Sunday 7 June 2009

... reflections



... so that's it then, the road trip is over and the last week has been spent at work/ at home/ at the election and there has been plenty of time to reflect on the trip to St Enodoc and the acts several and individual of bluejuggery that Benedict and I committed, including ...

1414 unsustainable carbon-belching miles on
the roads, some more, some less travelled,
the poetry in St Enodoc's
and the 9 blue jugs
with 9 interventions

but most memorably of all the generous, open, welcoming folk who we met , ate, and stayed with over the course the journey ...

Lawrence
Annie
Jo
Anne-Marie
Mike
Jack
Heidi
Sheena
the miraculous Theo
Charlotte
Peter
Karen
Bill
Gavin
Isa
Felix
and
Mia

thank you to all of you ... my house is yours





Tuesday 2 June 2009

a sunlit kingdom touched by butterflies ...



and so saturday dawns, sun-bright and hot ... Isa Felix and Mia depart early for swimming lessons ... Gavin moves around upstairs and I get up ...

I make a cup of tea and catch up with the blog ... Gavin emerges only to take himself off to the studio at the top of the garden to continue work on an essay required for his MA ... alas creativity has to be tempered with scholarly writing ...

Benedict emerges and over toast we try and get some coherent conversation going without much success ... I hadnt realised we had imbibed so much last night ... Isa returns very briefly to grab sun hats for the children and then disappears as quickly as she arrived ...

we pack up and say our goodbyes to Gavin, having tried and failed to squeeze a large framed work that Benedict had left here after a project in Cheltenham ... yet another haven of hospitality and generosity we have found on our trip ...

last night Gavin should have dropped off a key last night on his way through Cheltenham, however the lure of the takeaway and our company had distracted him so we agree to take the key back for him ... we gentle our way through the hills and woodlands of Gloucestershire and end up having a cup of tea in the sun in a Cheltenham back-garden underneath the sycamores and the washing on the washing line ...

and then once again we are off ... we take lunch in Stratford at the award winning cafe again and the symmetry of the journey is complete ... a week ago we sat in this very same spot eating the very same sandwich - well not the very same sandwich as that would mean eating ... anyway you know what I mean ...

we head onto the A blah-de-blah to Coventry, hit the M1, strangely devoid of traffic, listening to the FA Cup final on the radio and in no time we are in Leeds dropping Benedict off at his gaff, drinking tea with the wild-back-neighbours ...

to tell the truth I think we are both in a state of semi-shock, moving into that difficult territory that we enter when we return to the familiar and it seems so very very strange ... I say goodbye to Benedict tell him not to fall into the pit of despair ...

and then the Director shouts cut ... and cinematically I am in Scarborough, sat in my front room, drinking yet more tea, looking out over the sparkling sea ...

And all the time the waves, the waves, the waves
Chase, intersect and flatten on the sand
As they have done for centuries, as they will
For centuries to come, when not a soul
Is left to picnic on the blazing rocks,
When England is not England, when mankind
Has blown himself to pieces. Still the sea,
Consolingly disastrous, will return
While the strange starfish, hugely magnified,
Waits in the jewelled basin of a pool

Beside the Seaside, John Betjeman


Monday 1 June 2009

of wooden websites, painted television sets, and rubbish




it dawns on me that I am a terrible guest ... not once so far has it dawned on me that the polite thing to do is to BRING DESSERT ... oh the ignorance and thoughtlessness ... memo to self: if we are ever asked again, anywhere, by anyone, BRING A DESSERT!!


after coffee and cherries, Karen shows us her studio, a small shed-like structure at the end of the garden packed with the artists articles of faith ... and an unruly object, the wooden website ...


this is a work of genius ... a subtle, inventive and humoress take on the website, the place without which the internet would be, well, a mess of cables and wifi ... Benedict, artist that he is dives straight in and is soon using the wooden website - complete with its black stuffed mouse, more souris than pointing device ...


