulani

Jabulani / Joy / Rejoice

Abdullah Ibrahim (piano), Barre Phillips (bass), Makaya Ntshoko (drums), John Tchicai (alto sax), Gato Barbieri (tenor sax).

I never tire of this music. It springs from the earth.
The musicians bear witness and catch it as it flies.

The Story Of The Skids

There was an exhibition of the illustrations for this book at Fire Station Creative in Dunfermline, Fife. Tomorrow night there’s a book launch at Vout-O-Reenee’s in Bethnal Green, London. There are some words below from Jonny Hannah, but at the time of writing, alas, no pictures just yet. Maybe we’ll see some later. Continue reading “The Story Of The Skids”