Monk's House at Rodmell

After going to see the Virginia Woolf exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery we went to visit the last house she lived in, Monk's House in the village of Rodmell in Sussex. The Woolf's bought the house in 1919 and upgraded it each time they published a book so it was where they moved to from London to escape the Blitz when their house was hit by bombs in the Second World War. It's hardly the luxurious place you might expect and it's a far cry from the drawing rooms of Bloomsbury but it had a 'comfortable' feel about it.

It's train journey out of London Victoria through Surrey and into Sussex. Then a change at Lewes to the hourly train to Southease, a station that is only a platform and nothing else, and then a walk into Rodmell village, a tiny place with only one pub (that in itself is quite telling). Then down a narrow lane to Monk's House.

Someone lives in the upstairs rooms so you can only go into the ground floor rooms, the living room, dining room and kitchen and the extension that was Virginia's bedroom. Uneven floors and low headroom characterised the house and it was odd to see the furniture the Woolfs used, their chairs and tables surrounded by the art of their family and friends. I liked the chairs with 'VW' embroidered on the back, the colourful tiled tables created by Duncan Grant and the paintings on the walls.

The entrance to the house is round the back and through the built-on greenhouse full of plants and flowers. This was a sort of preparation for the extensive gardens. Just as they upgraded the house with each successive book publication, they also bought more land for gardens and I loved the gardens. Wandering along trails full of blowsy flowers and fruit trees, other areas looking out over the Sussex downs and other areas being allotments for fruit and vegetables. I actually preferred the gardens to the house which probably puts me in Leonard's team rather than Virginia's. I *loved* the gardens. I want gardens like those when I grow up.

In the garden under a tree is Virginia's writing 'lodge' - or shed with windows, handmade desk made by Leonard on which her glasses rested, and a comfy chair. We were lucky that the place had sufficient volunteer guides that day that meant that the lodge was open and we walk in and suck up the atmosphere. Each room had a volunteer guide who were happy to talk about the house, what was on display and how the Woolfs lived on a daily basis. They were very knowledgeable. Also in the garden is the skeleton of Leonard's greenhouse that has recently been bought and will be restored (see the sign).

The ticket office and shop is in what used to be the garage and that lends added poignancy when you know that the Woolfs considered using it to commit suicide in the event of a German invasion in the Second World War since they were on Hitler's hit list. I also inadvertently found the side door out of the garden that Virginia used on her last walk to the Rive Ouse.

It's a lovely trip out of London and it really is in the depths of the countryside. The tamed countryside of Sussex rather than the wild countryside of the North but it's still the countryside. And, to prove it, here are some lazy cows.

'My Night With Reg' at the Donmar Warehouse

We went to see 'My Night With Reg', the new production of the Kevin Elyot play from the '90s about a group of friends in the '80s. It's a comedy - a bittersweet and sad comedy - and it had me laughing out loud (yes, even me).

The blurb on the site says:

On its premiere, Kevin Elyot’s Olivier and Evening Standard Award-winning comedy, MY NIGHT WITH REG, defined a moment in the lives of gay men and became an instant classic. For its 20th anniversary, rising star Robert Hastie directs the first major revival.

At Guy’s London flat, old friends and new gather to party through the night. This is the summer of 1985, and for Guy and his circle the world is about to change forever. Deliciously funny and bittersweet, Kevin Elyot’s comedy captures the fragility of friendship, happiness and life itself.

It's a play in three acts, only 1:45 hours long so there's no half time and acts are separated by very effectively turning off the lights for a few seconds. Act one is the scene of Guy's flat warming party which introduces the main characters but we don't meet the mysterious Reg. Act two takes place after Reg's funeral in which we meet two more friends and act three takes place after Guy's funeral. Bit gloomy, eh? Not at all, it's incredibly well observed and terribly funny, full of awkwardness and real life and laugh-out-loud moments.

