Ways With Words

Creative Flow at Ways With Words 2014

Do read Bridget Holding’s guest blog. She is giving a talk in the Barn, 'Passion for the Wild' on Friday 11 July at 10am. This will be followed by her Wild Words Workshop at 11.30am on the same day. (Nos. 84 and FE 5 in the festival programme to find out more.) Two events not to miss.

 

Creative Flow at ‘Ways With Words’ 2014

Guest blog by Bridget Holding of ‘Wild Words’

The Ways With Words festival is just around the corner now.  It’s an extraordinary meeting place and melting pot of ideas, concepts, images, dreams and visions. They all find their expression in the virtual black ink scratches, that nowadays, we make mostly via our computer keyboards.

Often when I teach creative writing I talk about the importance of writers having contact with the full breadth of their emotional life, in order to imbue the words on the page with those qualities. Muriel Rukeyser said that one writes in order to feel, but it’s also true, I believe, that one reads in order to feel. There’s a direct line of experiencing that runs like a flowing river from a writer into their characters, and then into the reader. This is the process of creative expression. This is what ‘Ways With Words’ is all about.

I run ‘Wild Words’ courses - wildwords.org - ‘a pioneering approach to working in a psychological, body-based, and nature-based way with writers’. I’m going to be presenting my work at ‘Ways With Words’, and leading a workshop. We’ll be going outside to explore the ideas of creative block and creative flow by using the metaphor of the river. We’re lucky enough to have stunning natural environment to work with at Dartington, complete with flowing water (we hope!) And if it’s dried up, well, there’s a metaphor in that too!

The ‘Ways With Words’ festival embraces writers and readers of poetry and prose, fact and fiction. It’s a celebration of the human ability to tell narratives. This ability, I believe, is not just a nice addition to our lives, it is fundamental to our health and happiness. Maya Angelou had it right when she said that there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you. But equally, there is no greater joy than in the act of liberating a story from within. We tell stories to process emotion, to gain perspective, to find meaning, to inform and to entertain. For me, the form of the writing is not so important, I am just always delighted to see how we are naturally craftspeople of the highest order when it comes to words. 

Don’t get me wrong, certainly writing is a craft to be practiced. However, we do not start from nowhere. Have you ever heard a drunk person in a pub tell a riveting story, or found that an anecdote from your day just slipped of the tongue, fully-formed? Human beings are metaphorical creatures, born storytellers.

So, if you’re coming to Ways With Words to watch writers on stage, by all means revere their talents, but also remember you own. And equally important, remember that all the writers and speakers are human too. We’re all beavering away in our rooms right now to prepare for our audience. We’re all a little nervous about how we will be received. For every writer, amateur or professional, it’s the same. We face the scary blank first page with every new commission, and with the opening lines of every talk. Then we have to just trust that the stories flow… See you there!

 

 

Keeping Calm at Ways With Words

Many people think running a literature festival must be hell. Stephen and myself are often told, "You look so calm". People are surprised that we aren't weeping, tearing our hair out or have a haunted and distracted appearance. I'm amazed they think we would be. Why would we want to organise Ways With Words if we didn't enjoy it? Why would anyone want to come to a festival if the people most involved look as if it was a misery for them?

I have been saying for years: Keep Calm and Carry On. It's a bit irritating to see it plastered over loads of mugs and tea towels now but the message is still apposite for us and the staff. We knew that it wouldn't be hard to relax and be very calm for the Ways With Words festival in Southwold. Southwold is a place where life's troubles and trivia disappear. Southwold is synonymous with calmness. When we see the town’s sign we sigh loudly with pleasure. A festival in Southwold adds to the enjoyment of a visit here. There is a positive and joyful atmosphere as crowds come and go to the various events. Sometimes people look thoughtful, sometimes triumphant, sometimes angry - but they are always pleased to be there.

If the ideas are coming too fast and furious to assimilate it's always possible to go to the edge of the sea, throw a few pebbles into the waves and forget the BBC, China, the holocaust, the First World War or Downton Abbey. Melvyn Bragg was seen walking along the sea's edge when he spoke at the festival. You will see me there - if not before or during the festival, definitely afterwards. You can also turn from the concerns of the world to buy fish (for sale from the fishermen’s huts by the harbour). If you buy some to take home it will be packed in ice so that it arrives at your destination as fresh as when it left the sea – almost.

