Tag Archives: sculpture

Barking Up the Wrong Tree…Friday Fictioneers

“Jess, joining us at the pub tonight? Emily’s bringing her brother along…David Wilson, the famous tree sculptor. His works have been in The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. Being a taxonomist, we thought you’d get on.”

“Jane, if he’s so famous, why can’t he make his own dates? What’s wrong with him?”

“What about yourself? When was the last time you had a date? It’s not his fault that his sister inherited all the extroversion genes.”

“Jess, just promise me you won’t mention anything about their Latin names.”

Something told me, they were all barking up the wrong tree.

…..

103 words

This has been another contribution to Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wishoff-Fields. PHOTO PROMPT © J.S. Brand

Best wishes,

Rowena

 

 

E-Eileen Agar…A-Z Challenge

As you may be aware, my theme for the Blogging A-Z Challenge is Writing Letters to Dead Artists, who have touched me personally in some way.

Today’s artist is British surrealist, Eileen Agar, who I came across in rather a unique way. You see,  while I was compiling my list, I came across an art personality quiz on the Tate Gallery’s web site… http://www.tate.org.uk/art/find-your-art-inspiration. This is part of Women’s History Month, and it allows you to see which woman artist is your perfect match.

Since I love such quizzes, I sharpened my brain and tried to answer the questions as honestly as I could. Confession time. This is not as easy as it sounds, because I find it all too easy to cheat, and present a more idealized version of myself.

As it turned out, I was told that Eileen Agar was my perfect match. Indeed, this is what the quiz told me:

Love to play: Eileen Agar

“You are curious and perceptive, with a playful sense of humour. You love nature and collecting beautiful objects. Highly imaginative, you look at the world from a sideways perspective. You’re open to new experiences and appreciate life’s absurdities – much like Eileen Agar.

Agar (1904–1991) was one of the few women artists to become associated with the Surrealist movement. In fact, she was the only British woman artist to show work at the International Surrealist Exhibition in 1936. A lot of her work is assembled using different found materials and objects, such as feathers, beads and shells. She often took the natural world as her cue, responding playfully to the landscape around her (see her photograph of ‘Bum and Thumb Rock‘).”

Well, this was a bit of a surprise for this meek, mild-mannered reporter…a  Clark Kent in a woman’s body.

Let’s start off just by talking about her hats. These were artworks in themselves. Her best known is the Ceremonial hat for eating Bouillabaisse (a rich, spicy stew or soup made with various kinds of fish, originally from Provence). This was no ordinary hat. It “consisted of a cork basket picked up in St Tropez and painted blue, which I covered with fishnet, a lobster’s tail, starfish and other marine objects’ 1 Well, she was friends with Salvidor Dali who had a lobster on his telephone, so I shouldn’t be all that surprised.

Eileen Agar wearing Ceremonial Hat for Eating Bouillabaisse

Yet, can I see myself stepping out the front door and even walking down the street wearing such a hat? Not on your life. That said, I have been known to stand out in my own peculiar ways. Indeed, I’ve photographed tea cups in the waves and on the beach. I’ve also photographed a huge Eeyore on the beach looking wistfully out to sea. I also bought myself a pair of pink, satin ballet slippers and attended adult ballet classes, which meant crossing over some pretty high boundaries as a middle-aged woman living with disability and chronic health. So, I have broken a few conventions in my life, and as a child, I even dressed up as a shepherd one year, because I was sick of being an angel. That really was breaking all the rules, but no one said a word.

However, there is one very clear connection I do have with Eileen Agar. That is collecting things. For years, I’ve walked along the beach collecting shells and other detritus. Indeed, not unlike Agar, I actually used these shells while making cards. I have also kept other items like the cuckoo clock parts I salvaged from the neighbours throw out pile just in case one of us goes into sculpture. Ideas were definitely ticking over, even if all this stuff is currently stuffed in drawers or stashed in the roof.