however, we cant linger as we must push on ... we have missed Gloucester, but Gavin awaits in Cheltenham ... we say our farewells and once again we are on the road ... we decide that we will head up the M5 leave at junction 10 and loop back into Cheltenham .. so we drive north ... junction 11A comes and goes, junction 11 comes and goes, junction 9 ... JUNCTION 9!!!


what happened to junction 10 ... have we hit a kink in the space-time continuum? has junction 10 entered a higher dimension and will emerge in a parallel universe? did we just blink and miss it?


we come off at junction 9 and join a tedious queue of traffic, take a short cut, end up in a herd of cows and four dogs driving a quad-bike with a man on the back (or was it ... never mind) and 40 minutes later and late we arrive at Gloucestershire University ... which is buzzing with art students and their admiring families and parents ( "ooohh, now that one is very good" .... "did you do this? ... really?" .... "i think you must get this from your grandfather" ... "did you have to take your clothes off darling?")


Gavin's installation is part of his MA and is an amusing mix of sound, video, photographs, posters and bits of reassembled rubbish ... or so I overheard someone saying ... no Gavin, it really is very good ...


photography is big in the University and they have a celebrity che... photographer, Richard Billingham, which is good, because he is good, and is bad, because 95% of the student photographers are taking Richard Billingham photographs ... doooh!


there is only so much art one can take in a day and soon Benedict and I are following Isa, Felix and Mia (Gavin is driving their van on the all-important mission of ordering-a-takeaway) back to their house near Stroud ..


their house sits halfway up the side of a valley and their garden climbs steeply upwards behind the house ... we sit on the topmost terrace beneath the cloudless sky, the evening darkening gently, the stars emerging to fill the sky, bats come hunting over our heads, and the candles lighting the feast Gavin has hunted and gathered for us from the Bath Road Balti as we talk our way into the night ...


I cant quite believe that this is almost it, that this is the last night of our road trip adventure, our trip to St Enodoc with jugs, but alas it is ...


so tonight we celebrate Gavin's show with champagne, we celebrate our trip, we celebrate the hospitality shown to us by so many lovely generous people ...


tomorrow, the road home awaits ...


"the Minister for Sport, Prime Minister"


the intention is to leave Devon, stop at Cheddar to photograph the Cheddar egg-cup I have brought, go on to Bath where we have a lunch date with Karen and Bill, call in at Gloucester Cathedral to see the installation created by Elpida, artist-in-residence, and then meet Gav at the end-of-year-show at the University of Gloucester in Cheltenham .... hmmmm ....


we are late leaving Peter's house and studio ... its very difficult to tear oneself away from such a beautiful creative spot ... but we do ... eventually ...

this means that we have left ourselves 2 hours and 15 minutes to get from 20 miles west of Exeter to Bath ... and as we sit somewhere near Taunton in a constipated convoy of holiday makers heading north it becomes apparent that (one) we will not have time to "do Cheddar" and (two) we will be late for lunch ...

and then the perennial motorway-traffic jam question arises - do we stay on or do we leave at the next junction ... of course the attentive reader will say well it doesnt matter because whatever route you "choose" is already decided - or you might say that if the multiple universe theory is correct, we will take both routes and somewhere in a parallel universe Benedict and John end up taking the photograph of the Cheddar egg-cup in Cheddar and ... but this is going to far - we decide to leave the motorway and head for Bath along the Ablah-de-blah ... and a very pleaseant route it turns out to be, weaving through the Mendips (or are these the Quantocks? or the Bollox?) ... we arrive in Bath only 15 minutes late ...


Karen and Bill live in a small cottage which was once part of the garden and land belonging to a large house on the edge of Bath ... In the Second World War the house was the residence in exile of the Emperor Haile Selassie and his family - after the war he left the house and land to the Council to provide housing for the elderly ... so, on the Emeror's birthday, there are gatherings of respectful Rastafarians, the air thick with ganga and reggae, at the end of K&B's garden ... today it is not the late Emperor's birthday and we are able to park without damaging any dreadlocks ....


