touching the void at bristol old vic…

Moira and I went along to the Old Vic this afternoon (along with several other grey-haired people) to see “Touching The Void”, adapted by playwright David Greig and directed by Tom Morris, based on Joe Simpson’s best-selling 1988 memoir. I read the book more than 25 years ago and can well remember being utterly captivated and stunned by its compelling story - which tells of Simpson’s and his fellow mountaineering partner Simon Yates’s struggles (best if I don’t say any more in case you have read the book/seen the film) on the perilous Siula Grande mountain in the Peruvian Andes (I’ve never seen the film based on the book).
Having an awful head for heights, my fascination for mountaineering stories is perhaps slightly worrying (I remember passing on my copy of ‘Touching The Void’ to someone – but can’t now recall who – but my book collection also contains mountaineering books by Chris Bonington, Joe Tasker and two others by Joe Simpson)!
How on earth could anyone reproduce the book’s story on a STAGE, for goodness sake?!

Well, there was no snow; there were no papier-maché mountains, no sports centre climbing wall… but, amazingly, they DID manage to capture all the drama, all the terror and all the suspense (literally!)… quite, quite magnificently.

It was superbly done. I loved how, in the mountain sequences, they converted vertical planes to horizontal planes so simply and yet so effectively. I loved how they were able to address crucial decision-maker options so powerfully and issue a “well, what would you have done?” challenge (to one of the characters and to the audience), I loved the way Joe’s was such a central character in the whole drama… I could go on and on.
The acting was also superb – all four characters: Fiona Hampton (who played Joe’s sister, Sarah), Josh Williams (Joe), Edward Hayter (Simon) and Patrick McNamee (who played the base camp hippy) were just brilliant.
As I think you might have deduced(!), everything about this production was simple wonderful as far as I was concerned. Theatre at its very best – creativity, conception, imagination, design, implementation… live performance at its very, very best.
It’s an amazing story and this production is an absolute ‘must-see’.
PS: At the interval, I described the story as “a bit of a cliff-hanger” and quickly regretted it!
PPS: I also love that the theatre programme reproduced Joe Simpson’s ‘Desert Island Discs’ music from 2004… I think I’ll be re-living it all via Spotify over the coming days!
PPPS: I need to re-read the book!

patrick heron at tate st ives…

It’s probably taken me nearly twenty years to become a lover of Patrick Heron’s work. We were in St Ives last week (you probably knew that already!) and one of the very real pleasures of our stay (and there were SEVERAL!) was the ability to visit the Tate on a daily basis – through the use of our Art Passes.
I have to say that seeing Heron’s work in the rather lovely, recently-extended Tate was a huge pleasure. I still find some of Heron’s pieces somewhat incomprehensible or a little weird, but there were perhaps a dozen or more of his paintings that I thought were quite wonderful.
I’m one of those people who, certainly in the past, has frequently found the world of abstract art rather bewildering (verging on ‘Emperor’s Clothes’ at times). However, Moira and I took advantage of visiting the exhibition very soon after the gallery had opened first thing most mornings – and before the crowds had gathered – and there’s something rather magical about having a large, beautiful gallery space virtually to yourself while you stare at one of Heron’s very large pieces. Vibrant, contrasting colours… delicate textures… challenging, subtle compositions…
Such a privilege.
Fascinating, again for me anyway, to be reminded of the profound influence that European artists had on Heron’s work (some more obvious than others… Matisse, Cezanne, Braque, Bonnard) and also American art of the 1950s and 60s (Rothko, Pollock, Louis, Olitski). I even bought the excellent, illustrated book that accompanies the exhibition (which will hopefully help keep last week in the memory). Somewhat predictably, there are passages in the book that I found faintly ridiculous and somewhat over-the-top (“I can say these things because I’m a renowned art critic, darling!”?)… but maybe it’s just my lack of intelligence and/or sophistication? Andrew Wilson’s introduction to the book, for example, included this passage (taken at random): “However, the actual images are found not through transcription of any kind but from sub-conscious knowledge, feeling and cumulative experience in which eye, mind, arm and hand are joined together to deliver impulsive, yet deliberate, marks”. Indeed, Heron himself was no stranger to eloquent, if unintelligible, descriptions (the word ‘pretentious’ comes to mind?) of his approach to art or in expressing his arguments in exchanges with fellow artists and/or writers… but, hey, perhaps that’s just me?!
Fortunately, the book also contains a number of essays (from various Heron admirers, art critics and writers) which helpfully unpick various aspects of his work. And hat’s off too to the Tate… I thought their daily talks - given by knowledgeable, enthusiastic and talented staff members – were absolutely excellent and reflected a passion and an admiration but without all the hyperbole!
A wonderful exhibition set in a beautiful, spacious building.
Photo: a few images/details taken from the exhibition… so much to see!

