Rowley Gallery Blog
I stepped out at lunchtime to buy a sandwich and found a John Constable in the street. I was stopped in my tracks by this painting in our neighbour’s window on Kensington Church Street. Such an unexpected and wonderful and privileged encounter; why are there not queues of spectators on the pavement? See it now whilst you still can before it disappears. Continue reading “A Local Constable”
This is how Notting Hill Gate looked in the 1920s. It was described as one of the most fashionable shopping areas in London. The Metropolitan Railway station can just be seen on the right and the Central Line station is on the left, under the TUBE sign. Swing round 45° anticlockwise and you’re looking down Kensington Church Street, home to the ever fashionable Rowley Gallery. Continue reading “Notting Hill Gate”
A little video clip of Ravi Shankar and George Harrison (Hari Georgeson to his friends). This was a pivotal moment. Ravi Shankar had been hoping to introduce western audiences to eastern music since the 1940s. These two were made for each other. Within You, Without You was always my favourite song on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. I saw Ravi Shankar just once. He was in the front row of the audience at the Barbican Hall. John McLaughlin and Zakir Hussain and all the other members of Remember Shakti bowed to him from the stage before beginning their performance, acknowledging that without his pioneering example they probably would not have been there.
This procession is at the British Library but we took a circuitous route to find it. We started out for old times’ sake from the Brunswick Centre. Sue used to share a nearby flat, the Gate Bloomsbury (now renamed Renoir) was our local cinema and later Coram’s Fields was always a favourite place to bring the girls, but not today. Continue reading “To Mughal India”
Christopher Corr has made a series of prints of water for The Nightingale Project, to be displayed at The Woodland Centre, an adult mental health unit at Hillingdon Hospital. He just sent us these images, no words, they speak for themselves, a river of pictures. Continue reading “Corr By The River”
Andrew Walton recently called in to see us on a visit to London from Oxford, and he kindly allowed me to scan his sketchbook. It is filled with a surprising cast of characters hinting at an intriguing automatic narrative. After a closer look I found …I am not sure why I write these things especially as I’m still clueless as to why I make all these drawings of people… Continue reading “Company”
Last October Howard Phipps wrote about Eggardon for Frames Of Reference, and he sent me a postcard from the nearby church of St Basil in Toller Fratrum, noting on the back that John Piper was keen on the font. It is either late Saxon or early Norman, with crudely carved figures on a limestone carousel and such an endearing image I wished he could have used it in his Eggardon post. Continue reading “A Talkative Font”
Here is an extract from a prose work in progress about family life in summer on Powdermills Farm in the 1960s and 1970s. My father, then head of art at Bournemouth and Poole College of Art, had hired a cottage there, in the middle of the moor, from the Duchy for £70 a year. No electricity, no running water, a ghost in the second bedroom, and sheep in the paddock at shearing season. It was a wild experience. Wistman’s Wood, primordial remains of the original Dartmoor landscape before its Bronze Age settlement, is a few miles walk from Powdermills, and remains one of the most atmospheric and haunting spots on the whole moor. The paintings were made on a return visit in 2009, and there are two of my father’s sketchbook drawings from the late 1960s. The poem comes from First Music, a sequence about Dartmoor, childhood and memory, in the 2011 collection The Rapture (Salt Books). Continue reading “From Powdermills To Wistman’s Wood”
It looks like 2013 is going to be the year of the goat. This calendar turned up under the Christmas tree. It’s full of spectacular photographs of goats in trees, mostly in Morocco. They reminded me of a meeting last summer in Cornwall with another adventurous goat. Continue reading “Goats In Trees”
El Botero is in Toledo, at the northern end of Calle de San Marcos. Marcos I am reliably informed means frames, so an auspicious location. Maybe St Mark is the patron saint of picture framers? It seems unlikely. But El Botero is certainly a fortunate spot. Continue reading “Feliz Año Nuevo”