Blog, I have missed you

It's true, the blogging muscles have grown rather flabby. 

What has been happening? 

We had our sculpting friend Jantien to stay. Here she is sculpting, or her hands anyway:

She came initially because we have a covered space to work in, not very sheltered otherwise, but out of the rain. Then she had to stay in the blue room because her usual billet down the road with her mother-in-law was taken by someone else for a bit, then she kind of decided she might as well stay around as she rather liked it here and it would save upping sticks. We didn't mind a bit, she is the most sensible, sensitive and considerate lodger, helped by the fact she actually has something to be getting on with and so doesn't need entertaining, she frequently cooks us delicious vegetarian meals with her own ingredients and caters for herself in a very tidy and tactful way for much of the rest of the time  and she was always eager to stretch her legs at one end of the day or the other and accompany Elfie (with whom she was rather taken, naturally) and her attendant humans on long country walks. 

So I can't say she kept us busy with extra work at all, but having someone dynamic working away on site, and just being encouraged to chat and be a bit more outwardly energetic and sociable oneself, means the patterns change a bit, and one's mental space feels somewhat rearranged and fuller than usual. None of which is a bad thing, of course. 

Now though, having succeeded in stealing away so early that none of us heard the going of her, she is en route back to the Netherlands for a week or two, whence she'll be travelling to England for this exhibition, and we're all being rather quiet and lazy on this fête de travail.

But I think she'll be back later this month, which should please Elfie, who's been looking around for her rather today.  And perhaps it will be a little warmer by then. Elfie's blanket is finished, despite her attempts to commandeer it even before it was:

It's not really her colours, but never mind.

Thus unseasonable cold has made sculpting, gardening and dog walking sometimes something of a struggle, but I suppose the upside of that is a delayed spring; we are only just at the luminous, soft, multi-hued stage which would normally be giving way to a more uniform emerald by now, of which here are some photos from today's walk:

And an early peacock butterfly:

A cold, delayed spring an upside? Indeed, for truly in this life, anything that seems to hold back time is to be welcomed. Also spracht Pollyanna.

That will do for now, we're off to Kerbiriou for the first time this year, and for our first trip away with Elfie, in a week or two, but I'll try to be back here again before then, and to reacquaint myself with blogging friends in the meanwhile.

Maritime museum, instruments and and art

The museum is divided into three sections, the west, north and east wings leading off from the central courtyard. Once back inside we decided to explore the east wing, which is dedicated to objects. 

I think mostly what I want out of any museum is an aesthetic experience. Learning and reading and lots of words generally don't really grab me much, you can do that at home before or after. Audio-guides we don't bother with, though I'm sure they are often very good, and I prefer the silent company of people plugged into then than the intrusive voices of tour guides. The use of space and light and colour is important, though it doesn't have to be anything fancy; many years ago I was so smitten with the elegant simplicity of the Cycladic art museum in Athens I almost felt I could move in and live there (don't know what it's like now, it looks rather more extensive than I remember it). However, I do like to see objects, preferably close up; often a quaint and cosy small town local history museum can be just as enjoyable, but I've been to some exhibitions which seem to be very set on impressing with lots interactive hi-tech stuff - holographic figures talking to you, projected spatial stuff, lots of touch screens etc - yet I've found myself disappointed and thinking fine, but where's the stuff?

But this section at least of the Maritime museum (we didn't bother with the more pedagogic, interactive, 'explore-and-experience-the-life-of' bits) was brilliant, with creative use of space and light and sound and electronics, but with real solid stuff a-plenty too. We went first to the navigational instruments galleries. The room was darkened midnight blue, with illuminated star maps moving over the ceiling and a low, hypnotic background sound, suggestive of waves and bells and distant voices. An open book with empty pages greeted you in a pool of light as you entered, and this is what happened when you touched it and turn the pages:

(yes, I know he's turning them backwards, I don't think it made much difference)

Then there were the transparent cases of with the instruments, from late mediaeval astrolabes to modern equipment,

most of which I just enjoyed gazing at as objects of mystery and beauty, without taking much trouble to identify their names and purposes. The things below, however, were lead weights, for taking soundings, (and swinging when one was shirking, I suppose. Better look that one up):

while these are clearly compasses:

Then there were the decorations, not only figureheads, but stern and mast decorations, tiller heads and all manner of wild, graceful, fierce, funny and sometimes downright saucy creatures and characters, enough to people a sea-going saga on their own:

(a touch of mise-en-abyme there, a ship within a ship...)

Again the sound and light murmured and shifted and changed around and on the objects.

