Robins

“The English robin is a bird rather smaller than a sparrow, in build between a thrush and a warbler, uniform brown on the upper parts, with an orange red breast and white abdomen. It is widely distributed through the woodlands of Europe, and in Britain is also a familiar garden bird.”

Stephen Moss quoting the great ornithologist, David Lock in his 'The Life of the Robin', 1943.

Isn’t there something heart-warming about our avian friend, who is a feature on our Christmas cards in the last month of our year and in the winter season? This is an image on a card I received from my dear friend, J this year.*

It is archetypal of the rather romantic picture we have of a lone songster in a bleak and hostile environment, its red breast puffed out, perhaps indicating to us hope of the new year and the warmer climate of spring to come.

This blog will give insight into the realities of this beautiful and familiar bird that has found its way into every art form involving the visual, aural and even the kinaesthetic. You will learn how and why it should be associated with the Christmas season and its actual relevance to the Christian religion.

Bird lovers, you will also know what you should leave out for them in a freezing cold winter.

Well, here goes. We will start with robin statistics.
Height: 5.5 inches, 14 cm
Wingspan: 8.4 inches, 21 cm
Weight 18 g approximately
Lifespan: 1-2 years

It has a membership of the largest of all the world bird orders – the Passeriforms. This bracket of bird includes almost half of the world’s species. Four thousand, like the robin are songbirds.

The robin is the only species on its individual genus Erithacus. There are one hundred different robins and some species of birds termed robins are not really robins at all. There will be more on this later.

Their plumage is not always so colourful. Juvenile robins, which are around in the spring seasons, are brown, mottled and often speckled in appearance. Only adults have the familiar orangey-red feathers. Females and males are identical in appearance.

In the UK we think of it as British. In fact, robins inhabit Europe, from Gibraltar to beyond the Arctic Circle, the Middle East, Central Asia and North Africa. Robins in Eastern Europe leave their breeding ground in autumn where they look for warmer climates, including the UK.

The actual nature of this bird suggests Tennyson’s description of nature in his poem In Memoriam, A. H.H. as,

“red in tooth and claw”.

According to Stephen Moss, author of 'The Robin: a Biography', they are vicious and when competing for a mate, duel their rival to death. Their mating season starts in January.

There is one reason this male sings so sweetly. It is to breed, their sole purpose and instinct in life. The song is a call to a mate. They often die shortly after this. They are territorial and defensive of territory they establish, frequenting cities and the countryside, often inhabiting woodland areas.

In March and April their song is continuous, but the aim is to repel other males. Once they have their territory established, they begin nest building, egg laying and finding food for their hungry chicks, particularly vulnerable at this time to jays and magpies, which prey on the chicks. In the autumn, the juveniles develop their beautiful bright coat.

Why should these birds be on Christmas cards? Interestingly, they do have a connection with Christianity. Among ancient folklore is a tale about a robin trying to keep the baby Jesus’ fire lit, and doing so, scorching its breast, symbolizing its devotion. Mary then humbly declares that its red breast is to be handed down to its descendants.

There is also a connection to the crucifixion. Another legend concerns a crown of thorns, which a robin plucks from Jesus’ crown when he is on the cross, which leads to its breast being stained with blood.

During the Victorian era the new tradition of sending Christmas cards emerged because of the development in printing, which led to robins being a favourite on cards. Sir Henry Cole sent the first Christmas card in 1843 then the size of a business card used today, because at first, they were expensive to make. By the 1860s, cheaper cards were available.

Postmen were referred to as “robins” because they wore red coats as part of their uniforms. It led to the bird becoming a festive symbol.

By the 1880s, Victorian artists showed the robin delivering Christmas cards to peoples’ houses instead of a postman – and the tradition has stuck. The British love to give feathered and four-legged creatures anthropomorphic qualities. See the image below.

A modern Christmas card in Victorian style, with the robin delivering the Christmas card to a recipient. This looks rather cute, don’t you think? I would like to see the robin at my door! Or on my local post box!

