A Different Perspective

Having long admired the distinctive etchings of one of East Anglia's most popular printmakers, Glynn Thomas, it's a real pleasure to have them on exhibition in the gallery.  Prompted by the publication of the book of his work - we hosted an evening event in the Norwich Grapevine, where Glynn not only signed a few books, but demonstrated just how much work goes into even the smallest prints. Watching this, I'm sure I wasn't alone in realising at just how subtle and sensitive the process is. As Glynn pointed out, these are hand-made prints and a world away from the mass produced digital work that increasingly comes on the market.

Changes

Just over 10 days ago, the gallery was rehung to host an exhibition of the remarkable equestrian paintings of Eleanor-rose Stamp.

None of the eight paintings could be called small - the general perception being that these are big paintings - in all senses - of big animals.  Growing up on and around horses, the artist displays a complete understanding not just of the muscles and sinews but crucially, also the spirit of the horse.  Reaction has been universally positive; perhaps the most telling being from a visitor who came in saying "I don't like horses. Never  have" and left 30 minutes later saying "Wonderful, wonderful paintings. Just extraordinary"  As they say, that is a result.

The exhibition continues for another week, before the gallery changes again - which neatly brings me back to the theme. On the day the exhibition opened a couple who had visited the gallery in the preceding week returned to purchase a ceramic that they had seen. They were however taken aback to discover that a picture they had seen at the same time was no longer there - a reaction that is surprisingly common. The fact is that the gallery changes all the time and in this instance I was able to show them the work they were seeking. What is more surprising is the number of times one person's thoughtful consideration of a work is shortly followed by sale to another.

Birds, Badgers and other things

Yesterday saw (I think) our first flight of geese of the season, although I understand some Pink Foot - or possibly Pink Feet - were noted at Blakeney a week or so ago.  Even so, the ones flying over the village yesterday seemed to be somewhat earlier than last year and much earlier than in 2010. I always think of the geese coming from the north, but yesterday's early birds seemed to come from the south east with subsequent arrivals from all points - bar north. A few more flew over this morning, with the weather turning suitably autumnal; much cooler and no sun.

I can't work out whether this is unusual, but yesterday's arrivals were sharing their air-space with swallows and martins who are still in residence, although I suspect that they may take the hint that the season is on the turn. Definitely not unusual and absolutely on schedule was the arrival of new work from Max Angus including a new print of Pinkfeet at Stiffkey. Very topical!

Badgers have been much in the news this week following the granting of licences for trial culls in Gloucestershire and Somerset. By nature I am not given to great sympathy for those who oppose all such controls and I do appreciate the growing cost of TB to the dairy farmers. However the approach to the trials seems flawed both in theory and practice. Having watched the brief feature about how the trial is to be carried out on Countryfile last weekend, I can't help feeling that the cull will be lengthy and inefficient and secondly that any empty setts will quickly be appropriated by animals from outside the trial areas.  Common sense would seem to suggest that focussing efforts on vaccination of cattle might be more practical and effective.

The other hot topic - at least in Norfolk - this week was UFO's with widespread sightings of mysterious flashing lights on Monday night.  No doubt about the fact they were seen, but after suitable and, one assumes, slightly tongue-in-cheek coverage in the local press it quickly transpired that it was offshore lightning from storms beyond Stalham and Hickling. Apparently on a clear night, such flashes can be seen up to a 100 miles away. So there we are then.

A round trip

Some days just go past and you wonder just what you were doing. And then there the other kind. By 11 o'clock this morning I had circumnavigated Norfolk taking in Fakenham, Norwich, Acle, North Walsham, Gunton, Melton Constable and Walsingham.  Not on foot you understand but 'en voiture' and all for the best possible reason - making sure the invitations for our next exhibition make it to Burghley Horse Trials this weekend.

Starting with a leisurely amble through the apparently still-sleeping Creakes, taking care to avoid the ducks who regard the road as theirs at this hour, to Fakenham to join the by-pass taking equal care to avoid the HGV's who like the ducks regard the road as theirs. Curiously, once past Fakenham, these same HGV's then proceed at a very stately and law-abiding 40mph to Great Witchingham where they all disappear.

Onwards to Norwich and then dual-carriageway all the way to Acle.  It's so fast compared to the rest of the county but... a sign of how quickly we could end up looking like everywhere else. Printing collected from the miraculous Richard Clover, it's off on another agriculturally paced spiral up through Potter Heigham and Stalham, over the top at Wayford Bridge and a quick sprint - old railway lines make fast roads in this corner of Norfolk - to North Walsham, pleasingly busy and buzzy on this Wednesday morning.

With pleasing synchronicity, I meet the talent behind our next exhibition, Eleanor-rose Stamp at the cattle grid. Invitations are exchanged and my mission is accomplished. Should you be going to Burghley you might just see one!

