Katya in blue by the fir tree. A wonderful painting of this name, from the brush of the legendary Zinaida Serebriakova, can be found in the Pushkin Museum. On it is depicted a little girl with bright deep and big eyes. This is Ekaterina Serebriakova, Zinaida’s daughter, her right-hand woman, and the preserver of her artistic heritage. A superb graphic artist, painter and interior decorator, Ekaterina died on August 26, 2014, in her apartment on Montparnasse. She was in the 102nd year of her life.
The world of Russian culture has had an immeasurable loss, said the Russian ambassador to France, Alexander Orlov. The ambassador is indubitably correct – and not just because owing to Ekaterina’s efforts, her mother’s legacy was preserved. Zinaida was one of the greats of Russian art, one of the first women to write her name in bright letters in its history. Ekaterina herself was…
The subject of my blog today is not an artist, although many would term her a theatrical artist, and in fact she was looked upon as one of the greatest English tragic actors of the eighteenth century. She was a Shakespearean actor of great renown and particularly famous for her interpretations of Lady Macbeth. She was a lady who was so popular that her portrait was painted a number of times by leading portraitists of the time. Let me introduce you to Sarae Kemble, later known as Sarah Siddons.
Sarae Kemble was born in the Welsh town of Brecon in July 1755. She was the eldest of twelve children of Roger Kemble and his wife Sarah Ward. Her father, who was a theatre manager, managed a troupe of travelling actors, the Warwickshire Company of Comedians. Sarah was fortunate to be the eldest child as her…
The King of China’s daughter,
She never would love me
Though I hung my cap and bells upon
Her nutmeg tree.
For oranges and lemons,
The stars in bright blue air,
(I stole them long ago, my dear)
Were dangling there.
The Moon did give me silver pence,
The sun did give me gold,
And both together softly blew
And made my porridge cold;
But the King of China’s daughter
Pretended not to see
When I hung my cap and bells upon
Her nutmeg tree.
The King of China’s daughter
So beautiful to see
With her face like yellow water, left
Her nutmeg tree.
Her little rope for skipping
She kissed and gave to me –
Made of painted notes of singing-birds
Among the fields of tea
I skipped across the nutmeg grove, –
I skipped across the sea;
But neither sun nor moon, my dear,
Has yet caught me.
The same day I saw the Popkov exhibition at Somerset House, I also nipped into the St Petersburg Gallery where there was a display of Russian avant-garde works. I took a few a pictures with my Moto G, and as you can see, the picture quality isn’t great.
The curators of this show (Russian Revolution in Art, Russian Avant-Garde: 1910 – 1932) focused on a major dichotomy of the modernist period – figurative vs non-figurative art. While artists, joined up in a multitude of movements, claimed that art was separate from the real world, they continued to investigate abstraction and rhythm, and created new colour and plastic compositions.
The exhibition has more than sixty pieces: paintings, drawings, craft and sculptures. There are suprematists and constructivists, ceramicists and non-objectivists. There is a St Petersburg circle, a Malevich circle, a Moscow circle. There even is a set of Kandinskys before that worthy legged…
Advanced writing workshops in a hotel where Charles Dickens and Oscar Wilde once stayed. Eye-opening information about Cornish medieval drama. Advice on getting published from a bestseller. A fascination with the exotic.
Writers and readers (myself included) flocked to Penzance over the weekend for the annual Literary Festival, expertly organised by a team of volunteers and run over four days in some of the best buildings in town.
From the ultra-modern surroundings of The Exchange to the refined, historical setting of The Union Hotel and the artistic delights of the Acorn Theatre, there were a whopping 85 events on offer to tempt visitors and locals from the delightful sunshine and into a world of bookishness and learning.
I didn’t manage to attend anything like all of the sessions, but here’s a brief rundown of my favourites:
Author Branding – tips from international writer and ex-pat Liz Fenwick on how to create…
There are a surprising number of car boot sales in Cornwall as may be clearly seen by looking at the maps and search on www.intocornwall.com/ .Probably the two most popular in West Cornwall are the Sunday event at Hayle which starts as early as at 8am. Hayle Rugby Club R.F.C, Memorial Park, Marsh Lane, Hayle. In the recent fine weather the Wednesday market at Roseudgeon between Penzance and Helston fromthe beginning of April to end of October.
