Farewell for now...

Life has led me to the point where I must leave the land of blog for a time, so I will sign off with autumn glory and hope to be back very soon.

How can we bear it? How can we bear to lose the glory days of summer and sink into this cold, dreary darkness? The holidays have ended, the last drops of summer wine have been drained and we are left to clear away the falling autumn leaves and await the winter of our discontent...

Autumn Leaves: Sir John Everett Millais

I have been dreading the shortening, freezing days and the long, icy months before the earth begins to stir again. I envy the small creatures who can curl in warm burrows to sleep through the bleakness, but then I remember the mellow fruitfulness this season brings, the spicy soups and mulled wines, the rich, glowing colours autumn offers to offset the death of summer... and slowly autumn's misty gown begins to catch fire. 

Autumn: John Atkinson Grimshaw

As temperatures start to fall, colours begin to heat up ~
even the names of autumn shades are warm and inviting:
burnt orange, paprika, russet, chestnut, copper, gold...

I find shades of autumnal inspiration in paintings I love...

 

by artists whose work I admire and respect.

Autumn: Elizabeth Sonrel French

Reverie: Dante Gabriel Rossetti

La Pia de Tolomei: Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Portrait of Rosalind: Edward Robert Hughes

Eve: Lucien Levy Dhurmer

The Princess Out of School: Edward Robert Hughes

Some of these paintings can strike...

Autumn: Arthur Hacker

strangely familiar chords.

Lily Cole: supermodel with a double 1st from Cambridge

I find my winter coat and venture outside...

Wood sculpture of Lady Blantyre: St Ives country estate, Harden, West Yorkshire

discovering autumn's glory all around me.

I fill my home with its colours and scents...

long strings of crystallised fruits...

 

prickly pomanders...

cinnamon candles with spiced rosehips.

I gather up the garden's harvest...

 for tempting food to brighten winter days...

plum jam, bonfire toffee, parkin, apple pie...



and suddenly winter doesn't seem quite so fearsome after all.

Fire Fancies: Arthur Hacker

Stay warm x




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Love is...

North & South

 I am north and you are south

You are my words, I am your mouth...

You are the bow and I the quiver

You are the waterfall, I am the river...

I am the blossom, you are the tree

I am the flower, you are the bee...

You are the pathway, I am the feet

You are the heart and I the beat...

I am the breast, you are the milk

You are the silkworm, I am the silk...

I am the glass, you are the wine

I am the grape and you the vine...

Mine are the stars, yours is the moon

You sculpt the words, I paint the tune...

You are north and I am south

I am your words, you are my mouth...

© Jane Gray 2011

The Time Sculptor

Sweet Nothings: John William Godward 

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

One of the most beautiful love songs ever written was composed
in 1957, by an English folk singer called Ewan MacColl
for American folk singer, Peggy Seeger.


Many versions have been recorded since then...

Roberta Flack, George Michael, Elvis Presley,  Marianne Faithfull,  June Tabor, Shirley Bassey, Bert Jansch, Johnny Cash, The Chi-Lites, Nana Mouskouri, Isaac Hayes, Christy Moore, Mel Tormé, Alison Moyet, Vikki Carr, Brian Kennedy, Celine Dion, Engelbert Humperdinck, The Temptations, Leona Lewis, The Smothers Brothers, Johnny Mathis, Harry Belafonte,  Andy Williams,  Aaron Neville,  Petula Clark,  Harry Connick Jr...

The one below is a bit different... it flows softly into the River Thames.

Dave Burland

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R.I.P.

On 29th July 1971, a talented young singer/songwriter was killed

in a tragic car accident in the city of Leeds, West Yorkshire.

His name was Jon Rennard. He was just 24 years old. 

A contemporary of Nick Drake (1948 - 1974), Jon died

at an even earlier age and, sadly, has since slipped into history.

 

  

2011 ~ 40th anniversary year of Jon's death.

Jon Rennard had recorded one album, Brimbledon Fair, before his untimely death, and a retrospective live album,The Parting Glass, was released after he died.   Jon was a very popular performer with a lovely sense of humour and  he was also a gifted songwriter, so to mark this 40th anniversary year I have put together  a video to illustrate a gentle love song from The Parting Glass album...   

 In Your Smile

 

Jon Rennard 1947 - 1971

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Jealousy

 
This is the cute face of jealousy, but I wanted to follow my post about Rupert Brooke and Grantchester with a Brooke poem that brilliantly captures the ugly face of this green-eyed monster. Jealousy doesn't have the prettiness of The Old Vicarage, or the sadness of The Soldier; it is a less well known and very much darker poem. 

Jealousy

When I see you, who were so wise and cool, 

Gazing with silly sickness on that fool 

You've given your love to, your adoring hands 

Touch his so intimately that each understands, 

I know, most hidden things; and when I know 

Your holiest dreams yield to the stupid bow 

Of his red lips, and that the empty grace 

Of those strong legs and arms, that rosy face, 

Has beaten your heart to such a flame of love,

That you have given him every touch and move,

Wrinkle and secret of you, all your life,

-- Oh! then I know I'm waiting, lover-wife,

For the great time when love is at a close, 

And all its fruit's to watch the thickening nose

And sweaty neck and dulling face and eye, 

That are yours, and you, most surely, till you die!

Day after day you'll sit with him and note 

The greasier tie, the dingy wrinkling coat; 

As prettiness turns to pomp, and strength to fat, 

And love, love, love to habit! 

                            And after that, 

When all that's fine in man is at an end, 

And you, that loved young life and clean, must tend 

A foul sick fumbling dribbling body and old, 

When his rare lips hang flabby and can't hold 

Slobber, and you're enduring that worst thing, 

Senility's queasy furtive love-making, 

And searching those dear eyes for human meaning, 

Propping the bald and helpless head, and cleaning 

A scrap that life's flung by, and love's forgotten, 

Then you'll be tired; and passion dead and rotten; 

And he'll be dirty, dirty! 

                            O lithe and free 

And lightfoot, that the poor heart cries to see, 

That's how I'll see your man and you! 

                                      But you  --

Oh, when that time comes, you'll be dirty too! 

Rupert Brooke

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