The greatest painters in Western Art

Climb aboard for a Whistle-stop tour of the Greatest Painters in Western Art, stopping at Italian Early Renaissance and High Renaissance, Italian Mannerist Period, Northern Renaissance and Northern Mannerism, Northern Landscape, Flemish and Spanish Baroque, Dutch Protestantism, Rococo, Neoclassicism and Romanticism, the Age of Impressionism, Post-Impressionism, Fauvism and Expressionism, Towards Abstraction and Pure Abstraction.

Click the link and begin the journey.  CLICK HERE 

Jean Dufy - the circus artist

The circus / Le cirque (1927) by Jean Dufy

Jean Dufy, was the younger brother of Raoul Dufy, celebrated artist of the Promenade des Anglais, Nice, and like his brother would paint his canvases in gay, sparkling colours, in the manner of the fauvists, or 'Wild Beasts'.

Jean clearly had an attraction for the circus, as many of his paintings depict the splendour and spectacle of circus life under the big top. 

Jean Dufy painting of circus clowns

He also painted city scenes, including Paris and London, as well as his home town of Le Havre.

Vue de Paris, Tour Eiffel by Jean Dufy

Tower Bridge (London) by Jean Dufy

Blogging short stories #1 - MEET THE CHARLIES

     I didn’t know his name so I called him Charlie.

     Charlie was about 30 years old, around 5’ 8” tall, and of slim build. His thin legs were visibly bowed, and this, together with the tight-fitting yellow trousers with the crotch hanging down to his knees that he always wore, gave him the appearance when he walked of a duck waddling along. If he had suddenly started to flap his arms and go Quack quack! I wouldn’t have batted an eye.

     Charlie lived in the flat below me with his girlfriend who I named Mrs Charlie. Mrs Charlie was about the same age as Charlie, was about 5’ 4” tall, slim, and liked to dress in smart trouser suits. I guessed that she had a job as a financial adviser or a family solicitor.

     The final member of the Charlie household was a small dog that I called Dog Charlie. I have very little knowledge of dog breeds and so am unable to say to which one it belonged. It had a shaggy coat, light brown in texture, and big floppy ears. In the mornings I saw Charlie taking it for a walk, throwing a ball for it to fetch. They say that all dogs end up resembling their owners, and this was certainly the case with Charlie and Dog Charlie. If Dog Charlie had thrown the ball for Charlie to fetch I yet again wouldn’t have batted an eye.

    These, then, were my downstairs neighbours: Charlie, Mrs Charlie and Dog Charlie, collectively known as the Charlies.

    Charlie worked in a men‘s fashion boutique, and each morning he would waddle off to work at nine-thirty, his left hand clutching his mobile phone welded onto his left ear. Mrs Charlie, however, had a white sports car, which enhanced my belief that she had a good job, possibly managerial. Dog Charlie, so far I knew, had no occupation other than to yap and run around the flat for about 2 hours after Charlie and Mrs Charlie had left for the day.

     After Dog Charlie had finally settled down the flat would be quiet until Charlie and Mrs Charlie got back in the evening, when we would be serenaded with the sound of banging doors, creaking floorboards, and Charlie occasionally screaming at the top of his voice. But the loudest noises were usually heard at about 2 a.m. when Charlie and Mrs Charlie would compete to see who could shout the loudest. 

     On one occasion at 2.30 a.m. (I was awoken by the yelling and checked my clock), I heard Charlie screaming: ‘But WHY? Just tell me WHY?’ I couldn’t make out what Mrs Charlie was screaming in reply, but wondered if perhaps she had been asked by Charlie to buy a particular flavour of potato crisps on the way home, and for some reason she had brought him a different flavour to the one he wanted. 

     ‘But WHY? Just tell me WHY?’

     Then Dog Charlie joined in.

     ‘Yap-yap, yap-yap!’

     This was followed by the sound of four pairs of running feet (Charlie x 1; Mrs Charlie x 1; Dog Charlie x 2) as Charlie chased Mrs Charlie around the flat (or possibly Mrs Charlie chasing Charlie), with Dog Charlie yapping in the rear. There was then a loud crashing sound, and I guessed that it may have been Charlie’s low-crotch trousers becoming entangled around his ankles causing him to take a tumble. 

