Same location as yesterday's, and I'm cheating again.

 

I have a crop of a detail in comments, because I believe some of them can't be perceptive in the full version.

 

It's 7am in here, and I'm still up. As usual.

 

Since that even the Large on Flickr is not large enough, you should see it HERE.

. . . going to be spending some time in this quaint little attic room, so please bear with me . . .

After memory bits have sifted through the sieve and first impressions remain strong, I keep returning here in my thoughts. I know my sister joins me. This was probably the smallest room in the large summer home, but the most intimate. On the other hand, it wasn't one I might have slept in, as the dust mites seem to have taken up residency over the years! But each one had its own story to tell. I spent the most time here, photographing details which I will post during the week. Perhaps this will become my next book, not sure. Anyway, sit back, open up the windows for some salt air, and breathe along with me, the best is yet to be!

 

“The good writer, the great writer, has what I have called the three S's:

the power to see,

to sense,

and to say.

That is, he is perceptive,

he is feeling,

and he has the power to express in language what he observes and reacts to.”

~ Lawrence Clark Powell ~

 

“A writer is dear and necessary for us

only in the measure of which he reveals to us

the inner workings of his very soul.”

~ Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy ~

 

“A writer needs three things,

experience,

observation,

and imagination,

any two of which,

at times any one of which,

can supply the lack of the others.”

~ William Faulkner ~

   

Facebook |Getty|Blog

   

Adapted from: The Colors of Love by John Lee

 

The Hopeless Romantic [eros]: This lover is very in tune with beauty and appearances. They may be viewed as a fantasizer who has unrealistic views of the world. Often times they see a marriage as a honeymoon that never ends and physical intimacy as the ultimate experience. They often choose partners that are attractive and may occasionally go as far as dismissing the more admirable qualities needed to create a long term relationship. As a result, true hopeless romantics often feel empty and perceptive to their lovers imperfections. The upside to this love style is the sentimental side. This particular lover can find comfort in filling trapped in their fantasy. The downside is eventually the beauty of the situation fades and the danger of living life trapped in fantasy.

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Casanova [ludus]: This type of lover is more in tune with quantity and instead of quality in relationships. They enjoy playing the field and often recover from break ups rather quickly. Lover's of this style are very self-controlled and choose to manage love instead of letting love just run its course. Many times casanova's usually only entertain a partner while they are interesting to them. They often find themselves engaging in "outside" relationship experiences.

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The Maniac [mania]:

This type of love style often has extreme highs and lows. Mania lovers are very intense emotional lovers, who often worry themselves about the loss of the love. They may experience extreme jealousy for what appears to be little reasoning. Manic love is obsessive, and they wants to have their lover completely. They also want their lover to intensely love them in return. Their sense of self worht comes from being loved rather than inner satisfaction. They believe that if there is love nothing else matters.

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The Waiter [storge]:

This type of love style goes on a quest, not for love, but for compatibility. Usually looking to pursue a relationship with someone they are know and share similar interests. They believe love and emotions will come in time....that could be a long time. They may find themselves in situations where it's hard to define where the relationship stands. Physical intimacy usually comes late and has no significant importance.

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Traditional [pragma]:

Those with the traditional love style are interested in realism and seeking a relationship that will work. They look for harmonizing relationships that fulfill their needs. They are more focused on the social aspect of things rather than the personal. For instance, having similar backgrounds and family life. They do not rely much on feelings but on logic. Love is seen asa useful relationship (i.e. can my partner cook?, do they earn a good living? will my family like this person?). Their relationships rarely end because of the careful planning put into it.