The next Ways With Words in Southwold will take place 7-11 November 2013. Many have already booked rooms at The Swan or The Crown for a festival package next November. Besides B&B and evening meal in these lovely hotels package people are guaranteed a seat in all events, even the most popular. ( And there are always a lot of popular ones. This year Jeremy Vine, Will Gompertz, Paul Mason, Pat Barker, Richard Mabey, Ronald Blythe, Simon Hoggart – and loads more sold out within hours of the tickets going on sale.)
Phone Bryony on 01803 867373 to find out about availability of rooms for 2013.

Town Mice or Country Mice?

Ways With Words: Festivals of the City or the Countryside?

We drank coffee on Bermondsey Street and discussed city v. country life. Around us were Londoners leading their ordinary lives: emailing, phoning, reading and talking. Very appealing. So are we really city people? What would we miss about country living if we moved to the city?

We decided we like having a spacious farmhouse in Devon with room for crowds to come and stay; a large dining room for long, slow meals; a big kitchen with an open fire where I can bake and make; vegetable growing; a garden to potter around; leaves to gather; log piles to stack; compost heaps to maintain; and mostly lamp light and big fires for quiet evenings reading. In short we like to do nothing much.
 
On the other hand we do enjoy having lots to do in London and pack our days with activity: visiting galleries; exploring shops and streets; finding restaurants, parks; listening to music in cathedrals and watching the world from café terraces.

Embarrassingly we decided we need regular doses of both city and country, which is greedy, not very green and politically unsound.

We have always seen Ways With Words as the festivals of quiet, country places. We feel that going to beautiful, peaceful settings is part of the festival experience.

So at present visitors can choose to have festival life on the banks of Derwentwater in the Lake District and when not in Theatre by the Lake listening to Alastair Darling or Claire Tomalin can marvel at the mountains (or even climb them) and stroll amongst the daffodils. Words by the Water lasts for 10 days in March and thousands came to the Lake District just a month ago. 

In July many book and idea enthusiasts will come to Ways With Words at Dartington Hall in Devon. They will be there partly to hear Michael Palin, Jung Chang, Tariq Ali, P.D.James, Hilary Mantel, Joan Bakewell, Julian Clary, Michael Holroyd – and about 100 other speakers, but they will also be there for the tranquil gardens of Dartington Hall; the walks by the River Dart and the soft hills of Devon.

November in Southwold is quite different: the waves crash on the shingle; the inland lighthouse flashes in the centre of the town; the colourful fishing boats deliver their catch to huts in the harbour. Besides leaving with bags full of books visitors often take boxes of fish home for their freezers and cases of Adnams wine. Life is slow and tranquil in Suffolk.

But now in May, our latest festival, Words in the Park, caters for the city side of our dual personalities, albeit in Holland Park which with its flower-filled gardens, trees and calm offers much tranquility. For three days (18-20 May) visitors can move from hearing Jeremy Paxman, Andrew Marr, Maureen Lipman, Sandi Toksvig, Bettany Hughes and many more, to sitting by flower beds in the park or stepping out into the bustle of the marvellous shops of Kensington High Street. Kensington Palace, with its newly designed gardens is just up the road. In fact there is so much to see and do I return to my original musing: town mouse or country mouse? A mix of both seems a good option.

 

Never say Ways With Words doesn’t offer variety and a richness of experience.

(Find out more about the range of Ways With Words experiences on our website: wayswithwords.co.uk  To go on the Ways With Words mailing list phone: 01803 867373. For the latest news sign up for our e-newsletter through the website.)

Christmas and Commercialism

Jeudi 8 Decembre

The Christmas decorations in Paris are stylish and muted – unlike England. The ice rink outside Hôtel de Ville only starts on the 10^th.  I have been pontificating about a country with strong Catholic roots not wanting to commercialise a religious celebration. Then we went to the Christmas market which stretches from the top of the Champs-Elysées to the Place de la Concorde. The biggest and best in Paris we read but we’d say the biggest and worst. Forget non-commercialisation of Christmas here. Think instead of the Winter wonderland in Hyde Park. We rushed by in our judgemental way.

Earlier that day we walked along the Boulevard St. Germain. There we lingered over more creative Christmas stalls. We revisited Rue de Seine; a favourite street from our past. There were even more galleries than we remembered. Two had black and white photographs by Mario Giacomelli. We were entranced by his photographs of lively, running and dancing priests with flowing robes and his stripy landscape shots of ploughed fields. Familiar pictures but we didn’t recognize his name. For old times sake we had lunch at La Palette where artists meet – apparently. 

