My Inspiration for January 2024

I have enjoyed January more than I had imagined I would. It is usually a cold, drab, boring month for me, but like a person starved for beauty, lightness, and love, I had taken in all the charms that these winter days could offer; the warmth of the fireplace, the vast blue skies, the purring cat in my lap, the frozen rosebuds, the coziness and comfort of staying at home while snow is falling. The candles and fairylights and hot fragrant tea. I almost feel like a girl from some children’s book, surrounded by my pets, or from some illustration by Hollie Hobby, which I do love a lot. Tender, whimsical, magical moments. Listening to The Smiths’ first album in dusk, nurturing myself and remembering the person I used to be and want to be again.

“Like all dreamers, I confused disenchantment with truth.”

(Jean-Paul Sartre, The Words)

“And what a terrible mess I’ve made of my life
Oh, what a mess I’ve made of my life

No, I’ve never had a job
Because I’ve never wanted one

I’ve seen you smile
But I’ve never really heard you laugh

So who is rich and who is poor?
I cannot say…

Oh…

But I don’t want a lover
I just want to be seen…”

(The Smiths, You’ve Got Everything Now)

Picture found here.

Picture found here.

Picture found here.

Picture found here.

Picture found here.

Hebers Ghyll wood, Yorkshire, England by @markwadd

The Tower at Lake Vyrnwy  |  by Trevor Green

 

 

Poppies 2021. Johann Besse.

 

Picture found here.

Picture found here.

Ph. by Adina Voicu.

Bettina Rheims, Serge Bramly – Rose, c’est Paris

Claude Monet – The Red Cape (Madame Monet or The Red Kerchief)

Claude Monet, The Red Cape (Madame Monet or The Red Kerchief), 1868

Claude Monet’s painting “The Red Cape” was painted in 1868 while the artist was living in Argenteuil. The painting might at first as yet another Impressionist interior scene, but it is actually a beautiful portrait of Monet’s first wife Camille. I love how indirect it is; the model is outside while the painter is inside and we are seeing her through the window. Camille’s red cape is the first thing that catches our eye. The intense red colour breaks the monotony of whites and greys. In a winter fairytale a ripe, blooming carnation. The trees and the snow outside are captured in patches of colour, in a typical Impressionist manner. Everything is very soft and vague. Camille must have been walking around in the garden while Monet was sitting inside, and she must have glanced for a mere moment towards the house and yet, in this painting, she seems almost frozen in time. Almost ghost-like is her pale face, here for a moment and disappearing quickly, like a vision from a dream. Camille was originally Monet’s model at first, and she wasn’t his wife at the time the painting was painted, namely, they were married two years later, in June 1870. It seems also that this painting held a special place in Monet’s heart because he kept it with him until his death, adament not to be parted with it. Camille was only twenty-one years old when this was painted, but a decade later she would be dead. January passes. Winter passes. The snow eventually melts and the spring comes. Everything passes…

Indian Miniature Painting – Lovers On Bed: The days are short and nights are dark and long, and this is the month for love

“The days are short and nights are dark and long,
and this is the month for love.
Do not quarrel and turn away from me,
and leave me not this month of Pausha.”

Lovers on Bed, opaque watercolour on paper, Kangra, c. 1780-1790

In Indian miniature paintings the lovers are always waiting, yearning, pining, dreaming, suffering. The beautiful heroines such as Utka Nayika are anxiously waiting for their lovers, or, like Abhisarika Nayika, all dressed up and walking through a dark forest to meet her lover. When I discovered the Kangra paintings last year I was completely enthralled by the beautiful representations of love. In these Indian miniature paintings I found what I was seeking all along; all the subtle beauties and nuances of love – fifty, and more, shades of love. No other art movement or school portrays love in such an intricate manner.

There are many Kangra paintings that I love and I discover my new favourites all the time, but at the moment the painting “Lovers on Bed” from the late eighteenth century is my favourite. When we think of a perfect setting or season for love, we might think of warmth, spring or summer, flowers, gardens, and parks, the kind that we see in paintings of Fragonard or Boucher. A land of love might equal the land of eternal summer. And yet Keshav Das speaks of the winter month of Pausha as “the month for love”. There is a delightful sense of coziness about winter that summer, despite all its beauty and magic, simply doesn’t have. And indeed, in these cold winter days there is nothing better to do than to cuddle up to your beloved under a blanket, gaze at the moon perhaps or, better yet, gaze into each other’s eyes. And this is exactly what the lovers in this miniature painting are doing. In this Kangra watercolour, “Lovers on Bed”, the lovers are united at last! No more yearning, uncertainty, anxious waiting or walking through a dark snake-filled forest to meet your beloved, why, he is right here, under the blanket with you. The painting shows a sweet, intimate moment between two lovers on a winter night. The woman is offering the man – her man – paan, while he is covering them both in a warm yellow blanket. Despite the simplicity of the scene, the simple background and also the simple gesture between lovers, still so much warmth and love and a sense of a quiet, secure joy is conveyed. Truly, no words, no adornments, no other visual elements in the painting are needed to express the beauty of the love they are feeling. Yesterday was the night of the full moon and even though a new month had therefore begun in the Hindi calender, these verses by the poet Keshav Das describing the month of Pausha, the winter month that had just passed, are very fitting for the scene in the painting:

“Anything cold in the month of Pausha,
food, water, house, or dress,
Is liked by none anywhere.
Cold are the earth and the sky,
and the rich and poor all alike
Want sunshine, massage, betel, fire,
company of women, and warm clothes.
The days are short and nights are dark and long,
and this is the month for love.
Do not quarrel and turn away from me,
and leave me not this month of Pausha.”