We meet Guy who everyone likes but no-one loves or lusts after and he welcomes John to his flat warming party while Eric finishes off painting the conservatory. Something's not right and we soon learn that Guy has loved John since university a decade earlier but never said anything. We meet Daniel, Reg's partner, who is supposed to be in Australia but whose flight is delayed, and the scene is set. Lots of kissing and flirting, drinking champagne and remembering the old days. Guy hosts a wake for Reg with a distraught Daniel and a remorseful John (who was having an affair with Reg) and we meet Benny and Bernie, a couple who have each spent time with Reg. And then we go back to Guy's flat after his funeral since he's left it to John and we see John and Eric, the painter and publican, talking about what's happened and John wanting to get into Eric's pants.

The play is full of laugh-out-loud bawdiness and the HIV/AIDs tragedy. Everyone seems to have spent a night with Reg and some have died. That really chimed with me. I've blogged before about the unthinking and irrational fear of HIV and AIDs in the '80s and this play brought it all back, laughing one moment and then having the reality pushed in my face. And that's a good way of getting a message across. Some of the younger people in the audience have probably read about 'the plague' years but I lived through it and remember it.

I thought the cast were excellent, particularly Julian Ovenden as John and Geoffrey Streatfield as Daniel with the easy camaraderie of old friends and Jonathan Broadbent as Guy constantly plumping up the cushions on the couch. It's a very touching and human play about a group of friends against a backdrop of the spread of HIV/AIDs which is never directly mentioned but is referred to and hovers in the background.

There was a sign outside warning us that the play contained nudity and smoking (since when do we need a warning that we'll see someone smoking?) and as soon as I saw Lewis Reeves on stage as Eric, painting Guy's conservatory, I thought aha! he's the one who'll get his kit off since that's what the junior players are for on stage. And I was right - partly. Imagine my surprise when Mr Ovenden strode on stage in his all-over tan for a brief scene with them both naked before returning in his pants and a dressing gown. He's got nothing to be embarrassed about.

Well done to everyone involved in the production. Since it's at the Donmar then that means that it's virtually sold out for the entire run and it's only just opened. There are a few tickets left for matinees but that's about it. Lucky me, I've nabbed tickets to see it again!

Virginia Woolf - Art, Life and Vision... Plus

There's an exhibition about Virginia Woolf at the National Portrait Gallery at the moment that illustrates her life through portraiture and her writing. It starts off with photographs of her parents and family, early photos from the late 1800s, and moves on to focus on Virginia and her friends. She was at the centre of the development of writing and the arts in the early part of the last century so her circle of family and friends covered some of the most important artists of the day from critics like Roger Fry to poets like TS Eliot to artists like her sister Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant and they're all featured in the exhibition. Also featured, of course, is her husband, Leonard Woolf, who, amongst other things founded the Hogarth Press that published many of the more experimental pieces of writing of the time.

It's not a very large exhibition and many of the things on display are small so crowds tend to develop around the artefacts and paintings/photographs. It was nice that it was so busy on a random Thursday afternoon with a surprising number of older people intently looking at the exhibits. I don't think there's been an exhibition like this before - or at least in recent years - which might explain its popularity.

We see portrait photographs of the young Virginia Stephen, all posed as you'd expect of the late Victorians and photographs of Virginia throughout her life. Some are by friends at events of various types and others are by 'proper' photographers like Man Ray and Gisele Freund. I liked Gisele's photo of Virginia sitting on a big couch with her cocker spaniel Pinka at her feet. It's a rather domestic scene for someone with Virginia's intellectual reputation.

Two painted portraits are side by side in the exhibition from what looks like the same sitting, one by Roger Fry and the other by Vanessa Bell (Vanessa's is used in the poster for the exhibition). The earliest portrait is by Duncan Grant with Virginia Stephen apparently sitting and chatting to her sister wearing her big Edwardian hat - according to the label Virginia came into the room while he was painting, sat down in hat and coat and started talking to Vanessa so he started painting her. It's a nice tale of unthinking intimacy that something was so important that she just had to talk to Vanessa about it straight away.