Oh yes. Before I forget, there’s also the old piano currently sitting in our lounge room. As you may be aware, you can‘t even give a piano away these days, but I have plans to give this ailing piano a makeover and turn it into something else. Indeed, this piano has “POTENTIAL” written all over it.

Just like me.

When it comes to Agar’s works, I struggled to find anything I could really connect with. While I like a bit of surrealism, I also like to know what I’m looking at or at least have some clues. I just didn’t get that with most of her work. I didn’t get that spark, that intensity of feeling or any sense of identification. The closest I came was Head of Dylan Thomas, which I really do like after all and if I cut it out and stuck it to my wall, I know I’d love it. It’s just that trying to get through 26 artists in a month is a daunting task, especially when I’m tackling new artists just to fill in letters of the alphabet.

Yet, after reading about the colourful and effervescent life she led, it has made me wonder what we’d be like if each of us could be a 100% unadulterated version of ourselves, unimpeded by social conventions, expectations and our own inhibitions. Would we also be swinging from the chandeliers with the likes of Agar and Dali? Or, would we still be exactly who we are?

However, being creative isn’t just about breaking boundaries and social norms. It isn’t just about being consumed by the creative process, but being unable to live in the so-called “real world” either. There is a balance and some of those restraints are a good thing…a necessary evil. I do believe there needs to be some kind of balance, although I’m not always good at achieving this myself.

Lastly, there’s one very strong distinction between Eileen Agar and myself. Agar chose to remain childless to pursue her art, while I decided to get married and we have two kids and now three dogs, who are almost just as much work.

That’s something I’m going to think about as I explore these dead artists. How many of them married and had children…a family? Indeed, does an artist have the capacity to have two loves? Or, does art have to be all-consuming flame for you to make it to the top? Or, are there personality traits in these artists which aren’t well suited to long term relationships and the responsibilities of parenthood? As many parents know, parenthood is all-consuming. It’s very hard to switch off and it’s the same with the creative drive. It can be all-consuming.

It’s something to think about.

Each of us has our own choices to make.

By the way, I thought Sia’s Chandelier was the perfect musical accompaniment for Eileen Agar. What do you think?

A Letter to Eileen Agar

Dear Eileen,

I am currently writing a series of letters to Dead Artists who have inspired me in some way. As it turns out, we’ve only just met after The Tate Gallery matched us up. However, I don’t think we’re about to run off into the sunset together yet. I have reservations.

That said, I quite fancy your Head of Dylan Thomas and I was wondering if you’d mind painting my head like that with a bird’s eye view through to my thoughts.

Indeed, perhaps I should have a go myself. I think my version would have something of Van Gogh’s Starry Night inside with all those enigmatic swirls of turbulence. I also like your idea of using collage and sticking bit on. I’ll need to give this a bit of thought and get back to you.

While others would probably ask you a question more pointed to your art, mine is addressing the psychological aspects. Did you ever feel self-conscious wearing your fancy hats, like the Ceremonial Hat for Eating Bouillabaisse? Were you ever concerned that people would laugh, and you’d be ridiculed? Or, do you have a thicker skin and couldn’t care? You really must’ve had a sense of presence, very much like your friend Salvador Dali.

I wish I could be more expressive and let a little more of myself out of the bag. I always feel I have to hold it all back. Keep smiling. Clean house, happy kids. Sometimes, it feels like all that Spray and Wipe can even wash away your very self. Yet, I know what it’s like to be laughed at. Ridiculed. I try to avoid it if I can.

I’m looking forward to hearing from you!

Best wishes,

Rowena

A Reply From Eileen Agar

Dear Rowena,

Thank you so much for your unexpected letter.

“I have spent my life in revolt against convention, trying to bring colour and
light and a sense of the mysterious to daily existence. But the English urge
towards philistinism is impossible to avoid, though one may fight it root and
branch. One must have a hunger for new colour, new shapes and new possibilities
of discovery.”