The full painting.

Fashion Inspiration: Too Glam To Give a Damn

“If you’re hopelessly depressed like I was, then dressing up is just the ultimate escape. When I was young I just wanted to be noticed. Nothing could excite me except attention so I’d dress up as much as I could. Outrage and boredom just go hand in hand.”

(Richey Edwards)

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Kay Nielsen – Illustration for The Story of a Mother

“Then she pressed the bramble to her bosom quite close, so that it might be thawed, and the thorns pierced her flesh, and great drops of blood flowed; but the bramble shot forth fresh green leaves, and they became flowers on the cold winter’s night, so warm is the heart of a sorrowing mother.”

Kay Nielsen, Illustration for The Story of a Mother, c. 1910

“The Story of Mother”, a fairy tale written by the Danish writer Hans Christian Andersen, tells a tale of a mother who is tending to her sick child and when she closes her eyes for a moment she finds that the child is gone; taken by Death. The mother then asks the Night to tell her which way the Death went and she goes out to claim her child back. But first she must sing to the Night all the songs that she was singing to her child, only then the Night tell her the way; “Then the mother wept and sang, and wrung her hands. And there were many songs, and yet even more tears; till at length Night said, “Go to the right, into the dark forest of fir-trees; for I saw Death take that road with your little child.” The mother goes out then, into the icy-cold winter night, to seek the place where the Death’s dwelling. The winter setting is perfect for the mood and the theme of the fairytale, but it is also perfect for Kay Nielsen’s illustration which has been captivating to me these last few weeks. The illustration shows the moment in the tale when the mother doesn’t know the way and a thorn-bush offers to help her, but only in an exchange for her warmth. The mother is prepared to give everything to find her child and so she presses the thorns against her bosom to warm them. Here is the description from the fairy tale:

“Within the wood the mother came to cross roads, and she knew not which to take. Just by stood a thorn-bush; it had neither leaf nor flower, for it was the cold winter time, and icicles hung on the branches. “Have you not seen Death go by, with my little child?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied the thorn-bush; “but I will not tell you which way he has taken until you have warmed me in your bosom. I am freezing to death here, and turning to ice.”

Then she pressed the bramble to her bosom quite close, so that it might be thawed, and the thorns pierced her flesh, and great drops of blood flowed; but the bramble shot forth fresh green leaves, and they became flowers on the cold winter’s night, so warm is the heart of a sorrowing mother. Then the bramble-bush told her the path she must take.“

Kay Nielsen’s illustration of the scene is absolutely beautiful, and heart-wretchingly poignant. The simplicity of the scene, the curve of the woman’s body, the bare tree and the blossoms, the moon seen in the distance all remind me of Japanese art. I am also reminded of many of Egon Schiele’s drawings as well. The simplicity of the scene helps to emphasise its emotional depth. The mother’s pale face reveals all the pain and torment that she is feeling. There are shadows under her eyes from all the unslept nights spent tending to her child. And she is dressed in black like the Night and like the Death themselves are. You can feel the coldness in the air and the sharpness of the branches that she is pressing to her bosom. There are even drops of blood falling from her chest onto the fresh, pure white snow. The white blossoms are strange in the middle of the winter, but as the fairy tale tells us, and how touching is this, that the blossoms grew only because the mother’s love was so strong that her heart exuded so much warmth and love.

Details

It’s Saturday night, it feels like a Sunday in some ways. If I had any sense I’d maybe go away for a few days…

I really love Donovan’s song “Young Girl Blues“, released on his 1967 album “Mellow Yellow”. I find it beautiful and touching, and while Donovan’s version has a distinct sadness to it, I find myself listening to Marianne Faithfull‘s version of the song, released on her fourth studio album “Love in a Mist” also in 1967, more often because it feels more subjective and more intimate. While Donovan is lamenting on the fate of a young girl and her transition to adulthood and finding her way in the crowd, Marianne is the young girl and she is experiencing it first hand. For some reason, whenever I listen to the song, and what is more convenient than to listen to it on a Saturday night, I always have in mind this painting called “Julie Daydreaming” by Berthe Morisot from 1894. The painting shows Morisot’s teenage daughter looking wistful and there is melancholy in her eyes; must I grow up, and what awaits me? Only questions, but no one is there to give answers, and perhaps it is better not to even know the answers… Be that as it may, I can only say I am lonely.

Berthe Morisot, Julie Daydreaming, 1894

It’s Saturday night, it feels like a Sunday in some ways.
If I had any sense I’d maybe go away for a few days.
Be that as it may, I can only say I am lonely,
I am but a young girl, working my way through the phonies.

Coffee on, milk gone, a sad light by fading,
Myself I touch, but not too much, I hear it’s degrading.

The flowers on my stockings are wilting away in the midnight.
The book I am reading is one man’s opinion of moonlight.
My skin is so white, I’d like maybe to go to bed soon,
Closing my eyes, if I’m to rise up before noon.

High heels, car wheels, the losers are grooving.
My dream, strange seem images are moving.

My friends, they are making a pop star or two every evening.
I know that scene backwards, they can’t see the patterns they’re weaving.
My friends they are models but I soon got over that one.
I sit in my one room, a little brought-down in London.

Coffee on, milk gone, a sad light by fading,
Myself I touch, but not too much, I hear it’s degrading.

La la la la la, la la la la la la la la la.
La la la la la, la la la la la la la la la.
La la la la, la la la la la …