Until the mid-twentieth century, this bird also acquired the nickname Redbreast. The description ‘redbreast’ first appeared in the fifteenth century and was used until the middle of the twentieth century. In 1952, the British Ornithologist’s Union showed the species official name as ‘redbreast’. The Victorians no doubt helped with this by giving the bird human qualities of delivery. It would have seemed natural to give the bird a name Robin redbreast. There is a pleasing alliteration that would have appealed to children of the time.

Moss, in his book points out that the bird’s breast is actually orange, rather than red, and suggests that it was called redbreast because the actual fruit orange only appeared in the Middle Ages. It is referenced in the nursery rhyme,

“Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of Saint Clements.”

The rhyme heralds the excitement of the bells of an exciting and tasty new fruit to arrive on Britain’s shores at that time. The colour orange was first used in 1557, over a hundred years after the word ‘redbreast’ was used to describe the robin. There was no colour called orange in the Middle Ages and it only became an accepted shade one hundred years after the fruit orange was imported into Britain.

The robin has since found its way onto clothing and Christmas decorations, solidifying it as a Christian icon in the UK and elsewhere.

The name, ‘robin’, if not the actual species, proliferated round the world because of sailors and explorers, who, landing in other parts of the world and having no ornithological expertise at all, called all kinds of small colourful birds with red, pink or yellow breasts robins.

The name stuck, however, which is why there are Siberian blue robins, Indonesian cloud-forest robins, Polynesian robins and the American robins, which are not robins at all!

The robin has made its presence in all art forms. Apart from the visual, the paintings, drawings, decorations and embroidery kits, on which it is displayed, the robin has found its place in orchestral, ensemble and popular music and across traditional and pop dance.

French composer Olivier Messiaen, a passionate ornithologist, in addition to being a genius as a musician, loved the robin and his music reflects this, featuring the European robin in his small bird sketches, (Petites Equisses d’Oiseaux. There is a movement titled Le Rouge-Gorge, (The Robin).

His large, orchestral work Des Canyons aux Etoilles has a movement titled Le Cossyphe d’Heuglin, The White-Browed Robin-Chat, (an African Robin).

Here is Matthew Schellhorn live, 29th January 2021 playing Robin, by Messiaen. While this is playing, you will see drawings by talented children and youths of the robin. These illustrations are fitting to be shown while the music is playing of the man who regarded birds as “the greatest musicians upon the planet.” Link: Robin

In popular music, the “American robin” that inspired the Al Jolson hit When the Red, Red, Robin Comes Bob, Bob, Bobbin’ Along, is actually a THRUSH. (Remember our sailors and explorers?) 
According to Moss, it is “lumbering and bulky”, not like our robin at all. Link: Red Red Robin

This thrush is also the bird referred to in the hit Rockin’ Robin, made popular in 1972 by Michael Jackson and the Jackson Five. Remember anyone? Link: Rockin Robin

Here, you see the robin represented kinaesthetically with dance. They have movements called ‘tweets’ with jive steps, bouncy motions and running in circles with high knees to create a bird-like movement.

For robin movements, choreographers create quick, sharp, head movements, (rocking the head and listening for prey), hopping and sudden stops, pausing and perching movements alternated by moments of stillness followed by spurts of energy.

A more traditional robin dance is where the men and women dance in a counterclockwise circle. The movements are inspired by the running and hopping of the robin. Link: Iroquois Robin Dance

In literature, the writer Anthony Trollope, himself a post office employee has characters in his novel 'Framley Parsonage', who refer to the postman by his nickname.

This postman says, “Oh, but it is mortal wet,” as he hands the vicar the post and newspaper.
Jemima the cook responds with the phrase, “Come in, Robin Postman, and warm yourself awhile.”

Other writers who use the robin in their repertoire include Enid Blyton, Shakespeare, Robert Burns, Robert Herrick, Chaucer, Shakespeare and Frances Hodgson Burnett.