And after that there were the paintings, dating from the early 17th century, when there were still sea monsters,

with examples in the genre of pen-paintings, which I didn't know about, executed with eye-watering detail and precision with pen and india ink on an oil paint ground,

and moments of high and luminous drama,

~

We only really saw a small part of the whole collection, and this is only a small part of what we saw. It really is a splendid museum. 

Paris: la Villette and the Jules Verne carousel.

The park at la Villette, where we finished up after the morning's boat trip, with all it's big open airy spaces, elevated walkways, concert halls, prestigious science museum, is a bold attempt at making a really generous public, cultural open space outside of the very centre of Paris, and must be much appreciated by many. It's not difficult to get to, and has so much to offer, yet for some reason I don't find it quite sympathetic, so much about it rather gives me agarophobia. Not all, I loved the Cité de la Musique in the evening, not only the hall itself but all its interior and exterior peripherals, but it seems to me that the best bits are where they've ended up enclosing and hiving off parcels and elements of the larger space into more intimate smaller ones. 

The adjacent neighbourhood, on the Pantin side anyway, is in no way ugly or bleak or threatening, the people are quite varied, some smart prosperous professional looking types alongside artisan-ish people and some fairly mixed urban youth. But it's rather dreary, big streets and buildings without being imposing, lacking in much variety and interest and ever so slightly, well, lairy. It probably isn't really, but that was our perception of it, after quite a long morning, looking for somewhere to have lunch in a limited time, not wanting too much, or much of what was on offer. There were endless scruffy sushi places, which seem to be the default low budget eateries and takeaways everywhere in Paris now, and a fair bit of couscous, which we're not great fans of, and a pricey shiny office type restaurant further towards the Buttes-Chaumont, which is another area I'd quite like to explore one day. In the end we found a modest bistro down a side street with a relaxed and varied clientèle which seemed to reflect the local population, Tom had a chicken tajine with some recognisable vegetables in it and frites instead of couscous, and I had a beef brochette with very juicy chunks of steak and proper home made creamy-crispy potatoes lyonnaises which were very good . All of which was far more than we meant to eat so we didn't want much dinner that evening. The owner was rather bumptious, a bit of a wide-boy, and teased and joshed us in rapid-fire ways I couldn't pick up on quickly enough, but the atmosphere was cheerful and friendly.

So, we didn't take many pictures (lunch was tasty but not the kind you stand on your chair and set up the lighting to take a photo of). However, on the way back and waiting for the boat, my attention was drawn to the Jules Verne carousel. There were several fairground things, a swing ride and a pêche aux canards ( a thing where you try to hook up ducks for prizes, I think), but none of them were in action, presumably because of the wet weather that morning. I wondered if the Jules Verne roundabout was something unique and perhaps antique, but on researching it, it seems that these carousels are everywhere, there are big and small ones in Nantes, Montpellier, Laval... there is even a company that will rent them out to you in various sizes. While in the style of early 20th century fairground attractions, they are usually modern, for obvious safety reasons. In fact I do remember seeing them aound now, but didn't really take note of the theme: the actual ride-on elements, covered up on this occasion against the weather, as well as the classic horses and other animals, are (loosely) taken from Jules Verne stories. There are steam trains and ships and biplanes and early motor cars and bicycles, and always Captain Nemo's submarine, a Montgolfier balloon and a moon rocket. And always around the canopy there are painted vignettes of scenes from the books, and also of Paris and of other world landmarks.

Those from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea seemed to be especially favoured; it was fun trying to spot and remember the references.

I used to enjoy Jules Verne's books as a child, and liked these quirky, fantastical little paintings very much, wondering about the person who executed them with such care and enthusiasm, what we used to call a commercial artist, I suppose, the kind of painter in a British context who would have painted pub signs.

In amongst them, around the central shaft, were also these relief Melusines, I'm not sure what, if anything, they have to do with Jules Verne, they seem to have rather more of the traditional fairground about them.

The rain cleared, and this passed the time until the boat returned.

Waltham Abbey

Waltham Abbey is the name of the town, its church is Waltham Abbey church. The town isn't on a main railway, we had to get a train to nearby Waltham Cross, which reputedly has an Eleanor Cross (and looks quite a pleasant place in the Wiki photo), but we didn't see it, only the rather unlovely bit of 60s town planning  round the train and bus station. The latter was closed for works, so we had to walk rather further in the rain and with Tom's still bad foot than we would have liked, but when the bus came the kindly driver made a special stop for us, unasked, right in front of the church (wonders are worked when one carries a proper orthopaedic walking stick), and when we arrived in Waltham Abbey proper, despite its being Good Friday and a public holiday, and rather rainy, we found it a lively, interesting and welcoming place.