A new addition to the museum scene is musee du quai Branly, “Where cultures meet in dialogue” is its strap line. We had read about the extraordinary building designed by Jean Nouval. Aptly described – the building was an experience in itself. I am very interested in Oceanic art so enjoyed the whole experience – “an innovative and diversified approach to non-Western cultures”. We spent a long time in an extensive Maori exhibition.

A friend Diana had recommended the restaurant, Chez Omar, but had no address. We stumbled across it on Rue de Bretagne so went for dinner. It was great fun: very cheap, very cheerful. There were always about 20 people waiting for tables.

The waiter insisted I had what appeared to be a fig biscuit with my coffee. Not figgy biscuits as we know them.

 

Vendredi 9 Decembre

We can’t believe it is our last day. So much we still want to do.

I called in at a clothes shop I had been admiring all week. Some flamboyant clothes in glittery brocade, some restrained shift dresses in black linen: "I could dress myself from here", I told Steve. "You could but it would close the business" he said, when he saw the simplest dress was over 400 euros. I particularly liked the army beds along one wall filled with grey linen cushions.

Diana had recommended Musee Carnavalet too so we decided to go there. “The most outstanding buildings in the Marais”, we read. The museum is housed in 2 buildings. It has over 100 rooms filled with paintings, models and displays showing Paris’ history. We saw loads but missed Proust’s bedroom. I decided I needed to learn more about the French Revolution so shall start by rereading ‘A Tale of Two Cities’.

Definitely a place for another visit.

Lunch at another memorable, very busy, very French restaurant.

We planned to go to Madeleine to see a Giacometti exhibition, to go to Jeu de Paume, but we couldn’t bear to leave the lovely Marais. Instead spent an hour reading on the sofa under the Gary Hume. This evening we had snacks at Café de Progres. Kate said they make the best Croque Monsieur she has ever had and she’s right.

I read that Paris is the city of small studio flats which is why the cafés and restaurants are so full. We loved the space in this flat and lingered in the mornings and evenings yet we also loved sitting on heated café terraces watching all life go by.

So sad our week is over. Au Revoir le Marais, l'appartement fomidable and all the delights of Paris.

 

 

Locomotives and Hunting – we act out of character

Tuesday 6 December

We had a list of Monday closings but now it was Tuesday in Paris and time to catch up with galleries, restaurants, shops, life.

Not far away is La Passage de Retz, a former toy factory but now a gallery for contemporary art. This turned out to be simple, abstract collages from ripped paper by two artists whose names I can’t remember which is a bit shameful as we liked their work. I was even more taken by the building. From the main gallery space was a zinc, spiral staircase leading to a balcony. Steve tried to convince me it would not look right in our 16^th century farmhouse but I’m not so sure.

Chloe and Videl went to see Musée de la Chasse when they were staying here. We wouldn’t have considered visiting a museum of hunting but I trusted their judgment so we dutifully shot along. (Any metaphor I chose suggested hunting or animals: shot, trotted, flew, galloped, skulked, prowled, crept – funny). The museum was quite amazing. Unusual avante garde art was on display amongst stuffed animals (Scary, Theo would say) and traditional paintings; there were exquisite wooden cupboards with drawers that opened to show animal poo and other curios; you could press buttons and hear bird song. We spent ages surprisingly mesmerized by hunting displays.

Did much wandering around discovering strangely, quiet places and quietly, strange places. (I wish I’d said this but I’m quoting from an art book.) Then on to a less quiet place : Musée des Arts Decoratifs. I’d imagined this would be small but I was wrong. Fortunately we had a fortifying lunch there at Le Saint de Loup. We could have seen decorative arts from medieval times but decided to concentrate on the 20^th century. We enjoyed designer chairs from 1960 onwards accompanied by film extracts where the furniture had appeared. We had sat in similar Eames chairs while visiting friends recently. We should have been filmed.

Most extraordinary was the retrospective exhibition of Jean Paul Gorde’s work – a flamboyant icon of fashion, advertising, photography. The centerpiece was a giant locomotive, installed because of Gorde’s celebrations for the bi-centenary of the French Revolution. There were videos from the display with Margaret Thatcher looking entertained. 

We checked out Colette, because everyone says you should. Expensive and boring. Give me a department store like Merci.

Finished the day at a concert in Notre Dame of Renaissance songs. Haunting music.

Well – didn’t quite finish the day at Notre Dame but stopped at Café Charlot for ear wagging and drinks. Fastly spoken French sounds so intense I can’t believe these conversations aren’t about existentialism and the meaning of life.

