Sea-pink

 



  Beached on the wet footpath - as pink, damp and fleshy as a creature from the sea.

Vermeeresque again

 

Oh dear. Since I saw the film about Vermeer, they're everywhere: quiet, luminous women, reading or writing by a window, looking like a painting. What a cliché. But a sweet one, and all the sweeter when so many sit or stand or walk absorbed in their phones or tablets: that absent, abstracted indifference to surroundings and compulsive inability to put the damned thing down. Seeing someone read a book or write in a notebook never feels as alienating. Yes, of course they may be equally abstracted, and of course good stuff, as well as mindless or super-stressful, proceeds through all those 'devices'. Still, a proliferation of dwellers in the global city who evoke an old Dutch painting seems no bad thing.

Outside in

 

South London Botanical Institute

 

And before they become too drastically unseasonal here are some photos from a recent visit to the South London Botanical Institute. This big, boxy red-brick Victorian villa was purchased in 1909 by Allan Octavian Hume, a curious, energetic man, returned from a career serving the British Empire in India. He was one of the "least worst" colonialists, it seems, instinctively fostering welfare over repression; and when not at work he embraced and explored the sub-continent, making social and political contacts and collecting, collecting, as they did then, descriptions and specimens from the natural world - especially birds.

 

Back in London and with no exotic birds to shoot and stuff, his voracious attention refocused on

botany. This house and garden became the home of a fast-growing collection, assiduously cultivated, preserved, recorded - an exceptional work of its kind. Amazingly, it has survived intact as a modest, independent charity. The house has not changed much. It's spare and atmospheric, with rooms full of filing cabinets housing an extensive herbarium centred on a great number of fine, hundred-year-old specimens. The latest of many volunteers work endlessly and painstakingly to conserve the collection and most recently to check and digitally scan each sheet for inclusion in a national, publicly accessible computer database, herbaria@home. Other volunteers tend the garden, teach botanical drawing and the histories of medical herbalism and Victorian naturalism to children and adults alike. This is a precious place.

 

In sunshine and in rain

 

 

The exhibition we saw at Kew Gardens in September of botanical paintings by Rory McEwen was
memorable, especially the paintings from the last year of his life - precise and intense depictions of dying, decaying leaves, titled not by species, but by where they fell. These were images that lingered, cooking slowly. They bubbled to the surface as I trudged and skidded in the following weeks on fallen leaves, often stopping, in the street, in the rush, in the rain, to take photos. They're still bubbling.

Table light

Colours of the wind

 

 
an early sunset
flickers between fire and ice -
colours of the wind

Mindfulness of leaves

 

The rain was heavy. Fallen leaves, plastered into pavement picture-frames, curl and glisten as they start to dry - settling into new, more muted, more translucent colours.

today is Mindful Writing Day

Just faintly spooky

Bridge

I find it hard to pass the Millenium Footbridge without taking photos. While it used to be the architecture of the bridge, its long, lazy leap across the Thames and the shadowy heft of its underside,  now it's more often the people: above me, in movement, outlined, sometimes  poignantly, against the sky.

on the bridge

time stops and distance shrinks

their hands touch