I love paintings. I particularly love paintings with people in them but I envy the artist. The true artist, the one who is evocative, colourful, interesting, different. One of my top ten things to do before I die (beyond go to Paris) is to spend days wondering around the Louvre or the Hermitage in St Petersberg. I could ensconce myself within these hallowed halls pointing at one and saying “What a waste of canvas - a sheer block of PMS 640! What's the point?” and another saying “God, brings me to tears.” I don’t know what it is about a painting - oddly enough I get the same reaction to some paintings as I do to Barber's Adagiio and bagpipes (and I hate bagpipes). You know that well up in your eyes, heart wrenching, I just have to cry feeling. Then again, I get it whenever I hear The Circle of Life . . .so . . .my little emotional idiosyncracies aside - I wouldn’t give you a cent for a 3 metre canvas drizzled in paint aka Blue Poles but when you understand the complexity of the artist, it all of a sudden makes chaotic sense.
There’s a little known painting in the Art Gallery of NSW Briton Rivière (
Lets face it, by the time we started collecting all the great masters had been raped by the imperialists and all we’re left with is well ‘left-overs’ or generous gifts. This particular painting is a It’s a 19th century painting of a dead knight, all dressed for burial on a bed with a heavily embroidered bedspread and at his bedside a forlorn hound . . . It is one of the saddest and most evocative paintings I’ve ever seen. I go there just to look at it but haven’t for a long time. It really moves me. I remember when I first saw it, I was about 15 and with my dad, his company were a patron of the gallery so we visited for free and used to go often. It is an extremely loyal painting both in its technical depiction and emotion. I love it. This and the sons of
Evariste-Vital Luminais, Sons of Clovis
When I first moved to my current abode, we built a shed. It’s actually a double garage up the back. Half was intended for the tractor, the other half for me to start a studio. I've never painted much by the way. I always did Art at school and my major work in year 12 toured the country with Art Express but I always fancied having a bash. It wasn’t to be. The acquisition of horses meant my painting nook was turned into a haystack and tack shed . . .further purchases of motor bikes and tools saw the shed definitely deserve its title.
As I wonder through the plethora of creative blogs available, there are some amazing artists out there, from the cute and kitch to the pretentious and try hard to the considered and careful. Photographers, painters, sculptors, jewellery makers . . . There’s so much talent (and quite a lot of rubbish) But it is something I’m going to attempt. Yummy Mummy yesterday told me of her excitement, nay exuberance at having been accepted into an elite little life drawing class. She charcoals the naked form like no-one I’ve ever known yet her etchings remain hidden in some closet in the
Having said all that, the most artistic thing I've ever done is a birthday cake that looked like a Hedgehog and another that resembled a smiling tiger . . .(a mighty fine specimin of a hedgehog I might add! God Bless the Women's Weekly Birthday Party Cookbook)
I really must stop watching Sunday Arts . . it’s doing my head in!
We didn't have digital cameras in the novelty cake days!
Stop laughing . . I mean it . . .you try making chocolatey cakes in the middle of December . . . it's hot! it was a lot more successful than Hickory Dickory who's fondant mice kept melting. Thank God the little angels are more interested in vodka jelly shots these days!