Merci for Merci

Monday 5 December

We thought we had missed Merci and then we saw the small yard full of white Christmas trees and a red car with the registration MERCI. Ha ha. Kate had recommended this department store but didn’t say I’d find it bliss. We nearly didn’t go. A department store suggests John Lewis and I could never get excited about John Lewis whereas Merci . . . It wasn’t that I wanted to buy anything but I could have bought everything: misshapen pottery, murky coloured towels, wonky glass vases, non-glittery baubles for Christmas, but most of all I wanted to buy the oatmeal coloured cement floors, the grey metal stairs, the iron pipes. This was industrial shabbiness on an industrial scale. Kate wasn’t to know it was what I love.

After wandering from floor to floor and buying waffled face clothes in grey and mustard and a white porcelain squashed vase we had coffee in the café. This was called “The Used Book Café”. That says it all. It was a floor to ceiling, book-lined room with dim lighting from old glass chandeliers and strong coffee. It took a lot of effort to move from the Merci café but out there was Paris. 

The Pompidou Centre by comparison seemed conventional. We took the elevators up and up. I am reminded of the time we saw the exhibition L’Année Pop and 60s pop music blared as we ascended – and descended – several times as I was enjoying the nostalgia. The shop and bookshop need as much time as the gallery. I bought a book on myths about Banksy. I read that a man walked along the queues of Banksy’s exhibition in Bristol patting people; then they found they all had a sticker on their backs saying, “Idiot”. Was the mysterious back-patter Banksy or not? I hope it was him.

The Niki de St. Phalle sculptured fountain was colourful and around it were lots of wall paintings/graffiti. Friends of Banksy?

Steve wanted to see the Seine. We crossed the bridge to Notre Dame and were drawn inside by candles and choral music. Despite our lack of belief we like to pay our Euros and light candles. He for his mother, me for grandsons. The Christmas Crib was huge with loads of tulips – not very Merci.

Back to the flat through the lit-up Marais. Not very marshy now.

 

 

 

 

Is Monday the New Sabbath in Paris?

Sunday 4 December

I expected Sunday to be very quiet on the streets of Paris. Surely everyone will be at Mass followed by a large family lunch? Obviously my stereotypes are many years out of date. Rue de Bretagne was even busier than Saturday. Many stalls lined the streets selling desirable bric a brac like globes and old anglepoise lamps. Kate’s favourite bookshop, Comme un Roman, was full of browsing readers. Surely they’d love a literature festival? There was a long queue at the bread shop. When I tasted their buttery croissants I knew why. Café Charlot, opposite the market, was filled with young, talkative, black clad, espresso drinkers. Not all my stereotypes are wrong.

My red gloves were out of place – not very Simone de Beauvoir.

Later we walked around Canal St Martin at the 10^th arrondisement. At this point Paris became Amsterdam. There were lovely old locks; high wrought iron bridges; people on bikes and leaves in the canal. We found a brocante market. We often visit these in the Dordogne where they are called Vide Greniers, but I expect there aren’t many greniers to empty in Paris. In Perigord we have the car to carry old jam jars and pots. Here we were frustrated by the thought of our Eurostar travel when there were so many old leather chairs we wanted.

Browsing our guides I see that lots of places are closed on Mondays. Maybe that’s when everyone goes to Mass.

I Think Therefore I Am – particularly in Paris

Saturday 3 December

When we arrived at St. Pancras to get the Eurostar I had a Margaret Drabble moment. In her new volume of short stories Margaret Drabble writes of a woman who is very excited by trains going to foreign destinations. I felt the same. In a very short time we would be in the heart of the Marais with elegant Parisians drinking wine, smoking aromatic cigarettes and discussing politics and philosophy. And we were.

Clutching Kate’s artistic and thorough guide we arrived at the big doors and entered. We climbed the wooden, spiral staircase to the 3^rd floor. As she wrote, C’est formidable. If we were on a television programme to guess who owned such a flat we would be saying, “Striking, modern art; wooden floors throughout; minimalist, stylish furniture: must be an art dealer or designer.” Spot on! We explored the rooms, shouting with pleasure. In the end bedroom we saw a wooden K and T and deduced that was Kate and Ted’s room and so ours for the week. Out of the windows we saw typical Parisian buildings with iron shutters and balconies and perfectly proportioned windows.

Opposite the flat was a restaurant packed with Parisians having long lunches. We went to join them then turned to Kate’s personal guide again. Rue de Bretagne, Le Marche des Enfants Rouge (why is it so called, we wondered), Café le Progres, Les Succulents de Cactus, galleries, quirky shops: we enjoyed them all. Then back to the flat for a late afternoon rest and read.

