What do we do about art when we wander around great art galleries and museums?
How I integrate art into my own life, on the wall of my writing space (photo credit Jamie Robinson)
We see wonderful things on the walls and maybe we’re overwhelmed.
These great art works are distanced from us, somehow, by the awesome spaces and dimensions of the gallery.
We could never have these original art works on the walls of our own homes.
But they speak to us. There’s something in them we want to take away, something we want to claim for our own lives. Something that tells us about ourselves, our own hearts and souls.
So what do we do?
As David Tennant’s Doctor said to his assistant Donna in the Doctor Who episode Silence in The Library, “Quick! The shop! There’s always a little shop at the end!”
On BBC Radio 4 Today programme at 8.20am on Wed 9 Oct 2013, two writers with new books out, Desmond Morris (author of The Artistic Ape and Alain de Botton (author of Art as Therapy) discussed art and how it affects our lives. And one of the things they said struck me: “If we did not have art in our lives, the world would be very drab. We need it in our lives. But what do we do about art? We go to the gift shop, and we buy postcards. That way we can integrate the art into our daily lives.”
Desmond Morris made this point:
Art is not to be confined to museums but is part of something much bigger in life….. we do like to surround ourselves with objects that make our lives less drab.
Alain de Botton said what he proposes is that We treat the whole museum much more like the gift shop.
I now say that to my teenage son and daughter whenever we’re in an attraction. Ah-ha. The shop. There’s always a little shop at the end.
Why did I find this striking? Because of what I do, at home, in my space where I write.
I cover the wall with brochures, leaflets, postcards from art exhibitions. Bear in mind that the room needs redecorating, which is why I’ve stuck those images directly onto the wall!
No way can I afford to display original Rembrandt, David Hockney, Verneer on the walls of my home.
But I still integrate art into my life.
I have invited art into my writing space. Each of the images I’ve stuck onto the wall, is a window. A window into another world, another artist’s imagination, another dimension.
In this way, no matter how humble, I integrate something of the artist’s spirit into my own working space.
My dream, wrote the designer William Morris, is a dreamof what has never been… and therefore, since, the world is alive, and moving yet, my hope is the greater that it one day will be… dreams have before now come about of things so good… we scarcely think of them more than the daylight, though once people had to live without them, without even the hope of them.
view from the top of Broadway Tower 1 Oct 2013 (photo credit Jamie Robinson)
William Morris, along with the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood, and the members of the Arts and Crafts Movement, was one who inherited and took forward all that was good in the Romantic Movement.
Among all things most romantic to me is a high place.
I go to high places for calmness and peace.
There are a number of high places I love to visit, from where I live in Warwickshire.
Broadway Tower, Cotswolds 1 Oct 2013 (photo credit Jamie Robinson)
And just such a place, 35 minutes drive from my home, is Broadway Tower in the heart of the Cotswolds, which I have visited many times, most recently the day before writing this post.
From the top of the tower one may see, on a fine day, thirteen counties.
No wonder idealists and romantics went there in the nineteenth century after their friend took a lease on the Tower, following the death of the Tower’s creator and original owner, the Earl of Coventry. For the Tower, a picturesque folly on the summit of Broadway Hill, emerged from the romantic movement. So, too, flambuoyant, theatrical and sensual, did Painswick Rococo Garden emerge from this tradition, as I wrote in a recent review on Trip Adviser.
William Morris was just one of the many idealists and romantics who came here. His rich, complex and exquisite designs now adorn soft furnishings, and a selection of them may be seen on the second floor of the Tower.
William Morris design image 1 (photo credit Jamie Robinson)
He is a beacon of romantic idealism, combining a love of medieval craftsmanship and Gothic design elements.
And his association with Broadway Tower – together with that of his contemporaries of like mind – is appropriate.
William Morris design image 2 (photo credit Jamie Robinson)
It’s certainly true that I, too, feel an affinity with the Romantics, the Pre-Raphaelites, the members of the Arts & Craft movement, and their dreams and visions.
For where would we be in this life if none among us aspired to, or dreamed of impossible ideals?
Impossible?
Read the full text of The Dream of William Morris here.
The Dream of William Morris (photo credit Jamie Robinson)
This is Hattie, born 1996, who died on 21 September 2013, at home, in her basket, peacefully, in a deep sleep.
Happy memories of Hattie, beloved family pet 1996-2013 (photo credits: Abigail Robinson)
When a much-loved family pet dies we need to decide what to do next.
But we kept Hattie lying in her basket for a day and a night, nestled in her blanket, where she died.