Rowena, don’t be afraid of yourself. Most people shoot themselves in both feet before anyone else has even taken aim.

By the way, we have more in common than you think.

Amelia Mad Hatter Cake

If you put your daughter’s Mad Hatter Birthday Cake next to my Ceremonial Hat for Eating Bouillabaisse, there’s more than just a passing likeness. Indeed, I might make myself a new Cafe Hat. Something with little cups and saucers stuck on top.

By the way, do you think you could include a packet of Tim Tams in your next letter please? I’d like to try a Tim Tam explosion. It sounds very indulgent and just my thing.

Outrageously yours,

Eileen Agar

Featured image: Head  of Dylan Thomas, Tate Gallery, London.

 

D- Edgar Degas…A-Z Challenge.

“And even this heart of mine has something artificial. The dancers have sewn it into a bag of pink satin, pink satin slightly faded, like their dancing shoes.”
― Edgar Degas

Welcome to Day Four of the Blogging A-Z April Challenge. As you may recall, my theme this year is “Letters to Dead Artists”. Today, I’ll be writing to so-called French impressionist, Edgar Degas (1834-1917) and we will be focusing on his sculpture: the Little Dancer and to a lesser extent, his paintings of dancers.

“A painting requires a little mystery, some vagueness, some fantasy. When you always make your meaning perfectly plain you end up boring people.”

-Edgar Degas.

Edgar Degas is one of those rare individuals who remain an enigma, no matter how far you delve inside their head, or process all the detritus they’ve left behind. While I was initially attracted to his dance works because they reminded me of my young daughter, as I came to learn more about the darker, seedy undertones and implicit prostitution, that all changed. Naturally, I also wanted to extricate my daughter from those associations immediately. That’s clearly not the life I want for her. Yet, that doesn’t change the beauty Degas has captured in these dancers. Moreover, it didn’t change the sense of awe I felt when my daughter performed her first ballet solo on stage recently either. How I saw her moving within that great tradition of ballet, ballerinas, tutus and dreams.

As far as choosing a piece of music for Degas, I couldn’t help referring to Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Little Swans. After all, I have a little swan all of my own…

Amelia YIPA Photo

Our Little Dancer

Yet, there were other ways I came to relate to Degas, which were totally unexpected. You see, by 1870 at age of 36 Degas was going blind, which caused him a great deal of anguish. Moreover, he didn’t suffer in silence and his anguish was conveyed in numerous letters:

To Rouart (September 11): “I have In 1888 he wrote to Evariste De Valernes (October 26): “I was or I seemed to be hard with everyone through a sort of passion for brutality, which came from my uncertainty and my bad humour. I felt myself so badly made, so badly equipped, so weak, whereas it seemed to me, that my calculations on art were so right. I brooded against the whole world and against myself… I found in you again the same vigorous mind, the same vigorous and steady hand, and I envy you your eyes which will enable you to see everything until the last day. Mine will not give me this joy; I can scarcely read the papers a little and in the morning, when I reach my studio, if I have been stupid enough to linger somewhat over the deciphering, I can no longer get down to work.”

1891: Degas can no longer see well enough to read. He begins treatment under the famous Swiss ophthalmologist, Edmund Landolt.

1893, to Valernes (undated): “…I am dreading a stay in my room, without work, without being able to read, staring into space. My sight too is changing, for the worse. I am pitying myself, so that you may know that you are not the only unhappy person… With regard to writing, ah! my friends can scarcely count on me. Just imagine that to re-read, re-read what I write to you, would present such difficulty, even with the magnifying glass, that I should give it up after the first lines.”

Degas The Ballet Class Musee d'Orsay

Edgar Degas, The Ballet Class, Musee D’Orsay.

