dolce far niente

(the sweetness of doing nothing)

Circe

(she's not doing nothing, she's busy being the daughter of the sun, a sorceress best known for her ability to turn men into animals with her magic wand and also renowned for her knowledge of magic and poisonous herbs)

Destiny

(she's not doing nothing, she's busy being a contemplative female at the center of an ambiguous allegorical scene, a beautiful woman staring into the distance; in front of her, an open book, behind her, a large circular mirror - which has an interesting compositional effect: it drastically limits the depth of the scene and blocks the view of the room and of the exterior natural space. . . however, it simultaneously serves as a sort of window because it shows a view of the world outside) (altho the scene seems straightforward, it is filled with inconsistencies and impossibilities and there are many spatial discrepancies - for example, a globe that is reflected in the mirror does not appear in the actual room! the image in the mirror is not realistic: it represents either an unknown future or more likely a vision experienced by the woman with the cup. . . the title of the work, "Destiny," supports this)

Psyche Opening The Golden Box

(she's not busy doing nothing, she's busy being the bride of Cupid and at the same time being seriously troubled. . . her mind seems full of doubts and dread as to whom she is sharing her life with - why can’t she ever see him? is he really a beast who, as her sisters have warned, will one night kill her in her sleep? here we see her with an enchanted vessel that Venus has ordered her to fetch from Proserpine, from which Psyche hopes to steal a bit of allure and thus regain the love of Cupid)

Circe Invidiosa

(she's not doing nothing, she's being a Victorian femme fatale and is in the act of posoining the water that her rival is bathing in. . .)

The Crystal Ball

(she's not doing nothing, she's busy with a crystal ball - crystal balls being used for the process of "seeing", known as "scrying": a magic practice that involves clairvoyance in a medium, usually for purposes of obtaining spiritual visions and more rarely for purposes of divination or fortune-telling. . .)

(no, I wasn't busy doing nothing; yes, I went to another exhibition! once again at the Royal Academy, but this time John William Waterhouse; as you know, I love the Pre-Raphaelites. . .)

you saw, he's sore, we all saw the

eyesore?

this evening The Teen and the other two and I all went up to town to a really interesting live art event. . .. . .which took place, on one day only, in the loading bay underneath the Royal Albert Hall

now, you may or may not know, but the RAH is a round building and we had to walk 360 degrees, ending up where we'd started, before we found the loading bay. . .

(. . .under these steps)

now, you may or may not think that graffiti is art*, but what we saw was very inspiring and quite beautiful

(it took - I believe - four days hard graft
by nine individuals to accomplish)

as the following indicates, by a graffer (graffiti artist) named EyeSaw. . .

(I think he was inspired by Rockwell, don't you?
strange, to think that Rockwell might have inspired graffiti, eh)

(*altho I'm not going to debate that here**
or start a discussion or argument. . .)

(**despite the label)

Michael Landy

(not the piece from the RA Summer Exhibition,
but pretty similar)

Friday morning at the RA

(at the 241st summer exhibition) (to be exact)

as you walk into Burlington House. . .
.

. . .take a moment to admire your reflection in the silvery sculpture, which is set amongst the courtyard's fountains - notice that they reflect the pattern of the planets in relation to the stars at the birth of Sir Joshua Reynolds, the first president of the Royal Academy, on 16 July 1723. . .
.

. . .seat yourself comfortably in
Humprey Ocean's Love Chair. . .

. . .look up and admire one of
Donald Hamilton Fraser's
blood red skies. . .

. . .or perhaps it's a cloudy sky,
as frequently painted so sensitively by

Fred Cuming. . .

. . .when you're comfortable, pour yourself some tea from
Mary Fedden's Sleeping Cat. . .

. . .and perhaps help yourself to a slice of fruit

(-:

.
(of course, you could always just stick to the coffee and Crunchies) (X)

and a spot of culture

(equally stunning)

an exhibition at the Royal Academy
of the wood blocks of Kuniyoshi

stop all the clocks

time is a strange phenomenon sometimes

it seems to speed up, slow down, stop. . . anyhow, this morning I was thinking about clocks and that (the Dali, above) was what came to mind - and the poem (under) (hence the lobster, below) and then I thought about Magritte. . .

and then it occurred to me that I never really liked surrealism after all - and I ended up dwelling on the lanterns in Carnation Lily Lily Rose instead. . .

I hope you have a good day

(-:

and since we're doing C

Fraiser sometimes mentions his Chihuly. . . (the above is not Frasier's, but is similar enough) (I prefer the colours in this one tho, I must admit - couldn't find an image of Frasiers for today's Show 'n' Tell) and it occurred to me that I ought to know what a/who Chihuly was/is - and I do. . .

Dale Chihuly is the glass artist who created this for the V&A in London (one of my favourite museums, you might recall)

and then it occurred to me that this must be the same artist who created work that was displayed at Kew Gardens, a short way along the river from where I am. . .

but I only put two and two together because shot and sorrow mentioned Chihuly a while back when I was writing about something else
.
sometimes these things take a little while to bed in. . .
.
. . .a bit like life really
.
(sometimes I just wish it would hurry up and settle down tho)

so, only yesterday

I was thinking about Dr Seuss. . .

