Coronets, Crowns, Knights and Chests.... Westminster Abbey.

A whirlwind visit to Westminster Abbey saw me wandering around this historic site in a very haphazard way as I tried to immerse myself in the beauty of the architecture and sculpture whilst dodging the many other tourists who were presumably doing the same! Trying to escape the 21st century was obviously going to be a challenge with throngs of visitors but I focused on what I hoped to find (and indeed found) and avoided everybody else, especially those intent of taking selfies at every given opportunity.

As chest tombs with their ornate sculpted forms fill me the strangest feeling of almost inexplicable happiness, I was certainly overwhelmed in the most positive sense here at Westminster. I wonder what visitors, past and present, feel when encountering the strange supine forms of knights, kings and queens? Is it intrigue at the lifelike figures of individuals long-since departed, yet whose presence is still visible? Is there a desire to touch these frozen beings, whose faces with unseeing eyes stare beyond, up to the towering ceilings high above?

The almost translucent nose on this regal figure, suggests an irrespressible urge to stroke cold stone that is centuries old, to experience its perfectly smooth surface...

Meanwhile scratched initials and names elsewhere reflect a will to leave a personal mark on the passage of time through a fast, furtive inscription on the stonework...

Or is there a thrill at the sight of this abundance of curious ornate detail, some in the most vivid colours, that make these works so unique and strangely joyful as a result? Or a delight at observing the majestic beings and beasts that render the modern-day offerings so plain, uninspiring and sad in comparison?

Scores of illustrious individuals; monarchs, statesmen, scientists, literary figures, actors, clergymen and so on, lie or kneel in pious devotion, represented in all their finery in this regal setting which has presided over coronations, royal weddings and... funerals.

Their hands are generally joined in prayer...

But there are the odd exceptions...

Clasping the Bible or some chattel...

Or used to prop up a strangely reclined figure, waiting for eternity...

Meanwhile the clothing is either lavish and rich...

Or simply functional...

Or modest...

But whatever the finery of their accoutrements, most figures were accompanied by an animal figure, boldly represented or rather more discreet...

I was already familiar with bestial footrests for the figures of the departed, with the standard lion, dog and dragon forms, faithfully supporting the feet of their honoured patron. Here, however, was a more varied collection of imaginary beasts, alongside buildings, beings and diverse objects to symbolise the wordly and spiritual status of the long-deceased, many in the boldest of colours...

Of course, faithful lions and hounds figure heavily here, guarding feet at Westminster too, ensuring that the power and prestige of their charges are intact, even if the bodily forms of both beast and human being are sometimes in rather sorry state due to the ravages of time...

Or look somewhat bewildered in their obedience, with their eyes wide open and little carved claws clutching onto the tomb slab with dogged devotion or determination...

Or a little too meak perhaps, gazing on lovingly rather than in defiance of any assault on their master's honour...

Or simply appear insignificant in size, barely larger than a domestic cat in this instance!

And occasionally, the figures that are carefully watched over seem likewise disproportionally small and vulnerable , despite their armour and weaponry...

Perhaps one beast will growl and glower - almost held down in submission by a dominant male boot - whilst the other will gently rest on its haunches, amongst the fine linen of the lady in question...

Although dogs typically sit at the feminine foot, this is not always the case; here a growling hound bares its teeth next to the imposing blunt-toed steel sabaton footwear of his male charge, while a snarling gryphon guards over the lady companion's feet.

Other gryphons crouch patiently, with the folded wings, oddly pointed (and chipped) ears and ruffled feathers that bear the symbolic fleur-de-lys...

A flamboyant wooden porcupine squats at the folds in clothing around his (equally colorful) charge's feet, a golden chain shackling him to the spot...

A stag stares up from the hem of long ecclesiastical robes towards the clergyman that he accompanies in his endless state of devotion...

Meanwhile, angels support the headrest of one departed knight...

Just as a sad female figure, presumably a servant or perhaps daughter lies in a strangely stiff - literally wooden - horizontal position...

A pair of ecclesiastic figures kneel by a strangely elongated lion figure, their faces shrouded by their monastic hooded gowns...

For all its grandeur, I had the strange impression that the abbey was far smaller than I had imagined. Meanwhile, even though the rather hefty entrance fee is somewhat dissuasive, it was quite cheering to see that the abbey has considerable success, as the crowds attest.

Indigo Enchantment.... Burleighware.

As far back as I can remember, pieces of Burleighware Blue Calico have been a visual staple in family life to the point where its unmistakable deep indigo seems to be the very essence of 'home'. In fact, the Burleigh design Calico, born in 1968, is almost a contemporary of mine and despite the company undergoing a number of ups and downs from the end of the 1990s, their ware is still much sought-after. Even though I don't at present possess any Calico myself, just the mere sight of a cup, plate or dish with its characteristic floral motive in that rich inky-blue literally pulls at ties that are almost visceral in me.