And then the return to Burnham - one of my favourite routes in Norfolk. 30 miles of rural bliss not using any main roads, through Matlaske to Corpusty and onwards to Melton and Walsingham. Beyond Walsingham we're back into what I think of as high Norfolk with rolling countryside so different to the flat lands little more than 30 miles to the east. Across the Dry Road and round the back of Holkham. Then it's downhill through Burnham Thorpe and back to open the doors for the hordes just before 11.

In the Summertime

Excursions to the West Country - one of my first loves - these days usually leave me feeling smug as to the space and freedom we still enjoy up here in the remote fastness of North Norfolk.  On this occasion, maybe not so smug, the unique mix of Olympics followed by the best weather of the summer have left Norfolk (and getting in and out of it) at least as full as Glorious Devon, or so it seems.

A few days staying right at the heart of Exeter - in the Cathedral Close to be precise - proved there is peace and a timeless sense of place still to be found if you're lucky enough to have the opportunity.  And extraordinary contrasts; mediaeval houses facing the Cathedral Church on one side, whilst to the rear a small Devon garden full of flowers, climbers and shrubs - all running riot in the warmth that has finally followed the rain.

And just beyond, the penthouses and the 21st century take on a mediaeval roofscape of Exeter's new retail quarter.  Strange to say, I think it works.  Just.

And then on to the Isle of Wight and the heady delights of Cowes Week. Not to sail you understand but to enjoy the unique buzz of a small town entirely in the thrall of sailing at the top end. It would be easy to mock and scorn the money involved - the entertainment and sponsorship aspects and so on.  But why?  The heart of it is the sailing; not just showing off the hardware but really getting down to it.  Sailing doesn't get much more competitive than this.  And without it I'm not sure what the Island would do.

Fifty odd years ago - in the far-off days of steam trains - we twice holidayed in the far west of the Island, at Freshwater to be precise, staying in a house owned by a well-known radio actor. Even then the place had a character all of its own.  Nowadays people tend to say going to the Island is like going back to England in the '50s.  Well I'm not so sure;  I think it has changed and I'm not sure I quite get it as they say.  The beaches, the coast, the water and the boats - yes I get that, but it's the rest.  The interior of the island seems a little claustrophobic, bits of Surrey surburbia seem to pop up everywhere and the roads which are I guess appropriate to the actual size of the island are seemingly out of step with the number of vehicles.  Newport, the island's capital seems to be grid-locked much of the day, but just where they are all going or trying to go, isn't that obvious.  And if you look at the constant queues for the numerous ferries it becomes even more puzzling.

But we had a grand time - enjoying the buzz, the boats and the generous hospitality - and will rush back at the next opportunity.  Maybe that's the answer.  Or maybe it's the magic of any ferry sailing out of the sunset....

Or maybe it's the extraordinary waterfront at Portsmouth, or.....

The wonder of Walsingham

I have always found Walsingham a strange and mysterious place - even for Norfolk.  I drive through on a fairly regular basis and have been known to visit the Farm Shop and in fact was on one memorable occasion mistaken for a member of the clergy in sodoing.  For what it's worth I even get my ever diminishing amount of hair trimmed there.  And yet I feel it still eludes me.  It looks different and feels different but it is very difficult to identify just what it is that makes it so.

A hitherto hidden aspect was revealed last week when visiting friends who live at the very heart of it. Their mediaeval house is unlike anything I have seen in Norfolk over the last 25 years and has been beautifully restored.  That said, it was the garden that came as the big surprise. Almost completely enclosed by buildings, each with their own complex and idosyncratic filed roofs, a series of stepped terraces climb away from the house. The overall sense is one of an Italian court or square in which one might confidently expect to find members of some religious order at their leisure. Or failing that, Morse or Lewis wrestling with some intellectual crime.

But as with much of Walsingham, this is not the case and apparently never was.  Historically most of the surrounding properties were indeed owned and used by the Church, but the bigger space - now the garden - was, somewhat prosaicly, the yard for the Blacksmith, whose building is to be found at the upper end of the garden.

So a bit more revealed... but still strange and mysterious.

Just (?) desserts

Having devoted at least as many words to food and drink as to art, it seems possibly fair that the former has now laid me low.  On a visit to one of my personal favourites, the delightful and gentle Pierce Casey - he of the mystical landscapes evoking all the colours and memories of our travels through life - my digestive system decided to have it's revenge. Being taken seriously ill on the motorway is not funny.

However, the combination of Pierce and the London Ambulance Service saw me safely if painfully to hospital. Having avoided their clutches for 52 years (!) I was genuinely impressed by everything that happened to me and that I saw in Whipps Cross. The NHS and their staff are very good in my view.

Even at the very heart of this vast hospital, Burnham managed to weave its own magic, with an un-announced and unsolicited visit from two friends of Dr Diana Black's who took the trouble to seek me out.  Difficult to resist a quiet smile subsequently, when the ward staff - obviously concerned - tried to find out why these two great men had visited.

Opening has been disrupted - but not too much thanks to the stirling efforts of George, Theresa, Beth and of course Ali!  Hopefully a fuller service will resume shortly - and you might even see me again!