     But it was followed by an eerie silence. I turned over in my bed and lay on my back, my eyes open, and listened for any sound of noise from below. But there was none. Even Dog Charlie was silent. I began to grow restless. 'What has happened?' I asked myself. 'Why have they stopped yelling? It usually lasts for an hour or more.' Then it suddenly dawned on me that the crashing sound may not have been Charlie taking a tumble. Maybe it was Mrs Charlie that Charlie had.......

     I suddenly sat bolt upright in my bed.

     'My God, he's killed her! Charlie has done in Mrs Charlie!'

     I listened some more, thought of getting out of bed and calling the police. Finally, after 15 minutes on the qui-vive, I lay back down in my bed, turned over onto my side, and drifted into a sleep.

     I had completely forgotten the incident the following morning until I looked out of my kitchen window and saw Charlie walking Dog Charlie in the usual way. Then it all came back to me. I paused, almost choking on my hot porridge. 'You bastard, Charlie,' I said aloud. 'Look at you! Playing with Dog Charlie and chatting on your phone with Mrs Charlie in a pool of blood on your living room floor!' I tried to take stock, to decide what I should do. Talk to the neighbours? Call the police? I had decided on the latter, when I suddenly saw Mrs Charlie come out of the building in her smart suit, get into her car, and drive off.

     My heart registered my great relief. I went back to my porridge and tried to put it out of my mind. I smiled to myself, shook my head at my overactive imagination. I poured myself a cup of coffee. Then I heard the raucous sound of a loud and intermittent buzzer.

     I awoke with a start and turned off my alarm clock. It was 7.45 a.m. I yawned and stretched my arms and got out of bed. I rinsed my face and then went into the kitchen. Just as I was reaching for the porridge packet I heard a sound of commotion from the street outside. I looked out of the window. An ambulance and a police car were parked with their lights flashing. Then two uniformed men emerged from the building carrying a stretcher with a body covered with a blanket. I watched in stunned silence. A moment later the incident of the night before came back to me ..... the shouting ..... the screaming ..... the loud crash of a body falling to the ground ..... the silence. 'He's done Mrs Charlie in after all!' I screamed aloud. 

     I walked up and down the living room, convinced that the police would ring the door bell any minute to interview me. I glanced from time to time at the digital clock on the wall. The minutes passed and soon it was eight-thirty. Where are the police? What's keeping them? I finally went back to the window and looked outside.

     I could hardly believe my eyes! The police car was gone. There was no ambulance. Then I saw Charlie walking towards the block with Dog Charlie on his lead. Then Mrs Charlie walked out of the building, got into her sports car, and quickly drove off to her place of employment.

     I sat down on the sofa and tried to compose myself. I had completely forgotten about breakfast. I picked up my book. The Poems of John Keats. Moments later I had lost myself in my reading. When I looked up at my clock it was 9.35 a.m. I was about to get back to my book when I suddenly realised that Dog Charlie was not barking. Neither had I heard Charlie's front door slam as it always did when he left his flat. My fears emerged once more. I jumped to my feet and looked out of the window. All was normal. But why isn't Dog Charlie barking? Why isn't Dog Charlie barking? Why isn't Dog Charlie barking?

     I sat down on the sofa once more and remained still for several minutes. Then I picked up my book. It was open on Ode to a Nightingale. My eyes fell on the final words of the poem:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music. - Do I wake or sleep?

The Kay Players, Darlington

Note: The Kay Players was active until c. 1985. This blogpost is for the period up to 1965 and is not complete.

The Kay Players was an amateur drama group established in Darlington, Co. Durham in 1944 by Kay Barrow, at the time a professional producer and drama coach. The group adopted their founder's first name in order to demonstrate the high regard in which Mrs Barrow was held.

The President of the group was Eric Marsham (E.N. Marsham, Esq.) and numbered among the Vice-Presidents was Lady Starmer, O.B.E., J.P. 

From their home at the now defunct Little Theatre on Kendrew Street, Darlington, the group offered to the public a diverse repertoire of plays, which included:

Berkeley Square [pre-1954]
Candida [pre-1954]
The Glass Menagerie [pre-1954]
The Lady's Not For Burning [pre-1954]
The Heiress [January 1954]
Rope [circa March 1954]
Journey's End [circa June 1954]
The Wandering Jew [September 1954]
Under the Sycamore Tree [December 1954]
The Hollow [March 1955]
See How They Run [September 1955]
Ring Round The Moon [December 1955]
Harvey [October 1956]
Ghosts [February 1957]
Book of the Month [circa early/mid-1957]
The Happy Marriage [October 1957]
The Deep Blue Sea [April 1958]
Maiden Ladies [November 1958]
The Valiant [circa early/mid 1959]
The Constant Wife [November 1959]
Waters of the Moon [April 1960]
Look Back In Anger [January 1961]
Separate Tables [December 1961]
The Bride and The Bachelor [May 1962]
Variations on a Theme [November 1962]
The Gazebo [May 1963]
Hay Fever [No dates available but probably post-1963]
Gaslight [1965]