We wanted a simple, unfussy but French scene for dinner and found it at Robert et Louise: a crowded, shabby restaurant with large tables, unmatching chairs and a huge fire where they grilled meat, including our wooden boards full of lamb steaks. Very Café Oto, we thought, very us.

Back to Le Progres, as we now call it, for coffee and cognac and to absorb Saturday Night French Fever.

The peace and beauty of “our” flat was very welcome – so was bed.

Does Umbria Make You Creative?

Sitting in the courtyard at Villa Pia someone said to me, “This place makes me so creative.” She was spending her mornings in the writing workshops then doing her own self directed painting in the afternoon. I am amazed at the level of creativity that happens on Ways With Words' courses. On Friday evenings in Umbria we have a Private View – a posh concept for a fun/informal event when we all gather in the painters’ barn to see a slide show of images from the week (people, places and art work) and more paintings and drawings on the walls. We drink prosecco and marvel at how much has been achieved.    Saluti artists.

After dinner we sit in the lounge while the writers read short selected pieces from their week’s writing. One week they were linked by the theme of objects. Each writer had written a description of an object chosen from around Villa Pia, and then transformed the object into a person. The next the writing accompanied slides of a figure drawing class. Such wit and invention.

Meanwhile Bepe, Patrizia, Jesse and Marinella are creative in the kitchen and we marvel at their skill and inventiveness as the huge buffet appears at lunchtime and the 4 course meal each evening. They create with their knives and wooden spoons instead of charcoal, paint and pens. I won’t try and tell them that they are food artists.

Is it the place - Umbria with its pink skies, ploughed fields and hill top villages? Is it people – helpful tutors and supportive colleagues? Is it being away from all the pressures of daily existence?

I think space has something to do with it. Large rooms, high ceilings, panoramic views; does physical space help ideas fly? Psychological space seems unquantifiable but I’m sure there’s lots of that too.

If you need space for yourself and your creativity consider a Ways With Words course in Fingals in Devon (29 April – 4 May 2012) or here at Villa Pia in Umbria  (22 Sept – 29 Sept. and/or 29 Sept - 6 Oct.).

Peace and Quiet in Umbria?

I’ve been lying – unwittingly. I suggest on Ways With Words publicity that our courses in Italy are perfect for a peaceful, quiet holiday. Not true. It can’t be denied - Villa Pia is very noisy. We’ve been coming for about 15 years so I should know that but I always forget. When I sit in a deckchair in the courtyard in these hot autumn days I enjoy the sunshine; the symmetry of the knot garden; the views through the wisteria of hills, cypress trees, olive groves – but not silence. The four Italian chefs shout all the time. Maybe they are shouting instructions to each other as they bang about in the kitchen; maybe it's gossip. My Italian is not good enough to tell but I do know it is friendly and from the kitchen come pleasant cookery noises of chopping, stirring, simmering, pans clattering. At meal times there will be a vast collection of delicious, home-cooked dishes; nothing is spoilt by the noise. The cleaners here never sweep and mop in resentful silence but instead keep a flow of loud, cheerful conversation. Often we walk across their newly mopped tiles but no problem. They shout welcoming greetings. Soon one of the course members will decide to make a cappuccino. The beans are whizzed in the electric machine and ground to powder. Next the large plumbed-in coffee machine starts to splutter and pour. Upstairs shutters bang. Footsteps ring on the tiled floors. Another opens the fridge for a beer. Bottles clink. However the writers and painters can find quiet corners to think and create. Some disappear onto leafy terraces to look and record. Others go to swim and wonder at the Umbrian landscape. They swish gently up and down the pool. Many pour a glass of wine and read. It is possible to revel in quietness but most enjoy the familiar cacophony of Villa Pia. Yet the English are reserved. They whisper to each other. Even hoots of laughter are quiet hoots. Maybe that’s what we come to Villa Pia for. Besides the wine, food, heat, pink skies, fields of sunflowers and golden mornings we want the babble of Italian voices and the crashes of shutters and doors in this large tiled villa. I’ll stop promising peace and quiet. That would be lying. A mark after the first week for noisiness would be: Italians - 10 out of 10, English – 3 out of 10. If you would enjoy the noises of Villa Pia we shall be returning next September 22 for 2 weeks of Ways With Words courses on writing, art, book groups and ideas-based discussions. All details on website or by phoning the office and talking to Bryony: 01803 867373