The First Gallery – derrickjknight

Scene And Imagined

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. THOSE IN THE GROUP ACCESS GALLERIES THAT CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE.

Yesterday afternoon we drove to Elizabeth’s at West End to collect her and go together to The First Gallery at Bitterne to visit the exhibition of woodcuts by Jutta Manser and paintings by Kevin Dean, in conjunction with Margery Clarke’s open studio.

A random selection of the work on display in ‘Scene and Imagined’ includes

‘Royal Pier Gatehouse’ by Kevin Dean;

‘Once in a Blue Moon’ by Jutta Manser;

Jutta’s ‘When Shall We Three’,

‘April July’ – one of several woodcuts reminiscent of Agnes Miller Parker –

And The Evening And The Morning Were The First Day by Jutta Manser

and ‘And The Evening and The Morning were The First Day’;

Kevin’s ‘Oriental Poppies’;

‘Bruno Playing’, a pen drawing by Margery;

‘Moonstruck’

‘Sisyphus’, humorously hung at an angle,

‘Evening Glow’,

and ‘Summer Blues’ all by Jutta;

‘Russian Circus’ from Kevin;

and Jutta’s ‘Cutting Edge 20,000 BC.

We were treated to a fascinating display of Jutta’s Tools of The Trade, including beautiful avian drawings in a sketchbook, woodblocks, pins, pencils, and cutting implements;

whilst upstairs we were invited into Margery’s studio.

Jackie bagged Jutta’s ‘Sunflowers’ for her birthday in June. I bought it knowing full well I will have, albeit intentionally, forgotten it by then.

Memory was to become a minor theme of the day. A group of us at the end of the event sat with Margery, having a wide-ranging discussion, which, prompted by recent discoveries concerning mice, possibly helpful to understanding dementia, led to the subject of memory. The capacities of each us were very varied. I made the rash statement that everyone remembers their first day at school. Jackie and I were the only two who did. I found that surprising.

We took Elizabeth back to her car. She collected Mum, and the four of us met and dined in The Farmer’s Home pub in Durley. As always, this led to much reminiscing. Our mother asked if we remembered the flats in Wyke Road. We did, and Jackie even remembered the name of the block that occupied most of the side of the road opposite the railway tracks leading to Raynes Park Station. It was, and still is, Langham Court, which is fronted by a low brick wall topped by stone coping. Tailor-made for little boys to walk along. Well, what else could it be for?

I said I had a story about Langham Court. Elizabeth and Jackie had not heard it, and Mum could not remember it. I did. It is not every day your mother takes on a big hairy caretaker.

Chris and I were about 6 and 8. Wyke Road is situated at the end of Stanton Road, where we lived. In those days it was perfectly acceptable for children to play in side streets devoid of motor cars. Naturally we trotted along the coping stones. The aforesaid big hairy man tore across the lawn in a rage, turfed us off the wall, and terrified the life out of us. We ran home and told our Mum.

Now, the caretaker was frightening enough. But can you imagine a tigress defending her cubs? That gets near. Trying desperately to keep up with Mum we were dragged back up to the flats. I don’t remember the exact words of the ensuing conversation, but I do remember the sound of the slap. I don’t think the gentleman ever accosted us again.

Of course, as was described in the conversation at the Gallery, different people have different memories of the same event, so it is possible that I invented or embroidered this. Nevertheless I only had two glasses of the Rio Alto Merlot 2016 I shared with Elizabeth at our meal. Mum drank orange juice and Jackie chose diet coke. Mum ate poached salmon with new potatoes and carrots, while the rest of enjoyed Sunday roasts with all the trimmings; Jackie’s was pork, while Elizabeth and I chose lamb. Mum’s dessert was Eton Mess and the rest of us had lemon meringue pie.

This morning, Jackie and I continued with the garden tidying. I dug and chopped out a stubborn young self-seeded bay tree.