In an eerie coincidence, when I was also 36, my muscles started wasting away. However, it wasn’t until my diagnosis in August 2007 18 grueling months later, that I found out what was going on. By this point, I couldn’t dress myself, roll over in bed or even pull the doona over myself. Indeed, six weeks before my diagnosis, I fell at home and much to my horror, couldn’t get up again. I was lying face down on the floor alone with the kids and in so much pain. It was very tempting to give up, especially as I’d tripped over the broom my son had left on the floor and I was so angry. Hurt. Indeed, if ever there was a time I felt defeated, this was it. However, I guess the incredibility of the situation must have hit me. Why couldn’t I get myself up? Had I been snaffled up into a bad dream? Clearly not, so I’d just had to grab myself by the boot straps and get going. I managed to shuffle into the kitchen on my backside and much to my amazement, the cordless phone was in reach. I rang my husband at work, and he recommended I lever myself up with a chair. It worked and my day continued as usual. I didn’t even call the doctor. However, I did give a friend a key to my front door!

Having a condition which fluctuates, or gradually deteriorates, is very different to having a situation like an accident, for example, where you might have a clear cut change. It makes it very difficult to reach an ongoing point of acceptance, because the status quo is always changing.

So, I know that sense of fear. I know his desperation to find anything which might stop the inevitable. Yet, like Degas, I’ve also tried to make the most of what I’ve got and carpe diem seize the day. Indeed, living with something precious which is slipping away, really helps you savour every second. Degas kept painting and sculpting as long as he could, and once that was impossible he went on long walks around Paris, as if releasing that energy through his feet.

Indeed, not long before his death, he was filmed walking through Paris: Degas Walking Through Paris 1915

Now, before I actually write to Edgar Degas, I thought I’d better share a few details about The Little Dancer.

The Little Dancer

“The dancer’s body is simply the luminous manifestation of the soul.”

Isadora Duncan

Perhaps, you have seen the statue of the Little Dancer in your travels. However, I would like to make it clear that the bronze statue that we see today, isn’t the same Little Dancer which Degas displayed at the 1881 Impressionist Exhibition in Paris. Rather, it is a bronze which was cast in 1920 after Degas’s death. In recent years, a controversial plaster cast of the Little Dancer has come to light, which according to Dr Gregory Hedberg, could be closer to the original sculpture.  I highly recommend you watch this lecture, which is very much like a forensic report. It blew me away.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pr3OYfY0zc&feature=youtu.be

So, without any further ado, here’s my letter to Edgar Degas:

My Letter to Degas

Dear Degas,

There’s some good news and some bad news. The good news is that you’ve back from the dead for the day so you can read this letter and give me some sort of reply. The bad news is that we have no money and so we’ll be “tumbleweeds” sleeping on the floor at the Shakespeare Bookshop. I don’t know if the requirements have changed since I gave a reading here, but I think we’ll have to help out in the bookshop and read a book while we’re here. You might even like to read Dr Gregory Hedberg’s book: Degas’ Little Dancer Aged Fourteen: The Earlier Version That Helped Spark the Birth of Modern Art. As for myself, I’m going to re-read Anais’s Nin’s Henry and June. I read it when I was last in Paris and let’s just say I wasn’t in a good way.

While we could talk at length about our respective medical struggles, I would much rather take you to the Musee D’orsay and ask you what you think of the Litter Dancer as she appears today? Is she your Little Dancer and does she bare any resemblance to the statute which appeared at the Impressionist Exhibition in 1881? I have my doubts. Also, as much as I’m pleased we can still enjoy a Little Dancer, I’m not sure about the ethics of putting her on public display without your consent. You are clearly a meticulous and precise man and from what I can gather, you weren’t happy with how she ended up. I don’t know if you kept trying to change her and touch her up and something went wrong, like someone who has had too much plastic surgery. The other concern I have is that was seemingly altered after you’d turned blind and weren’t working much at all. Perhaps, I’ve got that wrong. I’m trying to get my head around some pretty complex details on the fly, and I’d really appreciate it if you could help me out.

Anyway, could you please let me know what you think of the Little Dancer.