  

Spent an evening out last night taking some pictures

with Sharon, in the fog. I parked on a street near a

park and athletic field... We got our stuff out of my car,

I locked the door and off we went. Took a walk, took some

pictures, ran into a woman who started talking to us and telling

us strange stories.... yeah, odd stories (very odd), but I’m polite... I listened and

asked her questions. All the while, Sharon is shooting me these looks, and finally

says... I think we need to leave, there’s a storm coming. We start walking back to the

car, and she is asking me... Didn’t you see the looks I was giving you?!! I told her, I did... but I

had no clue why (the most perceptive person in the world, I am not) and she proceeded to tell me

that that woman was “not right” and during the walk back to the car, that woman went from

mental patient to Satan “herself” ... and then Sharon was convinced that she had disappeared into

thin air. So, we are discussing where to go get something to eat, because we are both

starving, decided on french fries and pizza....get back to my locked car, sitting along a street, near

athletic fields in a park, with soccer and lacrosse going on, and people walking dogs.... and there is my car...

with the passenger side door... wide open.... as it has been for over an hour.... with all of my camera

equipment sitting on the back seat, Sharon’s pocketbook, some cash.... access to everything in the

trunk.... I’m so glad that I hit the door lock when we walked away, so everything would be... safe and secure. LOL!

 

Seriously, do these things only happen to me? Nothing was missing... as far as I can tell. So of course we laughed ourselves silly. What else could you do? Guess there

are still honest people in the world. Although it would have been nice if someone had closed the door for us.

(It would have been even better if WE had closed the door...)

 

And as we drove away.... I pointed the strange woman out to Sharon. She had not disappeared into thin air.

She was still there... standing in the dark... and the fog... and the rain... taking pictures.... of... ???? lol.

 

Perceptive wall art in New Brighton taken in 2023, sadly no longer there.....

 

THE DIANA CHRONICLES

By Tina Brown.

 

With “The Diana Chronicles,” Tina Brown breathes new life into the saga of this royal “icon of blondness” by astutely revealing just how powerful, and how marketable, her story became in the age of modern celebrity journalism. Indeed, while Diana named Camilla Parker Bowles as the third party in her unhappy union, she might also have mentioned a fourth: the media. “She was way ahead of her contemporaries in foreseeing a world where celebrity was, so to speak, the coin of the realm,” Brown writes. “An aristocrat herself, Diana knew that the aristocracy of birth was now irrelevant. All that counted now was the aristocracy of exposure.” And Brown offers an insightful, absorbing account of the pas de deux into which, to her eventual peril, Diana joined with the paparazzi.

 

As the former editor of Vanity Fair and The New Yorker, Brown certainly has the authority to examine the Princess of Wales as a creation and a casualty of the media glare. Perhaps not incidentally, Brown’s own years in the spotlight were bookended by Diana’s rise and fall. In July 1981, Brown appeared as a “royalty expert” on the “Today” show’s coverage of the Wales wedding. Then the editor of the British gossip magazine Tatler, Brown recalls that “the wedding did for the sales of Tatler ... what the O. J. Simpson chase did for the ratings of CNN. It put us on the map.”

 

After Diana’s death in August 1997, Brown again placed the magazine over which she presided — this time, The New Yorker — “in the middle” of what was still “the biggest tabloid story in the world,” by publishing a special issue devoted to the princess’ memory. Brown stressed the dramatic difference between the Windsors’ self-styled identity (“local, modest, unsurprising” guarantors of British tradition) and Diana’s (global superstar, unapologetically “shrewd ... at press relations”). The conflicted relationship between the two had been, the historian Simon Schama noted in the same issue, a “wedding of the past and the future: the Radetzky March meets the Tatler cover girl. ... But, as it turned out, the past and the future couldn’t get along.” What’s more — as Brown’s book demonstrates, and as the recent film “The Queen” has also made clear — the future was bound to win, even if it claimed its own leading avatar in the process.

 

In fact, Diana’s conquest of the camera was bittersweet from the start. In February 1967, when she was 5, her mother, Frances, began an extramarital liaison that led to her parents’ acrimonious divorce. Diana’s father, Johnnie Spencer, retaliated against Frances by gaining custody of the children. But his stiff-upper-lip reaction to the trauma (“speaking in words of one syllable ... and sitting morosely for hours staring out of the window”) made him ill-suited to handle its effects on his offspring, for whom he was able to show affection only by taking “amateur movies and still photographs” of them. As a result, Brown notes, “Diana grew up associating the camera with love,” and striving to give it what it appeared to want in return. Her brother, Charles, told Sally Bedell Smith, a previous biographer, that when Johnnie was filming Diana, “she would automatically sort of make gestures and strike poses.” Honing her star power became, Brown observes, the bereft little girl’s “own way of surviving.”

