Freezing days and a fond farewell
As the mercury drops we welcome December with our Christmas show – a bright, diverting, peaceful respite from the hustle and bustle outside, though not in truth, many degrees warmer…Sonnet 94, by W. Shakespeare
We do, however, have this handsome fellow on display to welcome all visitors….
Nichola Theakston Standing Silverback, Bronze, Ed. of 12, 59 x 47 x 28 cm. £9,850
And if it is hustle and bustle in the cold you are after, there is always New York…
Akash Bhatt Houston Street, Mixed media on canvas 61 x 61 cm. £2,800
‘The World is a Beautiful Place’ by Lawrence Ferenghetti‘The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don’t mind happiness not always being so very much fun if you don’t mind a touch of hell now and then just when everything is fine because even in heaven they don’t sing all the time The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don’t mind some people dying all the time or maybe only starving some of the time which isn’t half so bad if it isn’t you Oh the world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don’t much mind a few dead minds in the higher places or a bomb or two now and then in your upturned faces or such other improprieties as our Name Brand society is prey to with its men of distinction and its men of extinction and its priests and other patrolmen and its various segregations and congressional investigations and other constipations that our fool flesh is heir to Yes the world is the best place of all for a lot of such things as making the fun scene and making the love scene and making the sad scene and singing low songs of having inspirations and walking around looking at everything and smelling flowers and goosing statues and even thinking and kissing people and making babies and wearing pants and waving hats and dancing and going swimming in rivers on picnics in the middle of the summer and just generally ‘living it up’ Yes but then right in the middle of it comes the smiling mortician
Upsatirs in the gallery a small room is hung with Helen Simmonds’ beautiful still life paintings.
And if it is cold here in Bath, imagine what it is like in a Shetland storm….
And finally…We have all been saddened in the gallery this week by the death of my friend and colleague Colin Carlin who worked in the gallery for many years. He died peacefully with his son and daughter by his side. He was very proud of them, spoke often about his grandchildren on his forays into Bath, and kept up his interest in the contemporary art scene since retiring. I am grateful to have known him. Sincere condolences to Jenny, Olivia and James.
is soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself, which these dead had one time reared and lived in, was dissolving and dwindling.
A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.James Joyce The Dead
Thank you for reading.