Posts from the ‘Comment’ Category

Mar 9

Next train stop: The National Gallery (aka waiting room/ hang out/ free for all)

I had a free hour between meetings the other day – no point in heading home only to turn around again (always best to avoid the Northern line, whatever time of the day) so I decided to head into London’s preeminent art space, The National Gallery. One of the pulls of the gallery is the fact that it’s free. It means that you can drop in and out as many times as you like and therefore digest the large collection more easily. Nevertheless, it seems that charging no entry has proved to be one pull too many for the many visitors to the Gallery.

Walking into the National felt very much like walking into one of London’s busiest train terminuses. People were rushing about all over the place. Huge groups were gathered in the foyer, others were walking around, luggage in tow, some were on the phone, others having animated conversation. I put this down to its being a foyer – a meeting place for the masses who have toured the galleries or are about to. But to my consternation, once I began to walk around the galleries, I found the situation to be the same even in the farthest of rooms from the entrance. The galleries seemed to act as a thoroughfare for all and everyone in London. There was a constant feeling of unease and stress as the breeze of countless individuals and large groups rushing through the galleries pervaded the air. Meanwhile, all of the seats in the centre of the galleries would be loaded with people who appeared to have been getting cosy there for sometime. I saw people listening to ipods, half asleep. Others reading books, magazines, newspapers. People were chatting, catching up. Others were sat down, eyes to the floor or on their watch, looking bored to tears. Plenty were texting, others speaking on the phone. Most importantly, only 1 in every 25 people who were in the galleries seemed to take any interest in the art on show whatsoever!

Norms (ignoring Art) at the National Gallery (2012 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown, pen on paper)

For those, like me, who are interested in the wonderful art on show, all this made for a distracting experience. Appreciating art requires a tranquil calm environment, free from distractions. How else can one enter the world which the artist has created, to consider the artist’s motives, his feelings, emotions and the story being narrated on canvas. Trying to appreciate art here was akin to analysing a Rubens hanging in the midst of a busy underground platform.

Busy impressionist gallery at the National Gallery - but at least here some people are looking at the paintings!

The press has recently applauded the increase in visitor numbers to London galleries. The increase, it is said, has been credited to the move of the Labour Government (i.e. the government whose policies ruined most things in the UK) to make the majority of London galleries and museums free back in 2001. It’s a move which has since been adopted by the coalition government, and money is put aside to subsidise the participating institutions who otherwise lose out on the admission fee.

Don’t get me wrong – open access to art is a wonderful thing. Art has a power like nothing else to enrich lives, to enable escapism to another world, to brighten a day, to enhance emotions. And the freer the access the better. The problem is, no one in the National Gallery seemed to even bother with the paintings. For them, the space was a place to hang out, to rest their feet, to chat with friends, to escape the winter weather. And for those of us who do appreciate art, that was a real distraction.

Saint Sebastian by Gerrit van Honthorst (c.1623)

The National Gallery’s collection is superb. I went along to see Velazquez’s Rokeby Venus having recently painted my own Norm piece devoted to the work. But asides from this, a look round just a few galleries introduced me to some wonderful new lesser known pieces of which I had no prior knowledge. Take Saint Sebastian by Gerrit van Honthorst – what a superb painting. St Sebastian is ever the romantic icon – a beautiful matyr who pulls at the heart strings of his viewer. This sensitive portrayal beautifully captures the moment of his ultimate torment. The soft supple depiction of his well toned flesh contrasts to devastating effect with the violence of the arrows piercing it, blood staining the peachy tones of his perfect skin. And what about Willem Kalf’s Still Life with Drinking Horn. Still lifes may be potentially a bit “past it” but the skill of this piece is astonishing, the lobster painted with startling precision, it’s ruby red shell tantalising all the senses, while the portrayal of horn, glass and drapery shows that the artist’s skills can be turned to any material or texture.

Still Life with Drinking Horn by Willen Kalf

Rokeby Venus, slashed by Mary Richardson in 1914

For me, when a gallery becomes a thorough fare, the magnificence of its art is somehow degraded – not given the respect it deserves. This feeling is increased by the lack of security at the gallery – no bag checks at the entrance, no security gates, and security guards who are present but wouldn’t realistically be able to prevent an attack on a painting – only catch the perpetrator. Has the National Gallery not learnt from past lessons then, such as the devastating attack on the Rokeby Venus at the hands of a suffragette, “Slasher Mary” in 1914? The scars are still visible on the great Venus for all to see. By contrast in Paris, at the Louvre, the d’Orsay, the Pompidou, you cannot enter those galleries without full scale security checks, and of course an admission fee. The result is that the paintings are given the respect they deserve – as masterpieces of the nation.

