Shakespeare's birthday at The Word
May. 4th, 2019 08:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustIt was pure serendipity that our outing last week was so date-appropriate: we had promised ourselves that rather than compete with crowds profiting from the fair weather and the Bank Holiday, we would take a day off on the first working day; then, when we considered what we might do, I remembered an exhibition I wanted to see at The Word. We has, in any case, been curious about the grandly titled National Centre for the Written Word, which replaced the old South Shields public library:
The exhibition was Shirt Tales, by "Artist and Tailor Richard Bliss":
On the one hand, on the other hand, how many hands do you have? I like the idea of art inspired by reading, and if your chosen art form is textile, then presumably that's the form your inspiration will take. If Thomas Hood can make a song out of a shirt, Richard Bliss is entitled to make shirts out of songs. It's an irresistible constellation of authors, too: but it doesn't bear close examination. They are not quite as disparate as they appear, because all, except Phillis Wheatley, have a more-or-less local connection. I hadn't come across Phillis Wheatley before, and didn't really absorb what the exhibition had to say about her, though I liked the use of woven patches on her shirt (it's the one in the background here, behind the shirt for Lewis Carroll):
Back home, I have looked her up, and am pleased to have made her acquaintance: but she still feels like the odd-one-out, causing the exhibition to sacrifice local interest to the desire for diversity (is there no author who meets both of these criteria?). Perhaps that's implicit in the description of the chosen authors as "writers who broke convention and can inspire us all..." That's the first time I've heard Bede described as a breaker of convention: his shirt is an attractive shade of green, inspired not by anything he wrote, but by the pigments of the illuminated Codex Amiatinus (on the not entirely solid basis that Bede had substantial editorial influence on the text). If this sounds pernickety, it's as well you can't hear what I was saying about the exhibition on codes and cyphers which occupied most of the exhibition space. The Shirt Tales display was quirky and inventive - and small: I was disappointed in the 'shirt for a Head Girl', which made no reference to any of the colours worn at different times by pupils at the Chalet School, but no need to linger over it...
The Word is only a few steps from the ferry terminal, and with barely a backward glance we crossed the Tyne. The sun was shining (it came and went all day) so we sat on deck:
and we were in North Shields in no time. A gentle amble along the Fish Quay brought us to the Staith House, a rather swish gastropub where we had previously eaten after a book launch: and we must have been in a holiday mood, because we agreed that this would do nicely. Perversely, I started my meal with bread and water. Bread because they offer as a starter something called 'black treacle bread', a very open-textured, chewy bread, in which the presence of treacle is confirmed by the colour but not the taste.durham_rambler gave me one or two of his anchovies, which made a great combination. I was drinking water because I had my eye on a dessert wine and thought that wine with the meal as well would be a bit much (if they'd had any cider, I'd have had that). But the water arrived in a smart bottle engraved with 'Northumbria Water', and the Cline Late Harvest mourvèdre made an agreeable dessert, though I was surprised at how alcoholic it tasted.
After lunch, we meandered around the area. The process of gentrification continues: there are still fish and chip shops, but there are fewer of them and more bistros. Buildings are being restored beyond all recognition:
That structure that looks as if a ship in full sail had grounded on a shed is indeed an old smoke house (Ballards Smoke House) now being redeveloped by a design studio - I have mislaid the report I found in a local paper, but I'm pretty sure it said that those billowing sails are made from car and van windscreens: the notices promise a glass gallery and café, and I hope it happens.
There it is again, in the background of another new feature, the memorial to North Shields fishermen lost at sea (by Ray Lonsdale, who also made the Tommy at Seaham).
Rather than retrace our steps, we climbed up the bank, and took a parallel route higher up, past the High Light (opposite which I called in to Laurel Park, to say hello to statue of former resident, Stan Laurel) and looking down on the Low Light:
At the anchor which marks the Registry Office (once the home of a shipping company) we went our separate ways:durham_rambler went back down the bank to the ferry, to retrieve the car and go home; I headed into the town centre, via a couple of charity shops, to take the metro into Newcastle and my reading group.