Meanwhile, I’m off for a walk. You’re not the only one who loves to walk the streets of Paris.

Warm regards,

Rowena

A Reply From Degas

Dear Rowena,

My time on earth was brief, but that wretched dancer is eternal. I’d locked her up. She was never meant to see the light of day. Now, all my mistakes are being portrayed as my greatest work. My inner world has been turned inside out, and is out on public display. There’s nothing left to call my own. Rowena, my only advice to upcoming artists, is to save yourself from the vultures. Light a match before you die.

Meet me Musee d’Orsay at midnight. I’ve found a van.

Yours,

Degas

A- Alexandros of Antioch…A-Z Challenge.

As you may recall, I am taking part in the 2018 A-Z Challenge, and my theme is Letters to Dead Artists. Today, I am launching off with A: Alexandros of Antioch. Don’t despair if you’ve never heard of him. No doubt, you have heard of his famous sculpture, The Venus de Milo, which is conspicuously missing her arms. She can be found in the Louvre Museum in Paris. The song I have chosen to accompany the Venus de Milo is “She” performed by Elvis Costello:

She may be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a Heaven or a Hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
A smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell…

Little is known about Alexandros of Antioch. It appears that he was a wandering artist working on commission. According to inscriptions in Thespiae, near Mount Helicon, in Greece dating back to around 80 BCE, his father was Menides and he’d won contests for composing and singing. It is not known when he was born or died.

Yet, perhaps Venus de Milo still speaks for him… a mirror reflecting something of the man who created her.

While I finally had the opportunity to see the Venus de Milo while I was in Paris in 1992, I first heard about her in a poem by Rachel Bradley: Venus Without Arms. It was International Women’s Day 1989, in Sydney University’s Manning Bar and I was performing my poetry at the launch of Rachel’s poetry anthology: Dragonshadow. So, you could say I was a supporting artist. Venus Without Arms addresses the objectification and sexualisation of a woman’s body, and the resulting loss of power. The concluding stanza reads:

Venus –

I can’t believe it was just

an accident

that broke only your arms

and rendered you a Work of Art[1].

This poem has stayed with me for the last 28 years, and has come back to me whenever I’ve felt disempowered and a modern day Venus without arms.

Much mystery surrounds the Venus de Milo. These mysteries extend way beyond what happened to her missing arms, and what they were doing before they disappeared. Indeed, there’s even been controversy and uncertainty over who sculpted Venus. Moreover, while she is known as “Venus”, her more correct Greek title would have been “Aphrodite”. However, when you consider that Venus was made between 130 and 100 BC and is at least 2, 117 years old, it’s hardly surprising that she has her secrets.

Indeed, we are lucky that Venus was even found. You see, she hasn’t always lived in splendour at The Louvre. Rather, she was discovered in 1820 on the Greek island of Milos, while local farmers were digging up stones to make their houses. A farmer called Theodoros Kentrotas tried to hide the statue in his stone house, but Turkish officials seized it. The French naval officer, Julius Dumont d’Urville realized its importance and purchased the statue. It was then taken to France, and offered to Louis the XVIII, who presented her to the Louvre.

When I considered putting together this series of Letters to Dead Artists, Alexandros of Antioch was understandably not at the top of the list of artists who’ve inspired me. However, that’s not how this challenge works. It’s an alphabetical challenge where you need to write a post for each letter of the alphabet during April. Nobody had come to mind for A and I was stoked to find Alexandros of Antioch and this personal connection. I didn’t have to stretch the truth.

Letter to Alexandros of Antioch

Dear Alexandros,

I am writing to you about a sculpture you created of Aphrodite many years ago, which has been found on the Greek island of Milos. By the way, I probably should tell you that the year is now 2018.

It must feel rather strange to receive a letter from so far into the future. A future, which is over two thousand years ahead of your time, and must look very strange indeed. There are cars, trains and planes and humans have even landed on the moon. Recently, a car was even launched into space. That even blew me away.

