Jane Brocket's Blog, page 23

i've been to hull and back

Or to 'ull as they say in Hull. 

[The Humber, Lincs just visible]

Simon spent his formative years on the other side of the massively wide Humber, and he's fond of repeating  'From Hull, Hell and Halifax, good Lord deliver us!' (from the Beggar's Litany) whenever the subject of Hull and Humberside come up. He was conspicuous by his absence on this trip. 

['Voyage' statue on Victoria Pier - second version]

It's an unforgiving view of Hull, I found. Yes, it's out on a limb, at the end of the line, a place of arrivals and departures and not passings-through, but it has so much more to offer than an exit. 

[The Deep, seen through dereliction and barbed wire - it really is in the wrong place]

It was wildy windy and the sky changed colour every few minutes - some things don't change on the edge of England - but the smell of fish and Needler's confectionery and the sounds of ships and trawlers and ferries have all gone.

[What's left of the Hull Corporation Pier, departure point for the Humber ferries ]

Hull thrived on fish and fruit and people arriving from afar.

Now the cobbled streets that saw so much bustle and trade and commerce are all silent.

But the pubs haven't changed. 

[The Bull on Beverley Road]

These photos may confirm Simon's prejudices to Simon, and it's true that Hull is in dire need of money, but I found it incredibly interesting, a fascinating study in city development. There's a lot more to Hull than fish and old sayings.

 

magnificent magnolias

How did this happen? How did a burst of huge, waxy, pale pink and peach and ivory and white flowers suddenly appear on the magnolia trees of south west London without me noticing? I realise I haven't been that way for a couple of weeks but there was nothing round here to suggest that the magnolias' magical moment was imminent. I wouldn't have thought fifteen miles was enough to create a different magnolia macro-climate, but clearly I am wrong. 

The magnolias of Richmond and Kew and Hampton are covered in huge blooms, and I have been doing my usual pointing-out to whoever is in, or driving, the car. If my three children do not know by now what a magnolia looks like, I have failed as a mother.

These are all in Kew Gardens (photos taken today) where you can get very close to the trees without having to climb over someone's garden wall. I love the way the pocket handkerchief front gardens round there are completely filled with magnificent, extravagant magnolia flowers for a few days each year, then go back to being very plain and neat and unshowy for the rest of the time.

Definitely worth a detour.

sunshine and seeds

And misplaced optimism, no doubt.

I love sowing seeds, scattering and placing on the damp compost, hoping fervently that every single one will germinate. Seeing the little shoots emerge is a wondrous thing, and I'd sow seeds for this reason alone - even if I didn't get sunflowers and nasturtiums and marigolds and cerinthes and cosmos later on. Although I know my heart will be broken by non-starters and and mysterious failures and nearly all morning glories, there is little to beat sowing seeds in spring sunshine for simple pleasure and satisfaction.

 

rehang

Lowry Walking on Swinton Moss Harold Riley (b.1934)

While I was visiting my Mum in hospital recently, I squeezed in a visit to Salford. I went to see the Lowry paintings at The Lowry and the art collection in the Salford Museum and Art Gallery. The Lowrys are fantastic, but the modern, angular, high-concept setting is all wrong. The Salford Art Gallery, however, is the perfect place for them, which is very sad and ironic because it's where they were until they were moved to the meretricious Salford Quays in 2000. Until then, they were housed in the wonderful late C19 classic, red, Grand Northern Victorian style building set on a hill above Peel Park, and part of the very landscape Lowry painted.

Spring Flowers 1946 Alice Butterworth (1883-?)

Girl in a Yellow Jumper 1940-45 Emmanuel Levy (1900-1986)

Kitchen Corner Robert Tuson (C20)

But now it stands in isolation, virtually empty, bypassed by all the visitors in cars going to the shiny retail opportunities of the Lowry Outlet. (It's all so un-Lowry you don't know whether to laugh or cry.)

Hyacinths Mary Hunter (1878-1936)

Cyclamen Argent Brierley (1893-1960)

Inside it has splendid rooms, great facilities, and is trying pretty hard. But the paintings are dreadful;  the largest display is of dull and boring Victorian paintings, most of which have nothing to do with contemporary Salford. It's dreary and disheartening.