The British, ardent bird lovers in general, do have a soft spot for the robin.

In 2015, the robin topped the polls for Britain’s favourite bird, while in 1960 it was crowned Britain’s national bird.

These lines, from 'Robin Redbreast', by W H Davies, (1908) sum up our national affection for it.

Robin on a leafless bough,
Lord in heaven, how he sings!
Now cold winter’s cruel wind
Makes playmates of withered things.

Robins are aware of our feelings and, perhaps unbelievably, there is a relationship between the robin and us. They know we leave out food for them in cold winter months, when the ground becomes too cold and hard for them to find food and makes them vulnerable to starvation and death. Even woodland birds know to visit the British garden.

The custom of the British being generous towards feeding birds began over one thousand, five hundred years ago as did our love for the robin.

There is the story of a youth, (Saint Serf), taming a robin by giving it food but his classmates killed it out of jealousy. Miraculously, his friend Kentigen, (later St Mungo) brought the robin back to life.

Feeding birds declined through the centuries but was revived in the Victorian era when they extended their charity to all God’s creatures, with the exception of workhouse residents.

In 1890-91 the writer W H Hudson noted working men gathering along the side of the River Thames during their lunch break to give scraps of food to starving birds, which led to the custom of regularly feeding our birds in our gardens.

The result is that fourteen million households leave food out for garden birds and there are more than six million breeding pairs of robins in this country owing to our generosity to this breed of bird. This is surely a great achievement.

So when you put out food in bird feeders, remember to include sunflower hearts and corn grains for our robins to keep the population high as these give them energy.

In the next few days, listen out for the sweet song of the robin and Happy Christmas to you all.

Anne G. Dilley

*This image is on a card to raise money for the Leprosy Mission, see THELEPROSYMISSION.COM

Bibliography:

The Robin, a Biography by Stephen Moss

postalmuseum.org/blog/a-history-of-christmas-cards

https://poetrynook.com

https://www.bostonglobe.com

https://www.youtube.com

Read More

Weird: The strange, unusual and surreal

There’s a lot of weirdness that has shaped my life, ultimately influencing the creative work I produce: Dad constructing non-conventional furniture, Psychology Today and National Geographic magazines and last but not least the Surrealists.

I have written about my father before. My blog Luggage had a photo of him strapping a pile of furniture four feet high onto the roof of the blue Buick during our family vacation. This in and of itself was weird and almost could have been likened to a mobile assemblage artwork. Much of the furniture that he brought home from that trip was eventually transformed. Wood was stripped, revarnished or painted and chairs were caned with loving hands.

About ten years later, Dad (a Presbyterian minister) went above and beyond, and decided to dismantle a church organ (not from our church) with all its bells and whistles and reassemble it in a spare bedroom in our house. My guess is he had caught wind of the instrument in need of a home through his professional connections.

Now this activity could have been deemed a bit weird, it was certainly unusual – none of my friends had a church organ in their bedrooms but it was ‘normal’ in our household and I revel in that memory.

With the leftover wooden pipes, he made two coffee tables. One of them graced our lounge where the latest issues of Psychology Today and National Geographic were carefully placed for leisurely light reading. Both of these publications I would regularly peruse. I found Jung’s philosophy to be particularly interesting and the photographs that appeared on the pages of both magazines were serious eye candy.

The creation of the pipe organ tables showed me how to use objects in a way not originally intended. Add this to an interest in unusual old objects (thanks to my parents), the inspirational imagery from the magazines as highlighted above along with an introduction to Jungian theory focusing on the unconscious, made for my own unconscious gravitational pull towards the Surrealists when I was doing my undergraduate study in Art.

We have André Breton and his colleagues (i.e. Dalí, Duchamp, Man Ray) to thank for the Surrealist movement established in the early 20th century. The Surrealists are known for their juxtaposition of diverse imagery, influenced by the unconscious often from dreams manifesting in various imaginative creative outputs including: paintings, sculpture using the found object (objet trouvé), collage, film and of course poetry.