And it was not macabre, but beautiful, and consoling.
There is something sacred about being in the presence of a peaceful death, after a life well-lived.
Lying there in the stillness and quietness of letting go, her fur still felt soft and her body pliable, and I imagined several times that she was still breathing.
She has filled 17 years of our lives with fun, laughter and affection. She has beguiled us, outwitted us, annoyed us, delighted us and demonstrated something powerful: absolute persistence wins.
I blogged about Hattie a while ago. There, I wrote about the perpetual fascination of cats.
And now Hattie has again demonstrated something powerful about this life.
The gracefulness and the quietness and the beauty of letting go.
It’s been twelve years since I last visited the Cutty Sark at Greenwich – and what a fantastic transformation.
The Cutty Sark 14 Sep 2013 (photo credit: Jamie Robinson)
Greenwich and its neighbouring Woolwich in south London are part of my family background, and so this area has been familiar to me from childhood.
This made my return to view the Cutty Sark even more inspiring.
I found the whole visit very uplifting – appropriately so, as the Cutty Sark herself has been uplifted in the most amazing way!
The exhibition area beneath the ship is excellent, with its collection of ships’ figureheads.
Collection of ships’ figureheads at the Cutty Sark (photo credit: Jamie Robinson)
And we were later delighted to find ourselves sitting at cafe tables with the ship apparently hovering just above us.
Everything about this attraction is first class, and it is a credit to London and to our British heritage.
The Cutty Sark uplifted (photo credit: Jamie Robinson)
The high standard is maintained in the shop, too, which is full of stylish souvenirs for sale. How could I, as a writer, resist buying myself an attractive cream and gold spiralbound notebook with the motto on the front: Where there’s a will, is a way.
This motto, carved into the ship’s elaborate decoration, is a play on the surname of Jock Willis who commissioned the Cutty Sark (launched in 1869).
For the twenty-first century transformation of the Cutty Sark can certainly be seen as a perfect illustration of this motto in action.
Enjoying a shady ‘small enclosed space’ in a private Kenilworth garden open for the National Gardens Scheme 1 Sep 2013 (photo credit: Abigail Robinson)
A well-watered garden is a powerful image of creativity, abundance, fruitfulness.
When asked to describe or picture heaven, I often see it as a garden.
The Prophet Isaiah, wrote these words: And the LORD will continually guide you, And satisfy your desire in scorched places, And give strength to your bones; And you will be like a watered garden, And like a spring of water whose waters do not fail.
Isaiah’s choice of a garden for his image here is perfect, as are many of the images he chose for his prophecies: an image which is profound and powerful.
A few months ago during a visit to Hidcote Manor Garden, one of the National Trust’s greatest gardens, we heard the Head Gardener say that because we’ve had a late spring this year, 2013, the plants, like people, benefit from “a good long kip” and so later on, when they flower, they will be more plentiful, more colourful and more abundant.
And so it has proved in three outstanding gardens I’ve recently visited: Upton House, near Banbury; the garden at the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust in Stratford-upon-Avon; and a private garden in Chase Lane, Kenilworth, Warwickshire, part of the Open Gardens event run by the National Gardens Scheme.
flowers in Upton House Garden 23 Aug 2013 (photo credit Abigail Robinson)
As I spend time wandering around these gardens I reflect upon what engages me most in gardens I love:
* a series of small enclosed spaces which are like outdoor rooms – little ‘dens’ where you may sit and contemplate or dream or write or do anything else creative, which are shady, secret, beautiful, tranquil, hidden;
Spending time in the garden – contemplating, dreaming, in a little ‘den’ (photo credit: Abigail Robinson)
* a number of vistas and points from which you may glimpse things either near or distant which may intrigue or surprise;
* in a grand garden with a stunning planting scheme, I’m most enchanted by combinations of depth & colour & shape which evoke different emotions in the beholder; low misty feathery plants in front, then the tall bold gold shapes behind, and finally the purple spiky angular plants at the back: a profusion of different contrasting and complementary shapes and textures.
This is what I saw in the gardens at Upton House when I visited on Friday 23 August 2013.
A predominance of pink and gold with occasional glimmers of white, lilac, purple, burgundy.
A gentle, warm fragrance filled the air; butterflies flocked to the lavender, bumble bees feasted in every direction I gazed.
Upton House Garden 23 Aug 2013 photo credit Abigail Robinson
The whole was in dynamic motion, appearing to me as a vibration of life, shimmering above and around the blossoms.