A difficult debate ensues. Should art be made free to the nation and if so, how can you stop abuse by those who take very little interest in the art on show, or whose interest is laced with violent intentions? I think a security check, at the very least, should be installed, and bags, phones, ipods should not be allowed. Free access should be encouraged, but these paintings must be given the respect they deserve, or the ghosts of all those unhappy artists, turning in their graves, will surely haunt us forever.

Norms do… the Rokeby Venus (normsonline.wordpress.com)

Mar 8

4 Comments

Simple floral display which makes a contemporary statement

The good thing about a small city trip in a vibrant city is that with the relatively moderate expense of a short trip, so much can be loaded into a short expanse of time that the trip provides all of the ingredients for a sustained period of inspiration and multifaceted memories which live on indefinitely. My recent trip to Amsterdam is one such trip which was worth its weight in gold. Already I’ve been painting Dutch-inspired parody pieces, sketching Norms all over The Netherlands, regularly revisiting my substantial collection of photographs and I am about to embark on a suitably Amsterdam-inspired new Norm canvas. However, one of the greatest inspirations for me was the elegance and sumptuosity of our Amsterdam hotel – the Hotel Estheréa. The interior design of the hotel was faultless both in the downstairs public spaces and in the bedrooms. Since my return, I have scanned the web seeking out the various grand design wallpapers used, the beautiful butterflies which adorned their walls, and am seriously considering whether I too should import an oversized pink chandelier into my home. All of this comes at a price I can currently only dream of, however one important aspect of their design, which I have found cheaper to replicate, is their stunning floral displays. The hotel paid attention to every tiny detail, and during our stay, a fresh import of new flowers were installed throughout the hotel (presumably they do this on a fairly regular basis). One of the most effective displays of flowers, installed variously on several large and small tables alike, was the grouping of numerous small and single-stem vases, each containing one or two stems only. The look which resulted was far more contemporary than a normal vase of flowers.

So, returning home to London, my head buzzing with ideas, I set about searching out a variety of single-stem vases. To collect a small group of 6 or 7 would, I soon discovered, cost well over £100 and involve as many separate orders and correlating shipping charges as I would find vases. So I decided to revert my search to glass bottles. I then found one website which sells a huge range of different shaped bottles, all costing only around €2-€3 each. And so I managed to purchase myself some 14 different shaped and sized bottles, all from the same site, for a total cost of €30 including shipping. They arrived a couple of days later. I bought two cheap(ish) bunches of roses from the local supermarket (which are in plentiful supply at the moment in the lead up to mother’s day). This is the result:

The look is contemporary and fresh. The differently shaped bottles add variety, but the use of a monochrome clear coloured glass ensures a contemporary feel is maintained. The display also feels modern because the flowers are controlled, all standing up straight rather than flopping around en masse in a vase. This control is even better achieved using bottles, since most have a fairly narrow opening.

It’s a great look for my dining table, and one that really wows as a contemporary floral display with a very boutique-chic look. But best of all, the price was definitely not boutique.

Talking of contemporary, check out my other recent acquisition – white crocuses set in an attractive metal box adorned with french writing. This brings gallic finesse to an otherwise industrial tin, while the yet unopened crocuses provide another modern sleek display piece which I kind of wish wouldn’t flower at all.

In conclusion, Spring is on its way, and in my opinion, there is no better way to breath a bit of life into your home that with fresh flowers, however displayed. Give flowers to your mother this sunday – and if you’re not a mother, remember to keep some back for yourself!

Amsterdam Part IV: The Hotel and the Restaurants (normsonline.wordpress.com)

Feb 3

6 Comments

Why you should celebrate your Half Birthday

I like to think/ convince myself/others that, on the occasions when I exhibit too many childish traits for a fully-grown adult, my behaviour can be justified by virtue of my needs as an artist. After all, it was in the realm of childhood that the majority of us escaped into a world of make-believe, when our heads were filled with original, uncorrupted ideas, and when we would fully accept a fantastical story which, when imported into the adult world, would be derided as fanciful or shelved as being surreal and not-in-the-real-world. Having said all of this, I am not so childlike in my demands that, like the Mad Hatter in Alice’s Wonderland, I require an indulgent daily celebration of an “unbirthday”. What I do, however, celebrate every year is… my Half Birthday!