Sarane Alexandrian writes:

the surrealists set out…to create new demands on reality…to liberate the workings of the subconscious, disrupting conscious thought….creat[ing] a new form of sensibility….it set poetry at the centre of everything, and used art to make poetry into something which could be seen and touched…

Michel mentions that if one takes surrealist imagery/poetry at face value, that the creative works appear to be weird and random. He also puts forward how these types of artworks resist simple meanings and concrete interpretations. The Surrealists he says:

confronted viewers and readers with bizarre imagery that avoided no fixed cultural meaning or else subverted established meanings….One might argue many don’t accept that life doesn’t make sense…

Thus, it seems that the Surrealists’ audience back in the day and perhaps today as well, had issues with the works because of their weirdness and non-depiction of a known reality - a fear of the weird, Fear of the Surreal, as Michel’s blog post title is called. I got lost in further reading about the Surrealists for this article, definite food for thought, however I became distracted as I began to reflect on my own work, my own weirdness and creative development.

Untitled (Alarm Clock Case) 1983

In my first drawing class at university I was making juxtaposed images such as a cigarette metamorphosing into a pencil. Later in my third year I used a box full of alarm clock cases found at a local thrift store as foundations to create a series of 15 artworks (see example above). These were to be a pivotal series. I continue to use clocks today in my work.

Insect Hotel (Grandfather Clock Case)Manchester Museum 2020

My later assemblage works purposefully make connections between different elements, like visual poetry. They often tell non-linear stories focusing on place and identity. In the case of the Insect Hotel, created during my Artist in Residence at Manchester Museum in 2020, I also incorporated poetry into the work as well and created a collection of insect themed poems.

Insect Hotel Detail Manchester Museum 2020

Often with surrealist art and my own assemblages because the viewer can’t read the works with immediate recognition other than a main object/s (i.e. clock shape) they will not take time to explore and discover the many layers of meaning and connections within them – this also goes for some types of poetry. It’s taking time with a creative piece. There’s no wrong or right way to read something no matter how weird, although one might think there is. Everything is open for interpretation and each viewer brings their personal experience when engaging.

Enough rambling - to finish off, I thought I’d have a go at creating more weirdness, surrendering to the unconscious through automatic writing, one of the Surrealists’ methods of creating poetry. I found this not as enjoyable and more difficult than other Surrealists’ methods I have experimented with (collage and blackout poetry). It was an interesting exercise and quicker to do than the other types. I set a timer for two minutes, with the first two, and three minutes for the last. Here are the results:

1)
what moon bright star
giraffe feet clumsy
sink into soil a sandpit
a dark hole swallow
whole and grains like
timer oh the flowers arched
droop stems petals are
gone as dust flies into the
wind my eyes pop out roll
along the hill on a journey beyond
the horizon

2)
homeward bound dogs run past
the prairie dogs on grass by
trees alone she stands among
men who circle the feet with
dogs barking cars racing down the
long straight road to nowhere
somewhere another she lights a
fire to keep warm opening a tin
of beans

3)
onto the shore seaweed slime
open eyes diamonds shine
red or white at night and day
squint moon squint
can you see through black abyss
the owl fluffs its wings
brown speckled feathers
one is lost floating free
to land in moss and fungi
ants crawl spiders weave
squirrels climb the cat stalks
rodents hide

Thank you for reading, 

Kate J

Sources
Alexandrian, S. 1989. Surrealist Art. 2nd Edition. London: Thames and Hudson Ltd Cambridge Dictionary, 2024
https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/weird Accessed 14 April
Language is a virus, 2024. Automatic Writing.
https://www.languageisavirus.com/creative-writing-techniques/automatic-writing.php 
Accessed 14 April
Michel, L., 2023. Fear of the Surreal.
https://countercraft.substack.com/p/fear-of-the-surreal Accessed 15 April 2024

