I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day - Vincent Van Gogh, March 30, 1853 - July 29, 1890

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will..

Don McLean, 1970

Guitars

March 7 we were a no-guitar household. March 8 we were a 1-guitar household. March 28 we are a 2-guitar household.

Godin SD22. Epiphone Les Paul.

Neither of them can play yet, but they're learning. This is the riff that rings through our house.

Found the little birds video on Le Divan Fumoir Bohemian.

Firemarks

This talk about insurance reminded me of the old plaques, or Fire Marks, that insurance companies would issue to policy holders to place on their houses to ensure that they would be protected in case of fire.

They were used in England, the U.S. and Australia in the 18th and early 19th centuries before municipal fire services were introduced. Subscribers paid for fire insurance in advance and in exchange were given embossed lead or copper plaques to display prominently.

Apparently, after the call of "Fire!" it was common that a competing fire brigade would not tend to your conflagration even if they arrived first. Sometimes competing fire brigades would fight to sign up uninsured properties while housed burned behind them. 

Pictured are a couple of American fire marks from Marie McC at the defunct Alexandria Daily Photo.

What, Me Worry?

"WHAT is going on down there?" she says, hands on her hips.

Congratulations on the passing of the Health Reform Bill. But the Republican nay-sayers are running around creating copy for MAD Magazine. I can see it now -  a double-page "Mad Looks At Republicans". Sarah with her bum in the air, drawing cross-hairs on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Bewigged tea-partiers dumping ballot boxes into the sea. Glenn Beck with a big fat tear drop.

We've had Medicare in Canada since the 60s. It's all about giving a little so we can all be treated fairly. It may sound socialist. It is! But we don't have horns coming out of our heads; we don't goosestep around like Soviet soldiers, we don't have death panels and we don't have to bargain over which severed digit to save.

I Went to an Auction and All I Bought Was...

...A cup of coffee. The auction was great, but there wasn't really anything we liked or had houseroom for. But the prices, wow! The crowd must have been generally disinterested because the prices were a third off what the auctioneer thought the piece would get. He said "Who'll give me a thousand?" cricket, cricket. "500? 300? Ok who'll give me $100 to start things off?" and the prices would start to creep back up to about $700. Here's some examples of the deals galore.

This kind of homely cabinet could hardly be given away. It went for $300.

This late 18th century buffet went for $500. Like the auctioneer liked to remind us -you can't get this at IKEA for that amount. You can hardly buy the hardware and the hinges for that that. 

This hunting cabinet came with a removable middle section replete with gargoyles. Kind of over the top - it went for $700.

 And finally, this armoire, circa 1800 went for $1000.

Another Movie Review - Walk Hard

Here I am blathering on about another movie. We watched Walk Hard - The Dewey Cox Story again on the weekend and I just caught myself singing, "Walk Hard - Hard - Down Life's Rocky Road" so I thought I better get this down in writing.

Walk Hard starring the very talented John C. Reilly is a witty, clever parody of rock star biographies. I initially steered clear of this movie because I found the poster of Reilly as Jim Morrison repellent and I didn’t want to muddle my brain with Will Ferrell/ Talladega Nights kinds of movies. It’s also made by the same guys that made Superbad and Knocked Up so I almost walked hard in the opposite direction. But my son rented it and we found it really funny. My husband almost laughed himself off the couch and had to watch it twice.

Walk Hard which I think came out Christmas of 2007, is a really smart movie. You sort of have to know what they’re talking about before you can enjoy it. Maybe that’s why its rating on IMDb is kind of paltry. The movie follows the life of fake rock star legend Dewey Cox and spoofs all sorts of bio-pics. In the 50s Dewey Cox is discovered and his Elvis-like story unfolds like the Coal Miner’s Daughter and the Buddy Holly Story. He morphs into a tex-mex Roy Orbison and then he becomes a copy of Bob Dylan straight out of D.A. Pennebaker’s Don’t Look Back. Dewey meets the Beatles in India. With a full orchestra including the didgeridoo, Kalahari Bushmen, and a herd of goats he becomes Brian Wilson.

When Dewey, suffering from writer’s block, sinks into a mundane existence his manager persuades him to do a “Sonny and Cher” style variety show. Then he falls into a Partridge Family lifestyle with his plethora of children. Again, you’ve got to know what they’re on about before you can understand the joke. Dewey Cox becomes a national icon and the movie culminates with a tribute to Dewey at the end of his days.