This evening we dined on roast chicken thighs served on a bed of onions, peppers and garlic with a sprinkling of sage; creamy mashed potato, spring greens and runner.beans. I drank Château Caillavet Bordeaux 2010, and Jackie didn’t because she had consumed her quota of Hoegaarden on the patio before dinner.

Xmas Show

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. THE PAIR GIVE ACCESS TO A GALLERY THAT CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE.

This morning I made some prints for Christmas presents, before visiting Margery and Paul at:

This ever popular exhibition did not disappoint in its array of art works in different media, reasonably enough priced to make for good, unpressurised Christmas shopping.

Margery’s own charming clown cushion makes a good start.

Lucille Scott’s snails would decorate any garden.

There is much good jewelry on a par with these necklaces.

Deborah Richards’s ceramic sculptures are a highlight.

I liked Ruth Facey’s wire pictures.

Rita Rouw’s Lounge Lady, reflecting the note of humour in the exhibition, has an air of Beryl Cook.

The cock and cats at the top of the stairs seems a happy juxtapostion.

On the way up are a row of Josephine Sumner’s colourful linocuts,

opposite which are strings of fish.

The contents of this shelf in the kitchen may or may not be for sale. Whether or not, they are examples of the objects around this home that display the best part of a century’s fascination with all forms of creativity.

There is still another week in which to visit the show.

We spent that afternoon with Elizabeth and Mum in turn at their respective homes in West End.

way home we noticed that a number of the small towns, like Lyndhurst, have switched on their Christmas lights.

There was enough of yesterday’s Indian takeaway for, with the addition of onion bahjis, second helpings this evening. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I finished the madiran.

Folding Flyers

Last night a full yellow, pink haloed, moon was framed by limbs of garden trees such as an evergreen mahonia

or rolled in the grip of deciduous fingers of beech.

This morning we collected Paul’s mount board from Wessex Print in Pennington and delivered this, the flyers, and exhibition prints to The First Gallery, where, whilst enjoying coffee and Margery’s mini hot cross buns, Paul and I checked over my work, and

Jackie and Margery had fun folding flyers.

On the moors between Beaulieu and Lymington linger many pools in which trees stand.

On one, another grey pony slaked its thirst in its own bath water (I am indebted to Johnna of painkills2.wordpress.com for the bath water).

Suitably replenished, the dripping animal bounded onto the turf, circled the neighbouring pool above, and settled down to graze beyond its bay companion.

Unfortunately I had overlooked one of the A3 prints. This was the table top abstract which I therefore made on our return home. I suppose one out of fifty isn’t bad.

This evening Jackie’s delicious lamb jalfrezi was served with pilau rice, chick pea dhal, and parathas. We both drank Kingfisher

Pictures For An Exhibition

Today we toted five more canvas bags of tree cuttings to Efford Recycling Centre.

The Head Gardener was prevailed upon to bear the strain of this one as we tipped the contents into the vast container, thus allowing The Photographer to carry out his primary role.

This time we returned with a stout wooden table suitable for the garden. I understand it was there yesterday, but it was asking too much for Jackie to pass it up two days running.

After our last trip this afternoon, I attempted to make a phone call. My mobile seemed to be dead. Eventually I managed to get something onto the screen, but it was scribble. An urgent trip to Lymington’s Carphone Warehouse was in order. Two very helpful young men were staffing the shop. The immediate diagnosis was that the screen was cracked. This meant the phone could not relay information from the works. We decided upon a new instrument which would require a new contract. All went swimmingly until I was asked for my bank account number. I didn’t have it. Jackie, who had taken refuge in Costa’s for coffee and cake, had to down both in a hurry and get me home and back in the 25 minutes available before the shop closed. She made the twelve mile round trip in 20 minutes. I took out my new contract and received replacement phone.

All my contacts are lost, and I must ring O2 tomorrow to have my number transferred to the new SIM card. As its seems likely that I cracked the phone in my pocket whilst humping the bags of cuttings, Jackie brightly asked me exactly how much her dump table had cost. I’m a little calmer now than I was then.