 

In theory, this was useful preparation for her relationship with Prince Charles, which first made it into the newspapers in September 1980. By this time, the British press was in a full-scale backlash against “the culture of deference” that had long dominated its society pages. Since Rupert Murdoch’s acquisition of “the prurient News of the World” in 1969 and his reinvigoration, a year later, of The Sun “as a rollicking, up-yours tabloid featuring bare-breasted pinups every day,” England had entered a “racier media age” in which the staid House of Windsor “was acquiring the stale, curdled taste of a British Rail cheese sandwich.” Because “pictures of a middle-aged Princess Margaret churning grandly around the dance floor in her caftan in Mustique hardly moved product” — and Brown should know, having trumpeted that princess’ “Mustique mystique” for The Tatler — “the guessing game of the Prince of Wales’s love life was the sole excitement for the media.” And what excitement it was. The prince was Europe’s most eligible bachelor, and his romantic exploits became fodder for an increasingly rapacious media machine.

 

Before Diana, Charles had tried to evade the tabloids’ scrutiny by bedding married women, “because the need for secrecy made them ‘safe.’ ” But when he began appearing publicly with Diana — the 19-year-old debutante with a “soft, peachy complexion” and legs that seemed “to extend up to her ears like Bambi” — secrecy ceased to be an option. The paparazzi went wild for the girl who was not only (as an aristocrat, Protestant and self-proclaimed virgin) an ideal royal bride, but also a magnificently photogenic subject. Notwithstanding her “Shy Di” nickname, born of her habit of glancing up coyly at the camera from beneath batting eyelashes, Diana proved “a natural at giving the press what they wanted”: gorgeous pictures. “One by one,” according to Brown, “the hack pack fell in love with her.”

 

Winning the affection of the press was not, however, the same thing as winning the affection of Prince Charles, as Diana would soon be devastated to learn. One of the more striking revelations in “The Diana Chronicles” is that it was the media just as much as the royal family — ready for Charles to stop dithering and settle down — that propelled him into marriage with a woman he didn’t love. A former royal-watcher for The Sun told Brown: “We really got behind Diana and pushed her towards him. I am absolutely convinced that we the media forced Charles to marry her.”

 

The prince’s heart belonged to his married girlfriend, Camilla Parker Bowles (now his second wife), but as heir to the throne, he was neither encouraged nor expected to follow his heart. The problem was that the tabloids — and Diana, who consumed them avidly — insisted on a different story line: He’s in Love. Other biographers have attributed the subsequent unraveling of the Waleses’ marriage to Charles’s cruelty (Andrew Morton) or Diana’s mental illness (Sally Bedell Smith), but Brown chalks the disaster up to the bride’s naïve belief in a tabloid fiction. She and the media became partners in ignoring the warning signs from the groom himself, like his now notorious reply when, receiving news of the couple’s engagement in February 1981, a BBC reporter asked Charles if he and his fiancée were in love: “Whatever ‘in love’ means.” Amazingly, Brown points out, “the print press literally erased” the phrase “from their accounts. No one, it seems, wanted to break the spell.” Least of all Diana, who answered the reporter’s “love” question with a giggle: “Of course.”

 

The bride was in for a rude awakening. And though most of the Waleses’ sordid domestic drama has already been covered at length elsewhere, Brown perceptively highlights the media’s starring role. Once married to Charles, Diana chafed at playing second fiddle not only to Camilla but also to Queen Elizabeth. While still a newlywed, she was deeply offended when Charles offered his mother a drink before her. “I always thought it was the wife first — stupid thought,” she complained afterward. Brown observes that first offering drinks to an older woman — queen or not — “was only basic good manners” and concludes: “Stupid thought, yes, or maybe something worse: the onset of superstar entitlement. ... Six months of adulation from the press had begun to reshape Diana’s worldview.” Offended by the Windsors’ failure to appreciate the qualities everyone else seemed to admire, she turned increasingly to the tabloids to nourish and sustain her.