Walk Hard can be crass, but the smarty-pants cleverness of this movie redeems it for me. The music really impresses. John C. Reilly is a talented singer and performs all the songs on the soundtrack. And the soundtrack is great. All the songs – derived from popular styles of the day – stand up on their own right. The DVD also includes videos and songs not included in the movie. We find ourselves, as I mentioned above, singing them around the house. The Bob Dylan spoof "Royal Jelly" is hilarious. I was going to print it here but you really have to see it.

The homely (what a mug!)  but pleasant John C. Reilly plays Dewey Cox from the age of 14! to 71 which in itself is a joke. Jenna Fisher from The Office is his love interest and does a good job of being Dewey’s June Carter-Cash. His first wife Kristen Wiig is left with a bunch of children and a giraffe. She’s fond of saying “I love you. You’ll never amount to anything.”

Tim Meadows is Dewey’s drummer – introducing him to the drug of the month in a series of hilarious repetitive scenes. Other names to look out for are: Harold Ramis, Chris Parnell, Frankie Muniz, Jack White, Jack Black, Jackson Browne, Jewel, Lyle Lovett, Eddie Vedder, Paul Rudd and the ubiquitous Justin Long.  In the extended version Cheryl Tiegs is Dewey’s 1970s wife. Patrick Duffy, Cheryl Ladd and Morgan Fairchild make appearances too.

Walk Hard is rude  - there’s no getting away from that. It has its share of grottyness and drug jokes, tons of innuendo and a "little" nudity. I wouldn’t show it to anyone under 14. But it’s WAAAAY funnier than I expected it to be.

all pictures from www.movieweb.com

Sherlock Holmes - 2009

I went to see Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law in Sherlock Holmes last night at the local rep theatre. Once I resigned myself that this wasn't going to be anything Jeremy Brett would be proud of,  I relaxed and enjoyed the ride.

I thought the film was very good, but being a 47-year-old mum, too violent. The dialogue was a little hard to hear at points. Although not a Conan Doyle story, the plot was exciting. The bad guy, Lord Blackwood, looks like a cross between Dracula and Andy Garcia and has a really gnarly pointed eye-tooth. He wants to retake America.

I thought the acting and relationship between the actors was good. I suspect Robert Downey is rather clever in real life. Maybe he's perfect to play Holmes - easily bored and ready for chemical stimulation. Jude Law is believable as Watson. He's handsome where Downey is splendidly debauched - like a party animal coming home barefoot in his tuxedo at the break of dawn.

The sets - the parts that were not CGI - were a feast for the eye - well-designed, detailed, and layered. Just keep the camera still for a second, Guy Ritchie, let me look. The art direction was stunning - right down to the titles. London was made to look oh-so-grimy. Not the antiseptic Victoriana we are sometimes exposed to on Masterpiece Theatre.

Some of the shots featured a half-finished Tower Bridge. Because I have an inquiring mind I found out that Tower Bridge opened in 1894. Like the Eiffel Tower, I forget sometimes that these structures haven't been around forever. Anyway here's a picture of Tower Bridge under construction. It's completely feasible that this building project would have been a feature of Conan Doyle's London.

Another technicality: My son was put out that the actress playing Irene Adler didn't even try to hide her American accent. I had to remind him that Adler, the only woman that Holmes had ever admired, was from America.

And Holmes' costumes. I had to keep my husband still in his seat. Lots of layers of corduroy and tweed, check and stripe. I imagine that the G-pup will have his waistcoat on this morning, ( Here he comes. Yes. Waistcoat and checked trousers. You rock the casbah!).

Has anybody else noticed that with the rapidly-edited modern action movies that there are no scenes to actually sink your teeth into. I find this with the X-men movies, Iron Man and Batman that the next day I can hardly remember a single scene. Is this because of all the quick takes I wonder? Where as with Jeremy Brett's Holmes I can still see the action unfolding in my mind 20 years later.

Despite my complaints the family as a whole gave Sherlock Holmes an 8 out of 10. The movie ended  primed and ready for a sequel which I believe is going to happen in 2011. In the meantime, I'll rent the DVD and catch the dialogue I missed.

We got trouble, Right here in River City!

With a capital "T" that rhymes with "P" and that stands for Pool.

