SHARING WITH ME

So, we were off to Norfolk. This was planned by Pierrette during my brief stay in Meldreth. I had heard a lot about the region from Borgy over the years but still was not exactly sure where it was situated. My sense of geography has not improved with age.  

Up we were and although the day was not exactly springtime, Pierrette and I went off in her car to the "park and drive" where would take the bus to Norwich, the capital, an hour and a half away. Certainly better than taking the car and even more so as the bus terminal was in the centre of town. 

We were informed to go out and queue ten minutes before the bus arrived. Just behind another couple and in seconds there was a crown behind us. I was somewhat surprised that so many people could be going to the same place. The bus arrived - we moved forward - and then without opening the doors, without even a glimpse of the driver, the bus drove off. We were both thunderstruck. Yelling at the top of our voices « we’re here, we’

The poster for the expo. For a country as cold as Sweden, the gentleness of Carl Larsson’s work makes me feel  it is an idyllic country - but not in winter, definitely not. 

I discovered Larsson’s work in Finland for the  first time. He was born in an old quarter of Stockholm in May 1853. His family was very poor and Carl grew up in dismal circumstances. The only glimmer of hope was his strong artistic talent, which emerged early on in his life. After a difficult beginning in an Art School, especially as he felt out of his element in this social circle, he began to feel more confident and it was not long before he became one of the central figures in student circles.  The turning point came in 1882 when he moved to Grez, a Scandinavian artists’ colony outside Paris. It was there he met his future wife Karin Bergöö and underwent an artistic transformation after abandoning his pretentious oil painting in favour of watercolours - a lucky move that would mean a lot for his artistic

After an exhibition, I usually come home and jump onto the computer as really inspired by whatever I have seen. This week there have been three exhibitions and frankly I have not spent too much time in any of them. At the most an hour. First of all….. More than a century after Van Gogh’s suicide,(1853-1890) the Musée d’Orsay is staging an extensive exhibition, with a provocative theme: Did society drive Van Gogh to shoot himself in the stomach at 37? Before his death in 1890, Van Gogh created nearly a painting a day. In little more than two months, some 70 landscapes and portraits where completed with a final burst of thick brush strokes of blue and yellow. The exhibition, titled “Van Gogh/Artaud: Suicide by Society,” revisits the theories put forth in 1947 by the French writer Antonin Artaud, who argued that Van Gogh’s work disturbed society, which shunned his art and provoked his despair and suicide. The central question of the exhibition is posed by Artaud: “Van Gogh, a madman? L

Is Spring in the air? I decided to check out the Botanical gardens just down the road and see. In the renovated green house, there was a big Orchid exhibition. Now that I must see. My Mother had a way with Orchids. Not only did she make a little book of the 450 photos she had taken of one of her « babies » but she swore that the two she had, had their own characters. Anything new in the way of flowers that came into the flat and if placed next to this extraordinary plant would be killed off within a couple of days. After she left us, her Orchid was in full bloom and would you believe in one week, she lost all her flowers - a week later one was trying to flower so I took her off to the Orchid Hospital. There « Dr Orchid » informed me that the last flower was her « swan-song » and confirmed her history of jealousy toward other plants. Frankly, I found the story a little far fetched and then I discovered that Mother had put out onto the balcony a green tropical plant which she had had for