Picturing Arcadia at the RWA

I've been a bit remiss because they've been on for a few weeks now, but the Royal West of England Academy in Bristol has a couple of interesting exhibitions on over the summer. 

First, there's Monumental by Sophie Ryder which runs until 8th September.  Some years ago now Ryder hit on the figure of a woman with the hare of a head to counterbalance the mythical figure of the Minotaur, and she has been fascinated by it ever since, as this exhibition shows.  I don't think I've ever seen the same theme explored in so many different media by one artist, from huge sculptures in wire, bronze, fibreglass to maquettes and needlepoint miniatures.   

My favourite exhibition, though, is Picturing Arcadia, which draws on the RWA's permanent collection and features work by John Piper, Duncan Grant, David Inshaw, George Tute, Arthur Homeshaw and many more Academicians. And it's lush, look, this is Piper's print of Hautbois Church, which makes my eyes feel like they are bathing in dreams:

And this is George Tute's strange wood engraving, Landscape with Balloons, which shares the enclosed, even claustrophobic feel of landscapes by Robin Tanner, but in a more modern and slightly threatening (rather than threatened) sort of way:

And I had to love this one - Scorhill by Arthur Homeshaw, whom I mentioned in yesterday's blog and who reminded me, patiently, that I hadn't blogged about the exhibition.  

Picturing Arcadia is only on until 25th August, so do get along there soon.  It costs £4 to get in, £4,50 if you gift aid your entry fee.    

To Wistman's Wood, Crow Tor and Devil's Tor

I've finally got around to transferring the photos of my Whitsun walk up the West Dart valley from my phone to my laptop.  This is one of my favourite spots in the world, so it must have been excitement that made me omit to check that my memory card was in my camera.

One of the things that makes Wistman's Wood so very special is that like the bumble bee, it is one of Nature's impossibilities.  At about 1,300 feet above sea level, it is simply too high for penunculate oaks to grow there.  So although you're sure you see it,  it doesn't really exist.

Amongst the stunted oaks clambering and crawling from moss-wrapped boulders are hollies, rowans and willows, all festooned in mosses and lichens, some of which are extremely rare.  And there are snakes.  Lots and lots of snakes.  

As befits a place that doesn't exist, plenty of legends nest in its branches.  In particular, Wistman's Wood ('wisht' being local for wierd or uncanny) is the lair of Old Dewer and his hounds, known elsewhere as the Wild Hunt.  You would be ill-advised to walk here at night.  

Luckily for us, the weather was fine, unlike a previous occasion when I walked this valley and was overtaken by the sort of mist for which Dartmoor is notorious.  But that's another story. 

There's a mischievous joy in showing a newbie favourite haunts knowing that with every step Dartmoor is extending its claws and hooking them in.  That said, Ted and I like to break new ground too, so instead of fording the West Dart at the weir and following the Devonport Leat back down to Two Bridges, we crossed it beneath  Crow Tor (which actually resembles a roosting chicken) and headed on up the valley.  

To ring the changes, here's a wintry lino print of Crow Tor by one of my favourite print makers, Arthur Homeshaw, a Bristolian who lived and worked for many years in Devon and oh if I had the money, I would collect the living daylights out of him.

Whatever the weather, you have to treat Dartmoor with respect.  It's an unremitting landscape ... 

... so it's vital, even in fine weather, to take a compass and map with you.  

From Crow Tor we continued north to Rough Tor where we paused for refreshments and a chat with a fellow walker who was making his way east to the ruins of Brown's House. 

We, on the other hand, were  headed west - over extremely tussocky terrain - for the unprepossessing Devil's Tor, on top of which perched a handsome raven, apparently oblivious to any symbolism we might have attributed to him.  He hung about for quite some time, floating overhead and cronking amiably. 

