The view quite soon to be from here

St Ives Window

Originally uploaded by theviewfromhere indigo16

So once more we are packing, well Leyla is packed, my clothes are on the bedroom floor a sea of tasteful faded denim with a few stripes, mixed with some grey.

And the eldest two? AWOL. Kitty returns tonight with all her washing. Thank you Kitty, perfect weather to try and dry clothes in...not.

Leyla quite rightly queried as to when, if ever I was going to use the packet of hair dye that has languished unloved collecting dust on the bathroom floor for the last 6 weeks. I have what can only be described as halo of white pubic hair that frames my face. A sort of Cruella de Ville meets hobo.

Ironically the rest of my hair is not grey, but as it is always up in a pony tail I need to dye it so finally I did.

Now it is far too dark. seriously I never choose the right colour, I either go too dark or too light. Trust me I have never met a hairdresser that can get it right either.

I always feel slightly melancholic before I leave for a holiday, the rather erratic and changeable weather has meant packing for 5 different weather fronts. I have packed my water colours, just in case i get 5 consecutive minutes to my self ever the optimist. Last year I neither cooked or cleaned, we just chilled by the pool and swam in the sea.

This year swimming in the sea is a no no and I will be doing nothing but cooking and cleaning up. Yet It will be just as lovely only in a different way. I will be attempting YET AGAIN to photograph Babara Hepworth's garden. 4 times I have tried and 4 times I have failed to capture the spirit of that place, but now I am ready.

The Tate also will be calling me as will countless smaller galleries around the back streets. This years holiday will be colder but more visually stimulating. So see you in 2 weeks time, unless Daisy can hack into some one's broadband!

How to dress in your sixties

This piece by Lisa Armstrong


from the Times here

One of the accusations frequently laid at fashion’s sometimes gaudy door is that it’s frivolous. It’s like criticising cats for sleeping during the day, or curries for smelling of spices. Frivolity, inter many alia, is what fashion does. And what if it does? Frivolity gets a bad rap. What about being overly serious and boring everyone around you to death? An element of frivolity keeps a soul from atrophying.
I was reminded of this the other day when a friend, well into her sixties, turned up in an immaculate white shirt she’d bought in Dover Street Market, a pair of high-waisted Margaret Howell wide trousers and a tangle of neon-ended diamanté necklaces from Topshop.
Without the necklaces, the outfit was chic enough – too many sixtysomethings succumb to the elasticated waistband, the shapeless top and the given-up-all-hope underwear.
But the neon added an unexpected dash of verve. Make that nerve. Not dressing like a sixtysomething takes confidence and courage.
The forty and fiftysomethings have it easy. We’ve grown accustomed to seeing 45-year-olds in great shape and wearing Elle Macpherson-inspired wardrobes; we’ve accepted that Madonna, aged 50¾, is not giving up on summer’s short lease any time soon (satin horns and AstroTurf miniskirt, anyone?). But sixtysomethings? No one’s making clothes for them. No one wants their money. That’s the perception. No wonder many sixtysomethings loathe shopping and have nothing to wear........

If not, Topshop (yes, really), Zara (sizes are on the small side, though), M&S (tailored separates, swimwear), Karen Millen, Ted Baker, Banana Republic and Gap. And keep an eye on Alexon and Precis – they’ve modernised for autumn.
Sixtysomethings are still not visible enough in fashion shoots, but if stylists have any grasp of shifting demographics, that surely has to change. The only rules: more shape, less naked flesh – and a healthy injection of frivolity.

I agree very much with the main gist of this piece especially keeping it simple but wearing a great piece of jewellery

BUT, and there is always a but with me,

a) I am sick of having Madonna rammed down my throat as an example of positive aging. That lady is HIGH maintenance. I know for a fact she has a full body wax once a week, I think her body image is extreme and not a realistic one for anyone approaching 50 to hope or want to emulate. If you still think she is a role model you have SO got to check out this image of her

b)The list of places Ms Armstrong recommends to shop is dire, seriously Zara WAS cut on the small size, but is now far more generous with trousers up to a size 46. Top Shop is just a jumble sale and I know not one sixty year old that can tolerate the music or layout of that place for more than 5 minutes. M&S DULL, DULL, DULL, Banana Republic, oh, that is on every high street..not

What happened to Jigsaw? A very popular shop with all ages, as is it's sister Kew, which offers a huge range online.

