Our day out; Leaving Andrew's pent house top floor flat overlooking the river and yes Andrew I have taken note of your books and prints on the wall. So of course has Matilda - she was so impressed, as am I of course. We made our way to Salt Mills. Matilda is my other granddaughter, I call her 'glampuss' studying to be a fashion journalist in London. Be a bit nervous around here, her 'culling' of certain people is a bit scary, old people and middle-aged men who leer, first on the list. I escape the culling because I write a blog...
Salt Mills is in Saltaire and Andrew lives in Shipley, a scant ten minutes walk from the mill. All of course parts of the City of Bradford, recently branded a Culture City up here in the North. And of course handed this title because of the artistical heritage of the mill and David Hockney of course. Also note Andrew lives in Shipley because of the attachment to Hockney's gallery space in the mill.
We pottered around the enormous lengths of floor spaces, studying the piles of neatly arranged sketch pads, painting materials and all number of exciting stuff to start a lifetime of art work. Or the books, great treasures of the art of photography, art and cookery (Bosh was there YP). I see Google has dismissed it as a shopping centre, little do they know of Culture;)
And so we made our way to the fourth floor, which is the loft, and the latest exhibition - David Hockney's 'A Year in Normandie'. It was inspired during the lockdown and funnily enough by a Chinese scroll he had seen.
The lift door opened, and facing us was this vast empty space of the loft, turn left into a dark room with one solitary chair for you to sit on to view the video show of the 'frieze of the year'. All very symbolic, the answer for its solitariness comes at the end of the paintings. Which unfold in the other half of the loft.
Hockney had moved to Normandy and with his ipad and acyrilics painted this continuous band of a nature year. Matilda was not all that impressed basically because there was no humans or birds in the work. I was intrigued by the work, the vernacular architecture had been caught, as had the state of the trees as they passed through the seasons, an old chair in solitary state came at the end. Which of course explained the chair we had passed in the video room - a bit anti-social maybe though?
So the photos, a record, to thank Andrew for looking after us so beautifully and to my granddaughter for being her usual sparkling wit.
|You could have held a cycle race in this loft|
|Matilda striking a pose|
|Clipped the roof off here|
Article in the Guardian which explains 'the chair' and Celia.