Close to Devil's Tor was our ultimate destination, Beardown Man, which looks out over the Cowsic valley.  Erected over 4000 years ago, it's the highest and almost-but-not-quite tallest standing stone on the moor.   ('Man' is related to the Celtic word 'maen' meaning stone, but the fact that there's a standing stone called Three Boys on Shovel Down makes me more inclined to think of them as a family.)

Here's an idea of how tall it is, and you can bet there'll be another six feet or so of stone beneath the moor.  

From Beardown Man, we made our way towards Beardown Tors which give the impression of being castellated and are very pleasing to behold. 

Past Beardown Tors there was a view looking back across Devonport Leat and the West Dart to Wistman's Wood.     

Then it was back to the car via the leat as it slid mysteriously, almost mechanically, through the dark conifers of Beardown Plantation.  Ah, wild and lovely Dartmoor, I'll be back soon. 

Leonard Cohen at the O2, 21st June 2013

The only thing better than a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see one's entire-life idol is a second once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  

I know because I was at the O2 eleven days ago for what I'm sure this time will be my last chance to see Leonard Cohen play live - as the man himself said, 'our tour is winding down and I don't know when we'll meet again'.

Highlights for me were the fabulous flamenco guitar solo at the beginning of 'Who By Fire' by Javier Mas ...

... and Sharon Robertson's rendition of the beautiful 'Alexandra Leaving', which she co-wrote with Cohen. 

And then there was the giant himself, who skipped and sang and played guitar and the funny keyboard bit in 'Tower of Song' ('You think this is all I can do, don't you?') and as that song points out 'you'll be hearing from me, baby, long after I'm gone. I'll be speaking to you sweetly from a window in the Tower of Song'.

'I taught him how to dress' said Leonard of his friend, the poet Irving Layton. 'He taught me how to live forever.'  

Here's hoping. 

Life, Death, and Bread and Jam at Sandham Memorial Chapel

And so to London to see Leonard Cohen at the O2, but first a stop en route to see Sandham Memorial Chapel at Burghclere in Hampshire - a return trip for me, having paid homage there a few Octobers ago, but a first visit for my companion.

Sandham is a 1920s Grade 1-listed chapel built as a memorial to Lieutenant Henry Willoughby Sandham, who died in 1919 from malaria contracted during the Macedonian campaign of the First World War.  It houses a

series of paintings by Stanley Spencer, inspired by his own war experiences as an orderly with the Royal Army Medical Corps, in Beaufort Hospital in Bristol and in Macedonia.  It's forbidden to photograph the paintings because the low light levels in the Chapel would require flash photography, but no matter, I've pinched a few of the National Trust's photos off t'internet.

This is a view of The Resurrection of the Soldiers behind the altar, in which dozens of soldiers  bring their white wooden crosses to a Christ in white sat in the middle distance of the picture.  I especially like this scene because as well as men, it shows animals as part of the resurrection - specifically, mules - quite a controversial  viewpoint at the time of its painting.  

I also love the altar cloth which is woven with the words 'I am the Resurrection and the Life' horizontally and 'We are Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On' vertically.

There are quite a few heart motifs in the paintings and my favourite is in the picture Tea in the Hospital Ward (look at the plate in the foreground).  Spencer's favourite food was bread and jam.

Another favourite thing of Spencer's at Beaufort Hospital was to hide between the huge baths 'to escape tiresome duties or simply to work alone and undisturbed'. 

The paintings are full of allusions - orderlies who resemble angels, one with buckets for wings, patients in Christ-like poses, mosquito nets like chrysalises.  

I feel a bit of a connection with Sandham, in part because my grandmother, Hilda Hill, worked as a volunteer in a war hospital during WWI.  Like Spencer hiding between the baths, Hilda was a free spirit - for instance, she once smuggled apples in her apron for the wounded soldiers and had to hide behind a curtain when the sister came into the ward, only to drop the apples and send them rolling over the floor.    

Ravens over the Grwyne Fawr Valley

A visit to Partishow back at the turn of the year has proved particularly fruitful, spawning a poem in three parts entitled Speaking Raven and now this picture by Dru Marland, for a possible poetry anthology project in the future.  Vive les jaunts!

