Seasons Greetings
We have had a lot of rain in the last 24 hours, so it is a wet and dark walk-up to the winter solstice and to Christmas here in York street. But there is beauty in the marginal light as the planet tilts again towards the sun. Downhill from here, and lighter days all the way.
When it comes to poetry from the sodden North, of soft days and spagnum moss, no better man…Anahorish by Seamus Heaney‘My ‘place of clear water,’the first hill in the worldwhere springs washed intothe shiny grassand darkened cobblesin the bed of the lane.Anahorish, soft gradientof consonant, vowel-meadow,after-image of lampsswung through the yardson winter evenings.With pails and barrowsthose mound-dwellersgo waist-deep in mistto break the light iceat wells and dunghills.’Soon there will be flowers…
And until then I will bear this in mind as I walk home tonight through the woods, sans umbrella, sans torch…To Go in the Dark by Wendell Berry‘To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.’We will be making our way to the London Art Fair in January. The fair takes place from 16- 21 January. If you would like a ticket please let me know – we have a limited number of day tickets available. Below – a couple of tasters for the fair.
Bobbie Russon <as yet untitled> Oil on Canvas 70 x 60 cm. POA
From ‘A Dream of Solstice’ by Seamus Heaney
‘Like somebody who sees things when he’s dreamingAnd after the dream lives with the aftermathOf what he felt, no other trace remaining, So I live now’, for what I saw departsAnd is almost lost, although a distilled sweetnessStill drops from it into my inner heart. It is the same with snow the sun releases,The same as when in wind, the hurried leavesSwirl round your ankles and the shaking hedges That had flopped their catkin cuff-lace and green sleevesAre sleet-whipped bare. Dawn light began stealingThrough the cold universe to County Meath, Over weirs where the Boyne water, fulgent, darkling,Turns its thick axle, over rick-sized stonesMillennia deep in their own unmoving And unmoved alignment. And now the planet turnsEarth brow and templed earth, the crowd grows stillIn the wired-off precinct of the burial mounds, Flight 104 from New York audibleAs it descends on schedule into Dublin,Boyne Valley Centre Car Park already full, Waiting for seedling light on roof and windscreen.And as in illo tempore people markedThe king’s gold dagger when it plunged it in To the hilt in unsown ground, to start the workOf the world again, to speed the ploughAnd plant the riddled grain, we watch through murk And overboiling cloud for the milted glowOf sunrise, for an eastern dazzleTo send first light like share-shine in a furrow Steadily deeper, farther available,Creeping along the floor of the passage graveTo backstone and capstone, holding its candleUnder the rock-piled roof and the loam above
Nathan Ford Reuben 12.23 Oil on Canvas 40 x 28 cm. £2,750
A big thank you to everyone who has visited the gallery in the last twelve months, to emailers and gmailers, yahoos, Instagrammers and twitterers (twits? X-ers?). For messaging about work, about poetry, for ‘just looking’, for coming in to see where the Roman Baths were (round the corner). I am sincerely grateful to everyone who has supported us and the many talented artists we are privileged enough to be exhibiting.There has been loss this year- of artists, friends, colleagues, precious people who have walked these rooms many times, not to be forgotten.
Galway Kinnell ‘The Vow’‘When the lover goes,the vow though broken remains,that trace of eternity lovebrings down among us stays,to give dignity to the sufferingand to intensify it.’Please click on images to go to individual artists’ web pages. Any questions, queries, or for further information please phone or email.We can take payment by phone and we ship worldwide.
Thank you for reading, and a happy and peaceful Christmas to one and all.Aidan.