Category: Art

The Little Things in Life

It’s the little things in life that give disproportionate pleasure. Recently I have been given two presents.  This lens and screen cloth is almost too good to use – I may get it framed. If you’d like one, it’s on the National Gallery of Ireland website. 

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Henry VIII and All That

Henry VIII is presenting the Barber-Surgeons’ Company Charter to their first Master, Thomas Vicary, superintendent of St Bartholomew’s Hospital and royal physician.

Motion Pictures

Early yesterday morning I was lucky to see one of the peregrine falcon fledglings fly from its nest to the roof at the north east corner of Charing Cross Hospital. Most of the time they either sit still or slowly sidle crabwise along the ledge where they were born.

Hugh Lane

I’m aware more than one reader knows more than me about Sir Hugh. He came to mind when a friend in California sent me an article by Moran O’Neill based on her book: Hugh Lane: The Art Market and the Art Museum, 1893–1915.

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Rigaud and Handel

In yesterday’s post we were in the Private Chapel of St James at Great Packington and found no sculpture worth mentioning. Actually there are two recumbent plaster images succinctly dismissed by Pevsner as “rather bad”.

Les Nabis

Les Nabis is not a name with which I was familiar. It is an artistic movement that fizzled out in 1900 after only twelve years. Some of the members’ names are familiar: Bonnard, Vuillard, Maurice Denis, Sérusier, Ranson and Valloton. Be very careful writing about them because spell-check prefers Nazis to Nabis.

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The Feildings

This portrait by van Dyck hangs in the National Gallery in London. It depicts William, 1st Earl of Denbigh (c 1587 – 1643). He had been to India in the early 1630s and is seen, looking florid,  in Indian dress with a servant helpfully pointing out a parrot for him to bag.

Monday Luncheon

Monday was a Bank Holiday in the UK and, as tradition dictates, it was a cold, although unusually, dry day. Lunch in the garden had to be re-scheduled in the kitchen.

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Zuleika

You may remember a post about Max Beerbohm some eighteen months ago.

Anthony Biddle

Chips Channon will be the death of me. His diaries are on the top shelf and I struggle to reach them while teetering on the library steps.  It wasn’t worth the effort either as he never mentions Anthony Biddle.