We are all indebted to those whose gift is to design gardens, select plants, and work hard to create paradise on earth: surely the goal of all the great garden designers. In this life, there is a place for all of us; those who work, those who act, those who are practical, and those who come to see, and to drink deeply, who dream, who draw inspiration, who see visions, and who believe.
Great gardens are places that feed the imagination, provide a source of inspiration, nurture creativity, enrich our dreams, lift our hearts to the divine.
What could be more poignant than a formerly grand mansion, standing on a cliff, now partially demolished, abandoned and desolate?
Guy’s Cliffe House 25 Aug 2013 (photo credit: Jamie Robinson)
Gaping staircases you cannot climb; stone balconies you long to stand on to gaze at the view; empty windows you feel sure a shadowy figure should flit past.
Just such a gaunt mansion is Guy’s Cliffe House, our local romantic ruin, perched atop a cliff above the River Avon, catching the imagination of all who pass by on the other side of the river.
Guy’s Cliffe House as seen from the footpath on the other side of the river Avon (photo credit Jamie Robinson)
Gothic stone tracery, an ornate balcony, evidence of a flambuoyant builder, remain to tantalize you.
For one of those who occupied the house embellished it with Roman, classical, mediaeval and Gothic elements.
Guy’s Cliffe House so caught my own imagination during the past few years that I occasionally wished that, if I was hugely wealthy, I could pay for it to be restored to its former glory.
In reality, I’d like it to be made safe for people to enter and explore, and for new timber staircases and walkways to be constructed, so we could climb to those balconies and gaze at the view.
And I’d like all the original formal gardens to be restored so people can wander around in them and enjoy the romantic setting.
I feel that Guy’s Cliffe is a poignant illustration of what happens when wealthy property owners do not successfully pass on their property to an equally rich and prudent and competent heir.
One developer/house-breaker deliberately demolished part of the Guy’s Cliffe House, then all the contents were auctioned off, and and accidental fire and neglect did the rest.
We all find it difficult to understand how such a grand property gets damaged, ransacked and neglected like that.
8 foot tall bamboo now crowds close to the cave in the cliff, where Guy of Warwick, in the tenth century, returned from the Holy Land and mysteriously chose to live for two years, rather than reuniting with his wife and child in the house above.
The cave where Guy of Warwick lived for 2 years (photo credit: Jamie Robinson)The chapel of Mary Magdalene with Guy’s Cliffe House behind (photo credit: Jamie Robinson)
And next to the house, the lovely chapel of Mary Magdalene contains Guy’s figure in stone, representing him to be 8 ft high.
The formal gardens have vanished, overgrown by tall trees and shrubs and bamboo.
tall bamboo crowds close to Guy’s Cliff,in place of the earlier formal gardens
It’s like another world – untouched, just left as it is.
So many windows. You feel somebody should appear in them.
We couldn’t fail to wonder and imagine as we took the guided tour around the house and grounds on 25 August 2013, guided by our host Adrian, with an excellent, fluent and richly informative talk.
If you’re in the area of Warwick then don’t forget to book a guided tour round Guy’s Cliffe after you’ve visited Warwick Castle!
I’ve written before about sacred spaces. In that article, I looked at some renowned locations in England where people have felt they’re in touch with something bigger than themselves – a sense of the numinous.
All of these places work symbolically or metaphorically to express a place where we may be or a situation we may encounter in this life, that we recognise from our own experience.
And one such renowned location is Stonehenge – which I visited a few days ago with family members.
To walk slowly and attentively around Stonehenge, using the audio guide provided by English Heritage, is to experience something numinous, much bigger than ourselves.
The stones arrived here some time just before 2500 BC, to begin transforming the previously existing simple enclosure to something much different. And as we considered the huge effort that our ancestors put into moving the stones 19 miles from the Marlborough Downs in north Wiltshire, and 150 miles from the Preseli Hills in Wales, to this location, in order to construct this massive circle, we were drawn in to the wonder and the mystery.
Salisbury Cathedral. Its spire is the tallest cathedral spire in England (photo credit Jamie Robinson)
Those who accept the theory of ley lines know that Stonehenge stands on the Old Sarum Ley which is aligned with Salisbury Cathedral, among other sacred places.
As the English Heritage guidebook points out, Stonehenge can perhaps be seen as the prehistoric equivalent of a great cathedral like that at nearby Salisbury, built for worship and as a place where believers could come to find healing and hope and where important people can be buried.
Salisbury Cathedral, described as Britain’s finest 13th Century Cathedral, is another inspirational place.