Unfortunately, I can’t tell you that I’m proud of everything we humans have done. We have destroyed so much and have enough weapons to blow up the planet many times over. We’ve destroyed entire species and now even the survival of our beautiful planet, is in doubt. Sometimes, I’m ashamed to be a human. However, then something wonderful happens and I am reminded of the good. Indeed, I am certain that there is even good in all of us.

Well, I’d like to ask you a very simple question…Could you please draw me a sketch of Aphrodite with her original arms just as you designed them.  What she was doing? What is she trying to say and what thoughts are stuck behind those marble lips? She really looks like she’s holding something back. Perhaps, it’s the secret of real beauty. I don’t know, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could step down off the dais, and even speak… Goodness knows how many people she’s been watching and overhearing at the Louvre. I’d like to think she’s absorbed all their wisdom, but you never know. It could all just be drivel.

Anyway, please forgive me for asking so many questions, but my curiosity ran away from me. After all, it’s not every day you get to write a letter to the man who created Venus de Milo!

Best wishes,

Rowena

His Reply

Dear Rowena,

Thank you very much for your letter. It’s been awhile since I’ve received any mail.

I have to admit that I’m rather proud of Aphrodite and all that she’s become, just like any parent whose child becomes an icon, yet I’m pleased she’s still maintained her mystique.

However, I was devastated to read that her arms have been cut off. Why hasn’t anybody tried to fix her? Given her some new arms? Anything would do, although I’ve heard there are some wonderful prosthetics these days. She’d have much more fun waving and shaking hands with the crowds, rather than being so standoffish. She was never meant to be a victim. Why turn her into one?

Now, I will leave you with a piece of advice my new friend from the 21st century. You weren’t meant to turn over every stone and know what’s hiding underneath. We need unanswered questions, our mysteries, because if we have all the answers, then we’ll no longer need to search. If we stop searching, then we’ll forget to ask. We always need to wonder.

Give my love to Aphrodite and make sure you sort out those arms.

Yours in friendship,

Alexandros of Antioch

[1] Rachel Bradley, Dragonshadow, Women’s Redress Press, Sydney, 1989, p 4.

Letters to Dead Artists…A-Z Challenge 2018.

“The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.”

Pablo Picasso

Welcome to Letters to Dead Artists, my theme for the 2018 A-Z Blogging Challenge. Every day except for Sunday during April, I’ll be writing a letter to a dead artist who has inspired me at some point throughout my life. There will also be a few “newbies” added to comply with the requirements of the challenge. I’ve also had to cut many artists out, because this year I decided there would only be one artist for each letter. So, choosing my 26 artists has been quite a process…a quest in itself.

The original inspiration for this theme came when I dug up a letter a friend sent me from Paris in August, 1992. Only a week or so before, a group of us had walked through Paris’s Père Lachaise Cemetery, where we had a particular interest in Jimmy Morrison’s grave. She’d returned a few weeks later and found a handwritten letter addressed to Oscar Wilde near his grave and transcribed it. It quoted excerpts from the preface of A Portrait of Dorien Gray:

The Preface

The artist is the creator of beautiful things.

To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim.

The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.

The highest, as the lowest, form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.

Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope.

They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty.

There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.

The nineteenth century dislike of Realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.

The nineteenth century dislike of Romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.

The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium.

No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved.

No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.

No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.

Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.

Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.

From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor’s craft is the type.

All art is at once surface and symbol.

Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.

Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.

It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.

Diversity of opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital.

When critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself.

We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.

All art is quite useless.

Oscar Wilde.

Poetry Reading

Poetry Reading Shakespeare & Company Bookshop, Paris.