There are also photos and paintings of family, friends and accomplices, of Leonard and Vanessa, of her brother Adrian and nephew Julian Bell who died in the Spanish Civil War. There are portraits of people like Vita Sackville-West and Hope Mirrlees (who looks like a young Felicity Kendal to me). There's a lovely painting of Vanessa by Duncan Grant and a self-portrait by Dora Carrington.

As well as paintings and photographs there are a lot of other exhibits in the form of first edition books hand-printed by the Hogarth Press (such as a first edition of TS Eliot's 'The Waste Land') and some of Virginia's books with covers designed by Vanessa. It's nice to be able to see these on display. There's also the bust of Virginia by Stephen Tomlin and a small painting ('Weeping Woman') that Picasso donated rather than attend a benefit arranged by the Bloomsbury people to raise money for families affected by the Spanish Civil War. The saddest exhibits were her farewell letters to Leonard and Vanessa, presented together in one frame. There are also some oddities like the 'black book' that listed all the people Hitler wanted to be arrested on sight following the German invasion of Britain that included Virginia and Leonard's names.

There's a rather touching painting by Vanessa from 1943 called 'The Memoir Club' which features a selection of the great and good sitting round chattering away about art, politics and people. On the wall, are portraits of lost friends and members of the club - Virginia Woolf (and it's nice that it's Duncan Grant's early portrait of the young Virginia), Lytton Strachey and Roger Fry. Gone but not forgotten and, with Virginia's literary legacy, never to be forgotten.

It's a very interesting and thought-provoking exhibition and well worth seeing.

Virginia Woolf also features in another exhibition in London at the moment, the Books About Town festival of painted benches dotted around London and 'Mrs Dalloway' is one of the featured books. The 'Mrs Dalloway' bench is in Gordon Square in Bloomsbury and features a painting of Clarissa on the front and Septimus on the back. And here they are:

'Anthony and Cleopatra' at The Globe

I have a bit of history with Shakespeare's 'Anthony & Cleopatra', not that I've ever seen it on stage. I 'did' the play at university but the most abiding memory is getting the bus past the Theatre Royal Haymarket in the mid-80s and seeing the posters for Vanessa Redgrave as Cleopatra and thinking 'I must see that'. And then one evening going past on the bus and seeing posters for another play - I'd missed it. It's been performed since then, obviously, but I'd never seen it until last night when I saw it in the open-air warmth of The Globe after a day wandering round both sides of the river Thames hunting for literary benches. Shakespeare's bench is, naturally, outside The Globe under a tree and (usually) covered in tourists (and bench-hunters).

What I like about 'Anthony & Cleopatra' is the carefree love and playfulness of two mature people who each have countries to rule and responsibilities beyond the lovers bed. The jealousies we see from both characters help to make their love believable and say to us that the loves of emperors and queens are the same as ours but have greater consequences when they fail. Their golden period is closing when we first meet Anthony and Cleopatra, when Anthony hears of the death of his wife and must go back to Rome from Alexandria. He is part of the ruling triumvirate after the death of Julius Caesar and his duties call him back to the intrigue and factions of Rome where he marries Octavian's sister to keep the peace. But, naturally, he longs to return to Egypt and Cleopatra. The rest is inevitable, with Octavian becoming Augustus Caesar and emperor over the deaths of Anthony and Cleopatra.

This is an excellent production and (with one exception) all I could've wished for in my first viewing of the play on stage. Eve Best and Clive Wood were excellent as our lovers with great and touching scenes of passion and playfulness, jealousies and lusts and people around them that understood their passions. Phil Daniels was great fun as Anthony's captain Enobarus for most of the play, serious and cutting and comedic by turns, who defects to Octavian and regrets leaving his master. I'd also pick out Sirine Saba as Charmian, Cleopatra's main servant and confidant and Peter Bankole as Cleopatra's messenger and Anthony's man, Eros, both of whom were excellent and got great laughs as well as pathos.

