Ways With Words

The Fruits of France – Coping with Surfeits

Bowls of cherries from our next door neighbours' trees keep arriving. I never thought you could have a surfeit of cherries. But France is a place for surfeits. We have just returned from Ribérac market where I was tempted by trays of apricots, peaches, peppers, courgettes and aubergines but despite having a crowd of hungry artists and writers on our course there is a limit to what they can be tempted to consume. I keep presenting jugs of homemade lemonade and elderflower cordial and honey cake made with honey from our neighbours’ bees. If our customers don’t eat and drink more I shall have to throw food away. Can’t do that! I’ll just have to eat lots myself and endure a surfeit of flesh.

We have no problems with the surfeit of creativity though. Paintings of jugs, lilies and fields are festooning our barn. A full length mirror is propped against the wall and someone is examining herself (fully clothed I should add) for a large Francis Bacon style self portrait. Rosemary (Catling) the art tutor, showed slides of her work: many lonely figures in large landscapes and figures jumping into space – or water. She explained that her work reflects her concerns for the future of her grandchildren. As I suspected having grandchildren means I shall have yet more worries to try and control. There is probably a tipping point after which the anxieties can’t be contained. I shall find out whether I have reached that point next August when my daughter’s baby is born.

While the artists are applying colour the writers are expanding nursery rhymes into short stories written in a particular genre. So Jack and Jill may become a horror story, Humpty Dumpty a detective story. Will (Randall) our writing tutor has been looking at short stories with the group. Someone flung a book of short stories across the table and said that she hated the writer. Any guesses who the despised author may be?

We are always amazed at the excess of creativity hovering within each person. Most of it is suppressed while everyday life is lived, but give someone a peaceful meadow, sunshine, elderflower cordial (or better still Bordeaux wine), encouraging tutors and time away from the common task and there’s a positive Chelsea Flower Show of creative expression.

Surfeits are usually welcome. An abundance of fruit and vegetables is heart warming, a plethora of paintings is inspiring – and you can never have too many words – nor grandchildren, though this may lead to an unwelcome surfeit of anxiety. If so I shall have to do what Rosemary does and transform the worries into works of art. It’s time to go on a Ways With Words holiday course.

For those who want to release their suppressed creativity, or control their anxieties, there are more Ways With Words Holiday courses this year:
Memoir Writing in the Dordogne, 9-13 September
Painting, writing, book groups and philosophy in Umbria, Italy 26 September - 3 October, 3-10 October.

Waiting For Customers

Like Estragon and Vladimir, Steve and myself have been waiting. We too have talked a lot about the arrival. But for us it is of our course members and unlike Godot we know for certain they will arrive and then the play will begin. Also our waiting has been a busy, active time, more action than talk in fact. We arrived at our French house just a week ago and the last week has been been getting the set ready in preparation for our writing and art courses. This means many trips to Leclerc and trolleys filled with wine, cheese, coffee, yoghurts etc. The garden pots are filled with geraniums. The rosemary and lavender are trimmed and watered. We try out the swimming pool; we get out the Penguin deckchairs; we prune the bay and we warn our French neighbours that the English are about to arrive. Happily we watch where the shadows fall in the courtyard to note cool areas for sitting to paint and write.

The house sparkles – as much as an old farmhouse in France can sparkle. Old, stone shutters and big fireplaces are by their nature dusty but hey ho it’s French dust so that’s alright. Last night I mopped the tiles in the kitchen as we backed out to go to bed. I greatly enjoyed seeing the white tiles come whiter and the black blacker. It was a D. H. Lawrence moment; he loved sweeping floors.

How awful if our course participants did a Godot on us. We would have to drink all the wine ourselves. Meanwhile we lie on the reclining chairs under the walnut trees, start on the wine, and wait.

Smile, You're On The Ways With Words Programme

 When people pick up a Ways With Words programme I want them to see lots of smiling faces. I’d be more likely to go to a festival where everyone looked cheerful than one which seemed to be full of misery guts. It’s surprisingly difficult to find writers smiling, let alone laughing merrily. Perhaps they want to appear serious, thoughtful and concerned, or maybe life is tough for writers.

James Lovelock looks very cheerful, despite thinking we’ve left global warming too late. Maybe he is thinking I’m almost 90 – not my problem. 

Simon Majumdar looks in pain. Perhaps on his travels to sample food round the world he was offered snake’s kidneys – or something didn’t agree with him. 

