My train commute is now timed perfectly to catch, visibility permitting, the mist rising off the river, while on the slightly higher, warmer canal the leaves that line the towpath are already golden in the low morning light.

Ruth Brownlee Heavy Rainstorm, Northmavine Mixed Media on Board 30 x 43 cm.

“As for me, the tempest took hold of me with tyranny: I was roughly roused and obliged to live. I got up and dressed myself, and creeping outside the basement close by my bed, sat on its ledge, with my feet on the roof of a lower adjoining building. It was wet, it was wild, it was pitch dark. Within the dormitory they gathered round the night-lamp in consternation, praying loud. I could not go in: too resistless was the delight of staying with the wild hour, black and full of thunder, pealing out such an ode as language never delivered to man – too terribly glorious, the spectacle of clouds, split and pierced by white and blinding bolts.” -Charlotte Bronte

For our winter exhibition Ruth’s stormy seascapes hang next to Rachel Ross’s prosaic set-pieces: scissors and spools of thread, a yellowed letter, forks, cake-slices, spoons, the surfaces patinated with time, and many hands or none.
Their use, their representation, evoke familiarity and curiosity.

Rachel Ross Six Forks with Cake Slice, Acrylic on Birch Panel 54 x 60 cm. £2,700

For the first time we have ceramics by Katharina Klug. Especially impressive are her large thrown porcelain jars with red interior. The surface is a copper glaze over a hand-drawn pastel pattern resist:

Katharina Klug Pattern of Calm Vessels, Porcelain Various sizes (see webpage for details)

We also have a limited number of new works by Jack Doherty.


And finally…
..
I know that he is lost among the stars,
And may return no more but in their light.
Though his hushed voice may call me in the stir
Of whispering trees, I shall not understand.
Men may not speak with stillness; and the joy
Of brooks that leap and tumble down green hills
Is faster than their feet; and all their thoughts
Can win no meaning from the talk of birds.

My heart is fooled with fancies, being wise;
For fancy is the gleaming of wet flowers
When the hid sun looks forth with golden stare.
Thus, when I find new loveliness to praise,
And things long-known shine out in sudden grace,
Then will I think: ‘He moves before me now.’
So he will never come but in delight,
And, as it was in life, his name shall be
Wonder awaking in a summer dawn,
And youth, that dying, touched my lips to song.
-From The Last Meeting by Siegfried Sassoon.

Thank you for reading,

Aidan Quinn

Beaux Arts Bath

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