more reflections from our time in st ives…

Moira and I absolutely love St Ives.
In the past, we have especially loved it during school term time when there are fewer people about. However, it seems that St Ives is now an ‘all year round’ place – with families being replaced by old codgers like us (and, apologies to all my dog-owning friends, dogs – bloomin’ HUNDREDS of them!!). Trying to walk down Fore Street or anywhere near the harbour was a nightmare… dozens of dog-owners admiring each other’s ‘delightful’ pets and the rest of us dog-less pedestrians being constantly confronted by having to try to avoid long dog-leashes (owners frequently behaving like those annoying people in supermarkets – blocking up aisles – or in this case narrow streets – and completely oblivious of others). Oh, and the number of people who own two, three or even four dogs!! Don’t get me started! Oh, a bit late for that… sorry.
Anyway, back to our few days in St Ives… it was our first holiday for a couple of years – and very enjoyable it was too.
Much of the time was spent relaxing, walking, eating, drinking, reading and sketching – but we felt particularly fortunate (as ‘old people’) to be able to purchase an Art Pass for a bargain price of £10 for the week – which allowed us access (as often as we wanted) to Tate St Ives, the Hepworth Museum and Studio, Leach Pottery, Newlyne Art Gallery and Penlee House, Penzance! Needless to say, we visited ALL of them – and the Tate on a daily basis! And, of course (as we’re no longer car-owners), we travelled down to St Ives by train and used our bus passes to get to Penzance/Newlyne.
Oh yes, we know how to live!
I loved the daily early morning walks along Porthmeor Beach, watching all the surfers, the wild turquoise seas, the beautifully extended Tate St Ives, the coastal walks (we even saw a mother seal feeding her pup off Clodgy Point), the familiar streets, The Tate Café, Porthmeor Beach Café … and the luxury of returning to places that we absolutely love.
PS: It was sad to note that recycling doesn’t really happen in St Ives (well, it does, but only on a very reduced level)… lots of litter and general waste mixed in together… the Council clearly thinks the town is too cramped, with too many narrow streets and with far too much traffic as sufficient grounds to ‘not bother’… which is great shame.  
 

five complete days away from it all…

Somewhat remarkably, I’ve just spent five utterly Trump-free days in Cornwall!
I’ve spent five complete days of hearing/reading nothing at all about Brexit or about the government’s inept attempts to run the country (or, perhaps even more worrying, witnessing the shenanigans of those who see themselves as the next Prime Minister).
For the past five days*, I have also gone without lots of the things that many people would regard as ‘essential’ in order to sustain ‘civilised’ life, including:
1.    No internet
2.    No television
3.    No radio
4.    No facebook
5.    No emails
6.    No phonecalls
7.    No music (apart from humming to myself)
8.    No newspapers (I’d originally planned to buy myself a daily paper but, in the end, decided not to bother)
9.    No news, no media, no sport updates etc etc (if the world was coming to an end, Moira would have told me… probably?).