This brings me to my final gripe (or two) This article comes from a national newspaper, why not emphasise the mail order companies such as The White Company or Toast? Both are excellent and hugely popular with this age group. I would also throw into the mix Pure, Great Plains and Saltwater. Oh go on then, COS too oh and Muji too, last years favourite of mine

More importantly I would have thought the best shop to recommend is the local boutique, the one that stocks more esoteric, quirky pieces. Why not build up a relationship with the buyer who can source from a huge range.

I have been in some amazing shops from Narberth in Wales to Dulwich in London. They are fantastic at what they do and in this climate deserve better from the fashion press.
Finally
Buy some fold-up flatties (jewelled, preferably) that can slip into a bag so that you have no excuse not to wear a pair of heels now and again.

OVER MY DEAD BODY

If I catch my mother so much as sniff at a pair of heels I will be knocking on Ms Armstrong's door to help me nurse her through her broken hip.
Jesus, my mother is half blind, I do NOT need her toppling over like a house of cards as well.

Saatchi Gallery ABSTRACT AMERICA:NEW PAINTING AND SCULPTURE

I arrived early last Friday to meet my sister, she was stuck in a meeting and was running late so I went round the Saatchi Gallery. It is big enough to always feel contemplative, a place to stop, look and take stock.
There is always something to like, and plenty not to like, but that is the nature of curating. Best of all you can snap away with impunity. I get a lot more from looking through a lens. It may seem an irreverent way to view someones work but I promise you fragmenting a piece can give you a whole new perspective, especially Kristin Bakers work. Close up you can really appreciate the layering and richness of colours that gets lost from a distance.

The view from here

I love the textures of this piece

Mark Bradford

Kristin Baker

My favourite of the show, very beautifully constructed

Jacob Hashimoto

Baker Overstreet

The best name!

Amy Sillman

The ramblings of a teacher who may have chilled out just a little too much

I do have pictures, but they are as yet not even downloaded let alone scythed to the bone by the editing of a ruthless maniac.

I could have named this post

I Went To Mother and Lived To Tell the Tale

Yes it is true, neither Kitty nor She Who Must Be Obeyed Leyla, managed to bring me to my knees.

I am still standing tall.

We talked, we drank, we ate out...a lot. I spent a lot of money, mostly on clothes for Kitty. Leyla blagged yet another pair of pumps. Kitty and Leyla finally after countless visits over a number of years, swam in the lido. It was very quiet and they did get bored, but it was still 'an event' a box ticked.

My mother was as always, tricky, sadly the house that she made an offer on was so unbelievably duff she withdrew, so now she exists in a semi hysterical bubble of indecision. I did take enough photographs of her house to create a memory book for her, despite her attempts to direct

I watched two films last week. The good Vicky Christina Barcelona. Fantastic. Burn After Reading WTF. Laughed only once at the word clusterfuck, now that I must slip into my erudite repertoire at some point this year.

Currently watching Frost Nixon, I did not fancy this at the cinema, but I love Toby Jones, and that Rebecca Hall keeps sneaking into far too much. It is riveting.

I have eaten out too often this week; a delicious meal at Jamie's Italian Delicious food, truly brilliantly cooked and sourced ingredients, sadly the ambiance lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. The girls demanded we have a final meal at Quad They love this restaurant and despite a few dodgy meals, it has the ambiance in buckets. The final meal was delicious, a simple steak with Bearnaise sauce. The girls went for their usual burger/pizza combo, topped by an overly chocolaty ice cream before running like wild banshee's around the car park just for old times sake, only this time they came back sans gravel ingrained knees.

To top off a rather splendid week, I took my sister to see Jerusalem for her birthday treat. Brilliant, seriously, it is so good you must go.

Once I have a duff meal I rarely return to a restaurant. So oriel was off, and the bar down stairs at the Royal Court was in. Trust me the best chicken salad I have EVER eaten. The night was a triumph.

