It’s rather like Sesame Street’s “Furry Happy Monsters”
with a distinctive 1970′s
psuedo-professional-dancewear feel
ideal wendy-wear
for added bounce-ability quotients
My parents took the family on a day trip to London, to the Tate gallery. At 7 yrs I was not well equipped to appreciate the treasures on display. Mum and Dad seemed to spend ages looking at dull boring pictures of clouds (Turner). I asked permission to explore the galleries at my own pace and was allowed to wander off. I walked briskly, errr ran, around the building capturing impressions browsing for literally seconds at vaguely interesting paintings that I’ve long since forgotten.
Then. I turned the corner of a gallery to be confronted by the death of Chatterton.
His vibrant orange hair glowing, his purple velvet breaches full of warm lively texture in the daylight. The torn paper on the floor. His face white as marble. Clearly dead. I was captivated, I stood studying the painting for what seemed, to a 7 year old, like eons. I fell intrigued. Who was this beautiful man? Why was anyone that beautiful, dead before being old and wrinkly?
He became my first love. He was a local Bristol boy, I was a local Bristol girl. Later I read Peter Ackroyd’s book ‘Chatterton’ and wondered whether his death was an accident or deliberate. I visit St. Mary’s Redcliffe occassionally, the place where Chatterton reportedly discovered the manuscripts on which he forged his texts. He has remained young, beautful, and with my thoughts.
From AElla
O! Synge untoe mie roundelaie,
O! droppe the brynie teare wythe mee,
Daunce ne moe atte hallie daie,
Lycke a reynynge ryver bee;
Mie love ys dedde,
Gon to hys death-bedde,
Al under the wyllowe tree.
Beltane is the name for the gaelic, pre-christian, celebrations of a day halfway between mid spring (equinox) and mid summer (solstice), normally between May 4th and 11th. The children of Woodlands junior school describe the current manifestation of May day in their own charming way.
Luckily for me ‘Well dressing’ isn’t about dressing-up well.
I’ve always rather liked Marc Bolan’s take on the whole affair, walking out along roadsides, whirlpools and in the west wind looking for love:
T.Rex sand Beltane walk
Pathetic Person Advisory (PPA): look away now if you can’t bare soppiness (1)
When I get home-sick (2) I take a trip to ScanDesign and look at the furniture. The wood is mainly an orange shade with simple lines. My parents home is packed with co-ordinated Scandinavian teak furniture. In the 1990′s, when I had no furniture, I begged them to leave thier front room to a Museum as an intact example of 1970′s Chic. It still is 1970′s Chic. Only now it’s really cool and I’d rather they left it to me, not that I could afford to ship it to the US.
Now, my front room looks frighteningly similar to theirs. I am becoming my parents. I have exactly the same dining table. When buying it I didn’t think, ‘oh my parents will like that I must buy it’, I thought wow that’s beautiful, cheap and I need a round table. The English cultural icon King Arthur made the need and value of a round table quite clear. My current table was oblong and identical to my parents’ table. Buying a round table marked my independence. Later, when I visited the biddies, I discovered they had replaced their oblong table with one identical to mine. The good news is that my parents will feel very ‘at home’ next time they visit.
Notice the blue glass grail-like challice on the shelf? It’s Marimekko, I have grown into a scandinavian design adict. I’m not looking for a cure. It just is. I’ll live with it. On a related note, I’ve noticed some Ikea products sneaking into my bothers home. Nothing sinister, just a chair and a bed….