My exception? Well, it was Cleopatra's final speech which Eve delivered with determination and great intent. But I wanted passion and fire, I wanted anger and power and disdain - the anger of a queen at the death of her lover - not quiet determination. I can fully see why it was delivered like that in the context of the play but it's not what I wanted. Cry to the heavens in anger and joy at joining your lover, Cleopatra, this is not just a political act, it is an act of love.

The lines I have remembered for over 30 years are:

"Give me my robe, put on my crown
I have immortal longings in me...
I am fire and air, my other elements
I give to a baser life..."

I want the heavens to open on those lines, for lightning to fork in the skies as the gods rebel against any concept of natural order, and Cleopatra, standing tall and proud, railing against the fates and sending her soul to seek Anthony in a world beyond this one. That's what I wanted but I'm happy with what we were given.

This is a great production - we were even given envelopes full of gold paper to shake down on the union of Anthony and Cleopatra at the end of the first half to join in the celebration of their love. It's on until the end of August so make sure you see it. It'll stay with me for a long time.

Malevich at Tate Modern

I didn't know much about Kazimir Malevich other than he worked at the start of the 20th century in Russia and pushed abstraction as far as it could go and that's about it. When I saw that the Tate Modern planned a summer exhibition of his work then I decided to go to find out more about the man and his work. I made an unplanned visit yesterday since I was in the area and needed to get out of the sun for bit (yes, London is sunny at the moment). Not the best reason for going but it got me through the gallery door and I'm pleased I did.

The exhibition is on the floor above the current Matisse exhibition and, possibly, suffers because of that. There were quite a few people browsing his paintings but nothing like the hoards that seem to inhabit Matisse's Cut-Outs exhibition. That was a good thing from my point of view. The twelve rooms take us chronologically - and intellectually - through Malevich's career, from his early, largely figurative paintings through his extreme Suprematist abstractions and back to a figurative form in the 1930s. Politics is never far from Malevich and his work wasn't always welcomed by those in power and soon disappeared from view shortly after his death in 1935 when Stalin decided that socialist realism was the way forward.

There are lots of labels in this exhibition, and just just the names of the paintings. We see how the Russian painters absorbed cubism from Paris and futurism from Italy and developed their own 'cubo-futurism' style. One of my favourites in this style is 'Morning In The Village After The Snowstorm' where we see planes and curves of snow drifting and covering the houses and trees. Later, after the Russian revolution, Malevich led the new artistic and intellectual discipline of 'suprematism'. He wrote, 'The artist can be a creator only when the forms in his picture have nothing in common with nature' and, 'Suprematism is the beginning of a new culture...'. 

Malevich holds a rather unique position in the history of art, living through not only the First World War but also the Russian revolution and staying in Russia. Perhaps that's why we see such radical changes in his art, not just the inevitable growth and development you would expect between someone's early and later works, but Malevich seems to push any conceivable boundaries to their extreme limits. And then worry that he can't push them any further. We see his early figurative work give way to flat and curved planes of colour before moving into more pure abstraction and then, when he reaches the limit of that, starts painting white on white pictures before falling silent. He then recovers and starts painting intensely colourful figurative paintings before re-discovering his own version of realism in the last years of his life. 

The one word that screams at me throughout this exhibition is 'intellectual' - no doubt their is passion in there as well but it's the intellectual foundations of his works that overpower. That's what makes him a bit different from his contemporaries and what makes this exhibition rather special.

After going through his extreme experimentation with art he returned to figurative painting in his later years and I like this painting of his wife in 1935, the year of his death. That makes it rather poignant. The lasting impression of the exhibition is the painting that helped him to develop suprematism, his 'Black Square', a black square with a white border. It's an iconic and challenging symbol of revolution and change and he signed his later paintings with a small black square rather than with his name. The exhibition booklet tells us that, at his funeral, his mourners held flags with black squares. What a profound gesture of respect.

