Wordless Wednesday - Curiouser and curiouser...

Not all oranges...

As a synthetic-orange petulant man-child becomes the most powerful person on our planet tomorrow, I just wanted to say 'not all oranges'.

Orange can be beautiful, diverse, fun, exciting, welcoming. And looking at the photos, it looks exceptionally bright when linked to green. Sadly, I don't think the new POTUS is keen on green.

The Blues

I've had my eyes opened recently to modern art. I've never thought of myself as someone who would look at a modern piece of art and decry "But that's not art!", but neither had I actively engaged with it. Lazy rather than a philistine. However, a group trip to Tate Liverpool as part of my doctorate course forced me to engage with a range of modern art forms. I looked at felt suits, piles of clothes, lines round rooms, neon signs and an unmade bed. Some were OK, some were a bit "whatever" (Tracey Emin's 'My Bed' was one of these - I was moved neither to joy, laughter, confusion, anger, or anything at all), and some made a real connection with me.

The ones that connected most with me did it in a range of ways. Colour is, perhaps, the most obvious. Yves Klein's work really spoke to me. Yes, I'm sure the critics will explain that his use of one colour in most of his work was a joke on us all as consumers of art (or something like that). Indeed, a colleague and I stood in a room full of his IKB (International Klein Blue) paintings, having never heard of it or him, and tried to discern infinitesimally small differences in the colour blue, not knowing that they were all exactly the same. But, what a glorious colour!  A garden incorporating this in some way would be a garden incorporating delight. A quick internet search shows that Yves Saint Laurent's garden in Marrakesh made beautiful use of the colour; perhaps it looks better in the stark light of a warmer country that in the dreary north west of England. If I were brave enough, perhaps I would dare to paint a corner like this.

Form also connected with me. There were works by Barbara Hepworth and Henry Moore, the forms of which connect through their tactile nature (not that you can touch them!) but also those with a more fluid form - 'Untitled' by Robert Morris was a black tangle of flowing, falling felt. Colour notwithstanding, the form of this artwork shows the importance of connecting verticals with the horizontal. In the garden, this can be done in a range of ways with plants. At one extreme we have the formal upright of a columnar conifer, piercing the sky. But this artwork suggests a more fluid way to link ground to sky, perhaps with the use of wall-mounted containers and opulent trailing plants. A hanging basket with attitude.

There is so much more I want to think about; for example, Krasinski's use of a simple blue line to provide unity through his art works and to draw the viewer to become part of the exhibition is an idea which could transfer so well and easily into a garden scheme. Not necessarily as a line painted through the garden, but through use of a repeated, almost continuous plant or colour through a bed or beds, picked up with ornaments or furniture, and continued through the garden.

So many thoughts. Probably so many more blog posts. I need to visit again.

Wordy Wednesday - Reticulodromous

Reticulodromous venation - leaves with a single midrib, whose veins become very branched and net-like near the leaf edge.

Example: Rhododendron.

Lovely word. Let it roll around your tongue like a fine wine.

If I could turn back time...

No, this isn’t a tribute to Cher. That title’s not even my favourite Cher song. I didn’t even realise that I had a favourite Cher song until I started writing this post. I think it must be that searing indictment of the hypocritical nature of townsfolk against those who travel as part of their life – ‘Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves’. I like this song even more because until very recently Ian thought she actually sang ‘Thieves, Thieves, Tramps and Thieves’, which would be a song with a reduced diversity of mistrust and abuse.

I appear to have digressed.

So what am I actually on about? Well, who hasn’t wished they could travel back in time. Obviously if this were possible, the most important thing would be to right wrongs done, to spend more time with loved ones, to let them know how much you truly loved them and to have a chance to say ‘goodbye’ properly. Second to those actions would be to avert crises and wars, to make the world a better place for more of humanity. Only after that would be my desire to remove curves from the garden borders.

When we first came to our current house, it was the traditional family garden of big lawn with a foot wide border around the edge.

 So I dug huge borders, curving borders, as I wanted to kick against the straight lines and to have lots of room for plants. 

I do love the depth of these borders but I’ve never been entirely happy with the shape. This slight disappointment doesn’t stem from the plants, and I didn’t really know what I didn’t feel comfortable with, until we had the old patio taken up and a new one put down, with another one at the bottom of the garden. I loved the crisp straight lines of the new hard landscaping but felt that now there was a mismatch between these sharp lines and the curves of the borders.

I’ve lived with the juxtaposition of curves and straight lines for five years now. It niggles me most in winter, when the herbaceous plants have died back and the curves can more clearly be seen, hence this blog post as I noticed it again today. One day, I will reshape the borders so that there is greater unity of line through the garden, unless in the meantime someone invents the time-machine. Then, after love and world peace, I may make my lines straight.

Wordless Wednesday - Pleach

Uncomfortably numb

It's good that we're getting a few frosts this winter, though the lack of snow continues to disappoint. I realise that for many an absence of the fluffy white stuff is a bit of a relief, but now that we both work locally and don't have to drive, I'm a little bit selfish and wishing for a good snow dump so that the small child can experience snowmen, snowballs, snow angels and getting *very* cold and wet. I did accidentally mistype 'snowballs' as snowbaals a moment ago - that would be rather more interesting, what with Baal being one of the seven princes of hell.

Gardening in the cold weather, though, isn't something I'm keen on but it has to be done if I'm not to be horrendously behind come March. Gardening rules state that you shouldn't walk on a frosted lawn, as the grass blades will be damaged. However, I suspect that gardening rules might also suggest that lawns probably turn out better if not run around on playing cops and robbers, do better if not poked with interesting sticks, and retain a better sward if not turned into a muddy puddle to re-enact scenes from Peppa Pig.

Needs also must when it comes to cutting back vegetation when a frost is expected. It makes sense that an open wound is more sensitive to frost damage and that I might be distressing the plant somewhat by hacking bits off whilst it's bitterly cold. However, needs must, and if I find I have 30 minutes in the bitter cold to chop back some overgrown vegetation in order to keep on top of things, then I'm afraid that both the plant and I will have to become uncomfortably numb together.

New Year. New Thinking.

No resolutions. No revolutions. Not least because the whole bringing back candytuft thing didn't quite achieve the momentum hoped for. No looking back at all the things I didn't do so somehow I'll magically do them in 2017. No, not this year.

Instead, just a few quiet moments to contemplate what I have done this year. Not much, so it won't take too much of our time - mine to type and yours to read.

I'm pleased that I've managed to make the willow wigwam robust and shapely. I'm thinking of some fairy lights for summer evenings, to make it a place that's nice to sit. I've started to reclaim the front garden, which had matured a little too far, like a Stilton cheese that's gone from robust to rancid decay. I remembered to water the hanging basket and window box all summer. That's a big achievement for me. And we managed to grow some pretty impressive pumpkins considering they were in a pot.

Nothing amazing, just a few quiet victories. Why not spend a few moments being quietly pleased about something small you've achieved in your garden this year?

Happy New Year x