I received a rather good surprise from The First Gallery this morning. The April exhibition, for which I had submitted the albums on the making of the garden, thinking that they would be supplementary to the main performance, is now to be focussed on our garden with painters and sculptors providing additional material. Between trips to the dump and the later thrills, I trawled my collection to gather together more photographs for prints of varying sizes. Here are a few:

View from the kitchen garden as it was on 26th July 2014;

Virginia creeper, calibrachoa and fuchsia 30th September 2015;

allium;

Mum negotiating Phantom Path 6th July 2014;

Small White butterfly on verbena bonarensis 29th September 2015;

and chair and bedhead on Weeping Birch Bed 12th March 2015.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb sausage casserole, mashed potato, and crisp cauliflower, carrots, and broccoli. Se drank sparkling water and I drank Via di Cavallo chianti 2014.

A Sale

I received confirmation this morning, that my piece ‘Not The Comic Book Hero’ will appear on livelytwist tomorrow.

Although today was much brighter, it is now cold and the rampant winds ravage the garden. The tops of the cold frame at the side of the front of the house were ripped off and distributed elsewhere. I replaced them and battened them down with rocks.

The Head Gardener’s research has revealed that the flowering cherry in the front garden is not performing out of season. It is Prunus Subhirtella Autumnalis.

I printed up the recycling and disposal section of the garden album.

This afternoon Jackie drove us to Elizabeth’s, whence the three of us, in my sister’s car, collected Mum and went on to The First Gallery where we spent a customary pleasant time talking with our friends Margery and Paul, and having a look round the exhibits.

As we drove across the forest, a sudden emergency stop was required when one of the ponies took it into its head to cross the road. Some warning signs now bear the legend ‘Expect Them To Step Out’. That is why.

Beaulieu was really rather swarming with the beasts, some of whom trotted happily down the middle of the main road through the village. This one was really stepping it out, for a New Forest Pony.

Others clustered around the lake at low tide, possibly envying the waterfowl their ownership of it.

I have sold a few photographs in my time, but, up until now, only greetings cards have been bought at The First Gallery. I was therefore pleased to learn that the picture of Quay Street on the left of my little corner has been purchased.

Afterwards, Mum, Elizabeth, Jackie, and I dined at Farmers Home in Durley. The meals and service were as good and attentive as usual. My choice was beef Wellington followed by Eton Mess; Jackie’s was mushroom Stroganoff with sticky toffee pudding for dessert; Elizabeth’s beef Wellington with frozen berries to follow; Mum’s crab fish cakes with creme brûlée afterwards. I drank Ringwood’s bitter; Jackie sparkling water; Elizabeth shiraz; and Mum, orange juice.

As we entered the Modus to return home the thermometer read 0 degrees, which was quite a shock after the mild weeks we have been experiencing.

Automata

As the morning sunlight gradually scaled the beech tree to the left, it exposed the changing nature of the weeping birch, the leaves of which are beginning to blend with the gravel of the Heligan Path.

Aaron and Robin completed work on the decking, which included Aaron’s own idea of the steps, made from offcuts of the planks. The intention is to train plants around the trellis.

It was a day for recycling. Jackie and I built a temporary cold frame for the winter, from offcuts of Elizabeth’s conservatory roofing, concrete slabs, and old bricks.

Automata are mechanical figures designed to move in certain ways when set off at the turn of a handle. As an art form these date from very early times, and are, at least in The First Gallery at Bitterne, near Southampton, enjoying a resurgence of interest. Our friends Margery and Paul Clarke, the proprietors, have long featured such works in their exhibitions, and have just finished one devoted entirely to these intriguing and entertaining constructions. At the close of this event they gave a party to celebrate this and their 40th year of exhibiting. Naturally we attended.

The gallery in their home was filled with fascinating pieces, all hand-made with marvellous moving parts. Examples are:

Horse Box with Bird,

A Friendly Gesture,

Love Boat,

these three as labelled,

A Cheap Automata Shop,

A Wave Machine,

this group of four,

Three Fishes and Bird,

this one the name of which escapes me,

another being tried out,

these tiny miniatures in their glass case,

and Helluva Guy,

whose creator also made the hanging wooden puppet.

