Cast Creatures - Medieval Footrests at the V & A...

Recently wandering around the marvelous 19th century Cast Courts at the V & A, I saw more examples of footrests on sculpted Medieval tomb monuments, from the original pieces copied around Europe.

The gisant figures of the departed lie fully clothed in all their worldly or spiritual finery, with apparel that reflects their rank, religion, wealth and worth.

On the voluminous folds of their clothing rest both hands, joined in prayer on the chest or clutching some spiritual, social, chivalric artifact, or simply crossed on the body.

These notable beings appear to sleep peacefully and in great dignity. Noble husbands and wives repose next to each other yet apart; religious individuals lie alone, clasping a holy script or ecclesiastical object. Knights proudly grasp their sword and shield, their bodies twisted as if ready to spring to action.

Some figures are shown lying on crib-like structures that are richly decorated with sculpted draped cloth, and several are represented in the bright colours that were wildly employed on the stonework of churches and cathedrals alike.

With the exception of a few figures, the majority of the departed are accompanied by a beast, symbolic of their standing; be it a lion, bear, dragon, dog, or unicorn.

Rare are the individuals who have no creature crouched or nestled at their feet or nothing on which to rest their often impressive footwear.

It is more customary to see one or two creatures that look up to their masters with devotion and obedience either from a high-relief sculpted plaque or a 3-dimensional sculptured piece.

The lion, symbol of power and pride, frequently appears next to venerable male figures although not always gazing at the gisant or postioned at foot level.

The king of the beasts is not exclusively reserved for men-folk as women too could be accompanied by the regal lion although in that case the ferocity appears somewhat toned down to the point of docility!

Likewise the dog – representing loyalty – could be shown lovingly guarding over his mistress...

... Or fiercely watching over his master...

In the case of a married couple, both lion and dog would be appear together.

Sometimes the interaction between the beasts is one of domination but at other moments is rather comic...

... Or quite strange...

And finally you have some departed who simply refuse to lie down and sleep, with or without an accompanying animal!

A Place of Peace... Madron Church.

Set against one of the walls in picturesque Madron Church, itself set in spectacular Cornish countryside with sweeping views over Mount's Bay, is this beautiful tombstone, dating back to the early 17th century.

Gazing at the quaint couple who kneel in devotion, you cannot help but feel a sense of peace and calm, along with the notion that their God-fearing existence in this breathtaking setting must surely have been one of tranquil simplicity, without the frenzied tech-led lifestyles we have opted for in the 21st century.

I wonder what kind of life this gentleman led until his demise in 1621, some 400 years ago? His fine Cornish surname - Maddern - has crossed the centuries, as have indeed many of the other names on the tombstones here, just as in other cemeteries around Cornwall.

Tonkin, Eddy, Rowe, Trembath, Hoskin, Penrose, Nichols, Trelawny, Cargeeg, Nankervis... So familiar are such family names that they remind me of the daily roll call from my schooldays, down the road from Madron, in Penzance!

The graveyard around the church here is well maintained yet naturally inhabited and sometimes invaded by the usual wild plants, bushes and lichen typical of the rather mild climate of Cornwall to preserve a timeless, organic essence...

Some of the greenery seems vibrant and exotic, while other forms appear old, wizened and commonplace...

Many of the gravestones, lean and lilt, as if huddling together to brave the frequent winds that sculpt trees and hedgerows alike into odd, hunched silhouettes on the skyline...

Others appear partially obscured from view, hidden under bows, bushes and shadows...

Celtic forms are visible, carved into the granite in stark designs...

Some of which assume an almost pagan aspect, leading back to the ancient Celtic origins of the land itself and those who inhabited it...

The lands of Landithy - with lan signifying 'sacred enclosure' and dithy referring to a 'celtic holy man' - were given to the Knights Hospitallers in the 12th century. The estate bore an early church which finally lead to what is now known as the Church of Saint Maddern, consecrated in 1336.

The stout tower and squat, sturdy walls of the building before us today date back to the 15th century and are a world away from the soaring heights and architectural feats that were characteristic of the Gothic churches some two hundred years earlier.

Despite the drastic changes in architectural styles over time, the number of relatively early deaths commemorated here make it clear that lives were still brutish and short for a significant proportion of the population and it is hardly surprising that religion provided support when there was precious little else.

