Come away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o
I’d wanted to check out Cezanne’s neighbourhood for ages and last year I finally made it to Aix, on a bus from Marseilles.
I’m fire fighting at the moment so only have time to post a gallery.
But I hope you like it anyway.
If you haven’t seen them, Tina has beautiful photos taken of Seabrook Island, South Carolina for her challenge of ‘Neighborhood’.
An amusing little blast from this blog’s past !
Otherwise known as Lucid Gypsy rambling.
Last evening I went out with two of my closest friends. It’s a monthly event, we take turns driving, so that in theory two of us can have a couple of drinks, but actually we don’t drink much alcohol at all, it’s more about the chat and something to eat in a country pub. Two of us live about four miles apart and the other one lives fifteen miles away out in the sticks, and has done for around ten years. Jackie, the friend who lives nearest to me drove last night and sadly she doesn’t have the best sense of direction. Despite having been to Buckerell some 70 or 80 times she needs directions, but really its one straight main road, the A30, and then four miles up a narrow winding lane. We had a great evening with lots of fun, silliness and…
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A few weeks before Christmas I posted some photos taken on an afternoon trip to the moor, At the time I said I’d be back with a few more, but then l forgot.
I asked if anyone could guess the location, only Jude would have a vague idea, but she was a few miles out.
Think Hounds of the Baskervilles!
Yes, it’s Houndtor, my favourite place on Dartmoor.Well, one of two, or three!
My first poem of the year was inspired by this painting by my mum Pat, thank you!.
A sense of woodland
Trudging through mud and leaf litter,
with his faithful companion Ned
a man surveys the landscape,
testing his path with a stick
from the same birch wood.
At the gate the dog pauses,
paw suspended, alert, ears wide,
and the pungent stench of vixen,
barely perceptible to human senses,
overwhelms its olfactory nerve.
A gleam of solstice light falls
on a startle of rabbit, a clear acre distant.
The man fumbles for his pipe and baccy,
scrapes squelchy leaves from his soles.
Ned flops with a disappointed grunt,
a screech of jays laugh from naked branches.
Then once more the silence is palpable.
What’s inspiring you right now?
Today is the centenary of the end of WW1, and at 11 am today events have been held around the UK, and the world, to honour those who’s lives were lost in that atrocious war.
The Shrouds in my post below have travelled to London, where they will lay until November 18th, in Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park.
Three years ago, Rob Heard was feeling really low while recovering from an accident. Watching soldiers returning from Afghanistan on TV, led to him thinking about the loss of lives in wartime and the incredible numbers involved. He found it impossible to imagine the 19,240 men who died in just one day, July 1st 1916, at the battle of the Somme.
From a list of the names of every one of the 19240, he created a hand stitched shroud containing a 12 inch figure, crossing off names as he went. Rob didn’t have a plan when he began the project, but a friend, Steve Knightly a musician from the band Show of Hands, contacted the city council, the Royal Albert Memorial Museum and Exeter Chiefs rugby foundation. This has become the UK’s largest WW1 commemoration and has featured in the national news this week.
If you’re in the area, the…
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So you take a slow walk up the gentle hill that is Rue D’Aubagne,
take a right turn that looks even less salubrious, into Rue Estelle. Then leave the road, hop up the steps to the bridge,
and there she is, blending in so well, you might not even notice.
For number two of my occasional street art post, I’m in Warsaw. With apologies to the artist, this work reminds me of those colouring books for adults, does it you?
And is it art or graffiti?
Graffiti writing and street art are often confused with one another. Both are subversive art movements where work is displayed in public rather than a gallery setting. While graffiti artists place their work in public, . . .
Maybe this work isn’t finished, perhaps by now it’s in full colour.
