Indeed they are – at Newbiggin-by-the-Sea, Northumberland. This ‘Couple’ by Sean Henry has been standing on a platform on a breakwater gazing out at sea since about 2008. At any moment of the day you’ll be able to spot passers-by gazing at them.
We went to Beamish the other day. The museum here is an open-air experience which brings the history of North East England from about the 1820s onwards to life. The shops, trades, homes from the different periods on show all open their doors to visitors. The longest queue was outside the sweet shop from the early days of the twentieth century … It seemed the perfect day out for the Spanish branch of the family. Life’s far too busy just now for an extensive post, but here are just a few modes of transport that we saw, and in some cases travelled on during the day. More in a later post, I’m sure.
For One Word Sunday this week, Debbie asks us to provide an image, a ‘framed’ image. Luckily, at Brimham Rocks, there is a ready-made frame available for us all to use to capture that Perfect Picture Postcard.
On the first Saturday of every month, a book is chosen as a starting point and linked to six other books to form a chain. Readers and bloggers are invited to join in by creating their own ‘chain’ leading from the selected book.
This month’s starter book is The Museum of Modern Love by Heather Rose, and I really enjoyed it. I’d like to thank Kate for drawing our attention to it. It’s an illuminating and satisfying examination of how we interact with art and what we get from it. It’s told from the perspective of Arky Levin, a composer whose terminally ill wife has forbidden him from visiting the hospital where she is dying, so he can get on with his career, and from a clutch of – very different – subsidiary characters. The real hero of the book is performance artist Marina Abramović, who in 2010 sat immobile in MoMa’s atrium while spectators queued up to take turns sitting opposite her while looking into her eyes.
Marina Abramović was an exhibit. So’s my next character. He’s an octopus in an aquarium, and his story is told in Shelley Van Pelt‘s Remarkably Bright Creatures. Seventy year old Tova Sullivan needs to keep busy since her husband died. She’s needed to keep busy for years in fact, since her son Eric was apparently drowned – his body was never found. So she works as a cleaner in the town’s aquarium. And it’s here she establishes a bond with an elderly octopus, who also gets to tell his story in short occasional chapters. Suspend your disbelief. This works. The other main character is Cameron, a man with a chip on his shoulder searching for the father he never knew. This book tells the story, the journey of each of them, with a light touch: with humour and with wit. A light, yet involving and engaging read.
From an unhappy octopus to an unhappy – and creative – man: Charles Rennie Mackintosh. He and his wife fetched up in a Suffolk coastal village at the beginning of WWI, to nurse his wounded ego, with commissions unforthcoming, and his Glasgow School of Art unrecognised. His story, and that of the community where he’s settled for a while is told through the voice of 11 year old Thomas Maggs whose own family life is difficult. This book – Mr. Mac and Me, by Esther Freud paints a picture of life in a working coastal village as well as that of the life of a poverty-stricken and disappointed artist. An absorbing story.
Two more disappointed people: in Ann Youngson’s Meet Me at the Museum. This book of considerable charm is told entirely in an exchange of letters between an English 60 year old farmer’s wife and the curator of a Danish Museum which houses the Tollund Man. Initially formal, the letters become more intimate. This busy outdoorsy farmer’s wife with her chintzy house couldn’t be more different from austere Scandinavian Anders. But both are lonely and have gaping holes in their lives. With every letter they disclose more of their joys, disappointments and difficulties and draw inexorably closer. At the end is a revelation. What effect will this have on them, on their burgeoning relationship? We can only speculate. A touching and intimate book.
These two characters are in different ways rooted in their local surroundings. Anita Sethi in a British born woman of British Guianan heritage who suffered a racist incident while travelling by rail which resulted in a conviction for the abuser. It prompted her to plan and execute a journey along the backbone of England – the Pennine Way – which she records in I Belong Here. This was for her, an inexperienced walker, a journey of healing and a time for reflection. It also became an extended metaphor for her feelings about her status as British person from an ethnic minority; the Pennines as ‘backbone’; of ‘making your own path’; of ‘ruggedness and strength’; of laws which protect landscapes and humans .. and so on. She muses on community, on history, on legislation as she walks an area I know well, and gave me, a white person with roots in this part of the country, plenty to think about. I’ll be interested in how the rest of the proposed trilogy develops.
Here’s another book whichbegins with a journey through northern England. Cuddy, by Benjamin Myers. I know little about Saint Cuthbert beyond the fact that he was a simple man, much venerated in his own time. Which explains why a motley band of monks and devotees intermittently spent years moving his remains around to save him from the depredations of Viking raiders. And we meet some of them here, in the first section of the book set in 995CE, where orphaned Ediva, in her breathless disjointed but poetic prose recounts their journey, the landscape, and her vision for his final resting place. In Book Two, set in 1346, masons are enhancing and repairing the mighty hilltop cathedral (Durham). The wife of one meets and succumbs to another …. Then we leap to the 19th century to meet the opinionated and cocksure Forbes Fawcett-Black who has been invited to join the team exhuming the saint to see if the legend that his flesh is incorruptible is true. And finally we are in 2019, where a young under-educated man who cares for his dying mother is employed as a gopher to the current restoration team. His eyes are opened to a world and a heritage he had not known about. How different and yet how connected the sections are to each other. The language of each couldn’t be more different one from the other: free-flowing yet poetic; dense blocks of prose; a pastiche Victorian ghost story; a rich narrative in which sense of place and societal deprivation are juxtaposed The kinds of story told are utterly different. Yet links are there – there’s always an owl-eyed lad in the narrative, for instance. A richly complex feast of prose and poetry, provoking thought and discussion long after the last page has been turned. This is a book inviting – and deserving – several readings.