I wasn’t attempting to prove anything to myself by this self-imposed regime (I could have accessed all of the above, if I’d really wanted)… but it was a strangely liberating experience. I don’t own a smart phone (my mobile is VERY basic!) and so have never been one of those people who, it seems, spend much of their waking hours staring at a tiny screen…

The whole experience has made me even more aware of how self-contained (some would perhaps describe it as ‘potentially reclusive’!) my life has become.
Simple pleasures… gentle rhythm of life.
PS: *actually, we were away for 7 days, but two of those were partially spent travelling… and reading newspapers!)
Photo: breakfast at Porthmeor Beach Café, overlooking the Atlantic… as you do.

the merry wives of windsor…

Moira and I went along to Cinema de Lux last night to see the live-screening version of the RSC’s “The Merry Wives of Windsor”, directed by Fiona Laird. Although it’s absolutely brilliant that live-screening provides an opportunity to watch the RSC perform from Bristol, for me it’s not quite the same as being a member of the ‘real’ audience at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford (from my somewhat limited experience of these things, cinema audiences don’t applaud and I, for one, never feel an integral part of the live performance itself).  
Although I know the play quite well, I think this was the first time I’ve actually seen it performed for perhaps 50 years (if ever?). As you may know, it’s probably the most farcical of all Shakespeare’s comedies. Parts of the storyline seem very appropriate for today - as the play features that renown womaniser and sexual predator Sir John Falstaff (quite brilliantly played by David Troughton) endeavouring to seduce two women (again, convincingly and hilariously played by Rebecca Lacey and Beth Cordingly)… but with Shakespeare’s original setting transferred from middle-class Berkshire to metropolitan Essex and to a world of beauty salons and manicurists (the ‘Fat Woman of Brentford’ becoming the ‘Fat Woman of Brentwood’)… complete with estuary accents and wheelie bins!
It was a fun evening of exuberant, light-hearted entertainment… and I particularly liked the clever, over-the-top costume design (The Telegraph critic described it thus: “Elizabethan costume stylings, lashings of bling and dashes of ‘The Only Way Is Essex attitude’”).

august-september 2018 books…

The Hearing Trumpet (Leonora Carrington): I recently watched a television documentary on the surrealist painter Leonora Carrington (1917-2011). Definitely not my cup of tea when it comes to art, but she came across as a fascinating individual nevertheless. Somewhat predictly, she writes as she paints – revelling in the unexpected and with extraordinary imagination. The novel is the story of 92-year-old Marian Leatherby, who is given the gift of a hearing trumpet only to discover that what her family is saying is that she is to be committed to an institution. But this is an institution where the buildings are shaped like birthday cakes and igloos… (you get the general idea). To be honest, there were whole sections of the book (ie. those that echoed a fantasy, ‘Alice in Wonderland’-like world) that I just found boring, but there were also sections and characters (like Marian and her friend Carmella) that I found surprisingly funny. It’s also a tender book about disconnections – about old age (“people under seventy and over seven are very unreliable if they are not cats”!); about people unable or unwilling to hear each other; about how we hear and how we don’t. Interesting.
WTF? (Robert Peston): I’ve previously put two separate posts on my blog, so I’m sure you don’t want me to repeat myself! I’ll simply say that I found it even-handed, engaging, richly-argued and inspiring… and very readable. A brilliant book.
Birdcage Walk (Helen Dunmore): Helen Dunmore, who lived in Bristol for more than 40 years, died last year. This is the third novel of hers that I’ve read, but what has particularly drawn me to her writing is her book of poetry “Inside The Wave”, which was published shortly before her death (I must have read it more than twenty times to date and find it constant food for thought). The Birdcage Walk in this novel is a very real place, here in Bristol – it’s the cemetery (which still exists) of St Andrew’s church (which was bombed to rubble in WW2 and the church is now merely a footprint). It’s set in the final years of the 18th century - a time which saw a frenetic building boom in the city (with builders and developers competing against one another and borrowing heavily to buy up land). But in 1793, war was declared between Britain and France and the building boom collapsed and bankruptcy was rife. The story is about the daughter of a forgotten writer (her mother) who married one of these builder/developers. We know nothing of the writer herself (none of her work now remains) apart from a gravestone “raised on the 14th July 1793 In the Presence of her Many Admirers”, together with an image of a quill pen and “Her Words Remain Her Inheritance”. It’s a novel about a particular period in history but also about the ways in which the individual vanishes from historical record. It’s both poignant and powerful. Dunmore was an excellent writer and I very much enjoyed this book.
The Age Of Innocence (Edith Wharton): I’m a great admirer of Wharton as a writer. This novel, first published in 1920, is set in 1870s within a very American, East Coast, upper class world. It presents a rather disturbing picture of a social system that provided a rigid code of Old New York society where convention and protocol dominated (I think there’s a description in the book that describes it thus: “rich and idle and ornamental societies”). The story centres on an upper-class couple's impending marriage, and the introduction of the bride's cousin, plagued by scandal, whose presence threatens their happiness. I don’t want to spoil the narrative, so I’ll leave it there. Not exactly my cup of tea perhaps – although Wharton's attention to detail and its portrayal of how the 19th-century East Coast American upper class lived (and, ultimately, the struggles to reconcile the old with the new) is utterly fascinating… and she writes quite beautifully.  
Death In Venice/Tristan/Tonio Kroger (Thomas Mann): A book of three short stories (written in 1911, 1902 and 1903 respectively). “Death In Venice” is one of my favourite films, but I had never read Thomas Mann’s book. It didn’t disappoint (and reinforced my huge admiration of Dirk Bogarde’s portrayal of Gustave von Aschenbach)! Maybe it was because I knew the story so well, that I found reading it so compelling? I found “Tristan” (the interplay of characters within a sanatorium) almost as enjoyable, but frankly found “Tonio Kroger” tedious by contrast. For me, a common theme seems to be the struggle of the creative artist to make sense of, at times, the meaninglessness of existence… but that might be a little too negative! I’ve got Mann’s much longer novel “Buddenbrooks” sitting on my bedside table (apparently about the decline of a family!), but have yet to pluck up the courage to make a start!

