December 29th

 

the breath of wanting

love the great leveller cleaves

a sword to the soul

the crown slips silent

shamed in his palsied grasp, dull

in her tender glow

the barefoot beggar

girl, august and comely eyed

the King at her feet

 

I’m really pleased with this three-tiered Haiku, it’s in tribute to one of my favourite paintings. King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid (1884, Edward Burne-Jones). It currently forms part of Tate Britain’s Pre-Raphaelite exhibition (Victorian Avant-Garde) although it has been on permanent display for a while in the main galleries.

I went to the exhibition today and to see it in the context of the other works was wonderful. I could have picked any one of a number of subjects, but this work always strikes me.

In summary, King Cophetua is transfixed and falls in love with a beautiful beggar girl Penelophon. In Burne-Jones’ painting, he paints her in a prominent position, elevated above the King, as if on a throne, he is her vassal. She looks beyond him, beyond the painting, she doesn’t meet our gaze either. She has a regal dignity, but also a humility. She is utterly beautiful. And he, seeing she ignores him, dares not approach, dares not be so bold as to sit next to her. He appears to remove his crown, to become the beggar, imploring her to be his bride. Love is the great leveller and this touching painting captures it so wonderfully.

Burne-Jones’ great friend William Morris was a staunch and principled socialist, so there is speculation that this painting is a homage to him, but whatever the inspiration, it sings. There is a tenseness and a tenderness, it talks of love and lust. And a hopefully happy future for the couple (and yes, they did live “happily ever after”).

Burne-Jones is my favourite of the Pre-Raphaelite painters, the subtlety of detail, the level of emotion conveyed in seemingly sullen faces. And the eyes, I am always drawn to the eyes. They take my breath away.

(image from Wikipedia, but images/painting owned by Tate)

December 17th

 

neon lit city

your broken teeth don’t detract

from your winning smile

 

Despite the ticket server crashing (probably was put together in the 70s by Kraftwerk themselves), I managed to get tickets for Kraftwerk at the Tate Modern in February. So excited by this. People who say they are cold or emotionless I think just don’t get it. Neon Lights is one of the most beautiful love songs ever written.

October 11th

the old hand traces

frail outlines in the wood grain

a kiss in the fields

We went to the Edvard Munch exhibition at the Tate. I love his work. I’m planning to write a longer review on my other blog, so I wont linger on such terms as ‘melancholy’ and ‘troubled’, but suffice to say I’m so glad we caught the tail end of this beautiful exhibition.

There were some incredible pieces of work there, but the one which moved me the most was perhaps a modest piece Munch worked on in the last few months of his life, he was 80 at the time. In 1943 he made a woodcut called “Kiss in the Field”. As was Munch’s style, it was a title and motif/style he’d repeated over the decades of his career. But this one was so feint as to almost be invisible, the grain of the wood was prominent, the spectral outline of the image just about recognisable amongst the powerful shapes within the wood itself. I could imagine his frail old hands working. It made me feel sad.

(photo I took from the exhibition catalogue)

August 4th

smog choked chestnut trees

blurred in the grainy drizzle

shelter tiny hearts

wretched bird song stirs

toothless smiles from old grey cowls

pausing to listen

I went to Tate Britain yesterday, to check out the Another London exhibition of photography from 1930-1980. I loved the social history of it, familiar yet wholly unfamiliar through the passage of time, fashion, bomb damage and new architecture. And all the more interesting because the esteemed photographers on show were foreign visitors to London, hence they took photos of what they found interesting. Perhaps things that locals might have considered mundane.

A silly irrational part of me though what a wonderful stroke of luck it would be if I saw one of my parents in some old photo, of course I didn’t, but there was something intimate to me about the whole exhibition.

As a Londoner it felt personal to me, I walked round it with a slight smile, or a sad sense of something lost, when an old memory was revived by an image. London can be cruel and ugly, but also beautiful and inspiring. It is one of my favourite places on Earth.

So, two Haiku’s today, in honour of old London and old photographs. All photo credits to Tate website and Another London Exhibition. Associated exhibition book linked here by Helen Delaney.

July 6th

my insignificance

in the majesty of stars

a lonely vigil

I popped into the new Edvard Munch exhibition at the Tate Modern after work. I rushed through as I wanted to get a taste for it, as a member I can visit anytime for a more leisurely (although leisurely may be the wrong word) visit at a later date. Munch is one of my favourite painters. The collection they’ve pulled together for this exhibition is great. There is an intense loneliness about his work.

For example, Starry Night. Initially it seems this is a celebration of stars and clear crisp nights. And indeed it is. But what appears to be the artists shadow thrown across the ground just speaks of loneliness and melancholy to me. How we are alone. It moves me. As does most of his work.

(pic from Tate website)

April 21st

Down hellish spirals

the virtuous pagan bounds

perpetually

 

After the football yesterday (a drab 0-0 draw vs Chelsea) I took my usual brisk stroll to Caledonian Road tube station. Unless I’m feeling particularly lazy, I take the spiral staircases down to platform level. I do it as fast as I can, bounding, sometimes two at a time. There is nothing like a leg burning descent to get the heart pumping and the mind racing. Although ascending is tougher, it hints at light and redemption. A descent however, (taking aside the pragmatic need to actually catch a tube train to reach a destination!), feels more sinister, feeding the primitive danger receptors in the ancient parts of our brain.

I thought about Dante and his layers of hell. And of William Blake and his depictions of it. According to this website, Caledonian Road has 134 Steps, making it sixth deepest in the tube network. In your face Moorgate! (seventh).

And here is one of Blake’s incredible images of Hell. The Lovers Whirlwind. 1824-1827. (pen, ink, watercolour). Just like the Piccadilly Line! Truly mesmerising. I’d love to see all of these works in full someday. Caught sight of a few of them in the Tate (Britain) last year.

(image from wikipedia)

April 18th

Cinders wind scattered
weeping woman wails for child
lost in the rubble

We went to an evening private view of the Picasso and Modern British Art exhibition at Tate Britain. There was a lot to take in, very interesting how Picasso influenced and overlapped with so many British artists. The piece of art that I’ve focused on however is called Dream and Lie of Franco (1937), it’s a print which he produced to make money for the Republican cause during the Spanish Civil War. Franco himself is depicted as an inhuman beast, a monster terrorising the innocent populace. The weeping woman theme was something Picasso kept visiting during this tragic period in Spanish history. It seems so sad in this work. 

(image from metropolitan museum of art website)