The exhibition was Shirt Tales, by "Artist and Tailor Richard Bliss":
Richard has designed and hand made five shirts that capture the feelings and ideas that he experienced when reading the work of five authors from the Dark Ages through to the present day. Richard selected the Venerable Bede, Phillis Wheatley, Lewis Carroll, Elinor Brent-Dyer and Julia Darling as the writers who he wanted to explore further, writers who broke convention and can inspire us all.
On the one hand, on the other hand, how many hands do you have? I like the idea of art inspired by reading, and if your chosen art form is textile, then presumably that's the form your inspiration will take. If Thomas Hood can make a song out of a shirt, Richard Bliss is entitled to make shirts out of songs. It's an irresistible constellation of authors, too: but it doesn't bear close examination. They are not quite as disparate as they appear, because all, except Phillis Wheatley, have a more-or-less local connection. I hadn't come across Phillis Wheatley before, and didn't really absorb what the exhibition had to say about her, though I liked the use of woven patches on her shirt (it's the one in the background here, behind the shirt for Lewis Carroll):
Back home, I have looked her up, and am pleased to have made her acquaintance: but she still feels like the odd-one-out, causing the exhibition to sacrifice local interest to the desire for diversity (is there no author who meets both of these criteria?). Perhaps that's implicit in the description of the chosen authors as "writers who broke convention and can inspire us all..." That's the first time I've heard Bede described as a breaker of convention: his shirt is an attractive shade of green, inspired not by anything he wrote, but by the pigments of the illuminated Codex Amiatinus (on the not entirely solid basis that Bede had substantial editorial influence on the text). If this sounds pernickety, it's as well you can't hear what I was saying about the exhibition on codes and cyphers which occupied most of the exhibition space. The Shirt Tales display was quirky and inventive - and small: I was disappointed in the 'shirt for a Head Girl', which made no reference to any of the colours worn at different times by pupils at the Chalet School, but no need to linger over it...
The Word is only a few steps from the ferry terminal, and with barely a backward glance we crossed the Tyne. The sun was shining (it came and went all day) so we sat on deck:
and we were in North Shields in no time. A gentle amble along the Fish Quay brought us to the Staith House, a rather swish gastropub where we had previously eaten after a book launch: and we must have been in a holiday mood, because we agreed that this would do nicely. Perversely, I started my meal with bread and water. Bread because they offer as a starter something called 'black treacle bread', a very open-textured, chewy bread, in which the presence of treacle is confirmed by the colour but not the taste.
durham_rambler gave me one or two of his anchovies, which made a great combination. I was drinking water because I had my eye on a dessert wine and thought that wine with the meal as well would be a bit much (if they'd had any cider, I'd have had that). But the water arrived in a smart bottle engraved with 'Northumbria Water', and the Cline Late Harvest mourvèdre made an agreeable dessert, though I was surprised at how alcoholic it tasted.After lunch, we meandered around the area. The process of gentrification continues: there are still fish and chip shops, but there are fewer of them and more bistros. Buildings are being restored beyond all recognition:
That structure that looks as if a ship in full sail had grounded on a shed is indeed an old smoke house (Ballards Smoke House) now being redeveloped by a design studio - I have mislaid the report I found in a local paper, but I'm pretty sure it said that those billowing sails are made from car and van windscreens: the notices promise a glass gallery and café, and I hope it happens.
There it is again, in the background of another new feature, the memorial to North Shields fishermen lost at sea (by Ray Lonsdale, who also made the Tommy at Seaham).
Rather than retrace our steps, we climbed up the bank, and took a parallel route higher up, past the High Light (opposite which I called in to Laurel Park, to say hello to statue of former resident, Stan Laurel) and looking down on the Low Light:
At the anchor which marks the Registry Office (once the home of a shipping company) we went our separate ways:
durham_rambler went back down the bank to the ferry, to retrieve the car and go home; I headed into the town centre, via a couple of charity shops, to take the metro into Newcastle and my reading group.
