Christmas Market Begins !!!
The sheds have been installed in Bath and the stall-holders are frantically readying their signs and making sure their stock is in place for the ‘locals opening ‘ on Wednesday evening. Then cometh three weeks of hustle and bustle, hurtling towards Christmas Eve when only the desperadoes will be seen on the streets of Bath, hunting that last-minute present…..There are plenty of things in the gallery to take your mind off market fever….
Conversation by Louis MacNiece‘Ordinary people are peculiar too: Watch the vagrant in their eyes Who sneaks away while they are talking with you Into some black wood behind the skull, Following un-, or other, realities, Fishing for shadows in a pool. But sometimes the vagrant comes the other way Out of their eyes and into yours Having mistaken you perhaps for yesterday Or for tomorrow night, a wood in which He may pick up among the pine-needles and burrs The lost purse, the dropped stitch. Vagrancy however is forbidden; ordinary men Soon come back to normal, look you straight In the eyes as if to say ‘It will not happen again’, Put up a barrage of common sense to baulk Intimacy but by mistake interpolate Swear-words like roses in their talk.’
Down at the weir the river is high, the autumn colour is hanging in there and cold weather is on its way….
Meanwhile on the walls of the gallery the silverware is neatly and meticulously portrayed by Rachel Ross, who manages to include at least one distorted self-portrait in almost every spoon….
And far, far above the frey (i.e.above my desk) sits a bronze cat surveying her realm….
The World has Need of you by Ellen Bass
‘I can hardly imagine itas I walk to the lighthouse, feeling the ancient prayer of my arms swinging in counterpoint to my feet. Here I am, suspended between the sidewalk and twilight, the sky dimming so fast it seems alive. What if you felt the invisible tug between you and everything? A boy on a bicycle rides by, his white shirt open, flaring behind him like wings. It’s a hard time to be human. We know too much and too little. Does the breeze need us? The cliffs? The gulls? If you’ve managed to do one good thing, the ocean doesn’t care. But when Newton’s apple fell toward the earth, the earth, ever so slightly, fell toward the apple as well’
And finally…Nostos by Louise Glück
There was an apple tree in the yard—this would have been forty years ago—behind, only meadows. Drifts of crocus in the damp grass. I stood at that window: late April. Spring flowers in the neighbor’s yard. How many times, really, did the tree flower on my birthday, the exact day, not before, not after? Substitution of the immutable for the shifting, the evolving. Substitution of the image for relentless earth. What do I know of this place, the role of the tree for decades taken by a bonsai, voices rising from the tennis courts— Fields. Smell of the tall grass, new cut. As one expects of a lyric poet. We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory.
We also have painitngs by Nathan Ford, Simon Allen, Helen Simmonds, Mark Johnston, Bobbie Russon, Atsuko Fujii plus ceramics by Akiko Hirai, Jack Doherty, Adam Buick, Sara Moorhouse, Lara Scobie. and sculptures by Anna Gillespie, Beth Carter, and Nichola Theakston.Thank you as always for reading. Please click on the images above for links to webpages.
Contact the gallery by phone or email to purchase, or for any further information.We ship worldwide. Best wishes, Aidan