Visiting the Roseudgeon event recently, I discovered a nexus of vibrant activity and fun. In summer, parking might take 10 minutes or so but the fields to which the cars are guided is close to the sea and affords expansive views down to the cliffs on the south coast itself. The stallholders must arrive as early as six in the morning to get a decent pitch . However, revived by a strong cup of tea and an hour of quick sales puts them into good humour. As well as cash, useful information changes hands in relation to where things can be sourced, how to look after a pot plant and keep it in good condition and so forth.
Rosudgeon Car Boot Sale
There are a wide range of flowers and potted bushes on sale making for a colourful display. There is a mass of cheap fruit and vegetables. (I was cheered by a large bag of cherries, probably about 1.5kg, cost just a £1). Naturally, as is my wont -an interesting word deriving from the same stem as the German verb wohnen to live in a place- I headed for the books, DVDs and CDs. There is a rich vein of books on photography-e.g Peace Snapped by Rupert Hopkins 1986 about the Greenham Common Peace Camp.http://www.ruperthopkins.com/gallery.php. I also found an Art book valued new at £383-09 and in pretty good condition for just £8. This is the place to come if you are in search of your favourite type of music, I rather regret not spending £2 on the nostalgia of Manfred Mann! As Tony Benn once remarked,”There is nothing like finding something you have lost-it gives you more pleasure than anything else.”
Car components etc!
There are rolls, cakes and drinks for sale and in the hall next to the field tea, sandwiches, scones and fairy cakes are on sale at very reasonable prices. There is something rather typically English and sempiternal about the ambiance, rather like a dance hall frozen into the 1960s with jovial and friendly staff presiding. After taking a break, it is interesting to note that the crowds of punters are a cosmopolitan group. There are locals picking up cheap supplies but also groups of visitors from abroad, discovering facets of popular culture by rooting through shed-loads of cheap DVDs. Everyone wanders through makeshift alleyways, surveying the more specialist stalls providing fishing rods, leather goods and cowboy hats and sturdy, wooden garden furniture.
It was a great pleasure to discover an old friend, MVB- www.rainydaygallery.co.uk– selling off the stock remaining from his recently closed gallery. This included postcards with various intriguing local artists and his family biographies. The latter containing an account of his grandfather; an early pioneer of flying machines. If you are looking for presents for children you will find everything from bags of lego in all shapes and sizes, strategy games and kids DVDs. A Bagpuss DVD retailed for £1 and two lego kits in good condition were about £5. It is a good idea to plan your budget before you start, although I don’t myself regret buying an unaccountably attractive Welsh vase for £1 and a cafitiere in fresh condition for £4 -at least £10 cheaper than on Amazon, say.
I
Ich trete in die dunkelblaue Stunde –
da ist der Flur, die Kette schließt sich zu
und nun im Raum ein Rot auf einem Munde
und eine Schale später Rosen – Du!
Wir wissen beide, jene Worte,
die jeder oft zu anderen sprach und trug,
sind zwischen uns wie nichts und fehl am Orte:
dies ist das Ganze und der letzte Zug.
Das Schweigende ist so weit fortgeschritten
und füllt den Raum und denkt sich selber zu
die Stunde – nichts gehofft und nichts gelitten –
mit ihrer Schale später Rosen – Du.
II
Dein Haupt verfließt, ist weiß und will sich hüten,
indessen sammelt sich auf deinem Mund;
die ganze Lust, der Purpur und die Blüten
aus deinem angestammten Ahnengrund.
Du bist so weiß, man denkt, du wirst zerfallen
vor lauter Schnee, vor lauter Blütenlos,
totweiße Rosen, Glied für Glied – Korallen
nur auf den Lippen, schwer und wundengroß.
Du bist so weich, du gibst von etwas Kunde,
von einem Glück aus Sinken und Gefahr
in einer blauen, dunkelblauen Stunde
und wenn sie ging, weiß keiner, ob sie war.
