Julie Speed: Eyes to see (image from here)
After much hospital to and fro, latterly to have a needle biopsy (don't ask!) which should bring a definitive answer this week or next, I am still stuck with my ascites, discomfort, exhaustion, not being able to eat much, and with intermittent sharp pain, and of course worry. The thinking so far is that I have bowel cancer spread around to other organs, inoperable, and am to start chemotherapy as soon as they have pinned down exactly what's what so that they can put together the appropriate cocktail of drugs.
Usually someone who immediately starts thinking about possible solutions to any problem, I must admit myself to be somewhat stumped right now. But although I cannot concentrate on art books, or serious study, I can at least read novels.
I decided to try Joanne Harris' quartet of Chocolat titles. I had never read anything of hers, but had heard her speak on the radio. Unfortunately I was disappointed. I especially disliked The Lolipop Shoes which I found to be a horror story. But then I also am not especially enamoured of chocolate. They were a bit too sweet and sticky for me.
That's also the downside of binge reading. I stuck with the four titles, one after the other, when all the little things which irritate are exaggerated. On the other hand, I have similarly been binge reading Ngaio Marsh, and have been thoroughly delighted.
Although the detective protagonist Chief Inspector Alleyn remains constant, his murder investigations are set in different places, even in different countries, or even on board ship. Marsh is excellent at character, dialogue, and description as well as brilliant with story. I dread running out of her novels because they provide me with such excellent distraction.
I have run out of Josephine Tey mysteries, but Nicola Upson has written a series of novels with Tey as the protagonist, and a new one is due out later this year.
Edvard Munch: The Kiss IV (image from here)
I'm lucky that this year there just so happen to be three exhibitions on at the same time covering artists of interest to me. The three artists are from that fascinating melting-pot of an era: belle-epoque into modernism the end of the 19th century into the 20th, and all three artists were influenced by having been in Paris, though not French themselves. Munch, Schjerfbeck, and Vallotton are all individual artists, on the edge of movements, but so connected with what was going on in Paris that they shine a light on it all as well as being interesting in themselves.
Edvard Munch: Theatre Programme for Ibsen's play Jean Gabriel Borkman (image from here)
Of course aware of The Scream and a few other works, I did not otherwise know much about Edvard Munch. Edvard Munch, Love and Angst is the catalogue of the British Museum exhibition, and a fascinating read. I was interested to read about his life and about the psychology behind the angst-ridden aspects of his work, and of prevailing attitudes to psychology in wider society at the time. It is also interesting to read of his illustrative work, especially with regard to theatre programmes, and how popular fellow Norwegian playwright Ibsen was in Paris at the time.
His wood prints are so interesting, their immediacy exciting my curiosity.
Helene Schjerfbeck: Self portrait 1912 (image from here - with review)
Helene Schjerfbeck's still figures appeal greatly to me, and I love her self portraits. She was Finnish, but not only spent time in Paris but also in St Ives. I regret that I had not known her work before now, but have much enjoyed reading the Royal Academy exhibition catalogue, and finding out so much about her and her works now.
Helene Schjerfbeck: The Seamstress (image from here - with blog post)
Felix Vallotton: The Lie (image from here - and review)
Now I am deep into the catalogue of the third exhibition, of the work of Felix Vallotton. As a great fan of Vuillard's work I knew of Vallotton's paintings and some of his prints. I love the enigmatic quality in his paintings, and their dramatic composition. His use of colour is interesting - indeed, the work of all three artists bring lots of questions about use of colour to mind.
Felix Vallotton: Money (image from here - and review)
I enjoy Vallotton's use of black as a colour in his prints too.
It is such a joy to have three perspectives on an interesting period of art.
Natalia Goncharova: Three Young Women (image from here)
These days art exhibition catalogues seem to dominate my serious reading. At present it's Natalia Goncharova - an exhibition on at Tate Modern.
I first encountered this artist in a postcard of the above image. When I started working in London in the early 1970s I was a frequent visitor to museums and galleries where there was a wide range of postcards of the collections available. Not having the means to purchase magazines and books in those days, I did binge on postcards which I would stick up on my walls at work. The above was one of those, but I did not know anything about the artist.
Natalia Goncharova: Hay cutting (image from here)
Now I am discovering all about her through the splendid catalogue. So many of her paintings, unlike the one at the top, remind me of my early childhood summers in northern Greece and the views in the '50s of farming activity in the landscapes we passed with the train across Europe.
Natalia Goncharova: Linen (image from here)
The religious paintings chime with the icons which surrounded me, and the lovely painting immediately above reminds me of the laundry near our flat where to my wide-eyed childish fascination they used irons just like the one pictured. When I was about four, when I was the only child in the whole extended family, there were many aunts alive, and we would go for glorious picnics when the days seemed to stretch forever. I find that Goncharova's paintings chime with my memories of those times. This is especially true of the image below which is from Eirene's blog A Place Called Space and her post on the Natalia Goncharova exhibition at the Tate.