Cheap and Quite Tiring Entertainment For Your Offspring Over Summer

As a lover of Dartmoor - nah, who am I kidding, a Dartmoor obsessive, more like - I'd like to (re)introduce you to my novel, 'Dart', about a family living in Hexworthy in 1349, as the Black Death creeps across the moor from Tavistock. Drama and tension with a big dollop of Dartmoor folklore and legend included!

To make things more fun for readers who know Dartmoor well, I used versions of the 14th century place names - although there is a glossary at the back. And I walked my poor children miles across the moor to check the hero's journeys (with the promise always of a pub 'just around the corner'). If you are looking for something (cheap and quite tiring) to do with your own offspring on Dartmoor over the summer, this could be it. 

Julie Hearn - author of historic novels for young adults - says " 'Dart' will whirl you away to a time and place distant yet familiar " 

It is available to buy from my publishers, Indigo Dreams, all good independent bookshops, and Amazon too, of course, priced ₤7.99 or less.  It is also available on Kindle.  

Please click this link for more information and pictures, or go to Amazon and Goodreads for reviews ...

Paying Homage to Ted Hughes in Sweat and Mud

The Northerner wanted to pay homage at Ted Hughes' memorial stone on Dartmoor.  Being a poet with a biscuit tin by the sea, I'd already been there and done that, but it's an easy lope out to the spot near Taw Head through the valley of the East Okement, so I agreed to repeat the experience. Though to make it a little more interesting, I chose the village of Belstone as our starting point over Okehampton Camp.

Our previous two walks of the holiday had taken place under high clear skies, but this trek looked like it was going to be far more moody and atmospheric, with Yes Tor and High Willhays dipping in and out of cloud. I find interesting skies are preferable to the banality of blue. Also, the streaming wind means that Dartmoor walks are seldom uniformly grey - there will usually be gaps in the cloud and patches of sun to fire last year's grass and the imagination. 

Looking towards Oke and Steeperton Tors

On High Dartmoor 'roads' can be a bit of a misnomer - OK for military vehicles, for which they were designed, but a bit tough on arthritic joints.  Still, even the roughest of tracks is easier to negotiate than tussocks and bog, and so we made reasonable headway towards our goal of Taw Head ... 

... that is, until we got to Deep Ford, which was, and we had to boulder our way across.  

As we shared an orange by the ford, we spotted evidence of previous wayfarers with a less poetic purpose.

Dartmoor painting itself in the style of J M W Turner

A stand-off with a rather large sheep

Looking back towards Yes Tor

Looking north from near Taw Head

After a challenging stretch of bog-hopping and tussock-jumping, we finally reached Ted Hughes' memorial stone, prompting an outburst of 'You stupid Yorkshire bastard!' from the Also Yorkshireman.  Then we sat and ate oranges while it hailed, and communed about moorland and poetry.  Well, the poets did; Ted the dog was still sniffing out sheep.  

At Ted Hughes' stone, looking towards Taw Head

Since my other companion, Arthur Itis, had been pretty quiet on the way out, I decided to forgo the comparative comfort of tarmac for the return journey, taking instead the rough road to the ford at Knack Mine.  This is the view up to Steeperton Tor ...

... and this to Belstone Tor and beyond.

As at Deep Ford, the ford below Okement Hill was too deep to use, and once across via boulders, a lot of puddle-dodging was required.

The ford at Knack Mine was just about passable, however. 

Looking down the Taw towards Steeperton Gorge

Climbing up and away from Knack Mine

Steeperton Gorge

Then it was up and over Oke Tor ...

... and on past Belstone Tor to the village. My hips and knees were beginning to protest a little now, not to mention both big toes, but I was really pleased at how my newish walking boots, which have some support for my insteps, are helping me to cover longer distances without doing my joints in completely.  

And anyway, what's a little pain in return for days like these?