It’s a peculiarity to which those who know me have become accustomed, patiently tolerating the slightly eccentric annual demand I make of them in insisting that my half birthday is marked. I think it stems from my childhood when my parents, ever the diplomats, would give my sister and me a small present when the other was celebrating their birthday. In this way it meant that the one of us who was not celebrating did not feel left out. By coincidence, my sister’s birthday falls almost 6 months from mine, and consequently, long after my parents gave up on catering for our whims, I took it upon myself to celebrate my half birthday on an annual basis.

Norm's Half Birthday - Norm looks for the other half of his card (2012 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown)

In practice no one actually gives me anything for my half birthday, and most people (including me) forget all about it. But on the occasion I do remember, I still use the date, unashamedly, as an excuse for out-of-the-blue celebrations, emotional blackmail and the like. I always remember my first year at university when my new friends, obliging my strange request, made me birthday cards which they then cut in half (I never did get the second half). This was followed by a massive half birthday party in my masters year, never, sadly to be repeated (spilt wine ruined my carpets so I quickly concluded celebrating my half birthday should be an altogether more sedate affair).

With the uni years well behind me, I really am now too old for all of this. Nevertheless, trying never hurt anyone, and since yesterday was my half birthday, I successfully persuaded my parents to join me in embarking on an impromptu celebration which included an extravagant afternoon tea out at Marbella’s very established Goyo tearooms, and dinner out at Zozoi – the darling of the Spanish expats – a fantastic French-Belgian brasserie in the heart of Marbella’s old town. And while I thought it may be a little demanding of me to insist on a cake (or half a cake) as well, judging by this amazing handbag cake I spotted in a shop window earlier, Marbella is clearly the place to pick up something special. I may try that one tomorrow…

Amazing Louis Vuitton inspired handbag cake in a shop window in Marbella

So why should you celebrate your half birthday? Well one birthday a year is pretty lousy when you consider there are 364 other days to get through. And after all, the Queen gets two birthdays doesn’t she. To me, it seems pretty reasonable to have a little celebration every six months – after all, being half a year older is just as much of a feat in my opinion. There is of course the slight issue that it will be yet a further reminder that you are getting older (I spotted a rather substantial grey hair the other day – nightmare) but all the more reasons to get yourself merry and insist your friends and family do the same. And if they complain, remind them that you could always start celebrating your quarter birthdays too. Or monthly. Now there’s a thought…

Jan 30

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London Chills: White landscapes

It’s gone all cold at The Daily Norm. Yesterday, as icy winds entered London and shook the optimistic hopes for Spring out of all of us, I decided to pay homage to the cold by presenting my collection of Nordic-inspired paintings. Today the cold theme continues in parallel to the dropping dial of the thermometer, and with snow forecast in many places, I have decided to showcase my collection of snowy landscape photography. The photos are not contemporary – I took them last winter – but sadly (or positively for Londoners who actually want to get to work without hours of delays) we have had none of the vast snowfalls which befell us last year. Consequently, in the optimistic hope that temperatures will never drop quite low enough for a repeat performance of a white blanketed London landscape, I thought it an ideal time to present last year’s photos of snowy London for the pleasure of all Daily Norm readers.

The photos were taken on a brief morning walk across Clapham Common in South West London. One of the best things about London in the snow is how idyllic and Victorian it all becomes – suddenly London lampposts and street furniture appear positively Dickensian, as the muddled cityscapes of a frantic city become uniform, clean and bright as a result of an indiscriminate scattering of snowfall. In my photos I have explored how a spray of white snow can emphasise the beautiful, complex structure of trees, particularly their branches, how, against a white backdrop, leafless-trees glow more vividly with rich colours all of their own, and how Victorian street furniture gains renewed elegance when the clutter of modernity is suppressed beneath a tidy blanket of thick snow.