Satish Kumar looks serene; one would expect that from an ex Buddhist monk. Serenity at a festival is desirable. 

Ben Crystal looks as if he is about to hug someone. Maybe he is embracing the world. No-one could object to being embraced by Ben Crystal or Shakespeare. 

Prue Leith and Julia Neuberger get joint prize for being the most cheerful. They are enjoying life – hoorah.     

But a lot of our speakers only manage a wan grin, sometimes this turns into a grimace. Gyles Brandreth and Paddy Ashdown should have huge grins that say, “Thank God I am not in the House of Commons at the moment.” Instead they look wistful.

On the same page I am drawn to the cheeky grins of the Wondermentalist women, Liv Torc and Beryl the Feral. They look very good fun.

Oh Arthur what’s wrong with you?  Comedians are supposed to see the funny side of life. Put away your grumpy old man face. I bet his show is full of ascerbic comments on what’s wrong with the world – or MPs.

Probably my favourite photo is of Lynn Barber smoking. Smoking! How politically incorrect can this festival get? This one deserves a prize in a special category because it made me laugh.

There are many serious moments at Ways With Words when big problems like greed, inequality, environmental issues are tackled but overall it is a joyful experience to come to Ways With Words – festive in fact.

To see the smiling and unsmiling faces [and Lynn Barber smoking] phone 01803 867373 for a paper programme or download the programme from the festival page on the website.

Away With Words

My professional life has been dominated by words. Not surprising when I spend my time running Ways With Words. I read around a hundred books a year for my work - which is not enough. There is no getting away from the fact that it is a word-dominated life and yet I would describe myself as a visual person. I get up early to watch mist rise over the fields; I am in ecstasy at a simple white cup on a wooden table; shades of green in May have me rushing for my paints. So when we go to France to run our Ways With Words course I shall choose to do painting rather than writing. Give me a sunny courtyard, and the quiet creativity of a group of writers and painters working under parasols, and I get out my brushes.

WHAT INSPIRES ME
Peeling paint on wooden boards, the stripes of fields of vines and olives, a red jug next to a white mug, three bluebells in a jar, a bowl of purple plums, a rusty corrugated iron roof– inspiration tends to come from unexpected sources. My paintings usually fall into two categories: those inspired by fields, fences, water, skies – the outdoors, and those that come from the kitchen – eggs, lemons, bottles, mugs.

There’s lots of kitchen stuff in France and fields and peeling paint too so no shortage of subjects for paintings. No excuse - so away with words and up with pastels, paints and paper. Of course with the Ways With Words Dartington festival starting on 10 July I shall be reading lots too. A pile of books will come with me:

• 'Solving The Arts Puzzle' by Richard Fox (Sat. 11 July at 5pm)
• 'A Single Swallow' by Horatio Clare (Tues. 14 July at 2pm)
• 'My Judy Garland Life' by Susie Boyt (Sun. 12 July at 10.45am) – re-reading this as I am chairing this event. Found it quirky, thoughtful, insightful – loved it.
• 'The Music Room' by William Fiennes (Sat. 11 July at 9.30am)
• 'How to Paint a Dead Man' by Sarah Hall (Sun 12 July 12 noon) - not connected with my painting but because she is an exciting young novelist.

Looks as if words will be battling with brushes for my time in France. Ways With Words writing and art workshops run from 2-9 June in the Dordogne area of France.
More details are on our website or phone 01803 867373.

From the Big Apple to Droridge Apple Trees

Instead of shopping at Zabars it’s Riverford Farm foodshop, instead of the Gourmet Garage it’s Dartington Garage. Our Broadway is Totnes High Street. The Tribeca Film festival has been replaced with the Barn Cinema. Dartington Gardens is our Central Park. The BBC is our CNN, The Guardian our New York Times. We keep kicking each other in our standard double bed after the giant conjugal bed we had in New York. I haven’t seen anyone jogging since we returned. How diverse lives are.

I didn’t have the necessary leads to put photos on the blog while I was in New York so here are some now to transport you across the Atlantic.

Metropolitan Museum of Art - Rooftop Terrace - Roxy Paine's sculpture 'Maelstrom'

The Brooklyn Bridge - on our way to BAM

Chuck Close (and attendant angels) - Meatpacking District

Shop window on Mott Street

SoHo lofts

Christopher Park - West Village

Our book-lined pied à terre - Upper West Side

More Gawking in New York

USES OF (AMERICAN) ENGLISH
• There is an Open Homes and Gardens w/e coming up which sadly we are missing. The headline in the paper was, “Homes and Gardens, Open For Gawking”. That’s me sussed.
• Yesterday we were offered a bowl of ‘heirloom tomato soup’.
• Overheard, father to little child, “No, you had white flour for breakfast; you can’t have any more.”