The idyllic Cornish landscapes and promoted picture-perfect lifestyles to go with these today lead most of us to assume that lives in centuries past must somehow have been healthy and hearty in these rural settings, far-removed from the hardships associated with the dark, satanic mills of industrial England. And yet the mining and fishing industries offered little but a dangerous, dirty and dismal existence, whilst farming was hardly better.

Coastal existence bore its own challenges, with the treachery of the seas bringing in tow shipwrecks, drowning and flooding - most dramatically perhaps in the latter case with a tsunami recorded in Penzance in 1855 in the wake of the Lisbon earthquake. The sea also enabled marauding of all sorts, with pirates, smugglars and even Spanish invaders at the end of the 16th century. I wonder if our Gentleman John Maddern, as mentioned above, experienced that invasion?

Several artifacts in the church predate our gentleman - notably some of the carved wooden benchends. Did he ever sit on these very benches in prayer?

If so, what did he think as he sat there? Was he accompanied by his wife?

The vaulted barrel ceiling above the nave is decorated with ribs and purloins which creates a spectacular view leading towards the altar, behind the wooden rood screen.

The original rood screen was taken down in the 18th century but was restored in 1880 to dramatic effect - so intricate and yet not overbearing.

Around the church are Tudor roses to demonstrate allegiance to Henry VII following a revolt that led the vicar of the church to feel a certain eagerness to express his loyalty.

Alabaster angels are grouped together in one sculpted work...

Whilst solitary wood-carved greenmen stand guard at the end of benches in the chapel...

Large plaques with their Latin inscriptions look down on the nave passage below, making me regret I can't read their message...

Also on display are the plaques devoted to Lord Nelson whose death in 1808 was heralded by the bells at Madron church, making Penzance the first town in England to learn of his demise. I was more interested in finding traces of the Branwell family (of the Brontës) but more about that another day... In the meantime, here's the view from my walk back home to Penzance!

Brilliant Skies in Brum... St Martin's Church.

A recent trip to Birmingham city centre took me back to gaze up at the facade of St Martin's church. As a Victorian building, dating back to 1873 when the original 13th century edifice was demolished, it lacks that unique Medieval stature and strange quirkiness.

However, many of its details catch our attention and the whole offers such a striking contrast with the surrounding 21st century urban landscape that the effect cannot go unnoticed...

The church as it stands today is encircled by the ultra-modern shopping complex - the Selfridges Building - and the older, more traditional retail market of the Bull Ring....

The curious blob-shaped structure of the shopping centre with its futuristic silver hubs contrasts with the stonework of the dignified spires of the church which in turn stand out against a horizon punctuated with the latest contructions.

Looking up at the sculpted heads, grimacing faces and expressive gestures on the facade, you wonder when and why we lost interest in such detail...

That said, our screen-fueled existences mean that we rarely lift our eyes up and beyond, to observe what or who is directly in front of us in the present moment...

And our thoughts are consumed by consumerism; how and when to purchase the next actively trending item or ticket to some 'experience' as seen on social media, as if we were trapped on a frenetic merry-go-round that spins us round and round...

How would those who attended St Martin's at the end of the 19th century view our 21st century take on the path to fulfilment, I wonder? Blue skies or storms ahead?

Purple and Grey... Mount's Bay.

In terms of early morning walks, there is nothing more 'agreable' - for the want of a better term - than the stroll over from Penzance to Mousehole via Newlyn, going from one town to the other along the seafront that stretches out in front of the vast expanse of Mount's Bay, before winding your way around the coast towards the little village that Welsh poet Dylan Thomas described as 'the loveliest village in England'.

Without fail, my eyes are instinctively drawn to look for the perfect pebble or stone along the beach at Wherrytown - specimens of speckled, smoothed granite perfection resembling mishapen seagull eggs...

Whatever the weather, the views are always dramatic and timeless in their beauty, which invariably seems to be a study in slate grey and silver, although this time there were touches of gentle mauve and vibrant purple...

The hydrangeas at Mousehole were the same soft colour as the ruffled poppies along the roadside allotments. This made a pleasant contrast with the typical blue variety of Cornish Mophead.

Despite the frequent showers of rain of varying intensity - I invariably get drenched during one walk or another ! - the climate is mild enough for all types of flowering plant to survive and thrive in the region...