Best enjoyed, laptop in hand, wrapped in a blanket with a large mug of hot tea…

© Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm, 2005-2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of the material, whether written work or artwork, included within The Daily Norm without express and written permission from The Daily Norm’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nicholas de Lacy-Brown and The Daily Norm with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Sunday Supplement: Nordic Chills (normsonline.wordpress.com)

Jan 27

9 Comments

Macaron Madness

OK, so for those of you who read my post last week, you will know that I have joined the rank and file who have seen the Ladurée light, indulging in all things macaronic (I’m surprised to find this is an actual work, but sadly not generally relating to all things macaron, but hey, this is my blog, and that’s how I’m going to use it), the sweet, elegant pastry treats which add a sense of past sumptuous delight to our every day doldrum lives. Well, I decided to take things one step further and attempt to make macarons myself. How hard can it be, I thought, somewhat naively, embarking on the project with only half an hour spare, my Ladurée cook book placed a sufficient distance from the hob so as not to pollute its gold-lined pages with icing sugar or jam splatters, and my piping bags and food colouring to hand. Three hours later and I was still cleaning up my kitchen which looked like a trench warfare zone all of its own – huge splashes of pink macaron batter on every conceivable surface, three limping icing bags all leaking their contents, flung in frustration across various aspects of the kitchen, and the macarons… well, see for yourself…

Ok, so from the side they don’t look too bad. The jam is oozy and the two sides of the macaron have their “feet” (the little crunchy bit) and the smooth bit on top which miraculously didn’t crack too much (with the one blaring exception). But then look at a random sample from above…

Indeed, not a round macaron in sight. I just could not get the bloody things to stay round! I literally piped them about five times, trying different sized nozzles, practically securing my wrist in a scaffolding-like contraption to ensure an unwavering hand, adding more icing sugar to make the mixture thicker but no no no, they just splurged all over the place into cloud-shaped disasters. On top of that, I couldn’t find any peptin for the jam, so basically had to add thickener, resulting in a jam which is more like gravy. Oh, and I should probably also admit that when these macarons went into the oven, they were pink. When they came out, they were decidedly orange.

So after all this, I have realised that £1.40 for a single macaron at Ladurée really isn’t that extravagant, when making these things requires the skill of Michelangelo painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. But forever determined to succeed, these macarons won’t get the better of me. I will succeed! With this is mind, can anyone tell me how to make round macarons? I’ve realised subsequently that I used caster sugar instead of granulated, which perhaps had something to do with my mixture’s refusal to conform, or is the problem more scientific?

On top of all this, I have subsequently cottoned on to the fact, after a great number of previous misspelling disasters, that a macaron is spelt with only one ‘o’ and not two, the latter type denoting the coconut cake of which my father is rather fond. According to wikipedia, “since the English word macaroon can also refer to the coconut macaroon, many have adopted the French spelling of macaron to distinguish the two items in the English language”. I won’t be making that mistake again.

Macaron madness indeed.

PS Today I have been nominated for a HUG Award for which I am hugely grateful and honoured in my receipt. I will give the matter some thought and make my obligatory re-nomination in a post soon.

Jan 25

1 Comment

War in my Art: Works inspired by Birdsong

Having reflected for the majority of last week’s posts on the subject of war, I made the decision to seek inspiration further by visiting London’s Imperial War Museum. There, tucked away behind the major exhibitions of planes, military instruments, uniforms, the holocaust and even a WW1 trench reproduction, is a collection of war art to rival all of London’s major galleries. There is something about war as a subject matter which loads each and every painting with a heavy significance, because you know that for these images to have been produced, the painter has either lived through the hell portrayed, or at least witnessed it first hand. Consequently the pain which is captured is visceral, the emotions cutting, cynical, raw. Yet these works are undoubtedly beautiful. At the centre of the IWM’s collection is Sargent’s gigantic work, Gassed, an incredible, moving image, which shows soldiers who have been temporarily blinded after a gas attack helping to guide one another with in caterpillar-like line, while all around them, soldiers similarly afflicted fill both the foreground and background. It’s scale is startling, but the small moments of human kindness in desperate times are even more striking.

John Singer Sargent, Gassed (courtesy of Imperial War Museum, London)

This painting is not unique in it’s superb captivation of WW1, and as you stroll around the collection at the Imperial War Museum, paintings which you may never have seen before seem somehow familiar – for it is clear that as the memory of war slips further and further into the past, with survivors now few and far between, and photographic and film accounts being scarce and of poor quality, it is the paintings of war which now take centre stage in helping a modern audience to imagine the apocalypse of trench warfare. It is, for example, immediately clear to me that the cinematography in Spielberg’s new film, Warhorse, is inspired by the haunting trench landscapes of Paul and John Nash.

