Thursday, 31 March 2016
A Portrait
This picture caught my eye in Tate Britain yesterday (I think they recently brought it out from storage). It's An Artist in His Studio by Alfred Stevens - not the hugely successful Belgian painter of elegant Victorian ladies, but the English sculptor best known for his extravagant Wellington monument in St Paul's Cathedral. An Artist in His Studio is dated around 1840, when the young Stevens was studying in Italy, but - apart from the costume - it could have been painted 50 years later (and by a French, or Frenchified, artist at that). There is nothing the least academic about this fresh and freely painted portrait - and nothing remotely suggestive of the Wellington monument. On the evidence of this early picture, it seems a pity that this Stevens didn't devote more of his energy to painting.
Wednesday, 30 March 2016
A Debt to Black Beauty
The books that first got me reading - I mean really reading, and loving it - were a motley collection. I was nine or ten at the time and had spent my earlier years quite unaware of the powerful enchantment of books. Then along came the works that turned me into a reader: A Christmas Carol (which led me to Oliver Twist and beyond), a life of Albert Schweitzer (no idea who by, of if it was any good, but I read it repeatedly), My Family and Other Animals (I was a keen junior naturalist), In Memoriam (a precocious choice) and Black Beauty. I found Black Beauty gripping and at times almost unbearably moving, read it again and again (and was inspired to make many drawings of horses, which made me popular with horse-loving girls). Heaven knows what I would make of Black Beauty now - I'm pretty sure it's not one to reread - but I must always be grateful for any book that sparked such passion in me.
Its author, Anna Sewell, was born on this day in 1820, into a Quaker family who later joined the evangelical wing of the Church of England. Like so many Victorian ladies, she spent much of her life as an invalid, a childhood accident having severely restricted her mobility. Black Beauty was her only published work, and she lived just long enough to witness its initial success - though she can hardly have dreamed that it would go on to become one of the best-selling books in publishing history.
I remember enough of Black Beauty to know that it is an intensely moral book, concerning itself with how we treat our fellow humans as well as our fellow animals. 'There is no religion without love,' Sewell wrote in Black Beauty,' and people may talk as much as they like about their religion, but if it does not teach them to be good and kind to man and beast it is all a sham... and it won't stand when things come to be turned inside out and put down for what they are.'
Does anyone else recall the books - good, bad or downright shameful - that made a reader of them? Come to that, has anyone reread Black Beauty?
Its author, Anna Sewell, was born on this day in 1820, into a Quaker family who later joined the evangelical wing of the Church of England. Like so many Victorian ladies, she spent much of her life as an invalid, a childhood accident having severely restricted her mobility. Black Beauty was her only published work, and she lived just long enough to witness its initial success - though she can hardly have dreamed that it would go on to become one of the best-selling books in publishing history.
I remember enough of Black Beauty to know that it is an intensely moral book, concerning itself with how we treat our fellow humans as well as our fellow animals. 'There is no religion without love,' Sewell wrote in Black Beauty,' and people may talk as much as they like about their religion, but if it does not teach them to be good and kind to man and beast it is all a sham... and it won't stand when things come to be turned inside out and put down for what they are.'
Does anyone else recall the books - good, bad or downright shameful - that made a reader of them? Come to that, has anyone reread Black Beauty?
Monday, 28 March 2016
Hail Caesar!
I've just been to see the latest Coen brothers film, Hail Caesar! - and I have to report that I was laughing from the first scene to the last. Indeed I can't remember when I last laughed so much at a (new) film. Some people - including even my old friend Bryan - have been left cold by this one, but I can't for the life of me imagine why. Viewed simply as a spoof on Fifties Hollywood, it's ridiculously well done, with deep and true affection and an acute eye for the absurd - better than even Mel Brooks in similar vein. But I think Hail Caesar! is a whole lot more than a spoof. In fact it can be construed - if construing's what you want to do - as a serious comic exploration of the nature of three dream factories or roads to redemption or paths to a higher form of life: Hollywood, communism and (specifically Catholic) Christianity. All, to different degrees, delusive; all, to different degrees, true - well, all except one (clue: it's the one in the middle). And all funny.
Anyway, I loved it - and the casting was brilliant, the performances great, the look of the thing, the script, the editing, the music, the narration... Hail, Coens!
Anyway, I loved it - and the casting was brilliant, the performances great, the look of the thing, the script, the editing, the music, the narration... Hail, Coens!
Birth of the Nigroni
The other night, by chance, I created a new cocktail - at least, I think it's new, and I pass it on in the interests of good cheer and enlightenment. Here's the recipe:
A generous slug of Sloe Gin.
An equally generous slug of Campari.
A similar amount of Orange Juice.
A splash or more of Soda.
A little ice if you fancy it, and a good stir.
A slice of orange or (if you can be arsed) twist of peel to finish.
Because of its generic resemblance to the classic Negroni, I call this elixir the Nigroni. It looks good, tastes good, and by golly it does you good - well, probably not the last, but it certainly makes you feel good. Cheers!
A generous slug of Sloe Gin.
An equally generous slug of Campari.
A similar amount of Orange Juice.
A splash or more of Soda.
A little ice if you fancy it, and a good stir.
A slice of orange or (if you can be arsed) twist of peel to finish.
Because of its generic resemblance to the classic Negroni, I call this elixir the Nigroni. It looks good, tastes good, and by golly it does you good - well, probably not the last, but it certainly makes you feel good. Cheers!
Sunday, 27 March 2016
Saturday, 26 March 2016
Renbourn Remembered
A year ago today, the brilliant guitarist John Renbourn died. For some reason I didn't mark this addition to the celestial jam session at the time, so today I make amends by posting this reminder of a great guitar talent - here playing with his old compadre Bert Jansch. A musical partnership made in heaven - enjoy (and if, like me, you're allergic to Billy Connolly, be sure to kill the vid at 4:27).
Friday, 25 March 2016
Then and Now
Eh bien, it's a gloriously sunny Good Friday, and on my way to the baker's to buy hot cross buns this morning I spotted another dozen or more Brimstones flying, and a surprisingly fresh-looking Tortoiseshell. It seems it's raining Brimstones this spring.
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