A cheery little ecumenical procession carrying a big wooden cross, featuring various card-carrying and badge-wearing Christian denominations but also a number of friendly dogs, arrived in the church grounds at the same time, we said hello to the dogs and hastened away inside. A service was due to start in an hour, we were told, but we were welcome to look around in the meantime. The board outside the church said, in effect, that whatever brings you here, whether faith and worship or just curiosity and an interest in history, the place belongs to everyone and everyone is welcome. 

The church is known for its music, Thomas Tallis was the music master here at the time of the Dissolution of the Monasteries. The choir was practising various pieces, which made a good background, but there were plenty of people like us poking about, taking photos, chatting quietly in corners.

Indeed, there is more history in this pleasant but work-a-day Essex town and its church than you can shake a stick at, way back to early Saxon times. There are traces of burials and other things from the 6th century, then Offa (the one with the Dyke) built the first stone buildings over an older wooden one, then one of King Canute's (the one who didn't hold back the waves) thanes held sway over the area and further built up the church to enshrine a socking great miraculous cross he'd found in Somerset, and which his oxen insisted needed to be installed here. King Harold (the one with the arrow in his eye who lost at Hastings) was given it by Edward the confessor, and is fairly conclusively considered to be buried there, though the Waltham Abbeyites seem to have missed a trick; no digging up of bones, grand funereal traipsing round the town, all-day television coverage, primates of the church and minor royalty and descendants shipped in from Australia etc for poor old Harold as yet, though he has got this rather nice statue in an apse outside:

Henry II (the one who was married to Katherine Hepburn Eleanor of Aquitaine) built it up yet again while still flagellating himself for having Thomas Becket done in. It was huge, the present building and grounds are just a little stump of what it was

at the time when Henry VIII came along and dissolved it as an abbey foundation, and knocked a lot of it down again, so Thomas Tallis and many others had to seek new employment - they were mostly pensioned off quite reasonably, Tallis went to Canterbury - and the miraculous cross miraculously disappeared. The stones were used to build a grand big house for some of H8's friends, which is no more now than some ruined walls.

But it's still substantial, and full of fine things. There is 15th century doom painting in the light and airy lady chapel,

two creatures (perhaps called the Waltham imps, I thought, though I can no longer find a record of this) leer down at you from somewhere in the Middle Ages

and grand old Tudor families lounge around on grand old tombs, 

A 17th century merchant is buried here, too, with these rather beautifully rendered alabaster graven images of the stuff of his trade:

and in the 19th century, the Arts and Crafts mediaevalists, specifically William Burges, were given a free rein and went to town, with angels,

 Burne-Jones stained glass

 and a long painted ceiling featuring the signs of the zodiac:

I picked out Sagittarius for me,

Virgo for Tom (she looks a bit dour)

and Leo just because he's such a whimsical, story-book Victorian lion:

Pevsner, with typical mid-20th century snootiness, turns his nose up at Burges in general and his work here in particular, as 'robust ugliness'. But having spent much of my younger adulthood in South Wales, with visits to Castell Coch and Cardiff castle, and one or two of his domestic projects often pointed out on familiar routes, I've always retained an affection for his liveliness and colour and observant, typological, love of the natural world. And whether one cares to scoff or embrace, it did rather please me to see imagery not specifically Christian cheerfully embellishing a church.

Outside there are extensive grounds, with memorial plaques for people of the town with names that sound to hail from all corners of the world, as well as Mrs So-and-so, landlady of the Compasses, and water gardens, and the ruins of the house. 

(The finger post in the above photo points to Harold's grave, but there wasn't much to see).

All the knocking down and building up again has led to a motley and patchwork effect of different stonework and materials, in the walls of the church itself, and more recently the landscaping of the water gardens,

and all kinds of faces look out at you:

We crossed the  into the town proper, where plenty of places were open, public holiday notwithstanding, including a colourful, fragrant and diversely stocked Wiccan shop directly opposite the church, run by a lovely friendly couple, he hirsute, she with heavily kohl-darkened eyes, who chatted animatedly about their love of bee-keeping, archery and blacksmithing, and where we bought incense and a door-sign for my sister with a picture of a dragon and the words 'Please do not disturb, I am living happily ever after'  (we passed on the black candles in the shape of naked people).

There were plenty of old-fashioned pubs, I do miss pub-signs, I realise:

and there was a the celebrated Tony's Pie and Mash Shop, where I was brave enough to try stewed eels, which were kind-of OK but I wouldn't really recommend them on the same plate as the meat pie, however traditional it is, and a nice coffee and cake shop with coffee-and-walnut cake and more friendly people.

A good day out in a surprisingly rich and diverse place.

~

And now I must go and pack for another jaunt, a couple of days in Paris for our wedding anniversary. It may seem, it does to me, that our life consists of flitting from one pleasure trip to another, but it seems important to do these things now while we can, for who knows what the future holds?