 

To that end, Diana became a master of press manipulation, regularly leaking tips and planting stories about both herself and her enemies. She also understood the incomparable power of the image, which led her, at the height of her problems with Charles, to pose for a photograph alone in front of the Taj Mahal, “the monument to marital love.” In one of the book’s many new interviews, John Travolta tells Brown about his legendary dance with Diana at the White House in 1985: “I thought, She not only knows who she is, she knows what this is — and how big this is. She was so savvy about the media impact of it all.”

 

Yet Diana’s savvy had its limits. For although her public-relations wizardry enabled her repeatedly to upstage and — with the tell-all interviews she did in 1992 and 1995 — humiliate the Windsors, it did more than just give the monarchy an appealing, “human” face. By inviting the press to share in her most intimate experiences, the princess abolished every last vestige of celebrity privacy. And by providing the press with picture after dazzling, salable picture, she stoked “the media’s inexhaustible appetite for celebrity images.” In an extended meteorological conceit, Brown observes: “The sunshine of publicity in which Diana would at first be happy to bask, posing and smiling for the cameras, grew steadily hotter and harsher. As the superheated imperatives of an invasive press bumped up increasingly against the milder human necessity of privacy, scattered rains gave way to drenching gales and then to spectacular and finally lethal hurricanes. ... Diana herself had accelerated the climate change that ended up making her life literally impossible.” Mistakenly, she thought she could “control the genie she had released.”

 

But the genie pursued her to the end, right into the Pont de l’Alma tunnel in Paris, where a high-speed paparazzi chase culminated in the princess’ death. Lying unconscious and badly wounded in the wreckage of a black Mercedes, Diana continued to inspire the frenzied photographers. As the picture editor of The Sun confessed to Brown, that very evening he initially agreed to pay £300,000 to one of the shutterbugs who had followed the Mercedes into the tunnel for snapshots of its mangled blond occupant. “Even as Diana struggled for life,” Brown writes, “she was being sold as an exclusive.”

  

 

What can I say about my fabulous Flickr friend, Jules?! To say these things remind me of her - Oh YES! That, and so much more! We haven't known each other forever, but it feels like it! We have that "old soul" connection, like the jazz that oozes out of Bourbon Street on a sultry summer night! Jules has her feet in Michigan but her heart in New Orleans! She is witty, smart, beautiful, and so perceptive; she leads her challenge group like a modern day Joan of Arc! Fearless- it is what she does so well! We have shared so much here on Flickr, and I am SO thankful to have her as a friend, as a sister in so many respects! I can't wait for the day we are down in NOLA drinking bloody marys and laughing so much we cry, Jules! Thank you for the challenge group you have allowed me to participate in- more like family than an odd band of strangers- that's the best family ever! You have pulled us together here!

 

LoveYou!

After considering the artistic merits of AI produced art, I decided to give it a try myself. These were produced with a artificial intelligence program called Dall-e 2. I won't bore anyone with the details. I will say there is some creative elements here. Certainly I had to have an idea, then I had to figure out how to instruct the AI engine. It is not difficult, you can generate a lot of similar results or tweak the model to get different effects. You do not have complete control over the outcomes. It feels like taking digital pictures to some degree.

 

These are the "originals" I have not done any other post production. Emotionally, ethically, these feel like "mine" my work, but that work is almost entirely mental and linguistic rather than physically and perceptive.

Developed originally to serve as a fast light armor asset for quick hit and run tactics as well as integrated reconnaissance fire-support, the Harasser quickly became popular as an all-encompassing multi-role 'mech. Variants ranged from basic front-line squad based units to domestic police law enforcement.