Read More

The Glittering Prize - Meaningful Things

I have some works of art in my house. Some are on display, others are stored for safe keeping. They are items made by my children and grandchildren, presented to me with love and received with great delight. Some are glittery and shiny, others are not, but to me these special gifts are treasured prizes which fill me with joy. Being a grandparent is a little easier than being a parent, I have found, as the grandchildren usually – not always – go home, and I don’t have full responsibility for making important decisions about them. My glittering prizes are the children themselves, though if there is something precious, it is the teaspoon fashioned from tinfoil by my son when we forgot to take one on a picnic. It has a space in my display cabinet of meaningful things.

I was watching and listening to Sir Keir Starmer’s speech on TV at the recent Labour party conference. I was horrified to see someone get to him and pour gloopy looking glitter over his head and shoulders. Luckily, it was harmless, but how on earth did he get through security? He could have had a knife, a gun, anything. For one tiny moment, as the person was removed and Sir Keir removed his jacket, I wondered if the whole thing had been staged. I soon dismissed that thought. Not a glittering prize but a worrying moment.

One of my favourite modern day poet / writers is Lemn Sissay, MBE, former Chancellor of Manchester University. In 2021 he was appointed OBE for services to literature and charity. Last year he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature. He is a trustee of the Foundlings Museum. Not bad going for someone who grew up in the care system, was treated unfairly by a family and repeated let down badly by social workers and social services at the time. He got justice eventually, but nothing could possibly compensate enough for his early life. Reading his memoir, ‘My Name Is Why’, broke my heart and I will salute his strength of character for evermore. He founded the charity Gold From the Stone Foundation which supports care leavers and every year provides Christmas dinners. His glittering prize is doing what he can to help others. Here is one of his quatrains,

‘How do you do it?’ said night.

‘How do you wake and shine?’

‘I keep it simple,’ said light.

‘One day at a time.’

Lemn Sissay  OBE, FRSL

  

Thanks for reading, Pam x

Read More

The Great Masters, A Gap in My Education

I have a confession to make.  

I was thrown into a bit of a tizzy when I saw the title of this week’s blog.  Despite being a creative type of person for the whole of my life, attending art college for four years and graduating with a BA in Graphic Design, I am a total ignoramus where ‘proper’ art is concerned.  Art history at ‘A’ level consisted of our art teacher putting on a slide show, naming the artist and describing the image before us.  It scored a very high boredom factor.  My friend and I sat at the back, giggling (which was how I spent most of the sixth form).  The single fact I retained from those lessons was Mr Jackson announcing the title of one famous painting as something to do with cornfields.   My friend leaned across and whispered in my ear, “What? Cornflakes?”  We spent the rest of the lesson shaking uncontrollably (I know, I know – but it was hilarious to a pair of silly sixteen year olds, hell bent on making Mr Jackson’s life a misery.  I think we succeeded) And that is why I don’t know my Leonardo from my Raphael, unless we’re talking turtles, and I’m even losing that ability since my children grew up and became parents themselves.

What do you do when you need a bit of information and inspiration?  You google, of course.  The first thing I learnt as I desperately searched, was that the title ‘Great Master’ could be applied to experts with many different skills and talents, not just artistic ones.  Initially, that was a relief.  I would write about something other than art.  By the time I’d trawled through music, golf and darts I decided that art might be the best option after all.

Don’t get me wrong, I love art (in a philistinian ‘I like what I like’ sort of way) but having missed that early grounding due to the ‘cornflake incident’ I think I gave up on finding out about the great masters.  I did do a quick cramming session on  Michelangelo, Van Gogh and Picasso for my interview for art college, but this was the sixties and all the questions sounded like the interviewer was tripping on acid.  I think my portfolio (consisting of several scrappy pieces of paper with doodles on) was flicked through in a bored sort of way, and as far as I remember art wasn’t mentioned at all.  Which is obviously how I managed to secure a place.  As my journey through college progressed I somehow managed to fit in the practical sessions between partying and meeting the future husband, but, once again, the theory and the meaty facts seemed to slip through my fingers.