Yet before I even set eyes on the Imperial War Museum’s collection, I was myself emotionally engaged with the subject of war, and sufficiently inspired to begin painting it as a young artist. The source of my inspiration was the novel Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks. The novel is the only book every to have made me cry. It’s depiction of war is so striking, so accessible, that it is impossible not to be caught up with the plight of its characters and the horror of war. For a 15 year old reading the story, I was unintentionally drawn wholeheartedly into this evocative re-imagining of the First World War, even though so many people in my generation appreciate little about it – for most they think WW1 is all about wearing a poppy every 11/11. And when I finished the novel, one of those rare moments of inspiration flooded into my head – I knew immediately that I wanted to paint a tryptic based on the scenes conjured in my head. And the fact that I then painted war without pictorial reference is, I suppose, testament to what a superbly descriptive writer Sebastian Faulkes is. Having at last got home to my parents’ house in Sussex, I was able to photograph the paintings which resulted from that inspiration. I painted them at the age of 15, before I really appreciated that I might have artistic talent, and certainly before I took it seriously. Nevertheless, I like the paintings to this day probably since their imagery, like their subject matter, has timeless significance.

Screaming Soldier - A Victim of War (acrylic on paper, 1999 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown)

Trench Rat (acrylic on paper, 1999 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown)

The Truth Behind the Poppy (acrylic on paper, 1999 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown)

Following these works, I moved onto another tryptic of war paintings, this time depicting the First and Second World Wars and the Cold War. I donated the collection to the history department of my old school Our Lady of Sion School in Worthing, where I believe they are still hanging to this day. Sadly I don’t have any photos of the works, but before I donated them to my school, the paintings attracted the interest of Worthing Town Hall. As a result, the works were exhibited in a special exhibition marking Remembrance Sunday in November 2000. A photograph of me with the Mayor of Worthing and the pictures hanging on the wall behind us was on the front page of the local Newspaper that month. That paper was then painted into the background of another of my very early works in which I mourned the death of my guinea pigs. So here it is, the only picture I have left of that second war tryptic.

Cinnamon and Nutmeg (acrylic on canvas, 2000 © Nicholas de Lacy-Brown)

The conclusion of this post is, I suppose, the potential of a well-written novel to empower the mind, and to recreate past tragedy in the minds of innocent, often unappreciative generations. That novel, Birdsong, is not only a must-read. It is also now a must-see, a televised adaptation having premiered on BBC television last Sunday which is every bit as beautiful, sensitive and poignant as the novel, and so much more powerful in its portrayal of war than the current cinematic offering, Warhorse.

War in reflection: Poems from the trenches, photos for peace (normsonline.wordpress.com)
War on film: War Horse v Pan’s Labyrinth (normsonline.wordpress.com)
War on canvas: Guernica – history repeating itself (normsonline.wordpress.com)

Jan 20

3 Comments

Elegance overflowing: Ladurée Covent Garden

For those of you who have been reading my blog since its inception, you’ll know that I am unashamedly obsessed with all things Ladurée. Not only is the café/salon/patisserie emblematic of all things Parisienne, it is also the height of elegance wherever it is situated (apart from the rather aberrant gold cave-like cacophony that is the Mayfair branch). There I was in December freezing my you-know-whats off in a huge queue for the Champs-Elysees branch in the heart of Paris, when all the time I had no idea that a spectacular new branch of the macaroon masters had opened up almost on my doorstep in London’s Covent Garden. And what a branch it is – large outdoor terrace on the cobbles made famous by My Fair Lady, a retail shop which glistens like the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, and an upstairs salon of which Marie Antoinette herself would have been proud. To top it off, there’s even a small roof terrace overlooking Covent Garden’s market and plaza – the perfect view of street entertainers and the continental café culture underneath. All hail Covent Garden’s Ladurée!! It is a joyous thing for all us Londoners, and finally, a well needed injection of elegance has come to CG. And Ladurée is not alone. Joining it are new branches of Ralph Lauren, Burberry and the huge new glitsy Apple store which is for Guggenheim architectural contemporary glitz what Ladurée is for Louis XV glamour.