Well I suppose it was inevitable. His daddy won the "Pool Shark" sweatshirt twice. And his father and grandfather had their own cues. My son, now 16,  caught Pool Fever last weekend. You see it was raining after guitar lessons and we all  hid out at the Crooked Cue. After three hours of playing with his uncle and his dad, my son was hooked and we had to go back the next day. Two and a half hours felt like 20 minutes and he's been bugging us to go back all week.

So I guess that's where we'll be again today.

French Antiques Auction

About 4 times a year Canadian Antiques Road Show expert Andrew Zegers facilitates the delivery of a huge container of antiques from France.

He enlists the help of his friend, auctioneer Jon Medley and the fun begins.

Over the years we've bought our Henri II reproduction chairs at this great auction. (despite  the moniker reproduction,  that still makes them 130 years old), a rug that the cat strangely loved, candlesticks, postcards, cutlery and other weird stuff.

Sometimes the deals are fantastic - sometimes not - depends on the crowd. But we're filled with remorse when a 19th Century solid oak table comes on the auction block and it sells for $200. "But do we have anywhere to put it?" we whisper amongst ourselves.

 These candlesticks were $50 each.

We got these hand-tooled leather Henri II-style chairs for $110.00 each. And below on the left is a terracotta platter we bid $70 on.

Here's a detail.

And an exquisite wooden urn that I keep my Chinese Checker marbles in. That set us back $80.

So I'm off again on Tuesday. Auctions get my heart racing. Maybe I'll forget myself and act like Roger Thornhill from North by Northwest. "I'll give you two for it." "Two hundred, ma'am?" "No - two dollars." And the crowd will look down their noses at me.

I think the best thing I ever bought though was a strange assortment of postcards and photos of French World War I soldiers. That was the source of hours of enjoyment for me.

Here's the link for more images. http://www.frenchantiqueauction.ca/

Sepia Saturday - Old Orchard, 1930

Recently, when my father-in-law, died we came into possession of my husband's grandfather's papers and photographs.

Some of the early photos are simply awesome; showing my husband's Grandparents as a young, frivolous couple.

Several times in their young married life they ventured from their home in Montreal to the seaside at Old Orchard, Maine. They forged friendships there that lasted for decades.

The pictures featured here today were taken on the Brownie shown above. However, Nana, below seems to be using a smaller folding model. Please click on any of the pictures for more detail.

I love my grandmother-in-law's bathing costume. Is it an original Jantzen? Here's a picture of the iconic Jantzen bathing suit.

And I adore the friend who looks like Charlie Chaplin sans moustache.

©Hazel Smith

For other like-minded people, please visit the other contributors to Sepia Saturday by clinking here.

Shameless self-promotion...All photos except the Jantzen models are the property of Hazel Smith. Please visit my other blog www.theplumplum.blogspot.com. 

where repros of some of these photos are available for sale. 

When Did People Start Being Nice?

Here's a question. Something I'm curious about.

In my parent's day and before, way back into the mists of time,  the population in general seemed to be tougher, but basically unkind to each other.

My mother was clouted a lot by her parents. Her teacher whacked her hands with a cane during lessons. When she had my brother, the nurses and matrons were unspeakably mean; making sure the wheels on her bed were aligned and her sheets were tidy.

My dad was orphaned - despite family around, no one took him in ( another Sepia Saturday in the making). He was raised in a "boy's home".

In those days you just had to take it. I saw a CBC documentary of working mothers during WWII. Without daycare some children were actually tethered alone, outside, all day except when a neighbour-lady would take the kid in for a meal. That would be cause for arrest now.

Heck, even I was tethered to a tree on our property  with my harness in the early 60s. I've never been able to figure out what my mother was doing inside that she couldn't sit with me in the yard for half an hour.

When we were babies, we were all left outside shops in our prams while mothers shopped.  I'm not some kind of hillbilly - this happened to most kids my age.

Kids still "got the strap" at my school up until around 1970.

My husband mentioned this morning that even dogs were tougher back then. When they got their new puppy in 1971 it stayed in the basement on its first night. His parents are lovely people. But we were more hardhearted.

So what I'm trying to figure out is when the tables turned. I can't speak for everyone, but when did we in the West do this 360?

Teachers can't touch kids at all. Corporal punishment is a no-no.Children aren't tied to the oak tree in their yard. Children aren't allowed to roam in the streets. Play dates have to be arranged. We had to wear real itchy wool sweaters in the wintertime and get our fingers caught in real metal Meccano. We didn't have seat belts. Playgrounds had real metal slides and swings that would cause a goose-egg if a corner of it hit you on the head. We had to take our lumps.