Phyllida Barlow at Tate Modern

When I went to the Tate Modern to explore its Folk Art exhibition I stumbled across the enormous installations by Phyllida Barlow. They're difficult to miss since they are on a huge scale and fill that old and venerable Victorian space with its faux Greek columns with planks of wood, colourful tape on brown cardboard boxes and traffic cones stuck here and there. The culture clash is quite obvious and I walked under and through the installations with a puzzled expression - every so often with the nagging worry of, 'what it all collapses now, on me?'.

It didn't, of course, but one of the installations was built with the appearance of something big collapsing, of everything crashing down together and making a new piece of art in doing so. It was really quite strange and I couldn't help wonder which was the piece of the art, the pre-collapse or the collapsed work and, of course, it's the latter since the pre-collapsed version was never built. It was an odd puzzle but it kept me engaged for a few minutes. It did seem to be the most popular of the works with the photographers in the gallery this afternoon.

It was rather strange exploring these enormous works in the sterile confines of the Tate Britain, giving no clue what to expect or how to interpret them. And I think that's the right approach to something like this. Just place these incongruous structures in the available space and leave the rest to us, the audience.

I have no real idea about what I saw today. I saw lots of planks of wood stacked in different ways, but, collectively, what did I see? I don't know, and that, in itself, is quite intriguing. Was it so different, so unclassifiable that I couldn't engage with it on any level? No, I wouldn't say that, I certainly engaged, but the overwhelming feeling was of curiosity and of wonder, of wondering what it would be like to clamber over the installations, to climb up the planks of wood and see what was at the top and whether it was finished or rough.  To see whether it is really as strong and robust as it looks or if removing one nail somewhere would bring it crashing down. Jumping around, from one installation to the next with a sword exposed during a swashbuckling exercise sprang to mind more than once. I resisted the temptation, obviously!

So, OK, the installations didn't come crashing down on me and I didn't clamber around them. So what are they and what are they for? I still have no idea but take your wonder and awe with you and see them for yourself, walk amongst and under them and see what you think. You'll almost certainly see something I missed. Enjoy!

New John Lydon Book

I didn't realise that John Lydon had a new autobiography coming out in October but he does - 'Anger Is An Energy - My Life Uncensored'. His previous memoir, 'No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs' came out quite a while ago so it'll be interesting to see what's different in this new book (given the 'uncensored' in the title) as well as the re-creation of Public Image Ltd and new music a couple of years ago.

'Anger is an energy' is a great title for the book since John is almost perpetually angry about something (except when he's not, of course). It'll tell us about his 'I'm a Celebrity' scrapes, his wildlife documentaries and butter adverts as well as Sex Pistols reunions and getting PiL back together to tour and record. It should be a good read and I'm looking forward to it.

The title is the chorus from the 1986 song 'Rise' from 'Album' (or 'Cassette' or 'Compact Disc' depending on which version you bought). John will always be the young Rotten in the 'destroy' tee shirt but he's also Lydon who's still challenging and creative. They're both great heroes.

British Folk Art at Tate Britain

'Folk Art' is a rather odd term and those people at the Tate Britain have put on a collection of it to demonstrate how diverse and difficult to catalogue it is. It seems to encompass virtually anything and everything that isn't 'fine art' or traditionally accepted art, often anonymously produced at any point over the last four hundred years and is still around. The cockerel in the poster for the exhibition is a good example, having been made of cast-off bones by a French soldier who was a prisoner of war during the Napoleonic wars. His name isn't known but his handiwork survives.

There's all sorts of stuff in the exhibition, including embroideries, quilt covers, paintings, leather Toby jugs, 'needle paintings' (ie sewn reproductions of masters from the late 1700s  to mid 1800s), paintings, shop signs and figureheads from ships. You name it, it's in there somewhere.