From its glorious chancel roof
The chancel roof of Salisbury Cathedral (photo credit Jamie Robinson)
to the stunningly beautiful lapis lazuli of the Prisoners of Conscience windows,
this is a place to move and uplift and fill you with awe.
Prisoners of Conscience window in Salisbury Cathedral (designed by Gabriel Loire; dedicated to prisoners of conscience throughout the world. (photo credit Jamie Robinson)
Here, the hearts and minds of all those who enter, for worship or just to visit, may be lifted up to a bigger and clearer understanding of God.
Or, perhaps, they may receive fresh glimpses of eternity, in much the same way, perhaps, as the hearts and minds of those who built and used Stonehenge over the course of 1,400 years.
Another view of the spire of Salisbury Cathedral (photo credit: Jamie Robinson)
Religion for Atheists: A Non-Believer’s Guide to the Uses of Religion
came into my hands the other day, recommended by a friend. The book was published by Penguin in 2012.
I’ve now finished the book and given it a rating on Goodreads & Amazon of 3 out of 5 stars
Review:
Initially, this book held great possibilities for me. It seemed an intriguing thesis.
De Botton, an atheist, acknowledges that although he has no supernatural beliefs, there are many good things in religious practice – and he cites the examples of Christianity, Judaism and Buddhism – which would be of benefit to secular society. So he proposes that the secular world should take all that’s good in religious practice, and apply it in secular institutions – minus the supernatural beliefs.
“Those of us who hold no religious or supernatural beliefs still require regular rituals and encounters with concepts such as friendship, community, gratitude and transcendence.” All tasks should be done through relationship. (This is a quote from a Christian source, Annie Naish, who is a missioner with the Lee Abbey community.) And De Botton has taken this on board well, as he sets forth his ideas.
I like books of philosophy which ruminate about our society and our presumptions and our contemporary culture. The author’s premise seemed to enable him to come from a fresh perspective, free of ‘attitude’, of the kind we associate with the over-exposed Richard Dawkins.
But ultimately I felt that de Botton’s ideas (which he illustrates in various photoshopped pictures throughout his book) would work best on the walls of the Hayward Gallery as part of their exhibition: “An Alternative Guide to the Universe.”
I will however admit that his book works well as a stimulant for discussion. And I agree that many people who have no ‘supernatural beliefs’ would appreciate and benefit from numerous good things about religious practice and customs. And it should not be necessary to hold those beliefs, in order to benefit from all those good things.
I was amused by the author’s argument about using culture in place of scripture; I myself know very well how, for instance, the operas of Wagner can be “secular society’s new sacrament”, and how the profound messages to be found in George Eliot’s “Middlemarch” can (to quote de Botton) “take up the responsibilities previously handled by the Psalms.”
On page 113 he says “Christianity concerns itself…with the inner confused side of us.” I accept that this in many cases is true.
Then on pg 122 he says that his university of the future would provide classes in:
1) reconsidering work,
2) improving relationships wth children
3) reconnecting with nature
and
4) facing illness.
His imaginary university would establish a Department for Relationships, an Institute of Dying, and a Centre for Self-Knowledge.
Although I was amused by these suggestions, I could see that in reality they would not work at all.
De Botton makes several observations about the human condition, of which this is an example: on pg 192 he remarks how many go through life “dynamiting their chances of success through idiocy and impatience”. I can relate to much of what he says about the default setting of human life, but I don’t agree with his overarching philosophical premise.
One of his points is that religions have fully recognised how sad life is – unlike the false hope engendered by the secular world – and have evolved systems to deal with it. This is a good point and yet, for me, his thesis demands further questions: “But what then…?” and “Why should…?”
This is a book which carried me through for a long way… and then I got to the final third of the book and realised there’s a giant hole at the centre of the author’s argument, and it all ends on a down-note.
Beyond his thesis is my unanswered protest, “But I still don’t understand how…” and I believe many would share that position, having thought through how his ideas would work in practice.
As I finished reading this book, I found myself thinking about one of his statements, about how sad this life is – which is fully recognised by the religions he cites, unlike the false hope engendered by the secular world. Then I found this quote from one of the twentieth century’s greatest spiritual writers, the Trappist monk Thomas Merton. It was in the entry for 5 August, in the book Precious Thoughts of Thomas Merton: Daily readings From the Correspondence of Thomas Merton:
What is the trolley I am probably getting off? The trolley is called a special kind of hope. The streetcar of expectation… of things becoming much more intelligible, of things being set in a new kind of order, and so on. Point one, things are not going to get better. Point two, things are going to get worse. I will not dwell on point two. Point three, I don’t need to be on the trolley car anyway…. You can call the trolley anything you like, I have got off it.