Margery had made a few figures of her own, notably:

Clown,

and Aggie, the very very wicked witch.

Other works included:

Cat and Dog,

Cat by Moonlight,

and Seal Box with Fish.

It was a warm enough day for a number of guests to sit outside,

until all were called in to drink a toast, listen to Margery’s short welcome speech,

and see her cake candle lit.

She then cut the cake which was distributed to follow the excellent soup, numerous canapés and other treats, and various desserts.

After this we visited Mum shortly before her temporary carer arrived to help her cook her dinner. Mum is having a difficult time with her arthritis at the moment and, for the time being, has a carer visiting at mealtimes.

We then went on to Elizabeth’s and spent some time with her before returning home where the contents of the doggie bag given to us last night by the waitress at The Royal China were just the job for our evening meal. I had consumed a glass or two of wine earlier, so was in no need of accompaniment. Jackie drank a Hoegaarden.

Ruby

Slowly, mist dispersed from the garden as we drank our morning coffee.

Jackie drove us to The First gallery for midday where we joined the party celebrating the fortieth year of the artwork exhibitions at the home of Margery and Paul. This was a very happy occasion with friends gathered by this mother and son over a lifetime. We are pleased to be counted members of this honoured group.

In keeping with the theme there was a ruby coloured beetroot soup with a number of other ingredients. The ingenious Paul had devised a method of topping the soup with a creamy 40. This was done with sterilised garden wire dipped into the mixture and laid on rather like the shamrock sprayed onto the head of a pint of Guinness by dextrous bar staff. I was fortunate enough to be presented with a perfect specimen, but they didn’t all come out like that. One young woman decided that hers, also including a lentil version looked like the female symbol which she invited me to photograph.

We had all been invited to bring an inflated red balloon. On arrival we were informed that there would be a prize for the last person to hold an unburst one. The secret was to keep yours out of the way of broach pins and forks, toasting or otherwise. Leo, the youngest member of the group clung to his two until the very end.

Margery had made a splendid selection of small snacks and a superb chocolate sponge cake which formed the centrepiece of the desserts table which was soon emptied. She made the first half cut across and directed Paul to complete it. He was, after all, part of the partnership and moreover had decorated it. We toasted the pair with Champagne heavily laced with cranberry juice. One guest was keen to help our hostess protect her balloon. Elizabeth, in the foreground of this picture, didn’t have a red balloon, so she painted the legend: ‘I AM RED HONEST’ on hers.

Leo was very quiet throughout, but the conversation at one point did turn to methods of preventing small babies from disturbing parents’ slumber. When Jackie told us a story about one of the elderly ladies she had cared for thirty years ago, a tongue twister competition ensued. This client’s childhood would have gone back to the end of the nineteenth century when her mother had the perfect antidote to nighttime tears. She would make a ‘tea’ with a ‘penn’orth of poppy heads from the apothecary’. Quite a lot of spluttering accompanied somewhat inebriated efforts to repeat this.

It was quite close to sunset as the party broke up and we all went home. Driving due West into a magnificent sunset Jackie turned off the M27 taking the Fawley road, in an effort to get me into the forest before the sun disappeared. She didn’t quite manage that, but, as so often, the shots were more attractive with clouds lit from below. The pools on the heathland near Debden Purlieu, the Beaulieu River, and Hatchet Pond all added their reflective charm to the views. This was perhaps the perfect close to a ruby day.

By the time Jackie dropped me at Milford on Sea so that I could walk home via the cliff top and Shorefield, darkness had set in, but there was just enough light reflecting off The Solent for me to catch a bit more of sundown along the coast. As I walked up the dimly lit Downton Lane I removed my black waterproof coat and carried it so that the headlights of oncoming traffic could gleam on my buff sports jacket.

After the spread laid on at The First, a small bowl of Jackie’s chicken jalfrezi and egg fried rice accompanied by the last of the Cotes du Rhone Villages (red, of course) wine sufficed for our evening sustenance.