Ladurée's Covent Garden branch: the elegant retail counter

Ladurée's Covent Garden branch: upstairs salon

Ladurée Covent Garden - roof terrace

I visited this luscious Ladurée a few days ago. I had seen the shop and the outside terrace, but I had no idea what gems lay in store upstairs. There in the little salon, small Parisian-pavement style tables are matched with elegant velvet armchairs, small sofas, and even a chaise longue topped by a four-postered curtained canopy. Meanwhile on the walls, elegant swept frames surround antique portraits of landed gentry, reminding those supping upon coffee and macaroons that they are in the company of the upper echelons.

Saint Honoré

So what did I partake of on this auspicious occasion? Well, it was a Saint Honoré pastry for me, although the choice was overwhelming and all-tempting, a rather shoddy iphone picture of which I enclose. This was theatre on a plate. One choux pastry dome surrounded by several miniature renderings, all filled with and surrounded by a delicate cream imbued with the subtle elegant perfume of rose, balanced with deliciously sweet sharp raspberries and an indulgent raspberry icing. It was phenomenally delicious, and while it doesn’t come cheap (£6 for the cake alone), it’s an incentive for any eater to sit up straight, mind their Ps and Qs, and hark back to the sophisticated society of a more dignified past.

Talking of dignified, the staff were fastidious in their approach, refined in their perfect appearance, and charming in their manner. And when they speak French to one another, I could so easily be back in the 1eme Arrondissement in Paris that I would consider moving into the café full time, except it would probably bankrupt me in about a week.

This Ladurée, in fact any Ladurée, is a must for all champions of tasteful pursuits. All that remains now is to recreate the patisseries themselves at home… I have the book, I have the ground almonds, the eggs, and I have the icing bags… I think, with some trepidation, I’m going to try my first macaroons this weekend. I’ll let you know how that goes…

À bientôt!

Jan 18

5 Comments

War in reflection: Poems from the trenches, photos for peace

In the last of my “War series” posts of this week (though look out for my paintings on war next week – I need to get photos of them first!) I turn to reflect on one of the most poignant records which have come out of World War 1: the poetry. It may seem banal, especially after all my talk of cliches earlier in the week, that I choose to reflect on poems which, in the most part, are already extremely well known. But their notoriety is testament to their pure brilliance, their power to move and take the reader right back into the quagmire hell of trench warfare. They may now be the staple of the English literature national curriculum all over the UK (and as I know too well, this often causes the student who is agonising over the supposed multifaceted meaning of each line to hate the poem rather than admire it), but these poems are still ripe to be rediscovered, to be reread and savoured as a most moving testament to the suffering of so many during those times.

The reason why these poems work so well is that there are times of such horror that normal prose just won’t do. Through poetry, the soldiers are able to pour out their soul, their recollection of the horror in abstract phrases, bursts of painful memory, shattering like gunfire around them, painfully but beautifully transcribed onto the page. In the poems I have selected below, hopefully you will be equally touched by every loaded word as I have been. I know this is not the traditional time for remembrance, but do we really need a date in the diary to recollect the sacrifice that was made for us?

In between the poems, I’ve included some of my own photos. Not of war, but photos which seem appropriate when remembering the dead. Those posted between the poetry are taken in the local cemetery in Marbella, Spain. Quite out of the way of the usual tourist track of the glitzy coastal town, it is nonetheless one of my favourite places to go on a summers day, to wander in the shadows of cypress trees amongst tombs and gravestones dappled with silent sunlight. It is a place of great tranquility but not of sadness. In the devotion shown by a single flower placed by one family member tending the grave of their dead, you appreciate the great family love which still retains a place of such central importance in the Spanish home. At the bottom of my post you’ll find a gallery of some of my favourite flower photos which I’ve taken over the years. Much war poetry talks of flowers, and of course the poppy has become a worldwide symbol of remembrance. It’s appropriate that this product of natural beauty has grown from a ground riddled with the ghosts of a tumultuous history. In this way flowers are a symbol of hope and continuing beauty.

