Sapphire and Stone
On Father's Day this year, I visited Lichfield Cathedral with my Dad, his wife and Bill. I spent time examining the details of the ornate features of the building. I sat for ten minutes in a small side-chapel up some narrow stone stairs; in the peaceful room, at knee-level, was a small painted door hinged and clad with iron.
I don't know what it is about these doors that appeals to me, but since that afternoon, I have been quite taken with photographing them. I shall post separately more pictures of some doors in Oxford, because that trip got me thinking about writing fiction inspired by doorways.
Anyway, wandering about photographing decorative tiles and suchlike, I reflected on the time it must have taken to make all of it; I read the roll of Bishops who had overseen the work, reaching back to the 14th century. I considered the benefits of having faith, and the tranquility of spirit that it offers people in troubled times. I also thought how important it is to have preserved such buildings. It's a similar thought to the one I had when walking the countryside near Harrogate, astonished suddenly to think of how many pathways criss-cross the country that are maintained for our recreation. We're so lucky to have all this.
This entry is informed by what I perceive as shifts in my political thinking that have been stretching me for some months. Visits to churches and the countryside have been carried out whilst reading the second half of Alan Bennett's second volume of prose writing, 'Untold Stories'. He also likes very much to look in churches. He has strong social democratic values - he was a staunch critic of the bullying selfishness of Thatcher's Britain - but these values are tempered by a belief that good things ought to be properly looked after. And so whilst walking around the beautiful Lichfield cathedral, I was very aware that I was slowing down to take in something of the past that had been conserved.
When we were ready to leave, I popped into the gift shop to buy postcards. A tiny reproduction of the Archangel Gabriel caught my eye. The background is a peaceful stone sky framed by stone trees and the Angel Messenger stands huge on a green patch with some little buildings near either side of his feet further down the hill. His wings and gown are sapphire, the feathered lining shimmers with turquoise and gold and his halo is a striking red. He is gazing at the four flowers on the stem of a white lily. I find the image stunning, because it has what Alan Bennett calls a "glow". As Madonna wrote in the lyrics of 'Nothing Fails', "I'm not religious, but I feel so moved, makes me wanna pray, pray you'll always be here." I suppose that she is talking about her husband, but it's how I feel about the beautiful religious buildings, too.
This image reminds me of the first time I really clocked how much I enjoy the combination of cream and turquoise that is becoming my signature decorative contrast. In Barcelona's magnificent City Art Gallery, I found a series of postcard reproductions of posters that had been designed to advertise national art exhibitions in the late 19th Century. I cannot begin to explain how much pleasure I get from gazing at it:
I don't know what it is about these doors that appeals to me, but since that afternoon, I have been quite taken with photographing them. I shall post separately more pictures of some doors in Oxford, because that trip got me thinking about writing fiction inspired by doorways.
Anyway, wandering about photographing decorative tiles and suchlike, I reflected on the time it must have taken to make all of it; I read the roll of Bishops who had overseen the work, reaching back to the 14th century. I considered the benefits of having faith, and the tranquility of spirit that it offers people in troubled times. I also thought how important it is to have preserved such buildings. It's a similar thought to the one I had when walking the countryside near Harrogate, astonished suddenly to think of how many pathways criss-cross the country that are maintained for our recreation. We're so lucky to have all this.
This entry is informed by what I perceive as shifts in my political thinking that have been stretching me for some months. Visits to churches and the countryside have been carried out whilst reading the second half of Alan Bennett's second volume of prose writing, 'Untold Stories'. He also likes very much to look in churches. He has strong social democratic values - he was a staunch critic of the bullying selfishness of Thatcher's Britain - but these values are tempered by a belief that good things ought to be properly looked after. And so whilst walking around the beautiful Lichfield cathedral, I was very aware that I was slowing down to take in something of the past that had been conserved.
When we were ready to leave, I popped into the gift shop to buy postcards. A tiny reproduction of the Archangel Gabriel caught my eye. The background is a peaceful stone sky framed by stone trees and the Angel Messenger stands huge on a green patch with some little buildings near either side of his feet further down the hill. His wings and gown are sapphire, the feathered lining shimmers with turquoise and gold and his halo is a striking red. He is gazing at the four flowers on the stem of a white lily. I find the image stunning, because it has what Alan Bennett calls a "glow". As Madonna wrote in the lyrics of 'Nothing Fails', "I'm not religious, but I feel so moved, makes me wanna pray, pray you'll always be here." I suppose that she is talking about her husband, but it's how I feel about the beautiful religious buildings, too.
This image reminds me of the first time I really clocked how much I enjoy the combination of cream and turquoise that is becoming my signature decorative contrast. In Barcelona's magnificent City Art Gallery, I found a series of postcard reproductions of posters that had been designed to advertise national art exhibitions in the late 19th Century. I cannot begin to explain how much pleasure I get from gazing at it: