A Winter Jewel... Purple Hellebores.

The fleeting flurry of snowflakes such as we experienced last week probably does not represent the arrival of Winter, but perhaps the beautiful display of 'seasonal' blooms at the garden centre heralds it in a more fitting manner, and none better than the hybrid Hellebore, with its wide range of forms and shades of colour.

Although the Christmas Rose variety - Black Hellebore (Helleborus niger) - typically has white flowers with golden/green stamens and pistils (the black reference indicates its dark roots), the other types offer jewel-like colours, set amongst dark or even vibrant green leaves.

The flower heads elegantly droop down, discretely hiding their delicate understated beauty, and making it rather challenging to take a photograph without contorting yourself!

What are assumed to be five petals are in fact sepals or 'petaloid sepals', part of the calyx or outer protective whorl, akin to modified leaves. True petals, meanwhile, are part of the corolla.

Within these 'petals', the colours are not uniform but vary, with different shades feathering out from the slightly darker vein-like structures or likewise, the petal form may have picotee edges, tinged with darker colours. The effect is mesmerizing, all the more so when set against the contrasting colours of the tubular-shaped nectaries.

Flowers that are ready to seed take on another form, with their elongated pod-forms reminiscent of a strange Triffid head! It is difficult to imagine that the Hellebore is part of the humble buttercup (Ranunculaceae) family.

Just seeing these beautiful plants fills me with an almost silly sense of happiness, and buffers me up against the apprehension I feel with regard to the onslaught of high-tech.

I can't help but believe that the further we go from Nature - for all its beautiful cruelty - the more we lose our humanity, and so with that in mind, the sight of these gem-like plants that I did not even need to buy in order to appreciate and marvel over, acts as a magical balm.

St Julien in Courville...

From a distance, almost from any direction, l’église St Julien in Courville seems to rise out from its surroundings in a most uncanny manner. As if in defiance of any modern indifference or ignorance towards its past, this church stands out, refusing to be overlooked or brushed aside. And indeed, the whole supposedly modest village - with its proud church - hides far more than we could possibly imagine as mere visitors passing through this picturesque hamlet, typical of hundreds of others in north-eastern France.

Set in a curve in the Ardres valley, on the Route des Sacres in the Marne département, the domain of Courville was once one of eight châtellenies of the archbishops of Reims. The latter played a vital role in the history of the French monarchy - la Cité des Sacres - where all the kings of France were crowned from the 9th century to the 19th. Incidentally, much of the stone used in the masonry of the cathedral would, in fact, come from the quarries around Courville, some 27 kilometres to the west of this major city.

The château of Courville became one of the exclusive residences for the archbishops from the end of the 12th century and it was one of a series of châteaux intended to protect the episcopal territory. Its exact date of construction remains unclear, yet is likely to have succeeded a Carolingian villa which was mentioned by the 10th century historian, Flodoard of Reims. The structure of the chateau was based around the four keeps (les donjons), and despite the modifications made over the centuries by its successive owners, not forgetting its confiscation under the French Revolution as a state asset in 1792 - it survived until the early 20th century. Sadly, as countless other edifices, it fell victim to the ravages of the Great War 1914-1918, although in this case the château des archevêques was all but obliterated from a deliberate act of destruction as opposed to collateral damage.

It is almost impossible today to imagine this peaceful countryside bearing the full brunt of the hostilities in the First World War, but these lands were strategic vantage points over which thousands of lives were lost on both sides. The natural plateau overlooking the nearby village of Unchair was used as a military airbase to send squadrons daily to the nearby Chemin des Dames, site of some of the most brutal fighting, despite its genteel name. The village of Courville was occupied by German forces until May 1918, most of the villagers having fled prior to their arrival, and the château then became the quarters of the military staff.

Although the village was bombed regularly by French and American troops, the château remained intact, but on their departure, the occupying forces ensured that the whole edifice was blown up, in accordance with the order given to destroy all grand buildings, monuments and beautiful homes and apply a scorched earth strategy to all else left in their wake.

Situated in the park of the château, the church miraculously survived the destruction of the residence, despite suffering considerable damage to its exterior structural parts and roof from shellfire. It had served as sleeping quarters for German troops, who, on their departure either destroyed or removed sacred objects, furniture, bells and stained-glass windows. The church was listed as a Monument Historique in 1920, and looking at the edifice today in its calm setting, little gives any indication to its history, be that relatively recent or far distant past.

For indeed, St Julien has stood its ground for hundreds of years, dating back to its construction at the end of the 11th century. Initially constructed to a simple plan with a nave and a high Roman tower built over the narthex, this design was carried out by artisans from Reims then modified considerably from the 12th century onwards. The bell tower was repositioned to stand at the other end of the edifice whilst octagonal apses and side aisles were added too. The archbishops had a double-level gallery incorporated in the nave, with large arcades in Roman style and high window set above in the second level built in the Gothic style. The upper level served as the independent chapel of the archbishops of Reims in the 15th century and was dedicated to Saint Michel.

This was accessible from the grounds of the château via a wooden footbridge that remained in place until 1730. At the end of the 18th century, the years of the French Revolution took their toll on the church as it was defaced and plundered as were so many other religious sites across the country but fortunately it remained standing and suffered no further assaults until the Great War 1914-1918, apart from the relatively recent theft (and recovery) of a sculpted wood statue of Saint Sébastien in 2011.

As a precaution against the deeds of ill-intentioned visitors, the church doors are locked, and therefore I have not yet had the opportunity to explore the interior. Although the entrance is a very sober archway, with minimal decoration apart from simple indented stonework, the exterior of the church bears some interesting sculpted forms that offer a tantalizing idea of what to expect within the building.

Indeed, the capitals that adorn the top of the columns and archways are said to bear highly decorative forms with human heads, animals, flowers and foliage -even a scene of Jonas and the whale! While there is a sculpted altarpiece in the flamboyant Gothic style, the stained-glass windows ‘merely’ date back to the 19th century, only one of a pair to survive the bombing of the château in 1918.

These were a donation from one of the last inhabitants of the domain, the Bracquemont family, and were made by the Atelier Simon-Marq specializing in stained-glass since 1640…. and still running today! The wooden ceiling of the nave was vaulted in ogival brickwork in 1895 but that and all the other architectural features of the church I will discover when I visit. In the meantime, I can’t help but wonder what this region would have been like today, if it had not been subjected to such war-time devastation that willfully destroyed so much of its heritage.

A Glance Above the Doorways of Historic Aix-en-Provence...

Wandering around the old streets of Aix-en-Provence this summer, I yet again admired the incredible historic doorways that are monuments in themselves, witnesses to so much over their centuries of existence. The fact that works of such incredible skill, beauty and imagination have withstood the passage of time proves how robust and resiliant they are.

Most of these vast, majestic doorways lead onto an interior courtyard or into an imposing hallway, giving you the impression that you could enter another period if you merely stepped in across the threshold... If only!

Sometimes it is the carved wood that catches your attention, as you marvel at its intricate crafstmanship, unique aesthetic quality and remarkably well-preserved state. Is there anything even vaguely comparable today?

At other moments, it is the massive stonework that is astounding, with its height bearing down on you, but often with delicate sculpted features giving it a sophistication and odd lightness...

As you look at the worn flagstone steps, you wonder about all the lives that were spent at that address, each gradually leaving its mark.

The weight of the building is sometimes borne by the figures of caryatids (for the female forms) or atlantes (for the male equivalent), in place of a pillar. Some seem to bear this with greater ease than others, who toil under the burden...

Their massive hands gripping onto the architecture as they gaze on intently...

Some entrances are guarded over by strange creatures, of mythological character...

Not necessarily menacing...

But a presence to be reckoned with and respected...

Others are just plain strange!

Or joyous, despite their rather delapidated state...

Comic faces watching down in amusement at our antics...

And then, of course, there are the door knockers of impressive shape and size...

Creating an impression of grandeur and elegance that does not exist anymore...

How could anything compete with these?

Even when in a rather sorry condition due to ignorant 21st century neglect, their majesty shines through...

May these stunning doorways live on for years ahead...

Retracing the Past and Present... Harold Harvey.

Sometimes what is the most glaringly self-evident in life nevertheless strikes me as strange and fascinating and so it is with the blindingly obvious idea that places that have meant so much in one lifetime (mine, as it happens!) have likewise had as much significance in those of others, throughout time. The experiences and emotions associated with a particular setting are joined by many more, over the years, decades and centuries. Places become shared repositories for the lives lived there, yet each set of memories largely independant and unaware of those before and after them, like strata set in ancient rock. Looking at the work of Cornish artist Harold Harvey (1874–1941) - on display at Penlee House Gallery & Museum, Penzance - in order to mark the 150th anniversary of his birth, I had the odd feeling of the familiar, seen through a prism - the eyes of an artist long-dead, and yet whose painted scenes are still recognisable today. The work above, The Marsh Landscape (1922), represents the lakes and marshland near Marazion, and remains uncannily similar today.

When travelling to what will always be home - even if it is no longer where I live - this precise part at the tail-end of the trip back marks the final stretch towards Penzance, as the train track runs parallel to the shoreline off Mount's Bay, offering glimpses of St Michael's Mount and then the town with Newlyn in the distance, as seen in this detail above of his Seaweed Gatherers (1905). Funny how I could not wait to board a train heading out of the county, all those years ago, eager to discover something new and therefore surely 'better', only to realise finally that the best was already there, all around me. Here is Harvey's 1907 painting, Return from the Orchard, with Newlyn harbour just distinguishable in the distance...

Harold Harvey, born in Penzance in 1874, would presumably have observed the trains departing too, however he knew that he did not wish to leave indefinitely. He chose to stay; depicting the Cornish coastal landscapes and the local fishermen, farmers and miners who inhabited these with their children, eking out a living for themselves, as their ancestors had done before them. Following his studies at Penzance School of Arts under Irish artist Norman Garstin (1847-1926), Harvey would spend almost his entire life, finally dying in Newlyn during the Second World War years. He did, however, leave Cornwall and indeed England for several years in his younger years in the 1890s, going to Paris to further his artistic training at the Académie Julian, in a manner similar to that of later painters from the Newlyn School of Art. On his return to Penzance, inspired by the artistic approach of Jules Bastien-Lepage (1848-1884), he painted plein-air in a style of naturalistic realism, working with his mentor Garstin, whilst influenced by the work of Stanhope Forbes (1857-1947) - known as the ‘father of the Newlyn School’. Below is Unloading the Catch, Newlyn Harbour from 1905.

By 1911, Harvey had met and married a fellow artist, Gertrude Bodinnar.(1879-1966) and settled in Newlyn, frequenting other members of the artistic community in Cornwall, including Alfred Munnings, Lamorna Birch and Laura Knight. Exempted from military service in the Great War due to health issues, Harvey remained in Cornwall. Although wholeheartedly devoted to painting the everyday Cornish genre scenes around him, Harvey's style gradually changed to become lighter, sometimes impressionistic, employing simpler forms. During the war years, national security measures meant that painting local outdoor scenes became problematic, so that interior scenes of his beloved home and life there with his wife predominate his work from that period. His figurative painting evolved into a distinctive style that reflected a shared approach with his friends Ernest and Dod Proctor, and indeed the two men set up the Harvey-Procter School together in Newlyn in 1920.

Leaving the human interest of the paintings to one side, I took details of the paintings on display in the exhibition in order to 'feel' the essence of the countryside and seascapes beyond, without the elements that would indicate a set time in history. Such is the case with the section of Harvey's 1924 piece, The Road to Market, with its timeless sweeping moors and vast skies above. His works were exhibited several times in the Royal Academy in London, but Harvey never left his beloved Cornwall for the great city for any prolonged period.

Above is a small detail of the work Blackberrying 1917, with a dramatic view across the Bay with St Michael's Mount just visible, whilst the later painting, the Little Maiden (1934) offers an image down over Newlyn harbour from another high vantage point. Children often featured in Harvey's pieces, while he and Gertrude were apparently childless yet both came from very sizeable families, eight and ten respectively. I don't know if this weighed on them as a couple or gave them a feeling of weightlessness, with no direct bloodline stemming from them, to anchor their lives, secure in the perspective of future generations. Perhaps this partly led Harold Harvey to convert to Catholicism in the latter years of his life; a spiritual journey not shared by his wife, but that is just speculation on my part. Home was certainly important to him and domestic scenes of his house and garden, generally featuring his wife, represent a significant proportion of an impressive artistic output, but of all of his art on display at Penlee House, the landscape details were my favourite....