Category Archives: Arts

Books Politics

Elsewhere…

… I a guest blogging over on Jim’s excellent The Daily (Maybe) with a piece about why I chose to discuss early 20th-century peasant rebellions in Southeast Asia, rather than listen to Ariana Huffington – it is all about thinking about how the future might look (and how we might come to view a steady state balanced economy, rather than a growing one, as a positive thing – as the human race has done throughout much of history.

(And in his commentary Jim has my hat situation summarised just right….)

… and on Blogcritics I’m reviewing Tim Butcher’s Blood River, about a journey through the modern Democratic Republic of Congo which provides an easily digestible introduction to that poor, blighted country.

Arts

Painting and talking

I couldn’t summon the enthusiasm to paint the bedroom ceiling this afternoon, so slacked off to the Tate Modern, where I was blown away by the works (recently purchased) of the Australian Fred Williams, which I’ve written about over on My London Your London.

I was less thrilled by the people with whom I was sharing the gallery; how is it that the Tate has apparently become the “date movie” destination of London? I can’t see Cindy Sherman or Sarah Lucas as “date movie” material, and listening to couples trying to impress each other with statements notable by their obviousness “it’s lots of trees”, or stupidity “he’s used lots of paint” is trying.

Books

A rival for my literary affections

The dashing detective Phyrne Fisher now has a rival for my literary affections. It was the Women Writers Through the Ages group that introduced me to her rival, Nell Bray, fittingly, since this character's defining characteristic is that she's a suffragette – she works for the Women's Political and Social Union.

In the first book featuring Gillian Linscot's hero that I read, Blood on the Wood, in that role she's sent down to the countryside to collect a valuable painting that has been left to the Union in the will of a rich but politically radical woman. It is nothing more than a slightly embarrassing errand for Nell, until she gets back to London and finds the painting she's been given is a copy.

Returning, Nell has to deal not only with the husband, caught up in a family crisis, but with a group of leftist radicals camping on the farm, among whom is a poor, abused woman who the son of the family has decided to rescue in the Edwardian way, by marriage. Soon, however, there's a body.

We're not talking particularly gory here, or fiendishly complicated plots: Linscot's books, like those of Kerry Greenwood, Phyrne's creator, belong to a growing genre that I'd class as "feminist historical cozy". The women are independent-minded and tough, and they look out for themselves – often with more than a nod towards Dorothy L. Sayer's Harriet Vane.

The focus is chiefly on character rather than plot, on women making their way in a man's world, ignoring convention and coming up trumps. For Nell it is much more so, in Dead Man Riding we go back to the start of her career, when she's a student at Oxford, in the last year of Queen Victoria's reign. Student, but not headed for a degree, for women are not yet allowed such things, and the plot here centres around the adventures of a mixed group of students – shock horror, the university authorities must not find out or the women will be sent down – who go for what is essentially an innocent intellectual trip to the Lake district.

There's also for both heroes a carefully researched background that takes you into the period without every making you feel like you're reading a textbook: the background in <i>Dead Man Riding</i> is the controversy over the Boer War (which has distinct echoes with Iraq); Phyrne strides the landmarks streets of Melbourne or takes to the controls of a Tiger Moth with equal detail.

Yet on balance, I still have to class Phyrne as my favourite, not because of better writing, plot or research (the two authors to my mind are about evenly balanced), but because she lives in an age closer to our own. Phyrne is happily, comfortably sexual and openly defiant of convention – even if I don't share her interest in frocks. The First World War has destroyed the restrictive frame within which the Edwardian Nell must operate. Still, I'll be visiting with Nell again, even if I will be frustrated by the social restrictions that also frustrate her.

Books Women's history

Between the Black Death and the Reformation – women and the church

I’ve been reading in the odd spare moment The Good Women of the Parish: Gender and Religion After the Black Death, Katherine L French, Uni of Penn Press, 2008. It is delightfully lively for a serious academic text; there is a thesis and theory, but the book wears this lightly and recovers from church records and accounts snippets that give an insight into the lives of women in this difficult age.

In post-plague England as many as a third of women never married, and there was a preoccupation with controlling independent and mobile women, French finds. Studies on women and religion in this period have tended to focus on nuns and the elite, but at the local level churchgoing, and church activities, played a central role in women’s lives. Parochial activities were designed to promote lay support for the parish, but in their frequent gender segregation, women adapting their housekeeping roles and behaviours in the service of the parish, which fostered collective action and expanded their opportunities.

There’s not of course in this era the sort of spiritual diaries that start to occur, from relatively modest places on the social scale, after the Reformation, so French has to find hints, suggestions and draw conclusions from rather drier records. But her conclusions were, to this reader, solid.

So, she says, when in Tintinhull Somerset in 1449 and again in 1452, when the group of women who would have been paid six pennies for laundering the church linens declined payment, chosing instead to donate their labour, they were expressing not just devotion, but probably also drawing considerable satisfaction for doing so. (That would probably have been something like a week’s wages.) When in Bassingbourne, Cambridgeshire, the parish produced a St Margaret’s play to raise money for a new statue of St George, many women donated their brewing and baking labour for the refreshments.
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Arts History

Italian maiolica (majolica)

Since I’ve restarted doing handling in the British Museum Enlightenment Gallery, I’ve been brushing up on some of the pieces with which I’m less familiar, so reading Italian Maiolica by Timothy Wilson, 1989 (actually a catalogue of the Ashmolean’s rather fine collection).

I’m not greatly into later ceramics, but there’s something rather magical about these, particularly the earlier (late 13th, 14th and early 15th century), which manage to combine a medieval sensibility with a growing artistic sophistication. They actually get much less interesting, in my view, when they start to copy Italian woodcut prints of the period – after which they are merely derivative (although this is usually regarded as the high period of the art.)

The method of covering earthenware with a glaze made opaque with oxide and then painting on the glaze was introduced from the Islamic world about 1200. Originally only copper green and purple or brown from manganese were used for the images. Full details are (unusually) preserved in a manuscript treatise written about 1557 by Cipriano Piccolpasso of Castel Durante, Three Books of the Potter’s Art.

Dishes were thrown on a wheel or pressed into moulds, then fired at about 1000C before being dipped in a glaze made chiefly of potash (from burning the lees from wine barrels), sand and the oxides of lead and tin. Later other pigments for the images were added: cobalt (blue), yellow (antimony), orange (antimony and iron), and white (tin). Sometimes a transparent glaze was painted over the top and the piece fired again at a higher temperature.

The only image on the Ashmolean site is not quite typical, although there is something medieval about it, “Maiolica plate painted with a head composed of penises”.

And reading around the subject, I find that the memory of some Italian women has, however imperfectly, been preserved in some of these dishes – the belle donne.

And I also learn of the clearly named Potweb scheme, by which the Ashmolean is putting its entire collection on line, unfortunately not yet the “spouted bowl”, Orvieto, late13th or 14th century, or the “Dish, a huntsman blowing his horn, deruta, c. 1500″… hint, hint, should anyone relevant be reading this….

Theatre

A magnificent show

Not perfect, but powerful, witty and sophisticated: I’ve reviewed over on My London Your London Howard Barker’s I Saw Myself – with one of the finest parts for a mature female actor that I’ve ever seen. It is on until April 19 – see it if you can.