Karen cooks a delicious lunch and once Bill discovers I am an archaeologist, conversation turns to the Roman villa under the cottage and then to an archaeologist, one WF Rankin, with whom Bill's father excavated a site just after the war ... or rather, Bill's father was charged with supervising a team of what were little more than navvies ... however a visit by a very young Bill to the excavation with his father and the translocation of collection of Roman potsherds and tile to his bedroom left Bill with a life-long fascination with archaeology ... and inevitably when an actor and an archaeologist talk about archaeology, it isnt long before the blessed Tony Robinson is mentioned ...


it turns out Bill recorded the AN Wilson biography of Betjeman, and I get a fascinating insight into how an actor approaches reading a biography, how he tries to identify the point of view and voice of the biographer ... we both agree that Wilson's portrayal of the "voice" of Penelope was extraordinairily condescending, and that Betjeman must have been exasperating to live with ...


it is now 4pm and we havent seen the wooden web site or Karen's Studio ... and we are not going to make it to Gloucester ....

Sunday 31 May 2009

... at the house of Peter Randall-Page (2)





Charlotte has prepared a feast of fish and rice and salad ... Simon and his partner Sandra are also staying with P&C and soon we are all sat at the candlelit table in the large warm farmhouse kitchen with its aga, wooden floor, setee, wooden cupboards, two guitars are propped against the wall and the glow of good conversation ...


conversation is rightly dominated by the preparations for the exhibition ... who will be where, what needs cleaning, who will finish off polishing what, what will be packed and when will it be moved and on and on and round and round ... its amazing that Benedict and I have been welcomed into this space so focussed on and driven by this massive undertaking ...


outside the sky grows dark but the sculptors are working on ... at about 10'ish they knock off for the evening and Peter brings them in .... Charlotte quickly conjures up more food and the kitchen table soon has David Hat and Ben sat round as well ... at 11 David decides they have to go and the group breaks up and we go to bed


next morning Simon goes out and comes back with bread and milk ... we sit around the table and eat toast and drink tea ... Simon has become a local celebrity since one of his sculptures featured in a garden at the Chelsea Flower Show and he appeared on the television ... he tells the story of arriving at the shop one day in Drewsteignton to find a large police van outside and several burly policeman sat inside ... he went in and inside a policeman turns and leaves with a large box - "they come here to get their cakes" the shopkeeper explains ... and there outside in the sunshine are very large four policemen tucking into cream cakes ...


Simon, it turns out, shares my fascination with quantum mechanics - I tell him that I have decided that if you reach the point where you think you understand quantum mechanics, then you clearly do not understand quantum mechanics ... Simon appears less than convinced by my country road theory of time and space ... that time and space is like driving down a country lane at night, that the present is what you can see in the headlights but the road ahead is already there just waiting to be illuminated ... that in essence the future already exists and our interpretation, understanding and experience of the present and our concept of choice and free-will is no more than a evolutionary biological adaptation ... he is a proponent of M-Theory ...


Charlotte and I talk about children - the tough choices and problems they face, our worries, guilt and pleasures, the universal concerns of the parent ...


and then we reluctantly pack the car and leave ... Charlotte is off to visit Peter's mother, the polishing, carving, discussion continues in the hot morning sunshine, PJ and David are talking equipment and there imminent trip to YSP to install the first elements of the exhibition ... Peter is in long, deep conversation on the telephone with the YSP ... we say goodbye ...


we head to Bath for lunch with Karen and Bill, and hope to get to Gloucester before meeting up with friends in Stroud ...




Thursday 28 May 2009

... at the house of Peter Randall-Page




... and so we arrive at the house of Peter Randall-Page ...