A hundred years ago men ran to enlist in the Great War - now people run the other way.

Health care practitioners stand on their heads to make birth a wonderful experience. There's a huge social safety net. Dogs have their own daycare centres. People are more tolerant and accepting and it's wonderful.

So what, when, why or who? It happened some time in the 70s. Gradually of course, but it happened. People started being kinder.

Was it the Viet Nam generation that said "Question Authority"? Was it kids who had grown up during World War 2 and said "never again"? Was it the erosion of a class system? Was it when women started having more buying power? (An aside, - does anybody remember when the only hair styling product was Dippity-do? I do and I'm only 47.) Was it when the boomers started having children of their own and wanted things done differently?

Was it Kennedy? Was it Trudeau. Was it the Beatles? Was it from improvements in communication?

People born in the late 70s or 80s probably won't have experienced this. They were the first coddled generation.  But for anyone else born before -  I bet we have some stories.

Any ideas?

More Shameless Self-Promotion

 Good Morning!

My Plum Tarts are featured on the Etsy Paper Goods Showcase today. I've added note books. Please click here if you are curious.http://www.etsy.com/category/paper_goods. 

Thanks. XO

Edmund Dulac

Edmund Dulac, 1882-1953 was a French book illustrator prominent in the early part of the 20th Century, during the so-called "Golden Age of Illustration." I find his work fabulous and evocative. We must have had a book illustrated by Dulac when I was a child, but I can't remember. I have a huge affinity for Chinese lanterns. I think Edmund Dulac and Rupert Bear are jointly responsible for that.

He began his career studying law at the University of Toulouse, but switched full-time to art. He moved to London in 1904, becoming a citizen in 1912. At the age of 22 Dulac began illustrating for Dent and then Hodder & Stoughton. The Leicester Gallery would commission paintings from Dulac and sell the rights to Hodder & Stoughton. The publisher would publish one book a year and the Leicester Gallery would sell Dulac's paintings.

Many books were published under this collaboration: The Arabian Nights, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayam, Sleeping Beauty and Other Fairy Tales and Hans Christian Andersen to name a few.

 His illustration for the Emperor's New Clothes reminded me of our view from our balcony in Regensburg. It doesn't really look that close, but I've included it anyway.But if I were to crane my neck, buildings just like the one's Dulac depicted were everywhere. Just like the hotel we were staying in. That's our balcony above the first white umbrella in the picture below.

 Now that was a great hotel.

Sepia Saturday - Great-Grandfather Brooker

I know very little about this guy. He's my great-grandfather on my mother's side. Some people just seemed ashamed or oblivious of their past and my own Grandfather was guilty of that; he never said much about his own dad or mum. This is the only image I have of him.

William Brooker was born in 1874. When he was 17 he was working as a lathe worker at the Royal Arsenal in Woolwich. He had brothers who were twins, Alfred and Harry. One or some combination of the three brothers fought at the 2nd Boer War.

William married Mary Ann Sturman who had been born in Barbados as her father was a sea-captain and through some twist his wife traveled with him. Mary Ann's sister was born in Nova Scotia. According to records, William and Mary Ann were married in the March quarter of 1900. On December 31, 1900 my granddad was born. I'm guessing the portrait above is from his wedding day.

In 1901 William was living with his in-laws at 35 Hill Street Woolwich and working in the Woolwich Dockyards as an arsenal machinist. By 1911 he was an Engine Fitter, probably at the Royal Naval Dockyard in Chatham. I find Google Street Maps a lot of fun when I'm researching my family in England. Don't tell,  but I walk right up to my ancestors houses and have a look. Unfortunately in William's case, the street addresses I have for him are long gone.

My Great Grandfather was an excellent amateur boxer. This was a fact he kept hidden from his children until they were grown lest they want to follow in his footsteps.

I think he's handsome.

For other participants in Sepia Saturday please clink here.

Thora Dardel

Thora Dardel nee Klinkowstrom was born in Sweden in 1899. In 1919 she moved to Paris to live with her art-student brother who was studying in Montparnasse. What fun. Count me in! She was to study art under the tutelage of sculptor Antoine Bourdelle. On the way over from Sweden, Thora became friendly with a shipmate named Nils Dardel, also an artist.  Through Nils Dardel, Thora was drawn into the circle of artists who frequented the Cafe de la Rotonde where Modigliani was a regular.