Natalia Goncharova: Apelsinia (image from here)
This catalogue is therefore not only full of information but also a lovely reminder of a most enjoyable time in my life.
I miss two great magazines which used to provide me with much thinking, both now no longer: Fiber Arts Magazine and Craft Arts International. Both had serious articles, and eclectic within their remit.
Recently I saw an ad for the new Art North magazine and took a subscription - and the first issue I have found is well worth it. For me it requires slow steady reading, article by article, each of which has been leaving me with chunks to mull over.
(image from here)
Through the one podcast I listen to - Shedunnit - I learned of another podcast: The Lonely Palette, which takes a work of art from the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, and talks about it after first asking visitors what they see. Again, it is a serious but universally approachable talk, with only one bugbear for me: I find the background music headache-inducing if I listen to more than a couple of episodes at a time.
takes my mind to the delicacies of Nature, and coincidentally I have been reading a catalogue which does that, and more. David Hockney, Vincent Van Gogh: The Joy of Nature is an exhibition on at the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam until 26 May. The catalogue is available in this country, published by Thames and Hudson. I am not illustrating it here because I think that the cover design is execrable - but I'm probably out of date with typographic fashion.
The content is fantastic, however, putting views from both artists side by side. I have spent a most enjoyable time looking and looking.
A long and interesting review of the exhibition in Studio International is here - but I think that the reviewer had not read the catalogue, not quite getting Hockney's fascination with perspective/points of view.
Linked with what I was saying about this time of year, I found the drawings a delight. There are fascinating examples from both artists. I had forgotten about, and was pleased especially to be reminded of Van Gogh's elegant and eloquent pencil lines. The Van Gogh Museum website has an excellent search facility through which I have spent a deal of pleasant time wandering. Then I look through the windows to the growth outside, and am filled with delight - and perhaps even a glimpse of inspiration.
Audubon's Flamingo (image from here)
So accessible, but with rewarding depth and complexity, reminding me so much of Muriel Spark, but very much her own glorious voice Kate Atkinson's Transcription was a most enjoyable read. The story and its telling pulls in the reader straightway, with pace and humour, not knowing where we are going - if anywhere - a mystery tour with great views on the way. I found it well worth the journey. Here is the Guardian newspaper review.
image by Rebecca Hendin from here
Work is not the only injection of positive light into my life - a great escape for me is provided by detective fiction. Reading in general is an essential, but fiction, and whodunnits are top of the pile for consistent pleasure.
I recently discovered an enlightening podcast which appears every fortnight, and the latest popped up today: Shedunnit, all about the golden age of classic crime writing.
The latest contribution starts a series about minor characters in the detective portfolio, and I am intrigued by one Montague Egg created by Dorothy L. Sayers. I remember reading a story about him a long time ago - I think when I was at school - and I shall see if I can seek out the story collections available now.
At present I am reading Kate Atkinson's Transcription.
Written on the back: Olga and Anna on the roof of St George's, 1958
After my mother died I was suddenly aware that I am the sole custodian of so many memories from my youth. The Greek relatives of my generation were either at least ten years older than me (and so many now dead, like Anna with me above), or were not born for at least six years after me.
With the birth of a great-niece, as I have no children, I decided to put together a book explaining who everyone in my and my brother's part of the family was/is. Since completing that, I have been thinking that I might enjoy putting together a loosely organised collection of my own reminiscences. This goes happily with my desire to explore more of the interests spurred in my young days, but never pursued to any great degree.
Mosaics on the dome of St George's (image from here)
One of those interests is in mosaics, especially Byzantine mosaics. This started at the age of four when my great uncle used to take me to his work. He was architect/civil engineer involved in the restoration of the church of St Demetrius in Thessaloniki. He would leave me to amuse myself looking around, and I was particularly taken with the glorious mosaics (I was an exceedingly well behaved child - and besides, everyone knew who I was). Recently I came across the website of Helen Miles, a mosaic artist who was inspired by Byzantine mosaics and has a post on the Rotunda here. Her fascinating blog posts got me fired up with interest again, and so when the other day I was researching books on the subject to get me started, I discovered one on my beloved Rotunda, I had to have it.
Vintage postcard -Artist's view of the Rotunda, Thessaloniki (image from here)
Spending three or four months every summer in Thessaloniki through my youth, I was allowed a lot of freedom. I was able from about the age of seven or so to walk through the town on my own, setting off from home as it was then up on the hill next to St Demetrius, down to my aunt's office to collect her at the end of her working day at 1 o'clock. I had ample opportunity to explore so much of such a fascinating place, which in my early years was a beautiful mix of medieval and belle epoque architecture. (So much was ruined with the blocks of flats which went up from the mid 50s, and now I find the place so filled with mediocre buildings that it is difficult to imagine how it once was.)
