Letter to Monty 25

Dear Monty,

On Spring and the merry dance of life, of art and gardens.


First brimstone butterfly in the garden, the chickens sunbathe and the green buds and blossom buds fatten. The cycle of life, a Ceri Richards powerhouse, like his bare bosomed women playing the piano and flowers blooming in a vase. Like passion it fades but never goes away entirely.


Monty don't laugh. A friend of mine in work said that I was intelligent - I replied that I am as thick as two short planks (as my mother used to say). I have no idea how thick two short planks are. The truth as always is that I know very little and am ignorant of so much. None of us can hold all knowledge - even if we give the impression that we do indeed know it all.
I know, I know... you are thinking this is just all cod philosophy, perhaps you are right. But there are some truths that are eternal are there not?
There are words shared which grab us inside and instinctively we identify with them, like the article in last Saturday's Telegraph by Anne Wareham, listen to this beautiful sentence....

 ' I have heard it said that one reason gardens cannot be works of art(groan) is that they change all the time. Well, that's simply the nature of this art and one of its special challenges. It's a kind of choreography a dance to the music of time.'

Gardens evolve - they mature and change character, but we bring our own vision into play by cutting, editing, removing and planting - creating something that is an outward expression of our inner selves - just like a painting.

The argument that gardens cannot be art because they change is ridiculous. Paintings evolve just like gardens. Look at the work of Lucian Freud, his paintings took months, years worked re-worked. I don't count my paintings in his leaugue but they also evolve and change, until they leave me to go to someone else, and even then they change according to the quality of light and the mood of the viewer.
What about David Hockney who has filled the Royal Academy with works which are a record of changing light colour and form, changing with the seasons. The argument is hollow.

Time passes it is an eternal truth which we are all affected and captivated by. We have a kind of short term memory loss when it comes to the seasons. Often we are caught out despite living through many, our minds are veiled we cannot grasp hold of time and control it - so we explore it best we can, we ask questions of it and forget the answers, at least I do because I'm thick.


I don't believe it ! The Council have switched on a new street lamp outside the band hall, all is put into perpetual twilight. It's like trying to sleep in the land of the midnight sun, or like the 'one foot in the grave' episode where Victor has to sleep with a blindfold on because the street lamp is in his bedroom window.
It has in one stroke changed the nature of this place - instead of feeling slightly secluded - which was desireable - it now feels like a city centre. Why do we need such a powerful light in a semi- rural post industrial area ? I cannot see the stars now, the romance has gone.

Well I enjoyed GW, primroses are simple and beautiful - I love this time of year and the combination of the pale delicate yellow of primroses with the blue of forget-me-not. Great to see the simple things celebrated, no spin or hype necessary.

Well I'm off to bed now to 'sleep' in my floodlit chamber, goodnight Monty.



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