AND GAWKING IN GALLERIES
We discovered that the galleries that line the 20+ W. streets in Chelsea are open for Private Views on Thursday nights, often with the artists present and usually with wine and partying a go-go. Never ones to miss a party we arrived late afternoon as we wanted first to see the Sophie Calle exhibition. Men beware! If you want to dump your conceptual artist lover be very, very careful. Calle’s ex lover sent her an email explaining that he didn’t want to see her any more and ended, Take care of yourself. Cue for an exhibition. Hell hath no fury like an artist scorned. She sent the email to 107 women (amongst them an anthropologist, psychologist, dancer, criminologist, teenager, clairvoyant) for their reactions. Their responses were displayed in films, photographs and textual analysis. This exhibition warranted much time and attention. I needed and wanted to spend hours there. The woman who danced her response made me laugh; also the one who said that he was obviously a man who would prefer jazz to rock. A translator discussed each phrase used in the email. “Take care of yourself” – big mistake.
It was a witty, moving, intriguing exhibition. I bet the ex-lover wished he’d phoned her instead of emailing.

People were gathering in the other galleries so we followed them. The dilemma was whether to watch the visitors or the art – the arty, party folk won in several exhibitions. The huge industrial gallery spaces were also visually compelling. In one gallery we were drawn by all three. Chuck Close, the artist was seated in his wheelchair high above the crowds. A host of angels/beautiful women were encircling him. He was obviously revered but I’m ashamed to say we didn’t know of him though I recognised his big portraits – one of Clinton. Later Alastair Sooke told me that he’d interviewed him for the Telegraph so I read his interview on line.

We queued for ages at Spice Market for dinner afterwards. Food and gawking value worth the wait.

Feet and Art in New York

We had two very different art experiences yesterday and both left me baffled, unmoved and uninspired. The New Museum in the Lower East Side (stunning modern building) had an exhibition of young artists’ work – Younger Than Jesus it was called, ie younger than Jesus at his crucifixion, 33. Maybe it’s because I’m much older than Jesus that I found it difficult to engage, or maybe my feet were tired with walking for miles. You never know what shapes your responses and feet, age and how much wine you had at lunch may be factors. After 4 floors of art, that I didn’t bother to struggle with, we arrived at the 5th floor and sat on a very comfortable sofa to watch a 30 minute film with footage on the seminal moments (political, artistic, musical, social) of the last 33 years. I found this fascinating – so, considering the sofa, maybe my feet had influenced my reactions when I was walking around the gallery.

Feet semi-recovered we walked a lot further: into Chinatown, over the Brooklyn Bridge and to BAM - the Brooklyn Academy of Music. We had booked for a performance of modern dance. This isn’t an art form we know much about but we have seen some striking modern dance in New York in the past and pride ourselves on our open minds. As we were early for our show we went into the huge café for refreshments. What a space: lots of red and aluminium, huge arches and white plaster cast bodies hanging from the very high ceiling - an un-childlike mobile. Surprisingly the auditorium was quite traditional, like a West End theatre. The dance show consisted of 4 pieces created by Trisha Brown: one from the 60s, one designed by Robert Rauschenberg, a 2004 piece and the premier of a new opera and dance. I enjoyed it all in a soporific way. (I noticed lots of people were yawning in the interval so maybe I wasn’t alone).Considering that Steve and myself are both uneducated in modern dance I didn’t expect to be able to give an informed critique but we were rather underwhelmed by the experience. At the end Trisha Brown came onstage and got a standing ovation, huge bouquet and lots of woops and cheers. I understood what it means to be illiterate.  

The marvellous subway whisked us from BAM, right up to our door in the Upper West Side in 25 minutes. Obama’s first 100 days were being discussed on TV. The audiences were asked to phone in to give him grades for his achievements in several areas including his response to swine flu. Poor man; swine flu only arrived in America about 2 days ago and all I’ve heard him say is put your hand over your mouth if you cough.

My Grades for Today’s Activities:
Lunch at Freemans – loved its grey walls, purple flowers, stuffed birds – so A for environment, B+ for food.
New Museum – Building A, Art D, film B
Brooklyn Bridge – AAA – fantastic
BAM – Building A, dance C+
Subway home – A
Television coverage of Obama’s 100 days – off the scale; I’m not sure which end.