Somehow the extreme contrast of that intense, rich blue with the white sprigged leaves and speckled petals ofCalico creates a depth that is unique with a certain enamel-like relief that dazzles on the tableware. Strangely however, that same depth is not carried over to the Calico wall tiles that were born from the 2021 partnership with Craven Dunnill and nor is it replicated in the Calico Burleigh X Barneby Gates wallpaper. Furthermore, even though I love all Burleighware with its unapologetic, antiquated prettiness - for example Blue Asiatic Pheasants or Blue Regal Peacock - nothing has the same aesthetic and emotional impact as the Blue Calico.

While an initial earthenware manufacturing firm was established in 1851 in the 'Mother Town' of Stoke-on-Trent, Burslem, in The Potteries region of North Staffordshire, the two men whose names gave rise to Burleigh (Messrs Burgess and Leigh) took over in 1862 and later moved the company to Middleport Pottery, where it is still based today. The company prides itself on its continued use, and unrivalled expertise in the practice of underglaze tissue transer printing in the production process, much of which can be observed during guided tours of Middleport. This is certainly one site that I would love to visit as not only can you admire intricate skills that have remained unchanged for over 250 years, it is also possible to purchase your favourite Burleigh pieces in the factory shop!

Simplicity and Authenticity...

This time last year, I had no notion of how artificial intelligence could be relevent to the everyday life of the average being. However, over the months it has become clear that these developments in AI represent less a breakthrough, albeit unprecedented, than an actual seachange in our existence, as sci-fi becomes reality. With a pace rapidly gaining momentum, we learn of some new skill acquired by this force to be reckoned with. And yet for the moment, no one seems to be wondering about the exact nature of this force and what ultimately our relationship will be with it. Nor do many appear to be alarmed by the speed of change as everything is shifting beyond our understanding and we have no time to consider what this may actually result in or when the day of reckoning will arise. Right now, we seem to be heading down a path that I do not want to take. In fact, I want to run in the other direction entirely...

Looking at simple blossom on the blackthorn, I felt a rush of gladness to have such unadulterated natural beauty in front of me; nature in all its complex simplicity. I fear we are becoming increasingly irrelevent and redundant in an environment that will be pure artifice, far from the authenticity of the natural world that we have plundered as a mere commodity. Now we seem to be treating the essence of mankind with a similar lack of regard and respect, using human intelligence and emotion as further commodities - data - to be replicated artificially until we no longer know what is authentic and what is not.

Black Magic... Cats!

Countless black cats 'find their way' to the cat shelter each year; a euphemism for finding themselves unceremoniously dumped off and subsequently rejected for adoption due to their colour. Surely associations with witchcraft and ill omens have no weight in the supposedly enlightened 21st century? And yet with alarming regularity, I have to humour visitors' expressions of disdain - and the occasional shudder of revulsion - when faced with one of these poor creatures! Having to contain and thus control my irritation at hearing the same old boring, repetitive nonsense poured out with such self-assurance and belief in originality is tiresome, to say the least. Needless to say, the cat's 'frightening' demeanour is often cited - black as the night - along with the 'fact' that such a beast of darkness will surely bring bad luck. What can you say?

When I made the acquaintances with these two black beauties over four years ago, I had certainly no plan to add to the furry clan at home. Both had been part of a group of cats taken from an animal hoarder who had housed them in poor conditions and left them in a neglected state of health. One suffered from such extreme matted fur that I actually gasped in disbelief when I first laid eyes on him; his companion was hardly better. Little by little, with the months that passed, I began to gain their trust and eventually managed to groom them and give them the attention they deserved. Of course, as black cats they received nothing but fleeting interest from the public and the months gave way to years of life in the shelter... until last summer. Witnessing their health decline, slowly but surely, from the exposure to illness from communal living and the stress that entails, I decided to bring them home, these two perfect panthers!

Vagaries of The Weather over Time across Mount's Bay...

I came across this small painting at the Tate Britain last year; it immediately caught my attention and drew me in. Without even looking at its title or the name of the artist, I instinctively knew that it was a Cornish landscape with that distinctive but impossible-to-define light and unique atmosphere. Peering at the work, I even had the impression of familiarity so you can imagine my surprise, or perhaps lack of it, when I learnt that this was Mount’s Bay and Tolcarne, painted in c.1898 by Norman Garstin, one of Newlyn School of painters.

I even imagined I knew from which vantage point it was painted and so through it relived the invigorating feeling of looking down across the bay. Although over a century has passed since the artist captured the dramatic view stretched out before him and furthermore his position was closer to Newlyn than Madron, it did remind of being in the area in the summer... This is certainly a far cry from the work for which Garstin is perhaps best-known, in Penzance at least; The Rain It Raineth Every Day (1889). However both are equally representative of the weather in the region! The work is on display in Penlee House Gallery & Museum, Penzance.