 

Channeled some Red Spacecat decal goodness and gave printing my own waterslides a try. Worked out reasonably well, although the perceptive will notice some bubbles. As always, fits a fig in a cockpit with a functioning hatch that I forgot to photograph.

This fine image is from my Flickr sister ilsebatten. I wanted to give this wonderful woman a "pop art" treatment. Original text follows... (Explore)

 

www.flickr.com/photos/12034714@N02/2595088054/in/set-7215...

 

I have known Pono for the last 30 years during which time she has worked in my garden. There was a time when she simply disappeared for several years but then she reappeared like magic when I needed her most. She is a deaf mute and one of the brightest and most perceptive people I have ever met and she has very green fingers. She also has a fine sense of the dramatic and usually tells us some or other story of murder and mayhem when she arrives on a Thursday. Her stories are transmitted via handsigns and great gestures of drama - think of silent movies with exclamatory noises added.

Water coming from this pump helped teacher Annie Sullivan break through to blind/deaf Helen Keller that the sign language in her hand was the name of the water she felt coming from the pump.

 

More literary travel in this post on the Perceptive Travel Blog: perceptivetravel.com/blog/2011/01/20/literary-travel-visi...

This series is of the Ruby Throated Hummingbirds that took up residence in and around my back yard and garden this past Summer.

I found it amazing how perceptive these little creatures are. They would fly rite up in front of me and hover when I would enter their space . I think to say please leave my space, or hover and feed within a few feet of were I sat or stood, but point a camera in their direction and poof they were gone. Still I have managed to get a few pics of them . here are a few of my favorites.

Springbok Editions Inc

Contour Jigsaw Puzzle

© 1969

PZL 5002

cardboard

'more than 350 pieces', used and complete

22⅝ x 29⅜ in

2022 piece count: 45,998

puzzle 52

 

"Finished puzzle is the actual shape of the State of New York."

Map of New York, painted by Charles Fracé.

From the base of the box:

'New York, the most northerly of the Middle Atlantic states and the second most populous state in the nation, encompasses 49,576 square miles of territory and extends for approximately 300 miles from north to south and for 315 miles from east to west. The rose is the state flower, the sugar maple the state tree, and Excelsior ("Ever upward") the state motto. Albany, founded by the Dutch in 1624, has served as the state capital since 1797. There are five major urban centers in the state with New York City being the largest and most important.

The beginnings of New York State are linked with European history and the Age of Exploration. The "discoverer" of New York was the Italian Giovanni da Verrazano who, sailing under a French flag, explored New York harbor in 1524. Of greater historic significance, however, were the explorations of Henry Hudson and Samuel de Champlain in 1609. Hudson, an Englishman in the employ of Holland, sailed his "Half Moon" up the river that was destined to bear his name and laid the basis for the Dutch colony of New Netherland. Champlain explored the valley of the lake later named for him and, in so doing, extended the French imperial influence to New York. The Dutch occupation persisted until 1664, when a British squadron seized the colony and renamed it New York in honor of James Stuart, the Duke of York and Albany, and the brother of King Charles II.

The Province of New York was one of the original thirteen American colonies. During the long struggle for empire between France and Great Britain (1689-1753), her soil was frequently stained with blood. Because the Hudson River and Lakes George and Champlain represented a natural highway between French Canada and British America, New York became a major prize for conquest. New York's strategic location also gave her a transcendent importance during the Revolutionary War. She became the "vital center" of action and main battleground for the British and American forces. Nearly one third (ninety-two) of the engagements of the Revolution were fought on New York soil. It was symbolic propriety that the battle marking the "turning point of the Revolution" (Saratoga, 1777) took place in New York. The peace treaty of 1783 ended 119 years of British rule in New York, and in 1788 New York ratified the Federal Constitution and became the eleventh state to join the Union.

