Tuesday 29th January

the plate was given to Linnaeus by Johannes Gessner c.1764

It is Tuesday and Lucy is fussing to get the day going but it is still dark outside.  Saturday I had a delivery of seed potatoes, half a sackful to be precise, and I do not have the space to plant all of them.  So not to be out done by age and lack of soil I have ordered potato sacks to plant them.  Along with tomatoes, courgettes, french and runner beans we should at least sidestep the coming disaster of Brexit!  Okay I am kidding (but taking precautions anyway).

Do I believe in 'project fear' not quite, but when the rats start deserting the ship (Dyson) it is best to be a little prepared.  All I can say of this country is that we are in a terrible mess, rudderless comes to mind. So I shall tend my potatoes.

This morning (very early) I watched Antony Gormley's 'How Art Began.  He becomes fascinated by the depictions of how the hand is drawn on the rock, not exactly drawn but sometimes blown on by charcoal which is chewed, or printed in ochre.  He draws the parallel between the long geological life of the rock and the fraility of  human life.  It was a fascinating journey through the depiction of animals so lovingly portrayed, to the more cruel paintings of animals depicted being killed. When 'man' became more dominant and self-centred, it was interesting to see that this self-centredness has bloomed in the age we are living in at the moment.  Technology gives us cameras and  phones, and we turn them on ourselves and photograph the 'best images'.

I do not understand modern art, came across this today, which made me giggle, and perhaps should not frame the above paragraph, but look at the beginning of this blog at that beautiful print of thistles and touch the mind of Gessner in the 18th century and that is what captures my imagination.

I notice that Cro has called for Teddy bear pictures, and the two sitting on top of the shelves behind me will feature. The whitish one is something I bought at a sale a few years back, I felt like rescuing him, though I do donate to Four Paws for real bears that are so cruelly caged and baited in Eastern Europe.  The other one though must have belonged to my son, so that gives it a good age, passed on to Tom my grandson.  I always have this memory of Tom aged about 5 years old on the platform at Bath Station.  Dragging this bear crossly along the platform because his mother would not carry it for him and had threatened to leave it at the station if he did not carry it. The bear is safely rescued now but still has no name.

Everything in life has a story to tell