The debate over what is good art, or what is art, and who decides, has been bubbling for many years. The plastic arts seem to invoke the most ire but not entirely. An elderly relative used to say, “I think a play should have a beginning, a middle and an end.” – usually to express her wrath at Pinter or Beckett.
To engage with the art conundrum come to hear Richard Fox at Ways With Words on Saturday 11 July at 5pm in Dartington Hall’s Barn Theatre.

Enjoying the 3Ls in New York

I read somewhere that visitors to New York should avoid the 3Ls : lingering, loitering and looking – the 3 things we spend all our time doing. No problems so far. Eavesdropping, walking and watching seem a good way to get to know a city and we have spent our days enjoying these pastimes.

Yesterday we set off across Central Park again. Normally we have breakfast on the roof garden but we had run out of bread so we called at Le Pain Quotidian on Amsterdam Avenue and had a big basket full of varied breads to fuel us.

Steve made me offer the Schiffrin’s suggested 2$ as an entry fee to the Met instead of its suggested 20$. I’d have felt better if I could have justified this but the person on the desk just takes your money – no questions asked. It is a spectacular museum. We went up to the roof garden and saw the new roof sculpture: Roxy Paine’s Maelstrom – a huge tangle of steel you are invited to walk amongst ‘to experience the maelstrom’, so we did. I actually felt peaceful. The view across Central Park’s fresh green trees with the sparkling skyscrapers on the horizon was awe-inspiring. We also saw a new exhibition – The Pictures Generation – drawings, photos and prints and a film about one of the contributors, Cindy Sherman, who uses herself, dressed and made-up, to create varied characters as the subject for her photos. Not bad for 2$.

A fast bus ride took us down to the Tribeca Film Festival again. This time we saw a French film called Queen to Play. Slow, quirky, quiet. The director and 2 actors did the Q&A afterwards. Kevin Kline was one of the actors and there was great excitement when he appeared. I realised at the Film Festival what I like about festivals: the queuing before is companionable; there is a supportive atmosphere amongst the audience with applaud after the film and then the Q&A session is unifying – even if the questions are awful. The questions were the mix we get at Ways With Words: some challenging and thoughtful, some quite mad. After this film someone asked why there was no nudity if it was meant to be romantic. Someone else commented that the brushes on the door created an atmospheric swishing sound. The director looked as if she must have lost something in translation as she tried to answer these questions.

Chloe and Videl had recommended a restaurant in the Lower East Side – Supper - so we had supper there. Über cool as the guidebooks said. We loved it: old glass lampshades, velvet curtains, big wooden tables and delicious food. Packed with arty foodies.

Back home to our huge bed and what passes for news. Swine flu taking about 80% of air time. We saw our first swine flu mask in New York today. There is a phone-in to vote about how worried you are about it; we realised that Steve’s mother would be off the scale. Tomorrow is Obama’s 100th day in office. We shall be glued to CNN, when we aren’t engaged with the 3Ls.

Two Countries Separated by the Same Language …….

As a words person I know that language usage is constantly changing but I’m often entertained in New York to see how the English language has developed differently here. Many nouns have been transformed into verbs. Each time we get on a bus we are warned ‘No littering’, on the pavements we are told to curb (kerb) our dogs. Walking in Central Park we were instructed to respect the fence. In England respect is something for parents or teachers. As Steve said, ‘A fence has to earn my respect’. He’s so English.

More striking (and I have to admit shocking at times) are the views expressed. In the New York Times this Sunday there was an interview with Maria Shriver about her father’s Alzheimers. The interviewer, suggesting she was a strong spokesperson for the disease (though he called her a spokeswoman – could have been worse), said, ‘You look like a Wonder Woman with those cheekbones’. I re-read it several times. Was this ironic I wondered? I don’t think so. Where was the editor? On our last visit we watched a television programme that divided a group of men into two groups – Brawn and Brains (though looking at them it wasn’t easy to see the difference) and the viewing women were asked to vote on which group they preferred. We should have clicked on to CNN news of course but I found this so amazing I carried on watching.

