December 19, 2010


Tyrrhenian purple anemones – the start of something festive and now always bought this week of the year since Christmases in Rome. The best flower stalls are in Rome. Now thinking about lights . . . on the little Dickens cupboard twinkling with some pure forms thrown by Ursula Mommens . . .

 . . . yes, camera shake but can’t be bothered with a tripod . . . .  light beaming through the stair rods gives a strong dynamic pattern.


Outside, pink tones at sunset die away so fast. 

Dark within a few minutes and even worse camera shake but it gives lovely wiggly light patterns so that’s OK. 

Lights across the road at Plenty – a fire-place with all accoutrements is the main feature in the front window . . .

 . . inside and the reflection in the rear window . . . like fluttering wings . . .

 . .  inside the Old Admiral Benbow, the lighting designer has found special things.

 And at Robert’s antique shop, traditional pretty mixed colours as you would expect.

And opposite at Skylon more 50’s, as you would expect . . .

 . . lights that gently move through the spectrum and provide an effect from the distance. Some window frontages in Norman Road invite close up inspection. At the Baker Mamonova Russian gallery, presents breaking out of the brown paper wrappers sit along the window ledge – it’s a good idea – less of the baubles and tinsel . . 

. . . and at Wayward, mystifying groupings with a real sense of atmosphere and also the stacks of ribbon, buttons and braid for sale. The unfocused quality seems to represent the step back in time feel of entering an Aladdin’s cave of haberdashery. Stuff that dreams are made of.

 and here, holograms wave around inside the space to add to the layered feeling of celebration. Above us, the single stone.

Not what the light will do but how he shapes it
And what particular colours it will bear.

And something of the climber’s concentration
Seeing the white peak, setting the right foot there.

Not how the sun was plausible at morning
Nor how it was distributed at noon,

And not how much the single stone could show
But rather how much brilliance it would shun;

Simply a paring down, a cleaving to
One object, as the star-gazer who sees

One single comet polished by its fall
Rather than countless, untouched galaxies. 

The Diamond Cutter  Elizabeth Jennings

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