Jan 17

2 Comments

War on canvas: Guernica – history repeating itself

On the 5th February 2003, when the US Secretary of State, Colin Powell, took to the stage at the UN headquarters in New York to present America’s case for war against Iraq, one thing was missing, or at least appeared to be missing from the much-photographed press area outside the Security Council chamber. For concealed beneath a baby-blue banner containing the UN logo erected for the occasion was a tapestry reproduction which had hung proudly in its place for almost 20 years. Appropriate? Maybe, as the masterpiece carefully concealed is easily the most striking, anti-war demonstration ever created, a work which art historian Herbert Read described as “a cry of outrage and horror amplified by a great genius” and by the ‘genius’ himself as “an instrument of war against brutality and darkness”. The artist? Picasso. The masterpiece: Guernica.

Between 4:30 a.m. and 7:45 a.m. on the 26th April 1937, in the midst of Spain’s vicious Civil War, the Basque village of Guernica was brutally attacked by an unprovoked raid of German bombs and gunfire on the orders of the Nationalist leader, General Franco. One third of the population of the village, some 2300 people, were either killed or severely injured, and the old town was utterly destroyed. At 7:39 am on the 11th March 2004, the first of 10 bombs exploded in a train packed with Madrid’s early morning commuters. Almost 200 people were killed in this horrendous massacre, innocent lives destroyed, families ripped apart and Spain, targeted in this ‘second Guernica’ by an unprovoked attack of terrorist means. The similarities are striking. Both the fascist regime of Franco along with his Nazi and Italian fascist support and the terrorist organisation of Al Qaeda sought to intimidate and terrorise and take whatever innocent lives were necessary in pursuance of their iniquitous objectives, while both attacks have rendered Spain the victim of unspeakable horror and its attackers the subject of international abhorrence and outrage. So while Colin Powell and the advocates of the Iraqi war may have felt more comfortable in covering up this phenomenal anti-war masterpiece when they promoted a new war in which similar scenes of horrific slaughter would be an inevitable result, there can be no doubts of the unquestionable relevance which the painting has in today’s violent and nonsensical world.

Guernika – the basque town in ruins after the bombing

Memorial to victims of Madrid 3/11

In this post, I will begin by exploring Picasso’s use of intrinsically nationalistic themes in Guernica, which present such a powerful portrayal of the suffering not just in Guernica, but for the nation of Spain as a whole. Secondly I will go on to illustrate the continuing relevance of these nationalistic sentiments, highlighted most powerfully by the events of the 11th March in Madrid, which inspired my own interpretation of Picasso’s work, ‘Segunda Guernica’ .

Jan 14

4 Comments

The Versatile Blogger Award

OK so I’m a bit slow on the uptake it seems. Quite a few weeks ago, I was thrilled when one of my favourite bloggers, Becoming Madame, told me that she had nominated me for a Versatile Blogger Award. Assuming that a nomination meant that I would then receive some sort of golden invitation to a red carpet award ceremony at which I would have to nervously await the outcome of the award and have a long speech full of tearful drivel planned, I didn’t actually realise until about 3 days ago that when you are nominated for a VBA, you win one! Superb! So it’s an even bigger thanks to the wonderful Madame of Paris for her nomination, and a big apology that I have been so slow on the uptake! I have subsequently gathered from the VBA wordpress site that when you receive a VBA nomination, there are various rules to be followed. The first I have already ticked, by thanking the wonderful Becoming Madame for her gracious nomination – all the more appreciated because my blog was still a wee baby when she nominated me.

Secondly I am required to give 7 facts about me. So here goes:

1. Asides from being an artist, I am a qualified barrister of the England and Wales Bar – quite different from my artistic pursuits, but ever an important part of my life nevertheless.

2. If it wasn’t already obvious from the content of my blog, my favourite city in all the world is Paris (luckily accessible from my home city of London), and my favourite country is easily Spain.

3. I had a brush with celebrity when I starred as a candidate of the fourth UK series of the mega-popular The Apprentice in which 16 candidates (including me) compete viciously for a job with entrepreneur Lord Alan Sugar. It was complete madness at the time – front page of the papers, in all the magazines, and weekly audiences of 7 million. Shame I didn’t get very far… (or perhaps not)

4. My favourite artist of all time is Salvador Dali – his surrealist works are all masterpieces with an incredible technical command and endless imagination.

5. If I could go back and do it all again, I’d probably do better at maths so I could become an architect.

6. My favourite local place to hang out is the Dolly Sisters cafe in Selfridges, London… although their prices do come at a premium.

7. My favourite day of the week is Sunday when I play jazz (usually French), cook extravagant sunday roasts and spend the afternoon reading the Sunday Times.