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 eyesWho sneaks away while they are talking with youInto some black wood behind the skull,Following un-, or other, realities,Fishing for shadows in a pool.But sometimes the vagrant comes the other wayOut of their eyes and into yoursHaving mistaken you perhaps for yesterdayOr for tomorrow night, a wood in whichHe may pick up among the pine-needles and burrsThe lost purse, the dropped stitch.Vagrancy however is forbidden; ordinary menSoon come back to normal, look you straightIn the eyes as if to say ‘It will not happen again’,Put up a barrage of common sense to baulkIntimacy but by mistake interpolateSwear-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 ancientprayer of my arms swingingin counterpoint to my feet.Here I am, suspendedbetween the sidewalk and twilight,the sky dimming so fast it seems alive.What if you felt the invisibletug between you and everything?A boy on a bicycle rides by,his white shirt open, flaringbehind him like wings.It’s a hard time to be human. We know too muchand 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, felltoward the apple as well’
And finally…Nostos by Louise Glück
There was an apple tree in the yard—this would have beenforty years ago—behind,only meadows. Driftsof crocus in the damp grass.I stood at that window:late April. Springflowers in the neighbor’s yard.How many times, really, did the treeflower on my birthday,the exact day, notbefore, not after? Substitutionof the immutablefor the shifting, the evolving.Substitution of the imagefor relentless earth. Whatdo I know of this place,the role of the tree for decadestaken by a bonsai, voicesrising 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