I loved the many churches, their shapes, their mosaics, their icons, ... but of all the buildings the one which intrigued me the most was St George's, the Rotunda. I was delighted when our home in Thessaloniki moved down to within a couple of minutes' walk to the Rotunda. When I knew the building it was neglected, not used as a church, and only visited by very few folks who deliberately sought it out. In its garden full of weeds, bits of stone ruins, and often junk, I saw my first sarcophagus.
The Rotunda transformed into a mosque, 1831 (image from here)
The inside was awe-inspiring, especially when I was alone. It had lived different lives: Roman rotunda first, then a christian church, then a mosque, and then a sort of neglected museum ... until the earthquake of 1978, after which it was swathed in scaffolding, and taken more seriously.
The postcard above shows how the Rotunda and its surroundings looked when I first remember it. Now it is all cleared out, and linked with the Arch of Galerius - both part of the same original construct. I am both glad, and sad - as I am with so many aspects of things that have changed over my life.
Rotunda and Arch today (image from here where the whole Roman complex is also picutred)
It is scarcely believable now that my father (who took the photograph of us), my cousin Anna, and I at the age of ten were allowed to climb right up and sit on the roof - but the photo clearly shows the minaret and how high we were. The book arrived yesterday, and I am looking forward very much to putting some information with my memories.
I have just finished reading Everything under by Daisy Johnson as mentioned in this previous post. Initially I found it elusive; not exactly difficult to get into, but like murky water, I was straining to see what was there. I am so glad that I stuck with it, however, because as well as being a fascinating, mind-stretching read, it struck me as so appropriate for our particular times - and it spoke so personally to me too.
Obliquely riffing off myth, fantasy, and quest, the novel presents a tale which explores aspects of how we each deal with life. The novel explores relationships, motherhood, daughter-hood, parent-hood, aspects of gender, .... Although far from the relationship I had with my mother, which was a complex and difficult one on both sides, the journey I have made through this story has helped me to approach coming to terms with persistent hauntings.
The river, its disguised strength and its watery tanglings make such appropriate metaphors for the intricacies of relationships, not to mention how alien we feel to that environment. The use of words, names, and the thought that we cannot think about what we cannot name, is an intriguing aspect of the novel. I also of course felt closer too because of having been an editor myself, and for at time at OUP, and knew the dictionary department where the narrator works. There is also the losing of words, the desperation to tell, and the inability to find the descriptor which my mother suffered after her stroke, and which in a mild but irritating way I am increasingly finding myself with age.
Embrace
We need fiction in order to differentiate it from fact. I believe that we all need to be able to create myths in order to look clearly at facts, to make sense of the world. I believe in having rooms in the mind, rooms with windows onto the other rooms - and progress through life adds to the rooms, and helps to sort them, constantly sorting, experiencing, thinking, and sorting.
Daisy Johnson's Everything under has tugged at my mind and given me enormous satisfaction.
Surfacing
Yesterday evening I finished reading the recently published ninth novel in Susan Hill's Simon Serrailler series, and am more than happy to leave it finally ended. It was just what I needed - my hibernation.
Now I am enjoying revisiting the Elisabeth Frink exhibition through the catalogue, but was wondering what to embark on for my bedtime reading. I try to read at least one book from the current Man Booker prize longlist, and another from the shortlist. From the 2018 longlist I read Belinda Bauer's Snap.
I had read Bauer's Blacklands which I thought was a great novel, but had become increasingly disappointed with her second and third titles. It was Val McDermid's recommendation of Snap as the best crime novel she had read in a long time which decided me to try again. I did enjoy it, but I must admit that I cannot remember it now. However, I still remember the emotions and surprises from Blacklands.
Anyway - now I've decided to try something from the 2018 shortlist: Daisy Johnson's Everything under. (Another review is here.) It sounds like a complex read, and that's what I want now, I think, - another way of hibernating, or sticking my head in the sand (or under water!).
Objective obscured
Concern (preliminary doodle)
Over the festive season it was a relief not to hear anything about the current UK political situation because I had become thoroughly depressed. I found that even reading anything serious during my usual hibernation period was not sufficient relaxation, and so I turned to my tried and tested means of escape: detective novels.
This time, however, there is a twist. I had only just found out that Susan Hill had written a series of crime novels, and decided to get the first one for my Kindle. Well, I enjoyed that - it did the trick of distracting me - and so I went on to the second, ... .
Darren Thompson: Winter Coat on Subway Reading (image from here)
Now I am on the 7th, and intend to go right up to her current latest one before I emerge. It is rather like reading a doorstop saga of engaging quality, and is helping me to put news and commentary programmes into a small box.