My last book is also rooted in the British landscape. But Berkshire this time. On Gallows Hill, by Nicola Chester. Nicola Chester has lived her whole life in Berkshire. This area has had a history of rebellion by the under-represented. John Clare wrote his poetry here. The Civil War had bitter battles here. Tenants throughout the centuries rebelled against their landowner masters. It’s where Greenham Common, site of the women’s peace camps, and Newbury Bypass, a much fought-over project which destroyed so much natural and rural history when it was sited near her homes. Chester has been a tenant all her life, and understands powerlessness. She also understands the natural world, and deepening her understanding of it, spending time in it with her family, particularly her children, is her salvation. Her battles change to doing her part to save the natural world. She has her nature writing accepted by the RSPB, the Guardian, her local paper, and this becomes part of her fight. She writes with lyricism and passion, describing the seasons, the creatures that form part of her day-to-day environment with incisive, poetic words and concludes ‘Anyone could make a place their home by engaging with its nature’. A book to read slowly, and to savour.
I think we can link Chester back to Abramović, since both share a passion for the things that matter to them, and go to often uncomfortable lengths as they invite the world to share their compulsive interest.
Next month? Our starter book will be After Story, by Larissa Behrendt.
Several illustrations are via Unsplash: (i) K Mitch Hodge (ii) Pete Williams and (vi) Frances Synge. (iii)Tollund Man is in the Public Domain: Sven Rosbum . (iv) Durham Cathedral and (v) Pennines landcape in North Yorkshire, are my own.
This week, Leanne’s Monochrome Madness has no theme. She has chosen to showcase lighthouses. We’re rather thin on lighthouses round here, so I won’t join her. Instead, I’ll show just a few towers I’ve seen this year.
My first tower of the year was a human one, seen in York.
Then we went to Spain to meet our new granddaughter. And do a spot of discovering too.
Gaudi’s church in Colònia Güell
And later, I went back to Spain again, to lend a hand as my daughter’s maternity leave ran out. I still had moments of sightseeing.
And most recently, it was off to Holgate Mill, a fully functioning windmill slap in the middle of a housing estate in York. I must introduce it properly soon.
My featured photo is of Christ Church Hartlepool, now an Arts Centre. I was going to add in an AI generated photo too. Just for fun. But they were no fun, so I abandoned the idea.
This week, for the Lens-Artists Challenge, PR invites us to present balconies we’ve met. I love leaning over a balcony, with the chance to relish a bit of sunshine whilst enjoying some people -watching. But it turns out that I haven’t got a single shot of residents enjoying their bit of outdoor urban space.
Lots of apartment-owners turn their balconies into gardens. Although the resident in my first shot hasn’t allowed a lack of an existing one to thwart plans. How about repurposing a few chairs? And the second one earns a place to show how so many Spanish and Portuguese balconies are tiled on the underside. Such a good idea!
Then – obviously – there’s Balcony as Washing Line. Here are two from Spain.
Vic, CataloniaSants, Barcelona
Sometimes a balcony is ideal for posting a protest. Here the citizens of Berga demanded Independence from Spain for Catalonia. Five years on, the cries don’t seem to be quite so strident. And in the adjacent images, citizens in a run-down neighbourhood in Seville sought a touch of cultural revival, accompanied by lively illustrations.
Sometimes it’s just about cheering up the neighbourhood. Here we are, first in Berlin, then in Málaga.
And sometimes, balaconies just wish to speak for themselves. Here are two fine examples.
This building is now the Tourist Office in Manises, a town near Valencia which was formerly one of the most important producers of ceramics in Spain. Sadly, its glory days are over.
A fine Modernista building in Mataróby Josep Puig i Cadafalch, the Casa Coll i Regàs.
And some people just don’t have a balcony. So they have to paint one instead.
Two examples of trompe-l’œil in Tournus, Saône-et-Loire, France
My feature photo is of an ordinary street in Argentona, Catalonia – where every house is sporting a balcony.
Thanks, PR – this was an inspired post to set us in the mood for summer travels, and mooching around to find balconies to admire.
I feel so lucky that the area where I live is rich in trees, because not so very long ago, the local copses were woods, and the woods were forests. Here’s one favourite, an ancient oak: frustratingly, it’s not possible to stand far enough away to get it all in frame. But I love visiting this near neighbour of ours. How many centuries ago did it begin its life?
An ancient oak near North Stainley
There are trees that flourish against the odds. The feature photo shows two trees at Brimham Rocks. Where have they burrowed their roots? Where is the soil that nourishes them? And here are two we meet when walking near Coniston in Yorkshire.
Two trees near Coniston, Grassington
I’m always fond of this tree near Jervaulx Abbey. And I always wonder who the lucky child was who had a second home there.
Here’s another from Jervaulx Abbey itself that always makes me laugh.
The grounds of Jervaulx Abbey, North Yorkshire
This one’s a favourite in our nearby woodland at West Tanfield.
Greensit Batts, West Tanfield
And here’s just another local specimen. Not weird. Just wonderful.
Here are some more images taken in Masham as dozens of historic vehicles trundled slowly through town last Saturday in the early evening sun to take their place in the Market Square to be gazed at by the curious – or closely inspected by fellow enthusiasts.
And some children, schooled by the parents – or grandparents more likely – rushed out into the road before each vehicle passed to place pennies in the path of oncoming vehicles. Malcolm remembers the excitement, as a boy, of finding their now unspendable coins flattened into large discs by those trundling steam rollers and similar. My London childhood denied me such pleasures. Though I do remember fire engines like the one shown as the fourth image here, with one frantic fireman at the front constantly pulling at a rope to ring the tinny bell urging people out of the way.
And here are the children and their pennies …
And here are some of the characters we saw. Though what one little group was doing canvassing for Votes for Womem (sic) escaped me.
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