P.S Just finished watching the film, amazing. Way better than the reviews implied.

That was the week that was

The image has nothing what so ever to do with this post, it is just a scan of a very old photograph I took of what was my favourite hellebore, needless to say Emin killed it.

I quote "it was an accident"

I just could not face posting yet another imageless post.

But where did it go?

It was my last week at work so I beavered away in a last ditch attempt to get everything prepared for the next academic year.

Tuesday we received an emotional call from our new Au pair who had been kicked out onto the street by her current host family. It speaks volumes that to poach her we offered less money and a smaller room and still she jumped ship. We would not normally do this but the wonderful British government has put a stop to new Turkish Au pairs entering the country, so we were reduced to stealing someone else's. She bunked up with the current pair as they had become friends. Our current Au pair has now left and her replacement leaves on Tuesday coming back for a year in September. She is brighter older and more intelligent. Whether Leyla is as appalling with here as the previous ones we shall see, but she has spent enough time here to get the measure of her.(Leyla that is)

Daisy celebrated her 17th birthday on Thursday as well as Friday and a party on Saturday. She had wanted it here but Emin was so stressed he gave her £100 to have it else where! So she crashed at her Nan's house supervised by her father.

Friday my sister took Daisy and I to the Regents Park open air theatre to see The Importance of Being Earnest. Because of a number of unbelievably stressful issues that arose at work on Friday afternoon my best laid plans waved me goodbye. Instead of a leisurely stroll home to change and get ready, Kitty had to meet me at the station to hand over a bag of stuff for Daisy, (who had gone AWOL to a friends barbecue) and my rain coat. Daisy finally met us at Baker Street station having gone via West Hampstead and then Oxford Circus. She had got so lost she nearly broke down and cried. Somehow she kept her cool and found us. We had ordered her food so she could hit the deck munching. It transpired she had missed her stop and had she not jumped off at Hampstead would have ended up at Luton!

The play was great, BUT a tardy drunken group of American girls spoilt it by talking and fooling around all the way through. I did say some thing once but I know Daisy hates me making a fuss so I did try to ignore them, but when you have to put up with that kind of behaviour all day it really really pisses me off, especially as they were old enough to know better.

That irritation however pales into insignificance when you factor in a bitterly cold wind on top of a thinly clad body. All I had on was some skimpy summer clothes plus my rain coat. I was so bloody cold and the play was so long as well as starting at 8pm rather than the usual 7.30pm. So what should have been the perfect end to a long term sadly ended up bordering on purgatory.

My mother has sold her house in Oxford she is moving to York and luckily found a house that ticks her boxes and is vacant. Although a similar size it has enabled her to release a third of her equity thus keeping her in some style for the foreseeable future. So tomorrow I am going to Oxford for probably the last time. I can't say I will miss it, I much prefer Cambridge.

I do feel however that I should grab some photographs before she leaves, although the weather is vile.

I will take my favourite combo' Kitty and Leyla, so no rest for me then, but mother can take the strain of cooking which will soften the rather bitter pill.

All this is a round about way of saying all will be 'posti lite' for a while.

Rant of the day

Last week Syma Tariq wrote about the new all-female art exhibition at the Pompidou centre in Paris. We asked you whether female artists have been ignored by the art world and to name your favourite female artist. Here are some of your responses:

As a teacher and writer of art education materials I have struggled for 20 years to show our learners any reproductions of art made by women. I don't stop trying, but so often the books and postcard collections available in schools, and even, surprisingly, Internet image banks, concentrate on what I jokingly refer to as the Ks: O'Keeffe, Cassatt and Kahlo. There is a lot more to see through different times and across cultures.

Alex Mackenzie

After 30 years teaching in schools and art colleges I have yet to find an exceptional female painter; I do not understand why. There have been good, skilful women painters in the past – Rosa Bonheur, Angelica Kauffmann, Mary Cassatt and more. However in sculpture there is Barbara Hepworth (less bombastic but surely subtler than Henry Moore?), Elisabeth Frink (erratic but occasionally brilliant and surely a "great" artist), and Germaine Richier (my own personal hero). Sorry ladies – stick to wood and clay.