Up until the publication of this blog I think I’ve managed to keep my ignorance pretty well hidden.  All conversations about art have involved a lot of smiling and nodding knowledgeably, and all information about art and artists has been on a strictly need to know basis.  The husband is pretty hot on this subject, especially the older stuff, so, in the absence of Google, he is my ‘go to’ information point.  I have to say, he wasn’t particularly helpful this time, suggesting I wrote the whole article and then revealed at the end that it was about the Ninja Turtles.   That's the sort of man I married. You’ll be glad I didn’t take his advice.

 

The Gap in My Art Education

With the shame of my ignorance about 'great art' growing as I wrote my post this morning, I did a bit more googling and then composed the following poem.....

The Gap    by Jill Reidy

  

In my woeful ignorance

I spent an agreeable hour today

Familiarising myself with Michelangelo

His life and paintings

Those wonderful murals

I zoomed in on details

That looked impossible to create

I stared at that enormous ceiling

Followed its curve

And marvelled at a skill

Beyond my comprehension

Beyond my imagination

I studied the hands

From every angle

Those elegant fingers

Tentative yet strong

So near but still so far

That gap, unlike my own

Will be there for eternity

Thanks for reading        Jill

Read More

Pastiche - It's All a Bit of a Miss Mash

Pastiche.  I like the sound of the word. I roll it around my mouth, savouring the feel of the letters. I say it out loud, slowly. I do this for several minutes whilst I ponder on its meaning. This is mainly because, to my embarrassment, I haven't got a clue what it means and I have a strong feeling I should know. I have a vague inkling it might be something to do with collage, but I'm far from certain. 

I ask the husband if he knows what it means. 

'It's a drink isnt it?' he ventures. I ponder for a moment.

'No, that's pastis' I reply, hesitantly, 'I think.'

My grandson comes in as we're still discussing the word.

'Pastiche?' he asks, 'isn't that like a pasty?'

I decide it's time to google. 

'A pastiche is a work of visual art, literature, theatre, or music that imitates the style or character of the work of one or more other artists. Unlike parody, pastiche celebrates, rather than mocks, the work it imitates^.'

Ahhh......I should have known the meaning of this word, not only as a writer but also an artist. I'm ashamed. I don't think I've ever needed to use the word, but then, who can say? Maybe if I'd known it sooner I'd have been peppering all my conversations with it.  I read on. 

'The word pastiche is a French cognate of the Italian noun pasticcio, which is a pâté or pie-filling mixed from diverse ingredients.  Metaphorically, pastiche and pasticcio describe works that are either composed by several authors, or that incorporate stylistic elements of other artists' work. Pastiche is an example of eclecticism in art.' 

It sounds like my grandson's pie definition isn't totally wide of the mark. And nor is my wild guess at collage.

I know I'm going off topic here but this got me thinking about vocabulary.  I've always loved reading, writing, the sound and meaning of words, but I realised when I returned to uni to study for a PGCE after a twenty year gap that I was out of touch with quite a lot of vocabulary.  Admittedly, some of it was jargon but there were other words and phrases which had come into use whilst I was busy wiping faces, bums and noses - that I just hadn't heard of.   I think I managed to catch up but then I had a few more gap years and I got left behind again.  This time I was re entering the art world, which had its own unique language, involving grants, funding, open exhibitions and curators. It was another steep learning curve. 

I might not have followed the brief this week but I've learnt the meaning of 'pastiche'.  I now know it's not a drink or a pie.  It's a start.....

Pastiche: not a drink, not a pie

In the absence of either a suitable poem - or the time to write one, I decided there could only be one song, here reproduced in it's entirety, that could sum up 'pastiche'.  I know this because Wikipedia tells me in no uncertain terms that: Bohemian Rhapsody is unusual as it is a pastiche in both senses of the word, as there are many distinct styles imitated in the song, all "hodge-podged" together to create one piece of music.