The First

On 29th October I responded to a letter from BT inviting a telephone call because they thought they could offer a cheaper broadband package. I was offered BT Infinity at a lower cost than the current one. This would be faster. We would require a new home hub. There would be some interruption for three days whilst the equipment sorted itself out. There was. We lived with it. That period was over yesterday. At 6.30 a.m. this morning we had no internet access at all. At 7.45 I rang the phone number I had been given. After fifteen minutes checking the line I was informed that the fault was in the cabinet. I asked what that was. It is the box out in the street somewhere. The earliest an engineer could come out to fix it was Monday, that is in three days time.
It was then I went into what Jackie calls ‘honest to the point of ouch’ mode. Eventually we were given an appointment for tomorrow morning. Reluctantly I accepted that. Jackie then reminded me that we had to be in Croydon at midday. I rang the sales department seeking an improvement on this. I had apparently been given tomorrow as an exception. I was told that the engineers were Openreach, not BT. All Openreach vans bear the BT logo, as can be seen by clicking on it to enlarge this photograph taken at Minstead in January. How is the poor septuagenarian punter to comprehend that these are two different companies?
I took myself off for my Hordle Cliff walk in order to calm myself down. As I walked down the lane an Openreach van sped past me.
Internet access returned at midday. A miracle, or what?
This afternoon Jackie, Flo, and I travelled by car to visit Margery and Paul Clarke, and see their current exhibition at their home, The First Gallery at 1 Burnham Chase, Bitterne. This is the fortieth anniversary of their first such event. There is much of interest on the walls, tables, and chairs of what is probably the original Art-Gallery-in-a-Home. Paintings, ceramics, sculpture, jewellery, automatons. Most items are suitably priced for Christmas presents. Our friends offer a warm, genuine, personal welcome complete with cups of tea and Margery’s splendid mini mince pies.
Here are just a few of the items for sale, although there is absolutely no pressure to buy.
A visit to TheFirstGallery.com/xmas40 will provide more images and updates.
Back home, we dined on flavoursome mixed grill casserole, creamy mashed potato, crisp carrots, brussels sprouts, and runner beans. My choice of sweet was tiramisu. I drank sparkling water, and the others stayed dry.

Waiting In The Wings

This morning Margery and Paul came to visit, see the house and garden, and bring me a picture I had purchased from them on 28th June.
Our friends were duly impressed with the house and garden. Margery, who has read all about our labours on this blog, thought everything was even more beautiful than she had expected. She took a great interest in all the plants in particular, and, with her keen mind, remembered what I had written about, as did Paul. It was Margery’s son who spotted the cotton lavender plant I had not noticed before in the kitchen garden.
Paul is an excellent picture framer. The work I had bought at The First Gallery‘s last exhibition was a mounted piece and we had left it with him for framing. I left the materials and method to the professional, correctly believing him to be the best judge. We now have a Hilda Margery Clarke original tastefully framed monoprint & inks painting entitled Waiting in the Wings, with which we are very pleased. The photographer’s hands are reflected at bottom left. I trust Margery will forgive the intrusion.
In keeping with the art theme of the day, this afternoon we made a start on Hampshire Open Studios visits. Elizabeth had hosted one such exhibition, featuring works by herself, Margery, and me last year. Paul features in the foreground of the second picture on that post.
The first choice of venue, St. Judes in Sway, had closed a couple of days earlier. Although it was difficult to find, we had much more luck at Andrew Halliday’s workshop, also in Sway. We had a very enjoyable discussion with this attractive and personable young man who does his painting when he has time after working at antique restoration and picture framing. We also liked his work. A number of his more recent pictures feature scenes in the City of London. I was particularly intrigued to see and to discuss how the area had changed since I had worked first at Lloyd’s, then at Yorkshire Insurance company in the early nineteen sixties. Some buildings, like those in Cornhill the artist is seen here describing, remain intact, whilst others have made way for modern structures such as the ‘Cheesegrater’ looming in the background. The centrally featured ‘Jampot’, has changed its use but is a much earlier building, as is St Michael’s church in the background. It is artistic licence that an open space appears in this area where a square foot costs a fortune.
Andrew can be reached through his Facebook page, the title of which, Archipainting, reflects his interest in architecture.
We went on to Splinters in The Dance Studio at Milford on Sea. A group of artists who meet regularly to paint and exchange ideas also produced some very creditable work.
This evening Jackie fed us on chicken marinaded in piri-piri sauce; mixed crisp vegetables; and swede and potato mash, followed by profiteroles and blackberries. She drank Hogaarden and Elizabeth and I sampled a rather good Cuvee St Jaine red table wine.