When you go in you face a bright yellow wall with shelves to hold old shop signs with the three hanging balls for a pawn shop, a giant top hat for a hat-maker, big boot for a shoe shop and a giant key and a lock. I didn't notice what the bear was there for (second column from the right in the photo). It was a shame that most people seemed to glance at them and then move to look at the paintings on the right in the room rather then lingering to look at them properly - I thought they were great fun!

My favourite room was painted blue and held lots of carved figures, from statues of Scotsmen wearing rather short kilts to stand outside tobacco shops to draw the custom in, to figureheads of all shapes and sizes for ships. My favourite was the massive Indian carved out of hardwood and wearing a red turban, blue coat and with a glorious moustache. He was the figurehead for HMS Calcutta built in 1831. He's been fully restored and looks marvellous. I think he lives in a sailing museum in Portsmouth these days.

I nearly burst out laughing when I walked into and took in the room - laughing with wonder and joy that these things actually existed and were so shiny and colourful and so big! There were wistful looking ladies in colourful frocks and acres of bosom who would've sat at the prow of boats a couple of centuries ago, steering the jack tars of old out on an adventure and then home again. There was a lovely, snarling unicorn figurehead next to what I think was meant to be a yellow lion, equally snarling and both were magnificent. When I become a pirate I shall have a figurehead on my ship!

There were also paintings, usually what would usually be called naive and mainly anonymous. One of the most striking was a painting in oils on a wooden panel from 1850 called 'The Four Alls' by DJ Williams. It shows Queen Victoria saying 'I govern all', a priest saying 'I pray for all', a soldier saying 'I fight for all' and a working man holding out his purse saying 'I pay for all'. A bit of early political satire there! It's not a terribly well executed painting but it doesn't need to be - the message is clear and, what's more, it's fun!

Another painting that took my fancy was 'Hammersmith Bridge on Boat-race Day' by Walter Greaves from 1862. It's a riot of colour and people flooding over the bridge and sitting on the cables holding it together. Part of me was surprised that Hammersmith Bridge is that old but there it is in the painting. It's the detail in the melange of colours and shapes that draws you in - the minstrel troupe to the left, the adverts on the horse-drawn double-decker buses, the gentlemen in their top hats and beefeaters in their red tunics and furry hats. All of London is there and determined to have fun. And the rowers in the boat below wearing hats, as is right and proper, of course. It's a lovely painting and I'm delighted to have seen it.

It's quite a small exhibition with only five or six rooms but is well laid out, well lit and full of lovely and unexpected stuff. Did I mention the delicate and detailed quilt made by recuperating soldiers in the Crimea War? Very colourful and full of stars. Or the 'Goosewoman' by George Smart from 1840 made from paper and bits of cloth? No? Well, here she is:

It's a lovely little exhibition so, if you can delight in seeing the unexpected then go and see it - it's on until the end of August so there's still time.

Zoe Smith wins GOLD

Do you remember Zoe Smith from the London 2012 Olympics? I do! She broke the British weightlifting record and came 12th at the Olympics and I blogged about her back then. Today, she won GOLD at the Commonwealth Games, was wreathed in smiles when she lifted, held it and dropped the bar and then celebrated with a backflip! Well done Zoe, so proud of you!

Shut Up And Follow

I got on the tube yesterday morning, on the Victoria Line, and sat there with my fellow morning commuters. I'm not in the middle of a book at the moment so I did the 'looking at the adverts' thing and then I noticed one that was just words and perked up - a new Poems on the Underground poster! This one featured 'Small Brown Job' by Gwyneth Lewis and reads:

May you be lead on all your walks
By an unidentified bird
Flitting ahead, at least one branch,
The tease, between you
And it. Is that an eye-
Stripe? Epaulette? Your desire
For a name grows stronger.
Chaffinch? Warbler? This is spinning
Gold from straw. You're in good hands.
Shut up and follow.

This latest series of poems is in celebration of the centenary of the birth of Dylan Thomas, that mad Welsh bard who liked a tipple. I visited his house at Laugharne many years ago.

OK small brown, I'll shut up and follow.