"Bohemian Rhapsody"

Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide,

No escape from reality.

Open your eyes,

Look up to the skies and see,

I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy,

Because I'm easy come, easy go,

Little high, little low,

Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me, to me.

Mama, just killed a man,

Put a gun against his head,

Pulled my trigger, now he's dead.

Mama, life had just begun,

But now I've gone and thrown it all away.

Mama, ooh,

Didn't mean to make you cry,

If I'm not back again this time tomorrow,

Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters.

Too late, my time has come,

Sends shivers down my spine,

Body's aching all the time.

Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go,

Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth.

Mama, ooh (any way the wind blows),

I don't wanna die,

I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all.

I see a little silhouetto of a man,

Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?

Thunderbolt and lightning,

Very, very frightening me.

(Galileo) Galileo.

(Galileo) Galileo,

Galileo Figaro

Magnifico-o-o-o-o.

I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me.

He's just a poor boy from a poor family,

Spare him his life from this monstrosity.

Easy come, easy go, will you let me go?

Bismillah! No, we will not let you go. (Let him go!)

Bismillah! We will not let you go. (Let him go!)

Bismillah! We will not let you go. (Let me go!)

Will not let you go. (Let me go!)

Never, never let you go

Never let me go, oh.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Oh, mama mia, mama mia (Mama mia, let me go.)

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me.

So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?

So you think you can love me and leave me to die?

Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby,

Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here.

(Oh, yeah, oh yeah)

Nothing really matters,

Anyone can see,

Nothing really matters,

Nothing really matters to me.

Any way the wind blows.

Thanks for reading, I've learnt a lot,    Jill

Read More

The True Origin of Surrealism

When Steve asked me to submit a piece for the blog I was delighted...except when he informed me that the title was "Surrealism" (gulp...) So I put on my thinking cap..looked it up on Google... Interesting , it was a poet who coined the word..good start...something about 1920's..right...dreams, abstract visions ? Surely a piece from the late 1960's ? Delved into my archives, and found a poem that would fit the bill...about disco dancing, coloured lights, atmosphere, psychedelia ...getting warmer...satisfied. Anyway, having made my mind up I was discussing the event with Don, who asked in his dry humour " Surrealism? Who's he ?" Complete change of mind in an instant...enter "The True Origin of Surrealism"....

Sir Reyal Issim, knight of old
Was brave and strong, courageous and bold.
Rode to rescue maidens fair
(Especially if they had blonde hair!)

Brave Sir Issim dreamt of fame
Got wounded and now he's lame-
Fell heavily off his horse..
No pension those days, of course.

And so Sir Issim thought of a plan
To make himself a wealthy man.
Took up art with a brush
And finished his paintings in a rush

Distorted bodies, floating eyes,
Apples, vegetables and some meat pies !
Nobody could understand his work
They all thought him quite a birk!

So poor Sir Issim in his time
Never made a single dime.
His paintings lay lost and forlorn,
Till the 20th century dawn.

Found in an attic covered in dust-
Someone thought "Yes  really we must
Exhibit these for all to see
Come one and all, admission free ! "

Well they took the art world quite by storm.
These wondrous paintings once forlorn.
Worth a fortune now , you see.
Signed Sir Reyal Issim, 1543 !

Thanks for reading, Kathleen Curtiss

Read More

Precision Art

It just goes to show doesn't it?  That beauty, creativity and a gentle touch can bring out the best in something as simple as a piece of paper.  Typical traits of a Geisha really.  Shame that, I really don't agree with the principles.

The total of my origami experience is the paper plane and on of those boxy paper choice makers (sorry can't remember their proper name) that we used to make at school.  But the beautiful creations that I saw whilst looking for images of origami take my breath away.  Take a look on-line.  Just type in "origami" in your search engine, and see where it takes you.  Mind you I have always found people who can do intricate things like that a bit of a marvel.  ;-)

This week, I confess, I know little about this topic, and being as previous posts this week have pretty much covered what it is all about, I thought I would write a little poem from the perspective of the piece of paper.