Here we are, fast approaching the end of another year, in the middle of an incomprehensible political muddle, and at the beginning of winter. Normally at this time I have built up a pile of books in preparation for my annual hibernation - when on the whole all I do is read with no guilt.
This year is different. Partly that is because the thus-far guilt felt when just sitting reading is at last diminishing. But I suspect the farce that is Brexit is an insidious infection corrupting all relaxation of thinking. I find it difficult to decide on a pile of thought provoking books to enjoy. It has been easier to come up with images of women reading than to decide what I myself want to read.
I am disturbed that so many folks seem to respond negatively and loudly, to dismiss with scorn rather than inquire and perhaps consider adjusting their opinions. This feels like an Age of Endarkenment, and I find it profoundly disturbing.
So I'm hoping that once winter has passed into spring, a more positive light will emerge. Meantime, starting with one book at a time, I have turned to memories of my optimistic youth when I was a teenage existentialist, finally reading Sarah Bakewell's At the Existentialist Cafe which has been waiting on my shelf for a year - escapism, just as much as any Golden Era whodunnit!
Talking of which latter, I have recently been enjoying the Shedunnit podcasts.
I have been wanting a non-online source of thought and ideas - a physical object to wander through, mull over, and enjoy. Of course I encountered just such an anthology online!
My first encounter with anthologies which made me pause and admire was when I started teaching English and Drama in 1970. It was in a bookshop rather than the school book cupboard that I found publications by Penguin Education. Such brilliant books, they were a tremendous boost to me and my teaching - and my learning about teaching. I regretted that I left the books behind when I left the school.
When I went on to work for an educational publisher myself, I took those Penguin anthologies to be a kind of gold standard to aim for. Editing, commissioning, and designing anthologies at Oxford University Press taught me so much - not least through seeking content: texts and illustrations. We wanted to provide access to education through books of delights - to reward and stimulate further curiosity, while fulfilling the same for ourselves in their making.
When seemingly unaccountably Penguin closed their up to then successful education division, we at OUP education were delighted to be able to take on some of their anthology publications.
But I had gone on to Children's books by then with a different publisher. (Educational texts are for children, but they are bought by or prescribed by schools, while Children's books are bought (diminishingly) by libraries and parents/relatives.) I would not, unfortunately, be involved with commissioning anthologies again in my career.
But as I say, I have recently felt the need. Magazines seem increasingly superficial to me; I need something with a bit more of a chew. So I have decided to give Elementum a try. Both images above are from here where there are reviews. And another review here - which points out one of the aspects which drew me to the publication, that the issues are books rather than magazines. They are like collections of short stories in that the whole does not have to be read from beginning to end - but short stories including non-fiction, poetry, and splendid visuals, both art and illustration.
I've only just started the first volume, with the theme of Calling, inspired by living near the sea, and I am certainly hearing the siren song so far.
My grand sorting really has led to a great project which has gripped me. I am not devoting every minute to it, but somewhere in the back of my mind thoughts are churning away.
I wrote a post about the initial idea last month, and since then my interest has deepened, and I have realised just how personally relevant the project is. My career was in publishing, and specifically in children's non fiction and in educational publishing. From 1977 - 81 I was a commissioning editor in London for Blackie, whose gazetteer I am now canibalising. That gazetteer came from my Scottish grandparents' house - and Blackie was a Scottish publishing house. (It was one of the Blackie family who commissioned Charles Rennie Mackintosh to design Hill House.)
I also had a passion for encyclopedias and gazetteers when I was a child. For Christmas 1953 I was given the complete Arthur Mee's Encyclopedia, and I have had a thirst for reading for information ever since.
So, all in all, I can see that this project will occupy quite a bit of my thinking and designing for a while.
Katie Jean Wood: Story Hour (image from here)
It is so frustrating that while it takes but a few days - or sometimes hours to read a book, it takes an author a year or several to produce the next one. That is why it is always good to have a list of favourites to whom to turn for the next good read.
I became aware of Joanna Cannon first by being attracted to her title The Trouble with Goats and Sheep. The review in the Guardian newspaper pushed me to acquiring it, and was delighted as a result. Here is an explanation from Joanna Cannon herself of how the story came about.
I very much enjoyed the effortless way I as a reader was taken there to become part of that community, a child, an adult, turn about, understanding with humour and also pursuing the mystery.
So I was delighted to read the review of Three Things About Elsie. And again I very much enjoyed reading the book. Two friends since childhood once more, but now set in a care home at the end of life. Another mystery, and once more we are swept into the lives of the community with humour and understanding - and with a real curiosity to solve the mystery.
Imitator of David Teniers the Younger: An Old Woman Reading (image from here)
Now I shall just have to fill in the gap until Joanna Cannon's next book is published. No problem there - indeed, how lucky that there are so many good books to be read.