Godfrey Jones

Female artists have been ignored by the art world for centuries: five and six hundred years ago male artists routinely signed their names to work by the wives, sisters or daughters who worked with them (some of Van Eyck's masterpieces are probably by his sister). Later, unscrupulous dealers forged men's signatures on female artists' work because they would fetch higher prices (Judith Leyster passed off as Frans Hals, for example). We owe a huge debt to the feminist art historians who have been quietly restoring the attribution of these works to their real creators. My favourite female artist? Artemisia Gentileschi – a genius.

Ishvara d'Angelo, Devon

I wrote the following response/ riposte

What saddens me the most, is that the most narrow minded and in my opinion outrageously sexist comments were written not by men but by teachers. It breaks my heart that this profession is still so utterly entrenched with attitudes that would not be out of place in an episode of Mad Men.

Maybe if episodes from that series were shown to today’s students, they would understand why even after 30 years Godfrey Jones has made so little progress from when he first started teaching. He appears to be clinging to the coat tails of yesteryear.

This ignorance will no doubt now permeate our current generation of students, because I am sure the opinions of both Godfrey Jones and Alex Mackenzie shine through their teaching practice. This attitude that even today, female artists are second best is so outmoded and dangerously perpetuates the notion of women as second class citizens, in not just the art world but in all walks of life is just plain wrong.

The reasons for the lack of representation in galleries by female artists is excellently described in Ishvara d'Angelo’s letter which just touches on the obstacles women had to overcome to become recognised.

Women nurture, it is innate in all we do, so of course behind an acknowledged male genius will often be the love, stability and talent of a woman.

Godfrey Jones and Alex Mackenzie also fail to take into account the rich and varied art produced by women from other cultures. The female painters of Madhubani, to aboriginal artists such as Roslyn Karedada.

Further thought led me to think that if Sorry ladies – stick to wood and clay. is to be taken literally, it implies that form and function are the domain of women (and I can imagine such fripperies as decorative art would be included in that jibe) then men are master only of illusion. Hardly something to crow about.

Rant over

Flower power and other scrap book love

I could not wear such girly stuff now but this page from American Elle is so perfect for a sultry day in July. I guess a flowery tote would be fun.

I recently spent many happy hours sifting through some old American Elle magazines. I prefer the American version because of the styling and that many of the shoots are done in such sunny places. Not sunny like English sunny, but that gorgeous crystal clear sun that creates rich vibrant colours from nothing.

I love the combination of shape and colour in the image above. I have a couple of cardies that colour but have yet to brave a yellow skirt.

I covet this jacket so much.

The colours in above and below are stunning. I am way past this clash to match but many images like this influence my painting. Not that I have painted all year. How depressing is that?

It has been the first year for a long time that I failed to produce anything creative. I realise of course that I am not including my photography in that statement, and in fact that has improved in leaps and bounds. I am also so pleased that i have finally got to grips with the scanner, so the outlook is not so blue.

I will make more effort next academic year to complete a small project. I realised to day that I have a bad habit of thinking that I need to clear my paper work before painting, but today I had an epiphany moment and realised that I would have to timetable it into my schedule just like a lesson that way I will develop the discipline to do something.

My favourite 'look' I covet this tunic but would struggle to find an occasion to wear it.

I confess to spending money last weekend. Guess where? yep COS again, now officially my favourite shop. Unbelievably I bought a dress! shock horror, I never fit into dresses, they had my size and it was half price. It is my Audrey Hepburn moment.

Yes you guessed it I also bought ANOTHER grey cardie, boxy charcoal with cute pockets.

Also a lovely navy t-shirt.

That place is sartorial gold at the moment.

Cruising the blogs I was directed to the J Crew web site which has named my favourite style of trousers as' tooth-pick' how cute is that? Over here they are called ankle grazers, not so cute.

What is less cute was the price! how on earth do you afford the stuff from that shop? Our weak pound makes them VERY pricey.

Hence my love of all things COS and Uniqlo.

Oh Oh Oh guess who is coming to design for them then? answer here

My tent is pitched.