The group took a new production of Variations on a Theme to the Centenary Event of the Co-operative Arts Theatre Summer Festival, which was part of the centenary celebrations of the Nottingham Co-operative Society. The festival was held from July 6th to July 13th 1963, and seven plays were presented on consecutive nights. The Kay Players (called the Darlington Kay Players on the festival programme) were the last to perform. The performances were adjudicated by Mr. Philip Bromley, and trophies awarded to the winning production and the best performances by an actor and an actress. In addition, there were cash prizes of £35, £25 and £15. The awards were presented by Mr. George Sweet, J.P., Vice-President of the Nottingham Co-operative Society, though we do not know which productions were successful.

There were many dozens of members of the group during the period until 1965 (we know of at least fifty), and numbered among them were the following:

IAN LEADLEY

Leading roles in many of the group's productions - The Happy Marriage; Variation on a Theme [Little Theatre and Festival productions in which played different parts in each]; The Gazebo; Hay Fever.

EDMUND PURDY

Played the lead role of Jimmy Porter, the 'angry young man' in Osborne's Look Back In Anger, and also performed in Waters on the Moon, for which also designed the set. May only have stayed with the group for a short time in the very early 1960s. Remained active as an actor and in the summer of 2001 played the role of Egeus in Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream in an outdoor production by The Castle Players in the grounds of Bowes Museum in Barnard Castle, Co. Durham.

MARGARET NEWELL (also called MARGO NEWELL)

Performed in Separate Tables; The Gazebo; Hay Fever. Stage Manager in Little Theatre production of Variation on a Theme. Also served for a time as Chairman of the group. 

JOAN BAXTER

Acted in many of the group's productions, including: The Happy Marriage; Waters on the Moon; Look Back In Anger; Separate Tables; Variation on a Theme [both productions]; The Gazebo; Hay Fever. Also performed with Durham Arts Society Theatre Group in at least two productions - The Imperial Nightingale; Five Finger Exercise - under the direction of John Morton. [The venue of these productions is not known.] Also acted in a production of The Matchmaker with The John Morton Players, and a production of Captain Carvallo, both directed by John Morton and presented at the Georgian Theatre, Richmond, Yorkshire. Also in Magyar Melody with Ferryhill Amateur Operatic Society in the role of the Empress.

Enter the Empress in a scene from Magyar Melody
presented by Ferryhill Amateur Operatic Society

RONA LUMSDON

Chairman of the group in 1957 (and possibly earlier/later), and President during 1962-63. Producer of Waters of the Moon and Assistant Producer of Variation on a Theme [Little Theatre production]. Acted in Separate Tables. 

GINA FAREY

Possibly joined the group in 1960-61. In 1961-62 performed in Look Back In Anger; Separate Tables; Variation on a Theme [Little Theatre production].

MAURICE GRAHAM and VALERIE LUPTON

Performed in Waters of the Moon; Look Back In Angers; Separate Tables.

Get thee to a nunnery

'Get thee to a nunnery. Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?'

In Hamlet, the eponymous hero tells his mistress Ophelia: 'Get thee to nunnery!' But Ophelia does not heed the command of her lover. Instead, she drowns herself in a lily pond.

Yet what if she had? What if Ophelia had hied herself to a distant convent and taken holy orders? What would have befallen her? 

What follows is an account of....
 OPHELIA IN A NUNNERY.

*********

Having quit the palace of Elsinore, the fair Ophelia arrives at the nunnery and is ushered into the hallowed chamber of the Mother Superior, who explains to Ophelia that if she wishes to enter the Sacred Order she must take a strict vow of silence. 
"Under the vow you will only be permitted to speak TWO WORDS once every ten years," the Mother Superior tells Ophelia. "Are you willing to be bound by this unbreakable rule?"
"I am, Holy Mother," replies Ophelia.
"Then welcome, my child," says the Mother Superior. "Off you go, about your work, and I'll see you again in ten years time."