III
Ich frage dich, du bist doch eines andern,
was trägst du mir die späten Rosen zu?
Du sagst, die Träume gehn, die Stunden wandern,
was ist das alles: er und ich und du?
«Was sich erhebt, das will auch wieder enden,
was sich erlebt – wer weiß denn das genau,
die Kette schließt, man schweigt in diesen Wänden
und dort die Weite, hoch und dunkelblau.»
This very lovely poem appears in the useful collection “The Faber Book of 20th Century German Poems” where it has been translated by Michael Hofmann:-
Blue Hour
I
I enter the deep blue hour-
here is the landing, the chain shuts behind
and now in the room only carmine on a mouth
and a bowl of late roses-you!
We both know, those words
we both spoke and often offered others
are of no account and out of place between us:
this is everything and endgame.
Silence has advanced so far
it fills the room and seals it shut
the hour-nothing hoped and nothing suffered-
with its bowl of late roses-you.
II
Your face blurs, is white and fragile,
meanwhile there collects on your mouth
all of desire, the purple and the blossoms
from some ancestral flotsam stock.
You are so pale, I think you might disintegrate
in a snowdrift, in unblooming
deathly white roses, one by one-coral
only your lips, heavy and like a wound.
You are so soft, you portend something
of happiness, of submersion and danger
in a blue, a deep blue hour
and when it is gone, no one knows if it was.
III
I remind you, you are another’s,
what are you doing bearing me these late roses?
You say dreams bleach, hours wander.
what is all this: he and I and you?
‘What arises and arouses, it all comes to an end,
what happens- who exactly knows,
the chain falls shut, we are silent in these walls,
and outside is all of space, lofty and dark blue.’
Die blaue Stunde (L’heure bleue), 1890; Öl auf Leinwand. Leihgeber: Museum der bildenden Künste Leipzig.
There is an interesting analysis of this poem by the Italian translator and scholar, Stefanie Golisch at http://www.fixpoetry.com/feuilleton/lesarten/gottfried-benn/blaue-stunde/ingeborg-bachmann/die-blaue-stunde
A new translation of Benn’s poems by Michael Hofmann called “Impromtus” is reviewed at http://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/jan/31/impromptu-selected-poems-gottfried-benn-review
There is also a You Tube reading at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RAs1t3evQW4
Just a day or so ago I was chatting with Aussie author Debbie Robson about the joys of research and the type of research that I do for this blog…
An Armenian Sketchbook, a travel memoir of sorts by the great Russian writer Vasily Grossman, is an example of a book that demands a bit of research before I write anything about it here. Before my research, I knew next to nothing about Armenia, not even its exact location. All I knew before reading the book had to do with the Armenian Genocide: i.e. from my reading of Louis de Bernières Birds without Wings I learned that early in the 20th century the Ottomans in Turkey had killed more than a million Armenians. I also knew that the Nobel Prize winning author Orhan Pamuk was recently prosecuted by authorities when he publicly acknowledged that this genocide had taken place because it is a criminal offence to do that in Turkey.
Georgia O’Keefe’s annoyance at the high-handed attitude of Alfred Stieglitz in exhibiting ten of her charcoal abstract works in his gallery alongside other artists’ paintings, without her permission, in May 1916 soon cooled off and maybe Stieglitz decided to make amends by offering Georgia a solo exhibition at his gallery. She agreed and in April 1917 she had her first solo show. It was the final exhibition at Stieglitz’s 291 gallery as shortly afterwards it closed.
Evening Star by Georgia O’Keefe (1917)
Georgia had initially been completing works in black and white insisting that colour would detract from the work itself. However for this solo exhibition she submitted oil paintings and watercolours which she had been working on whilst living in Texas. As far as the use of colour was concerned she admitted:
“…I found I could say things with colour and shapes that I couldn’t…
The world of Russian culture has had an immeasurable loss, said the Russian ambassador to France, Alexander Orlov. The ambassador is indubitably correct – and not just because owing to Ekaterina’s efforts, her mother’s legacy was preserved. Zinaida was one of the greats of Russian art, one of the first women to write her name in bright letters in its history. Ekaterina herself was…
penwithlit 