Many many thanks to everyone who came to the opening day of the show on Saturday last.

It was nice to see the three artists, Akiko Hirai, Rebecca Campbell and Linda Felcey, here in the gallery mingling with visitors. Still nice to enjoy the novelty of having a number of people through the gallery at the same time. And we had a day of lovely weather, as in the surrounding countryside the leaves and apples fall from trees:

Andrew Crocker All is not Everything Oil on Board 78 x 61 cm.

The October sun still offers the impression of late summer, with its gorgeous slanting late afternoon light. Late summer, and leaves is a reminder of an oft-quoted first paragraph (from Ernest Hemmingway’s A Farewell to Arms),

In the late summer of that year we lived in a house in a village that looked across the river and the plain to the mountains. In the bed of the river there were pebbles and boulders, dry and white in the sun, and the water was clear and swiftly moving and blue in the channels. Troops went by the house and down the road and the dust they raised powdered the leaves of the trees. The trunks of the trees too were dusty and the leaves fell early that year and we saw the troops marching along the road and the dust rising and leaves, stirred by the breeze, falling and the soldiers marching and afterward the road bare and white except for the leaves.

The seasonal nature of Linda Felcey’s delicate, Flemish-inspired ethereal still lifes, is but one attribute of her paintings:

And on the subject of seasons, and fruit….

When the world turns completely upside down

You say we’ll emigrate to the Eastern Shore

Aboard a river-boat from Baltimore;

We’ll live among wild peach trees, miles from town,

You’ll wear a coonskin cap, and I a gown

Homespun, dyed butternut’s dark gold color.

Lost, like your lotus-eating ancestor,

We’ll swim in milk and honey till we drown.

The winter will be short, the summer long,

The autumn amber-hued, sunny and hot,

Tasting of cider and of scuppernong;

All seasons sweet, but autumn best of all.

-From Eleanir Wylie ‘Wild Peaches’ (with thanks to Jimmy)

In the other-worldly spirit of Wild Peaches, Rebecca Campbell’s richly hued, romantic paintings transport us to yet another place, of verdant walled gardens, colourful and abundant nature, and perfect geometry:

We also have at the gallery the work of Akiko Hirai, and there are still some pieces available, including this gorgeous moon jar:

The show featuring Linda Felcey, Rebecca and Akiko Hirai carries on until 6 November.

And finally, and seasonally……

This
present moment,
smooth
as a wooden slab,
this
immaculate hour,
this day
pure
as a new cup
from the past–
no spider web
exists–
with our fingers,
we caress
the present;
we cut it
according to our magnitude;
we guide
the unfolding of its blossoms.
It is living,
alive–
it contains
nothing
from the unrepairable past,
from the lost past,
it is our
infant,
growing at
this very moment, adorned with
sand, eating from
our hands.
Grab it.
Don’t let it slip away.
Don’t lose it in dreams
or words.
Clutch it.
Tie it,
and order it
to obey you.
Make it a road,
a bell,
a machine,
a kiss, a book,
a caress.
Take a saw to its delicious
wooden
perfume.
And make a chair;
braid its
back;
test it.
Or then, build
a staircase!

Yes, a
staircase.
Climb
into
the present,
step
by step,
press your feet
onto the resinous wood
of this moment,
going up,
going up,
not very high,
just so
you repair
the leaky roof.
Don’t go all the way to heaven.
Reach
for apples,
not the clouds.
Let them
fluff through the sky,
skimming passage,
into the past.

You
are
your present,
your own apple.
Pick it from
your tree.
Raise it
in your hand.
It’s gleaming,
rich with stars.
Claim it.
Take a luxurious bite
out of the present,
and whistle along the road
of your destiny.

-Pablo Neruda ‘Ode to the Present’

Thank you for reading.
Aidan Quinn

Beaux Arts Bath

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