In Thora's memoirs she recounts her first meeting with Modigliani

"Modigliani ...drew me piece by piece on several sheets of paper which he then spread out edge to edge. All his figures had such long necks and bodies that he usually needed two or three sheets of paper for each person that he drew when he drew on the Rotonde's small stationery. Then he wrote Italian verse on the drawings and gave them to me. I thought he was extraordinarily fascinating. Then one day some time later Modigliani asked Nils Dardel if he was allowed to paint my portrait. The question was of course relayed to me, who of course was happy and overwhelmed."

Later she goes on the describe the modelling session.

"Modigliani's studio was on the top floor of a house on rue de la Grande Chaumiere. His floor was covered with a carpet of trod on charcoal and matches. He almost fainted when I asked him to sweep the floor. I think he had worked several years to make it look like that. A large table with his painting stuff, a glass, a bottle of rum was the whole environment, plus two chairs, some canvases and an easel. He drank often and easily - against the cough, he declared and he really did cough a lot. It was cold and miserable outside but in his studio corner there was a charcoal stove that he did up well. Modigliani put a large canvas on the easel and drew me. I got the same El Greco-like lines and the same figure as all the women in his art had. The likeness of me was therefore not very good. I returned on several occasions and sat for the portrait and liked Modigliani more and more."

Thora married Nils Dardel. During the 20s she worked as a photographer and journalist for a Swedish magazine.

Years ago I came across the top photograph of Thora Dardel in my "Desert Island" book, Kiki's Paris. The photo inspired me to paint another Montparnasse lady.

I had forgotten that I'd ever seen this picture, when just the other day I stumbled across Dora's photo again and recognized her hat. Because I was just inspired by her hat, my humble painting is not at all a true likeness.  But is it closer than Modigliani, I wonder? Anyway, I call her Marianne, not Thora, because she reminds the rest of my family of my step-mother-in-law.

with notes from the Dictionary of Artists Models ed. Jill Berk Jimenez, Thora Dardel, Billy Klüver and Julie Martin.

The Plum Plum

If you've been wondering what all that shameless self-promotion was about over the last couple of days, the reason is I've been working on opening my own shop on Etsy.

I've been hesitant about selling my original art mainly because I like having it around, but secondly because my art's a little rough around the edges. One of my flappers is painted on a piece of masonite taken from the back of my old sofa. Like I say on The Plum Plum's announcement "I’m not a dainty painter, so the bigger the canvas the better. I’ve painted murals in my apartment, a tangled garden on my fence, a rainforest in my son’s bedroom."

Now I've turned some of my reasonably-sized paintings into note cards. I have other ideas in mind. I recently came into the possession of some family photographs that revealed a family history I never knew. Some of those images will work their way onto postcards and tote bags.

I made such a mistake. I had been thinking about the name for my shop since Christmas. I narrowed it down, researched it, tested it out to see if anyone else had the name "The Plum Plum". (My husband and son nixed "The Runaway Pancake").When it was time to make the jump, Etsy asked me to register with a user name and password. Thinking this couldn't possibly be the time for my brilliant name, la la la, I blithely entered the user name hazelsmith62. Well, it was the time for my brilliant name and hazelsmith62 is now the actual name of my shop! GRRRR! I can't change it without a new email address so I'm stuck with it.

I’m starting off small but in the days and weeks to come I'll be listing more. I have plenty of ideas.

Please come by for a visit.

The Plum Plum, Art & Ephemera can be found here.
My other blog, also named The Plum Plum, Art & Ephemera can be found here.

Dora

Here's a photo of the terrace outside the Cafe du Dome taken by André Kertész in 1925.

Identified in Kiki's Paris, Artists and Lovers 1900-1930 are, from left to right are Marie Vassilieff, Cubist painter; Erno Goldfinger, Hungarian architect (the inspiration for Auric, maybe? "Auric Goldfinger - sounds like a French nail varnish"); an unknown woman: Lajos Tihanyi, the deaf Hungarian painter; and Dora, friend of photographer Berenice Abbott.

Could this Dora be a very young Dora Maar? I do see a resemblance.

Whether she was Picasso's muse or not, I liked the look of Dora very much and with green and yellow paint in hand she became the first of my Montparnasse ladies. She is still the favourite of my husband and son.