cold war...

I went along to the Watershed this afternoon (note: it was only JUST afternoon – the film started at 12.30pm!) to see Pawel Pawlikowski’s much-acclaimed film “Cold War” – a fateful love story of a pair of mismatched musicians set against the background of the Cold War in Poland, Berlin, Yugoslavia and Paris over a period of 15 years, starting in 1949.

I’d previously seen the trailer (check it out here… once you’ve read this post!) and had decided that it was definitely a film I should see but, somewhat strangely (but rather touchingly), I got chatting to an elderly couple earlier in the week while I was out sketching. They’d stopped and were very complementary about my drawings and we ended up (for some reason) discussing films at the Watershed (I know)… and they strongly urged me to see Pawlikowski’s film. Indeed, the man went as far as telling me that it was probably in his top 15 of films he’d EVER seen (strange to select the number fifteen, but hey!).

Well, I wasn’t disappointed. I thought it was quite, quite brilliant too.

Anyway, back to the film…

The Watershed’s blurb describes it as “an impossible love story in impossible times” and I think this gets it absolutely right. You sense from the start that things aren’t going to work out well, but the characters (wonderfully acted by Joanna Kulig, who plays Zulu, and Tomasz Kot, as Wiktor) simply grab your attention in a mesmerising, spell-binding way.
It’s stunningly shot in black+white and the music was superb too (the trailer gives an excellent flavour) - musician Marcin Masecki was a key collaborator with Pawlikowski for the film – and ranges from rustic folk songs of Poland to the sultry jazz of a Paris bar.
This gorgeously crafted, heartbreaking film also has strong links to the director’s own parents (the main characters are named after them). The story is loosely based on their relationship: “they split up, got together, betrayed each other and then got together again; then split up again and eventually ended up together”.
I don’t normally check out reviews before I’ve written my blog post, but I’ve just read Mark Kermode’s 5-star review from The Guardian… so don’t just take my word for it!
This is a film you should DEFINITELY see.