The Chip Shop 1852 Eric Satchwell (b.1926)

Dwarf Sunflowers 1929 Charles Ginner (1878-1952)

It's also inexcusable. When you look at the paintings the gallery owns there is no justification for putting out works that might have been of interest a hundred years ago, for there are some real gems and treasures in storage which deserve to be seen.

Flowers in a Jug David Gommon (1913-1987)

The Housekeeper Arnold Mason (1885-1945)

It is frustrating  that the gallery has spent money on a large (empty) cafe but won't do a rehang which would make the place so much more modern, meaningful, and attractive.

The Bedside Lamp Duncan Grant (1885-1978)

Evening Interior Ghislaine Howard (b.1953)

Arum and Tulips Vanessa Bell (1979-1961)

So here is my rehang, in thematic/colour groups. It's just a start, a very personal one, with paintings I wish I could have seen on my visit. It includes many great C20 artists, and is cheerful, colourful, and accessible. All qualities the gallery needs if it is to remain open.

Woman Sewing Philip Wilson Steer (1860-1942)

Zinnias James Bolivar Manson (1897-1942)

happy stitching

Interesting fabrics, nice perlé thread, a sharp needle and very straight quilting lines mean I am happy stitching this quilt in the evenings. It's a great excuse for listening to Loose Ends and Front Row on Radio 4, and watching gentle TV programmes about railway journeys. And for reflecting on the fact that we are tremendously fortunate to have benefitted from the pioneering work of Robert Edwards who changed millions of people's lives for the better. In another age, we would not have been so lucky.

 

not bright, but beautiful

I'm just beginning work on the sixth book in the Clever Concepts series. This involves large amounts of time looking through my thousands of photos for suitable images to fit the particular concept I'm writing about. But inevitably I get side-tracked by all the photos I've forgotten or never used, and I see my life scrolling backwards in flowers, cakes, knitting, quilts, towns and gardens. 

It's all highly enjoyable, but very distracting. I found these two photos of sea kale I took two years ago on the beach at Dungeness and thought their soft and glaucous tones would make a nice contrast to the last two, very green, flower and foliage posts. Just to show it doesn't all have to be bright to be beautiful.

 

about time

In any other year these would be utterly predictable springtime photos with nothing new to say about daffodils or the season. We'd all be completely blasé about daffs, and looking forward to more colour variation with tulips.

But this year is different. When I saw these huge plantings of yellow and sulphur and primrose and golden daffoldils at West Dean yesterday, I was relieved and delighted in equal measure. At last we can really believe spring is here.  About time, too.

sow your greens

And your purples and pinks. 

I just found these photos (taken at Wisley in November) on a camera card and they come as quite a shock after so much winter, a delayed spring, and seeing too many leached landscapes. I'm way behind on seed-sowing because I'm not risking big losses of tender seedlings every time the temperature drops, but the photos have galvanised me: these are the colours I want to be seeing soon. Time to get outside with seeds, tray, dibber, compost, and radio.

what to wear when fishing

[Tucking a School of Pilchards 1897 Percy Craft (1856-1934)]

This is a huge painting (143.5cm x 212cm), and it's brilliantly absorbing. I could spend hours looking at all the different headgear these fishermen are wearing (boaters, peaked caps including one on fashionably back-to-front, tam o'shanters, sou'wester, bowlers, and what look like pork pie hats/trilbies). How did they decide what to wear? Did they have a choice or only ever wear one - perhaps lucky - hat? Did they choose according to the weather or was there a hierarchy of hats amongst the men? And that's before you even get to the wonderful guernseys and jerseys and smocks and waistcoats, the lovely, luminous palette, and gleaming silver pilchards.

It's usually in Penlee House, but it can be seen (free of charge) for one more week at Two Temple Place where there are also some good paintings by Harold Harvey and Stanhope Forbes. 

 

it takes two

me 

and you,

it just takes two.

[Lang Yarns Jawoll Color Jacquard. Going on tour to Iceland next week, but not on my feet.]