That New York held a special position in the American scheme of things - even before statehood - was recognized by many, including the perceptive George Washington. After touring the Hudson and Mohawk valleys, Washington predicted that New York would someday become the "seat of empire". While absolute proof is lacking, historians believe that Washington's phrase served as the basis for the nickname the state acquired during the early nineteenth century - the "Empire State". It has never been determined who first coined the phrase, but by the 1830's the nickname was well merited. With the opening of the Erie Canal in 1825, Middle West agricultural goods flowed steadily into the state and manufactured products flowed steadily back. Within a few decades, the Empire State came to lead the nation in trade, manufacturing, finance, publishing and creative arts. Excelsior became something more than a nickname. It became a guiding principle of life for New Yorkers.

Endowed with an abundance of scenic attractions, New York ranks as one of the nation's leading vacationlands. Niagara Falls, an awesome spectacle, is one of the seven wonders of the world. Both Ausable Canyon and Genesee Gorge are known as the "Grand Canyon of the East." Other notable beauty spots include the Finger Lakes, Lakes George and Champlain, the Hudson, Mohawk and Susquehanna Rivers, the Thousand Islands, and and the Adirondack and Catskill Mountains. Few states can match the grandeur, diversity and quantity of New York's scenic treasures.

A plethora of historic sites reflect the magnitude and richness of New York's growth and development. The Statue of Liberty, the Theodore Roosevelt home on Sagamore Hill, the Franklin D. Roosevelt and Vanderbilt mansions in Hyde Park, Washington Irving's home in Irvington, the Senate House in Kingston, Washington's Headquarters in Newburgh, Fort Ticonderoga, the Schuyler Mansion in Albany, Fort Niagara - these and numerous other historic properties make New Yorkers and non-New Yorkers manifestly aware of the "presence of the past".

New York City adds a special dimension to the New York story. Now the third most populous city in the world, New York City was founded in 1625 as New Amsterdam and became "legal" in 1626 when Governor Peter Minuit purchased the site from the Indians for $24.00 worth of kettles, axes and cloth. This celebrated transaction ranks as the greatest real estate bargain in the history of the world. From its humble origins on the lower tip of Manhattan, the city eventually expanded into into the present-day five-borough urban colossus, into the financial, commercial and cultural capital of the nation. A fortuitous combination of geographic, historic and social factors, in addition to one of the best natural ports on the Atlantic Coast, helped New York City achieve its leap to greatness. The phrase frequently applied to the state - "the state that has everything" - has meaning for the city as well. New York City's assets are indeed bountiful. The Empire State Building, the United Nations, a host of world-famous museums, libraries and cultural organizations, Rockefeller Center, Madison Square Garden, Yankee Stadium, Times Square, Greenwich Village - New York City covers every area of the spectrum of human life, and on a grand scale and in a variety of forms. For these reasons, she belongs not only to the state, but to the nation and to the world as well.'

Louis Leonard Tucker

State Historian of New York

 

A real vintage Springbok jigsaw puzzle dating from 1969, and complete! 'More than 350 pieces' turned out to actually amount to 360, although for our ongoing piece count I've used the quantity quoted on the box. A very easy 'make', taking only a few hours yesterday evening, but enjoyable all the same.

Pieces are similar to Waddingtons' Vari-pieces of the same vintage, and the cardboard used is the same weight as Waddingtons' Qualitex board. I assume Springbok issued the rest of the states as puzzles in much the same way as the Waddingtons Jig-Maps of the same period.

   

Collective Exhibition at the Royal College of Art by:

 

Bianca Elzenbaumer,

Fabio Franz,

Adrien Parlange,

Alessandro Sambini,

Alexandre Bettler,

Anaïs Tondeur,

Anne Haaning,

Annie Callaghan,

Britt Hatzius,

Chris Paul Daniels,

Dolores Schlegel,

Ed Ilewellyn,

Eiko Azuma,

Gabriel Grandry,

Geetika Alok,

Joana Monteiro,

Kate Morrell,

Lara Garcia,

Leah Fusco,

Luke Moody,

Michael Powell,

Monica Naranjo Uribe,

Samantha Davey and

Tim Petch.

