A newly discovered painting by the peerless (and earless) Vincent Van Gogh has been dubbed ‘clogged and clumsy’, an ‘uncharismatic daub’ by a Grauniad hack. So judge for yourself.
Backside reckons he would like it on his half of the wall, even if he had to excuse his affrontery whenever a self-acclaimed art journalist dropped in. Luckily, being mere punters, we are brave enough to say we like it.
http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/jonathanjonesblog/2013/sep/10/van-gogh-sunset-at-montmajour
…….where’s Christina these days? We need her take on matters earthly and sublime, innit?
I was poking around the property yesterday and listing all the jobs to be done, trim this, cut that wash this, oil that. All the result of long absence and hired lawn care, when I came upon two giants in the side yard. 
Trees, or at least large bushes, about five feet tall and five or six across. They were definitely not there when I left.
In the heavy evening air she was pursued by hundreds of manic males and chose our white garden parasol as the scene of her nuptials. But no shrinking violet this girl! She fought off one suitor after another, demanding the attentions of only the strongest and most persistent. It went on for hours until darkness fell and the bodies of the successful males lay scattered acrosss the white fabric. No doubt the queen ant had already settled on her new home, somewhere nearby.
That’s life in the wild wood.
A certain Mandy Rice-Davies is alleged to have coined the oft-quoted question during the infamous (but juicy) Profumo trial 50 years ago; and the man himself had already averred in Parliament that there had been ‘no impropriety whatsoever’. But the papers relating to the Denning Report which wound it all up are still not available for us to slaver over, presumably because there are still some Great and Good chaps around whose reputations might fade in the glare of exposure. http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/2013/jul/18/simon-hoggart-sketch-profumo-scandal-lords .
It’s all very nostalgic for me too.
I had not forgotten, just got a little behind with my homework this month.
Here is June from that strange work, Fantasticks, by Nicholas Breton, first published in 1626 and out of print for many a long year. I have been altruistically (lovely word) copying it out, month by month, since, when was it?
The word Bagge below means wine-skin, and I am told that a Tassell is a male hawking bird of some kind. Perhaps someone else could tell me exactly what kind.
JUNE
It is now June and the Hay-makers are mustered to make an army for the field, where not alwayes in order, they march under the Bagge and the Bottle, and betwixt the Forke and the Rake, there is seene great force of armes: Now doth the broad Oke comfort the weary Laborer, while under his shady Boughes he sits singing to his bread and cheese: the Hay-cocke is the Poore mans Lodging, and the fresh River is his gracious Neighbor: Now the Faulcon and the Tassell try their wings at the Partridge, and the fat Bucke fils the great pasty: the trees are all in their rich aray: but the seely Sheep is turned out of his coat: the Roses and sweet Herbes put the Distiller to his cunning, while the greene apples on the tree are ready for the great bellied wives: Now begins the Hare to gather up her heeles, and the Foxe lookes about him, for feare of the Hound: the Hooke and the Sickle are making ready for harvest: the Medow grounds gape for raine, and the Corne in the eare begins to harden: and the little Lads make Pipes of the straw, and they that cannot dance, will yet bee hopping: the Ayre now groweth somewhat warme, and the Coole winds are very comfortable: the Sayler now makes merry passage, and the nimble Foot-man runnes with pleasure: In briefe, I thus conclude, I hold it a sweet season, the senses perfume and the spirits comfort.
Farewell.
A dull, wet day today. This is looking south down the road through the woods – about half a kilometer to the lane. The majestic magnolia is now almost in leaf and the rhododendra and lilac are showing nicely, with the buddleia struggling so far. Please note remains of mole hills and the mysterious stone semi-circle to left. Continue reading “The clearing”
Let’s see what Nicholas Breton has to say for April.
He, if you are new round here, was the author of Fantasticks, a weird collection of strangely spelled observation published in 1626.
APRILL
It is now April, and the Nightingale begins to tune her throat against May: the Sunny showers perfume the aire, and the Bees begin to goe abroad for honey: the Dewe, as in Pearles, hangs upon the tops of the grasse, while the Turtles sit billing upon the little greene boughes: the Trowt begins to play in the Brookes, and the Sammon leaves the Sea, to play in the fresh waters: The Garden bankes are full of gay flowers, and the Thorne and the Plumme send forth their faire Blossomes: the March Colt begins to play, and the Cosset Lamb is learned to butt.
The Poets now make their studies in the woods, & the Youth of the Country make ready for the Morris-dance; the little Fishes lye nibling at a bait, and the Porpas playes in the pride of the tide: the Shepheardes pipe entertaines the Princesse of Arcadia, and the healthfull Souldier hath a pleasant march. The Larke and the Lambe looke up at the Sun, and the labourer is abroad by the dawning of the day: Sheepes eyes in Lambs heads, tell kind hearts strange tales, while faith and troth make the true Lovers knot: the aged haires find a fresh life, and the youthfull cheeks are as red as a cherry: It were a world to set downe the worth of this moneth: But in summe, I thus conclude, I hold it the Heavens blessing, and the Earths comfort.
Farewell.
Turtles are Turtle Doves I would imagine.
Not much Heaven’s blessing or Earth’s comfort around this neck of the woods yet (perhaps in Washington State?) but it’s a goodly way to go ’til May.
Boadicea's Chariot 
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