in the park – with the sculpture – in yorkshire

Through the glass of YSP (Yorkshire Sculpture Park) visitor centre – a very decent building by Fielden Clegg Bradley – tree canopies abound. Elements of the original parkland estate remain.

Yorkshire is synonymous with dry stone walls. This level of craftsmanship doesn’t appear often enough in counties to the south. The only person I know of who can select, cut and place stone well is Mr Swatton. He’d enjoy these modest but well built retaining walls . . .

. . . the major exhibition is a survey of the work by Ursula von Rydingsvard – she works with wood – mostly Red Cedar – bronze, polyurethane resin and other more organic materials. Is she crafts person or  an artist? Or both? If I could, I be there to listen to her.

In the Camellia House, her work sits well within the singular architecture.

A little history as provided by Pevsner The Buildings of England 1967: ‘Camellia House circa 1812 by Jeffrey Wyatt for Col. Thomas Richard and Diana Beaumont. Materials are ashlar stone and glass. A symmetrical composition of 7  x 1 bays plus a diagonal projecting bay at each corner. Square panelled piers to the front supporting the entablature . . . . full height glazing. Large round-arched windows  . . . framed by engaged Tuscan columns. Hipped glass roofs, separate over the projecting bays . . . Interior: niche at left and right. Scrolled iron brackets support the iron gutter and similar arched braces to roof apex. Iron tie rods to 2 intermediated trusses clasped by pairs of slender ion columns‘. It is a little gem.

Traditional furnishings alongside a strong masculine head by Frink . . . .

. . and a Pye water feature.

The Cascade Bridge spans the Lower and Upper Lake and connects the gardenesque part of the estate with the pasture and woodland. A gentle and quite mesmerizing feature . . .

. . . lost in thought here too.

David Nash made the Seventy-one Steps – amongst other site-specific works in 2010 along the walking route to Longside Gallery. This path runs along by some modest estate workers cottages and the quarry and the old well below. 

Another David Nash, Black Mound,  in a lovely setting. And a piece of Goldsworthy called Outclosure.

Ai Weiwei has taken over the Chapel both inside and out. Ming + Qing dynasty chairs fill the interior and a rather ugly ‘tree’ sits outside.

Walk over recognition to all those who have contributed financially and with their time and effort – on leaving or arriving. Much appreciated, thank you.

A stranger here
Strange things doth meet, strange glories see;
Strange treasures lodged in this fair world appear,
Strange all and new to me;
But that they mine should be, who nothing was,
That strangest is of all, yet brought to pass.    Thomas Traherne   The Salutation

When I wake the rains falling
and I think, as always, its for the best.
I remember how much I love rain,
the weakest and strongest of us all;

as I listen to its yeses and nos,
I think how many men and women

would, if they could,
against all sense and nature,

tax the rain for its privileges;

make it pay for soaking our earth
and splashing all over our leaves;

pay for muddying our grass
and amusing itself with our roots.

Let rain be taxed, they say
for riding on our rivers
and drenching our sleeves;

for loitering in our lakes
and reservoirs. Make rain pay its way.

make it pay for lying full length
in the long straight sedate green waters

of our city canals
and for working its way through processes

of dreamy complexity
until this too- long untaxed rain comes indoors,

and touches our lips,
bringing assuagement- for rain comes

to slake all our thirsts, spurting
brusque and thrilling in hot needles,

showering on to anyone naked;
or blaming our skins in the shape of scented baths.

Yes, they are many whod like to tax the rain;
even now, they whisper, it can be done, it must be done.      Penelope Shuttle     Taxing the Rain

wet south bank and a few touches of yellow

Was taken with the mass planting of libertias under the robinias outside the Festival Hall. Libertias receive a bad press generally as the foliage tends to brown/blacken in winter time. They’re great for difficult corners on planting beds – I find anyway!

Under Hungerford Bridge, blocks of bright colour are welcome in the Scottish mists that seem to have clothed the south east – it’s May after all!  Mandela casts his eye across a wet landscape . . . .

. . . and no chance of these chairs being occupied this evening. I’m glad, as empty chairs make a good composition . . .

. . and although the weather sucks it means rather nice photographic views. Good comes from bad.

Just a fleeting visit out on the terrace of the National to enjoy the well scaled planting in the raised planters. Needs a jolly good weed though!

When I wake the rain’s falling
and I think, as always, it’s for the best.

I remember how much I love rain,
the weakest and strongest of us all;

as I listen to its yeses and no’s,
I think how many men and women

would, if they could,
against all sense and nature,

tax the rain for its privileges;

make it pay for soaking our earth
and splashing all over our leaves;
pay for muddying our grass
and amusing itself with our roots.

Let rain be taxed, they say
for riding on our rivers
and drenching our sleeves;

for loitering in our lakes
and reservoirs. Make rain pay its way.

make it pay for lying full length
in the long straight sedate green waters

of our city canals
and for working its way through processes

of dreamy complexity
until this too- long untaxed rain comes indoors,

and touches our lips,
bringing assuagement- for rain comes

to slake all our thirsts, spurting
brusque and thrilling in hot needles,

showering on to anyone naked;
or blaming our skins in the shape of scented baths.

Yes, they are many who’d like to tax the rain;
even now, they whisper, it can be done, it must be done.  Penelope Shuttle  Taxing the Rain