Ode to the Origami Artist:

I was plain, 2 dimensional
Til you took me in your hands
Began to mold me with your gentle touch
Creating something new, as was your plan.

With every crease, a new edge appeared
Defining something more
But even I could not have dreamed
Of what you had in store.

Patiently you tuck and pleat
And fold and crease again
Til slowly, carefully, lovingly
I emerge as an elegant Crane.

You took something plain, 2 dimensional
Bent, tucked, folded, creased
Created depth where there was none
Gave me form, figure and release.



Sorry it's a short post this week.  Thanks for reading.

Read More

Ahem, Sequential Art.

I LOVE comic books. Or sequential art, as it should be known. The term ‘comic’ evokes an expectation of humour, so I’m not keen on it. Many ‘comic books’ can have very grave narratives. I dabble in cartooning, I like to invent little characters and I have illustrated in this style for the Dead Good Poets Anthology. It’s a form I’m very fond of. Comics as a child started me off I suppose, the usual, Beano, Dandy etc. I would copy the characters. Then I discovered comic books, or graphic novels in some cases. One of my favourite author/illustrators is Raymond Briggs, and his book When the Wind Blows, I thoroughly enjoyed but didn’t quite understand as a child. I had previously read and loved Fungus the Bogeyman and just assumed that When the Wind Blows was for children. Well I suppose it can be read by children, I read it. But it’s an adult book with themes of Nuclear war. An old couple Hilda and Jim appear to be completely oblivious to the nuclear war, and although they follow the instructions given to them by the government it is a love story which is tragic. They are unaware that they are dying from radiation poisoning. It’s poignant, humorous in parts but tragic. It was a reflection of the fears people had in the cold war when it was published in the 80’s. I’m sure book shops never knew where to shelve it years ago, but in recent times the comic book market has boomed, partly because of online stores such as Amazon.

Maus is another book which is far from funny. It outlines the author/artist Art Spiegelman. He interviewed his father and created a book based on his father’s experiences in and after Auchwitz. It is a must read, how he handles the subject matter using the different animal characters is genius, even referring to his own use of ‘masks’ towards the end of the text. His choice of animals for different characters is also telling, the Jews are mice, and the Nazis are cats.

I adored and re-read Asterix when I find them at car boot sales. Asterix was a Gaulic warrior from the Roman era who resisted the Romans in an isolated village with the aid of their village’s home brewed magic potion. But I always preferred Obelix his massive friend who would casually carry menhirs (giant rocks) around nonchalantly and batter Romans. Plus anyone who could make eating a whole roasted wild boar look delicious in a comic book has to be a favourite.

I’m not a fan of Manga. I dislike the prescriptive nature of the illustrations. They seem to all have the same style and I’m not sure that reflects creativity much. Although there is a strict comic book style in the works of Stan Lee’s creations I understand why these are kept alike, to maintain the characters created. Manga just seems too prescriptive, and devalues it for me somehow. I’m not a fan of superhero comic books either though.

The costs of printing comic books in the past has always been prohibitive, and stopped many author/illustrators from sharing their work. But the internet has changed this. There are a huge amount of online comics, available, for free. Access to graphic novels has never been easier. But I do feel that they are considerably undervalued. The amount of talent it takes to not only write but illustrate these books is considerable. They offer another medium in which to enjoy a story, we have film, television and animation, the majority of which are taken seriously nowadays. Comic books still get a hard time though. Scott McCloud, comic book author and academic stated in his comic book text “Reinventing Comics”;

“Comics, like other minority forms, are vital to diversifying our perceptions of the world.”

I’ve had mine changed by several. They don’t have to be satirical or amusing to leave an impact. I could rattle on all day about comic books and the many that I love, but I will spare you and share this one with you. The marriage of image and words is perfect;

His Face all Red

Read More