Peter and Charlotte live in a cob-walled thatched house in the bottom of a wooded valley - a cob and stone barn acts as studio, workshop, and one side to a grassy sloping "farmyard" ... behind this Barn is another, larger more modern barn which is the centre of focused intense activity - two large pieces are being polished, others are being carved and all around lie large sculptural forms either waiting to be cleaned, waiting to be prepared for transport to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park , or palleted wrapped and ready to be trucked north ... we have arrive as Peter is preparing for a major exhibition at the YSP- it opens in 4 weeks time ...


sitting outside the office/barn there is some discussion about where we should sleep - the idea was we would sleep in the cabin in the woods, but this hasnt been prepared so instead we will stay in the farmhouse ...


we make our way through the barn/ studio where PRP is preparing a large abstract drawing and out to where the sculpture are being polished - David is in charge, Simon is on top of one of the large forms carving a detail, Ben and Hat are working on other pieces ... as we arrive, David decides it is time to wet one of he pieces and commence the next phase of polishing - he sprays the form with water and it is transformed from a dull grey to a deep soft grey black shimmering in the evening sunlight ... beautiful


Peter's mother is not well, so he is off to visit her in a nearby village ... he drops us off on the way at a pub and will collect us on his way back ...


the pub is in what feels like the middle of nowhere, low beamed ceiling wooden floor simple tables and benches ... it is full of locals and visitors people ordering meals and exchanging views .... at the bar, three awfully-well-spoken-fifty/ sixty-something-chaps are discussing the state of the sterling euro exchange rate "dont talk too loudly or Charlie will wake up and want to join in " ... Charlie, a large rotund gentleman is sitting behind them snoozing between courses ... the young barmaid tries to get him to decide what pudding he will have ... he wakes up and harrumphs like an old colonel in a Carry On film and after listening to her list the choices goes for the chocolate brownie and ice-cream ... and falls asleep again, waking quite miraculously as the bowl is placed gently on the table ...


When Peter returns to pick us up we sit outside and one of the awfully-well-spoken-fifty/ sixty-something-chaps comes out - he, too, is a John and a good friend of Peter and Charlotte ... it turns out that he cultivates old and rare hops organically... he has been disappointed with the brews that have been produced from his crop and is looking for, well, at first I am not sure what he is looking for but it turns out that Gordon (Benedict's brewmaster lodger) may be what John is looking for - a methodical, meticulous, chemistry trained, brewer - Benedict promises to put them in touch


we head back past Castle Drogo to the farm and food ...

to Torquay and Dartmoor



we say our farewells and we are off again ... Jack and Heidi are getting married in August and are having the reception at the Living Coasts cafe in Torquay ... there are directions so we use them to navigate from Totnes to Torquay ... once again we are on the free-flowing side of the road - the traffic on the other side of the road is log-jammed for two maybe three miles outside Paignton ... the blue jug gods are smiling on us once again ...

what a fine place Torquay turns out to be ... more continental than Scarbro, certainly warmer, but really not as nice

we explore the harbour, ogle the floating gin-palaces, walk up and down the main shopping street and make our way back to the cafe at Living Coasts for lunch ... we sit on the terrace looking out across a sun-drenched Torbay munching on cauliflower cheese and chips .... yumyum!

Torquay is Martin Parr territory and the lure of photographing the uniformed Hinkley Youth Marching Band, the retired and the holiday-maker baking gently in the sun is too much ... but those images are all on film so it will be some time before I can see if i have captured a gem or two ....

the non-Betjeman aim of this trip is to photograph a small selection of my collection of blue and white souvenire ware in the places that they commemorate .. I hold the object at arms length and photograph it ... while I am doing this Benedict is photographing me with his medium format Mamiya ... this is not an anonymous process ... however, what is interesting is the almost total lack of interest in what we are doing ... so far, only the three small children at Bourton-on-the-Water have approached us to ask what we are doing .. on the harbourside in Torquay although surrounded by people, no-one watches us and no-one asks us what we are doing ....

and it is the same in Princetown in the heart of Dartmoor ... we toy with the idea of setting up in front of the prison gate, but Benedict rightly suggests this would not go down too well and as we do not want to include a night in the cells on this trip, we opt for a more distant vista of the prison and Princetown ...

and then we have a cream tea ... I can feel my arteries hardening ... then to find the house and workshop of Peter Randall-Page where we will be staying tonight

the drive from Princetown takes us to the northern edge of Dartmoor and a view back north ... the trip is drawing to a close ...