Ophelia leaves the chamber and spends the next ten years scrubbing the floors of the convent, working in the kitchen, and labouring in the garden in the wind, the rain and the sun. Ten years later she returns to the Mother Superior's chamber.

"You have now been with us for ten years," says the Mother Superior. "Under the strict rule of our Sacred Order you are now permitted to say two words. What would you like to say?"
"BED - HARD," said Ophelia.
"That's fine," says the Mother Superior. "Now off you go back to your work and I'll see you in another ten years time."

Ophelia returns to her work in the convent, scrubbing the floors, working in the kitchen, and labouring in the garden in the wind, the rain and the sun. Ten years later she returns to the Mother Superior's chamber.

"You have now been with us for another ten years," says the Mother Superior. "Under the strict rule of our Sacred Order you are now permitted to say two words. What would you like to say?"
"FOOD - ROTTEN," said Ophelia.
"That's good," said the Mother Superior. "Now off you go back to your work and I'll see you in another ten years time."

Ophelia returns to her work in the convent, scrubbing the floors, working in the kitchen, and labouring in the garden in the wind, the rain and the sun. Ten years later she returns once more to the Mother Superior's chamber.

"You have now been with us for another ten years," says the Mother Superior. "Under the strict rule of our Sacred Order you are now permitted to say two words. What would you like to say?"
And then Ophelia broke down and began to scream aloud: "I've had enough! I can't take any more! I want to go home! I want to go home!"
The Mother Superior looked at Ophelia.
"And about time too!" she told her. "You've done nothing but bitch ever since you've fucking been here!"

Holbein's The Ambassadors & Shakespeare's Richard II

The Ambassadors by Hans Holbein the Younger.

The Ambassadors, by Hans Holbein the Younger, was painted in 1533. In addition to being a double portraiture, it is famed for the long greyish mark twisted slantwise across the bottom of the picture, which, viewed at an acute angle from the edge of the frame, appears as a human skull seen in perspective.

A reference to this or similar paintings can be found in Shakespeare's play Richard II, in which the character Bushy uses it as a simile:

For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects, 
Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon
Show nothing but confusion; eyed awry
Distinguish form.

Zo d'Axa and his Political Ass

In the year 1898, the French anarchist and satirist, Zo d’Axa, decided there were so many phoney asses in his country’s National Assembly that they were scandalously devaluing the currency. 

So he decided to present to the electorate a real ass, a pure, genuine, thoroughbred, white donkey that he baptized NUL [None], and invited the people to:

'Vote Nul and make your voices heard!'

In a series of articles Zo solicited his compatriots to support Nul as their elected representative:

'In our endeavours we have tried to find a master that no one dreamed of. .... Now, the honour has fallen on me to present the Master of the People. Please be sympathetic. The ass for whom I seek the suffrage from you, my fellow citizens, is a most charming accomplice. A loyal and excellently shod donkey with a silky coat, delicate hamstring, and a most beauteous voice.'

The day of the election arrived, and lo! from atop the hill of Montmartre, Nul swept forward, imperiously seated on a chariot, like Julius Caesar on a triumph through Rome. Escorting him were Zo and a company of his loyal supporters. Zo later described the proud moment as 'the ass paraded through the streets, past walls decked with banners and placards'. 

Proclamations were handed our to the gathering crowds exalting them to....

'Think, dear citizens. You know that your elected representatives deceive you, have deceived you, will continue to deceive you. ... Therefore, vote for Nul! Vote for an ass!'

The spectators laughed and applauded! Women threw flowers! Men doffed their hats! The procession continued through the Latin Quarter and finally arrived at the Senate, where it was greeted with rapturous applause from the university students.

Then, at around 3 p.m., the atmosphere changed. A sinister cloud appeared above them in the form of the police, as ever taking the law into their own hands. The officers erected a barrier at the end of the Boulevard St. Michel. Then the officer in charge ordered Zo to lead Nul to the nearest police station. 

But it was too late! The revolution had begun! The crowd smashed their way through the barrier and marched to the Palais de Justice, the Law Courts. 

Sadly, it was the moment that the police had been waiting for. They pounced, grabbed Nul's chariot, and led the people's would-be anointed representative away. 

Zo was philosophical:

'Like a vile politician the animal had gone sour. The police towed Nul away, the Establishment guiding him. ... For the moment Nul was only a candidate like any other. The police station opened its wide doors and the ass was with his friends.'

The forces of order had prevailed. The Revolution was over.

Hee-haw!
Hee-haw!
Hee-haw!