The Cat’s Paws

This morning Jackie carried out further heavy weeding of the oval bed, whilst I didn’t quite manage to empty the bath.
First I had to reach the object of my attention. This involved pruning the box hedge which was its first line of defence. Then that of brambles had to be breached. Then what I had cut away had to be transported to the pile for burning. Then I had to balance on the rim of the bath and try to make an indentation in the soil and rubbish it contained. Then I shovelled out spadefuls trying to place them somewhere sensible. It was easier when I could stand inside it. Every so often I climbed out and tried to tip it up. It’s no good, I am going to have to take everything out of it before I can even shift it. I do hope it is not made of cast iron. Just In case anyone doubts that yesterday’s picture was indeed of a bath, this is a photograph showing how far I have progressed:

This afternoon we drove to Bitterne to visit The First Gallery’s exhibition of works by Alvin Betteridge and M.H.Clarke. Although the exhibits are not the same as the earlier show, this was the first day of a weekend’s reprisal of the gallery’s first exhibition forty years ago. We arrived between the day’s open show and the later private viewing. If you are interested in original works of art by an established artist and her guests, often equally well known, at reasonable prices ‘in a domestic setting’, you could do worse that visit them at www.TheFirstGallery.co.uk, or better still at home at No. 1 Burnham Chase. We did, in fact, make a purchase which we left with Paul who runs a picture framing surface from the same address. Margery and her son Paul, are good friends of ours and we had an enjoyable conversation before returning to Old Post House.
We didn’t quite manage to go directly home. Ever trying to find routes through the New Forest which don’t involve the usually slow crawl through Lyndhurst, Jackie decided to continue along the A31 to Forest Road from whence she would drive through Emery Down. Forest Road was still closed to traffic following repairs to the cattle grid which should have been completed well before now. It does seem to be a feature of the area that roads are sealed off for works that don’t take place for months on end. With the occasional mild expletive, my chauffeuse continued along the major road to the Burley turn off. By this time we had developed a taste for a Chinese meal and I suggested a greater diversion through Brockenhurst where we could dine at Yenz Chinese restaurant which we had enjoyed as recently as 3rd April. This was not to be. From opposite the establishment I crossed the road in rain reminiscent of last year’s waterlogged summer, to read a notice saying that the business had closed down.
Now what? Well, we could try Lymington. We did.

As we wandered along the High Street, Lymington looked remarkably quiet and closed for a holiday centre on a Saturday night in summer. Tesco’s was open, so Jackie went in and enquired.

She was directed to the far end of town to Fusion Inn. It wasn’t serving Chinese food, but, much more appropriately termed fusion, Thai. ‘That’ll do’, we said.

And it most certainly did. The food was excellent; the service friendly and efficient; and the Tiger beer thirst-quenching.
Still serving as a pub, the integral restaurant provides the fusion bit. By inference, we have surmised that the building dates from the 1750s. This is because of the legend on a brass plaque affixed to the wall by our table. According to the manager the pub was originally called ‘The Old English Gentleman’; later it became ‘The Black Cat’; and eleven years ago ‘Fusion Inn’.

The feline name came from a brick in the wall. A small section of the brickwork in a plastered wall has been left free of rendering. This is to expose the paw prints of a cat that we are told would have been left in the wet brick in the 1750s. It was found by John Allison during restoration work.