But with or without the seasonal flowers, the seascape is ever-breathtaking, and strangely peaceful in its vastness with the early morning fishing boats skirting the coast, leaving a trail on the surface of the water as the seabirds trace across the skies above them...

A Sea of Crimson..... Poppies.

The stunning sight of a sea of crimson poppies always takes you by surprise, causing you to catch your breath in wonder. Swathes of vivid colour stretch out before you, cloaking the most unassuming terrain or wasteland with such intensity that it is difficult to believe that this will be just a fleeting moment in time. The delicate papery petals will shortly wilt and die off, one by one, flower by flower until the whole expanse has vanished for another year.

The strange mixture of ephemerality and intensity, complexity and simplicity, forcefulness and fragility makes this phenomenon all the more incredible and it is not surprising that fields of poppies are synonymous with the battlefields of World War 1, which would bloom overnight with flowers that seemed to draw from the blood spilt on the foreign soil of France and Belgium.

Not surprising either then, that the poppy should have inspired a number of war poets, one of whom being the Canadian, John McCrae, who wrote In Flanders Fields in 1915, a few years before his own death, in 1918.

In Flanders fields the poppies grown, between the crosses row on row, that mark our place; and in the sky, the larks, still bravely singing, fly scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved and now we lie In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe: to you from failing hands we throw the torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die, we shall not sleep, though poppies grow in Flanders fields.

Brave New World... Foolhardy Future?

While societies in the Western world seem to be tearing themselves apart over identities, labels, rights and wrongs of all kinds in a great endeavour to be more inclusive and fair to all, something even more important and frighteningly insidious is taking place and I wonder if we will actually open our eyes and react to this in time, before it is too late. From January this year, Chat GPT suddenly seemed to burst onto the scene - in academic circles at least - and became a name to be reckoned with. Heralded as a game-changer in accessing and assimulating data, and therefore opening up opportunities on many levels in virtually every domain, this latest AI baby has been welcomed with open arms. But not by the Luddite in me... A feeling of redundancy is already bearing down along with a growing sense of dismay. Although this incredible tool could or should give rise to marvellous outcomes in learning, communication and creation, I feel that this smart chatbot may ultimately cost us dearly and will ruin us players as it rewrites the rules of the game; any game for that matter. Diderot's encyclopedia fed the Enlightenment and fostered social advancement in 18th century France but that has not been paralleled in the digital world so far and I am not convinced this will ever be the case. As AI becomes increasingly powerful and effective, we humans appear to be dumbing down and growing utterly dependant on some screen or another for basic cognitive tasks. Our brains are no longer stretched and challenged, thus risking decline just as the underexerted muscular system in the human body without sufficient physical effort. Screen life linked to social media takes up so much time in the average individual's daily life that there is far less to devote to other activities and fewer means and little will to do so in any case. A glut of artificial stimulation - largely thanks to videos - seems to have led to complacency and boredom rather than fully inciting our curiosity in the world around us and the people that inhabit it in tangible form. Excessive social sharing is making us ever more image-conscious and self-centred yet ignorant of who we really are and even less aware of who the others are. How can we be so jaded when so much is offered to us through this vast, magical Pandora's box; internet? Endless, mindless chat has taken the place of meaningful conversation, and concrete discussion and full-blown debate have been thrown out for fear of saying something inappropriate. But now we do not even necessarily need to reflect on any particular subject in any great depth because Chat GPT will readily do it for us, so it seems. Who needs to learn or think something over in any academic sense? Why bother? And who can teach students who have understood this state of affairs? Yet for me, ingrained Luddite, the latest, most potentially devasting AI creation to enter the arena has a physical form and its own name; Ameca. This short, modest name belies the vast capacity of this fully interactive humanoid robot, which is without rival in the field of robotics technology. Chat GPT3 has enabled Ameca to reproduce human facial expressions, move its body and engage freely and intelligently on any given topic; the stuff of Sci-fi dreams. However, are we mere humans really ready for this when even the engineers do not know the full implications of this new venture into an unfathomable brave new world? Ameca did not appear by stealth; we were probably too busy entertaining ourselves on TikTok or whatever to even notice its arrival and yet it will change our lives and human existence itself. What fools we are, for indeed one day soon we will not be fussing and squabbling about 'content' and arguing about social labels but asking ourselves serious questions about the integrity of the human species and how to define a human being. PS Excuse the lack of paragraphs....