But there are also strikingly liberal attitudes. There is widespread support for the disabled. If a wheelchair user wants to get on a bus the driver gets out and helps the person in the wheelchair safely onto the bus. None of the passengers look annoyed at the delay (except me, I’m ashamed to say, after one journey was delayed at almost every stop). Nor do the wheelchair users think that gratitude is required. One person shouted and swore at the driver and the passengers, “Move along, I need more space. Get out of my way”. We use the buses a lot in London and I’ve never known a driver get out to help in this way.

Each nation is full of contradictions, contrasts and great plurality of views. When Hamish was in San Francisco some years ago he was often stopped by people shaking him by the hand and thanking him for Tony Blair’s and Britain’s support of the war in Iraq. It was rarely possible to explain his anti-war position. The titles on the bookshelves here show alternative views: ‘Conglomerates And The Media’, ‘The Rise Of Disaster Capitalism’,‘The War At Home – the domestic costs of Bush’s militarism’.

How are diverse views disseminated to a wider public? Maybe one way is through literature festivals (or film festivals like the Tribeca one we’ve been attending). We constantly need a challenge to our thinking and I’m finding this happens all the time while we are in New York. Travel does indeed broaden the mind.

Ageist attitudes are still widely accepted in Britain so I am glad that Julia Neuberger has tackled this issue in her latest book and will present her ideas at Ways With Words at Dartington on Sunday 19 July.

New York, New York . . .

New York is Indeed a Wonderful Place – even if it is over-consuming:
The night before we flew to New York we went to the cinema to see, The Age of Stupid. “Three years of your carbon footprint allowance is used by one flight from London to New York”, we were informed, as if the film was speaking just to us. Oh help.

However I know that if oil does run out there won’t be Pete Postlethwaite on a tower in the skies telling us where we went wrong. I must go to the Transition Town morning at the festival this July, hear what they have to say and keep quiet about being here. James Lovelock is speaking too and he thinks it’s too late for individual acts. I’ll listen to him too.

Even if refusing a plastic bag and recycling rubbish is a useless gesture I am still shocked by the over-consumption in America. I felt virtuous when I bought some organic tea bags until I discovered that each bag had its own extra polythene bag. Most food seems to be wrapped with many layers. I wanted to rip my purchases open and leave the excessive wrappings at the cash desk, as protesters have done in England, but one look from Steve restrained me. I didn’t even feel I could refuse the double carrier bags the cashier used for my few goods.

In The New York Times travel pages there was an article headed, The Flying Dilemma. “Ah,” I thought, at least here the issue is being addressed. But no: the article was about whether to buy your flights early or late to get cheap deals.

Temperature reaches 90 F
In light of what I’ve said I should be worried about this but instead I loved the joyful atmosphere in Central Park yesterday. The grass was covered in near naked sunbathers; rowing boats full of families were bobbing on the lake; musicians were playing and the crowds were cheering the breakdancers. The brides in flowing white dresses were posing for photographs. Apparently they get into their finery a few days ahead of the wedding to get the photographs done. This worried me; I felt sure the dresses would get dusty, sweaty or be stained with ice cream. Maybe that doesn’t matter – it’s the photos that count. Of course the health conscious were exercising: the fat, the thin, the young, the old were sweating from their many creases as they jogged, cycled, rollerbladed.

We just walked. We strolled around the paths, marvelling at the blossom and Spring flowers then followed our usual Sunday tradition and brunched at The Boathouse Restaurant. We were told there was a 2 hour wait so we got drinks and sat on leather chairs listening to the pianist and admiring the view of water, trees and skyscrapers and felt in no rush. The kind receptionist let us jump the queue and in only 20mins we were sitting at our table on the edge of the lake. Zagat is rude about the food at The Boathouse but we disagree. We had lovely salads, croissants, seed cakes and delicious coffee for under 20$.

We intended going on to the Met and other galleries but instead we found a bench in the shade and read. I’m immersed in the autobiography of Andre Schiffren [publisher and owner of the flat where we are staying] so I’m finding out about New York in the 40s when he and his Jewish family fled here from Paris and their connections with left wing intellectuals from that time on.

The Schiffrin’s lovely Upper West Side penthouse flat has a roof garden, leather sofas and is filled with books – perfect for an excess of reading. This could be considered a busman’s holiday but who wants a holiday from books?

Ways With Words Festival of Words and Ideas takes place at Dartington Hall 10-20 July. Monday 13 July is Transition Town morning with Rob Hopkins and others, while that afternoon James Lovelock will be speaking about his ideas to his biographer, John Gribbin. Programme available online from Tuesday 5 May. Visit wayswithwords.co.uk