Letter to Monty on why I fell asleep during French Gardens

-

Dear Monty,

Gloom descends over me like clouds.


Perhaps it is my fragile ego that has been damaged. Being salted with fire and having that salt in yourself is a difficult thing, it goes against all that we are in our new age of enlightenment.

I sometimes have to fight with myself to be content, discontent sneaks up on me and grabs hold of my mind. Discontent is the malady of our time.

I stubbornly continue to write letters to myself - I suppose in truth that is what these letters are, they are ostensibly about gardens and art - but more about trying to make sense of who I am. The world I inhabit consists of hills and valleys. The moon above and the cycle of day and night. I move only short distances during the week. I see and deal with many individuals. Like all my colleagues the week is filled with time pressures - and trying to have some empathy with those I connect with, but I struggle with that more and more.

I want to explain why I fall asleep watching TV programs about gardens, art or wildlife ...It is because I am exhausted by human need. The sight of sunshine and the sounds of nature are enough to take me away... no matter how 'great' or intellectual the presenter or the artistry portrayed.

This valley contains my life - overshadows it at times.

'Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.'

The only evil really is in my own thinking. There is a hard edged beauty to this place, and in it I try to heal and make art and a garden.

Paul


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Pity the cabbage white

-
Image
Dear Monty, Having seen you protect your newly planted cabbages from cabbage white butterflies - it made me realise that I haven't seen many this year. Despite warmth yesterday - a brief interlude with blue sky and a light wind there was a dearth of butterflies in the coal tip garden. There were honey bees, bumble bees, wasps, hover flies, a gangly legged wasp, one hedge brown, one speckled wood and a common blue - that is all. Oh and a frog sheltering in the shady hosta and a silent peregrine falcon swooping overhead. What has happened to all the insects ? What has happened to all the aphids this year ? Is it just me that is missing them ? I have seen no ladybirds or ladybird larvae - because there have been so few aphids - was it the birds that have snaffled them ? I worry about the lack of insect numbers. We walked through a wild meadow full of meadow cranesbill and meadowsweet with the purple haze of knapweed in the grasses and yet there were one or two meadow br
Read more

Letter to Monty Don 48

-
Image
Dear Monty, I know that despite these rambles being addressed to you, they never reach your eyes or heart, but this question is most certainly directed to you : Can nature be ugly ? I am pondering this question sitting in my cupboard of a 'studio' where I am putting the finishing touches to paintings of  British native orchids, pollinators and butterflies for an exhibition next weekend. Now I believe that you understand perfectly well the response you may get when you make statements on GW - including the one about spent buddleja flowers being 'ugly'. I too have always deadheaded my buddleja for the same reason, and as you said to promote new flower spikes. But this ugliness is an intrinsic part of nature - it sets seed to create the next generation, the flowers last but for a few days. Is this ugliness a kind of acknowledgement of the frailty of 'beauty' .... and the cutting off and tidying away a kind of denial ? ( Perhaps I think too much.) I
Read more

Monty, where does the road take us ?

-
Image
Monty, I see you have returned to France. Your film reminded me of my visits to Paris as an art student between 1981-83. It is a city that cannot fail to make an impression with its wide open streets, avenues of trees, the river and public gardens. I particularly remember Versailles with its long canal. At that time I was not aware of having a particular interest in gardens, but the gardens at Versailles were astonishing. I saw them in early morning light, when there were not that many people there. I also remember being intrigued by the garden at the Musee Rodin. Strangely for an art student, it was not the sculpture that caught my attention but the garden with pyramid shaped topiary. Perhaps what I was responding to was the sense of order, balance and harmony. It almost feels as though I was meant to visit, and that the encounters I had which were sensually intense, were pre-ordained. There is one incident, which has great significance only to me perhaps, but which was of
Read more