. . .and it turns out that today is Dr Suess Day! he'd have been 105 years old today if he was still alive - that's pretty old

I once went to a great-grand-mother's birthday party, she was 95 and had 95 candles on her cake and I remember that someone - and uncle, I think - lit them, starting at the back of the cake, and by the time he'd reached the ones at the front those at the back had burnt right down onto the icing and singed the sugar flower decorations (now I'm a grown-up, I can see that the error was only to have the one person lighting the candles - as a child I just thought it was a terrible waste of icing and sugar flowers)

I digress. . .

. . .back to the good doctor - here's one I like (it's rather long, so this is a little shorter - kind of the edited highlights)

Oh, the Places You'll Go!

Congratulations!
Today is your day.You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!
You have brains in your head.You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.
You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there."
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

.
*
.

I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.
And when you're alone, there's a very good chance
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won't want to go on.
.

*
.

You'll get mixed up, of course, as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.
And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3⁄4 percent guaranteed.)
KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!
.
So...be your name Buxbaum or Bixby
or Brayor Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So... get on your way!

say what I feel? well, I have to admit that I'm not really liking the being alone on this journey of mine - and plenty of things along the way scare me. . .

. . .but! by some wonderfully bizarre coincidence, as I sit here doing this, Teen Too (previously known as Middle One, before he turned 13) is sitting at his desk asking questions about his art homework - he's studying Roy Lichtenstein. . .
.

. . .and I know I'm not all alone - I have my lovely children to look after; it's not the same as having someone look after me or having a Brad about (whether I'd choose to ask him to help me, or not) but there you go. . .

. . .or there I go. . .

. . .well, here I am, I guess. . .

and, actually, I oughtn't be here at all - there are chores to be done. . .
.

what is that old saying?
"no peace for the wicked"

hot off the press

a morph memorial for Tony Hart

when I was a child, I used to eagerly await the day when Vision On was shown. . .

my parents weren't the sort to encourage televisual participation - my brothers and I were only allowed to watch certain things that were deemed "suitable". . . (they didn't even tell us about "the other channel" for years, as they were concerned about the effects the adverts would have on our young minds) - so I was never allowed to send in a picture for the gallery. . . but I did in my dreams!

oh, how I dreampt of one of my pictures being chosen by Tony Hart - it's not that I wanted to see it on screen, just for Tony Hart to have seen my attempts at art

(come to think about it, I always wanted a Blue Peter badge too: only my mother didn't approve of sticky backed plastic or Peter Purves or Lesley Judd - she liked Valerie Singleton who was very sensible and wore sensible shoes and she just about tolerated John Noakes - so I wasn't ever allowed to write in or even make anything they labouriously showed how to construct. . . "and here's one I made earlier" never featured in my childhood apart from seeing it on the box. . . I sneaked a go at John's Cheese Flaps once, a kind of fried cheese potato cake, but my mother told me off because they were too cheesey) (I digress)
.
so when I heard of Tony Hart's death a while back now, I was very sad. . . when Oliver Postgate died I was equally sad, but receiving a Knit a Clanger tag on FaceBook made me smile. . .

. . .but noone tagged me about the event at Tate Modern today - I'd have had a far more interesting Sunday if I'd known about it!

nonetheless,
better late than never. . .

. . .this is what I have found to share with you: click on the link on the right "Morph 'flashmob' at Tate gallery" to see it in its glory and hear the tune that I hummed all those years ago as I went to sleep. . .

they kind of remind me of Antony Gormley's miriads of tiny terracotta people. . .

Friday? Friday! Friday. . .

today we are sampling

Turkish Delight. . .

(it's not obligatory, if it's not your thing -
the usuals are in the side bar)

listening to this. . .

. . .and it's all because I'm reading stories from The Arabian Nights to Smallest Person, her current Book At Bedtime, in a bid to send her into dreamland as comfortably as possible

Scheherezade,
Virginia Frances Sterrett, 1928

Scheherezade
Dulac, 1907

(we could listen to Rimsky Korsakov, if you wanted. . .)

dreams of a summer night

was an exhibition I went to in the 80s. . .
.

. . .an exhibition of Scandinavian art
.

Peterssen, Summer Night 1886
.

a very long time ago I lent my copy of the catalogue to someone who, it now transpires, won't return it to me - I'm not very good at conflict at the best of times, and right now isn't exactly the worst of times but I didn't feel like making a fuss. . .

. . .so I tracked down a copy of the catalogue by other means and am currently looking thru some wonderful art
.

Sohlberg, A Flowery Meadow in The North, 1905

Fjaestad, Winter Evening by a River, 1907

Sohlberg, Night Glow, 1893

Eugen, The Forest, 1892


Simberg, Wounded Angel, 1903

snow day!

the most beautiful thing are the icicles. . .
I do love icicles, as anyone familiar with the work of Andy Goldsworthy will know. . .

it's the way the light goes thru the ice as much as the way Goldsworthy has joined the sections of ice to each other. . .

and if only I were still in The Village, look what could have been done with the ice on The Pond. . .