In August 1992, I’d given my own solo reading at the famed Shakespeare Bookshop, where the likes of Ernest Hemmingway, Henry Miller and Anais Nin used to hang out. In hindsight, being granted my own solo performance at the Shakespeare as a 23 year old Australian, was a miracle. However, I didn’t know that at the time. George Whitman simply asked me if I’d been published (yes- self-published 90’s style on a photocopier) and told me to draw up a poster, which was displayed in the front window of the bookshop. That was “publicity”. George Whitman might’ve put me through the wringer, but he did give me a chance.

“Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.”

Jonathan Swift

Revisiting these experiences in Paris, Letters to Dead Poets was my theme for the 2016 A-Z Challenge. I’d clearly bitten off too much for what’s intended to be a quick walk through the park, not a series of books. However, I loved researching and writing the series, which ended up taking on a creative force all of its own, and I was very pleased with the end result. Hence, I decided to follow it up with Letters to Dead Artists, which will be very much along much the same lines.

To maintain the suspense, I’ve decided not to provide an index of all the featured artists I’ll be covering. The plan is to focus on one particular work from each artist and to discuss how it’s touched me personally. Then, via the letter, I’ll ask each artist a question. There will be some bio information for each artist, but as I’m neither an artist nor a critic, there’ll be scant technical detail. Rather, this series will be about emotion, psychology, philosophy and history instead.

“The world today doesn’t make sense, so why should I paint pictures that do?”

Pablo Picasso

Degas Letters

Naturally, I’m well into researching and preparing these letters. From the outset, I’ve been struck by how little I knew about each artist and their respective works. That I have known the painting well as an image, but often not the inspiration behind it, which in some instances has given the work an entirely different meaning. In a sense that doesn’t matter. However, for me, once you start seeing that painting as a reflection of your soul, it does. So, now I’m a bit unsure about all this deconstruction and analysis has been a good thing. Or, whether ignorance is bliss. After all, once you pull something apart, it’s very hard to get it back together again. Indeed, with all these intellectual twists and turns, I started to feel like I’d flown into a spider’s web. Hopefully, as the research settles, I’ll be able to clear a path. Find my way out. Yet, I have no doubt that I’ll be a very different me at the end of the month.

“This world is but a canvas to our imagination.”

Henry David Thoreau

I hope you’ll join me for the journey. So please fire up the engine as we head to A…Alexandros of Antioch who reputedly created the Venus de Milo.

Best wishes,

Rowena

 

LOCAL OUTRAGE- Friday Fictioneers

Desperate to attract passing tourists, Council voted to upgrade the local park.

While surveys confirmed locals had wanted to install a steam locomotive and have a mini railway running on weekends, they’d ended up with “Rusty” , a “pile of scrap metal”, instead. Accordingly, Rusty was only good for one thing and for more information, you’ll need to consult the local dogs, who’d voted him the best telegraph pole in town.

Then, last Sunday morning, Rusty was gone. No one had seen or heard a thing, but in his place, there was a garden gnome.

Apparently, Nigel  had come home.


This is another contribution for the Friday Fictioneers. PHOTO PROMPT © Jennifer Pendergast.

Hope you’ve had a great week!

xx Rowena

Let Them Eat Cake!

As our tour of the Royal Sydney Easter Show continues, we’re onto Cake Decorating. A friend of mine won one of these categories a few years ago and dropped off my son’s Ninja birthday cake on the way to dropping off her prize-winning entry. I don’t know how she managed to drive it down. I would’ve been driving about 20 KPH the whole way and having an escort front and behind with flashing lights and a huge sign warning: PRECIOUS CARGO ON BOARD! I never felt like this when I was pregnant but some of these cakes really do look precarious, fragile and not something which should be moved.

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To be perfectly honest, the level of creativity and skill was excellent across the board. The entire display so inspirational. So, I feel it is rather unfair to single any cakes out but unfortunately that’s the nature of things. I physically couldn’t photograph them all…especially given the crowds!

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“May the Force be with you.”

 – Yoda

 

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Yoda

Aren’t they simply amazing! Work

I hope you’re having a great week!

xx Rowena