Ultimately I believe that Thomas Merton is a writer whose words and spiritual authority I would trust more than those of Alain de Botton.
A listener posed this question to our tour guide as we stood looking at two art gallery walls covered with self-portraits of a bag lady, taken in various public photo booths.
And this was the question I pondered as I , with my two teenage children, looked round an exhibition of wonders at the Hayward Gallery on London’s South Bank last Saturday.
There, displayed for us in The Alternative Guide to the Universe, were the outpourings of unlicensed architects, off-beam physicists, self-taught artists, arcane code creators, numerologists and mystical theorizers; untrained farmer-inventors of automata and robots, constructors of imaginary buildings and cities from discarded packaging, and proponents of new theories to replace gravity and relativity.
We gazed at elaborate designs for a robot to roam the universe, and crack the mystery of life after death, with a complex scheme for a new language with which this robot would communicate these truths to the future inhabitants of planet earth.
We viewed images of exquisite dolls of children and young people which had been created by one man over 20 years, dressed in clothes he designed and made himself, then posed in numerous positions and photographed; and finally, packed away carefully, not to be seen again by anyone until after his death.
What makes art? I asked myself.
And answers immediately flooded in:
Passion.
Obsession.
Devotion.
Dedication.
A long obedience in the same direction.
The creators of the works we saw were a direct inspiration and encouragement to me as a writer.
Some are long-term residents in psychiatric institutions, others are on the fringes of society, just inside the cusp of (apparent) normality.
And they are all remarkable, exceptional people.
And they all have this in common:
They are focussed, committed, and they direct all their energy into one project consistently, over a number of years which can range from one to three decades.
If you have this kind of commitment you too could in theory create exquisite things.
Your ideas might not ‘work’, but if you are creative in this life, and you leave a body of work behind you that is intriguing and beguiling and fills people with wonder and amazement and awe, you have added something of lasting value to this world. You may even have fulfilled your God-given purpose.
This weekend my daughter and I visited family members in Northborough and attended the John Clare Festival in Helpston, Northamptonshire.
The children of John Clare School bring their flower cushions to lay on the poet’s grave at Helpston Church (photo credit: Abigail Robinson)
We thoroughly enjoyed sharing in the community celebrations of John Clare (1793-1864), their local poet.
JOHN CLARE was born in Helpston in 1793 and deeply loved the natural world. During his life he wrote both poetry and autobiographical prose celebrating rural life and scenery, yet he suffered a series of severe breakdowns in later life, and spent his last 20 years in an asylum in Northampton.
He is now recognized to be as great as his contemporaries Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Keats, Shelley and Blake.
Yet in his time, despite an early ‘false dawn’ when he enjoyed a brief fame and his first volume of poems outsold Wordsworth and Keats, Clare was marketed as ‘the peasant poet’ meaning ‘ill-educated and poor’, hinting that it was remarkable he could write poetry at all, let alone great poetry.
Now in his own community, The John Clare Society ensures he is celebrated, and I highly recommend John Clare Cottage in Helpston. A visit here to learn about the poet, his work and his life is fascinating.
As you enter the Dovehouse in the beautiful cottage garden, you listen to recordings of some Clare poems, recited by adults and by children. Many must be deeply touched by these words of Clare’s:
I am – yet what I am, none cares or knows,
Local schoolchildren bring flowers to John Clare’s grave in Helpston Churchyard (photo credit: Abigail Robinson)
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes
They rise and vanish in oblivion’s host…
How comforted and reassured John Clare may have been if he could have looked into the future and seen not only his greatness as a poet fully recognized, but also his memory honoured in such a beautiful way today in his own community.
We listened as a choir of children from John Clare School sang to us, and watched as prizes were awarded to the winners of a poetry competition for a poem about the natural world, in the tradition of John Clare.
This event, together with others held during the John Clare Festival in Helpston, made an inspirational weekend; local bards and poets laureate competed in a poetry slapdown with poems that were not only very funny but also thought-provoking.
The children’s flower cushions on John Clare’s grave (photo credit: Abigail Robinson)
And I reflected, that in this life, sometimes people who live by their imagination, in order to inspire others, suffer as John Clare did, with lack of recognition, with social and class prejudice, with mental ill health; often the creative life can bring suffering. Yet creative people ultimately are driven forward by a deep love of their subject; so it was in the case of John Clare.
I for one cannot read his exquisite poetry about flowers,woodlands, open fields, birds, animals and insect, and then observe the very things he wrote about, without feeling this.
scskillman.com 