  

n.*Peace:

The meaning of the word peace changes with context but it refers more generally to quietude, such as that common at night or in remote areas, allowing for sleep or meditation. Peace can be an emotion or internal state. A person's conception of "peace" is often the product of culture and upbringing. People of different cultures sometimes disagree about the meaning of the word, and so do people within any given culture. Peace is not a symbol, peace is a mindset.

 

Peaceful Sunset, Terrebonne, Quebec, Canada.

 

PixQuote:

"There are worlds of experience beyond the world of the aggressive man, beyond history, and beyond science. The moods and qualities of nature and the revelations of great art are equally difficult to define; we can grasp them only in the depths of our perceptive spirit."

-Ansel Adams

 

Understand your aesthetic sense - photographing the nude to help you improve your perceptivity to understand and feel the relation between aesthetics and sensuality. Uncovering hidden facets of yourself. - Ralph Hattersleyn

 

Middle East Shutter Squad 2010 (Underground Hardcore Photographers)

Simply look with perceptive eyes at the world about you, and trust to your own reactions and convictions. Ask yourself: "Does this subject move me to feel, think and dream? Can I visualize a print - my own personal statement of what I feel and want to convey - from the subject before me?"

 

Ansel Adams

Two years ago I never imagined this poster would be possible, because it contains images only from Chisholm Creek Park, a single city park well within the Wichita city limits. I’ve been taking pictures for many years, but I never got my camera out to take nature photos in Kansas. I only got the camera out when I travelled to visit national parks and other exotic places. Quite frankly, I didn’t believe there was much to photograph here in the great plains of the American Midwest, fondly referred to as flyover country by people living to the east and west, as in you fly over it to get to somewhere good.

 

It all started when I bought my first digital camera after shooting slides for many years. I wanted to try out the camera and get used to it before I went on a trip. I chose the city park nearest my home for this exercise because I’d used the trails for training for backpacking and I knew there were a few ducks and geese there. My first day of new digital camera practice was April 9, 2006 (isn’t EXIF data wonderful!). I shot some geese and the plain orange cloudless sunset that day. The next day I tried again. It was early spring and there were some flowers blooming and a nice pink cloud sunset. The next day after that featured a spectacular sunset with great sunbeams flowing from the clouds. It was like photo crack – I got hooked real fast.

 

It turns out Chisholm Creek Park is a bit special, not just another weed field like I first thought. Its 282 acres and 2 ½ miles of paved trails cross native and restored tallgrass prairies, wetlands, ponds and woodlands representative of the major habitat types of the Great Plains. Since the park is managed to maintain the diversity and quality of habitat there’s a lot to photograph in a small area.

 

Spring did its thing and soon there were ducklings and many more wildflowers. Who can resist ducklings? I liked to shoot wildflowers so I decided to try to get a shot of each different species. I had no idea there were so many different kinds of prairie wildflowers. Then there were goslings and caterpillars and muskrats, turtles and egrets and red-winged blackbirds, bees and butterflies, bullfrogs and snakes, and many more nice clouds and sunsets. I got into the habit of going out for a photo walk for an hour or so around sunset three or four days a week. I set a goal of photographing something new every time I went out, and when you’re looking for something new every time, you pay attention to everything. As Yogi Berra was supposed to have said, “You can observe a lot just by looking.” Many things I saw only a single day out of the many times I went for a photo walk. I didn’t fail to find something new to shoot until winter arrived. I don’t do winter, so I put the camera away when it got too cold.

 

The next spring I started a little earlier, in March. I’d missed some early-season wildflowers the first year. It’s hard to shoot landscapes in the city, but I began to learn where the best angles were in different seasons as the sun traversed its annual cycle. I also learned the best angles to avoid showing the man-made things just beyond the park boundaries from TV and light towers to the K-96 highway that runs down the middle of the park to the Home Depot store to the east. I tried to get a better shot of the wildflowers I’d shot the year before and continued to find new wildflower species to shoot, not to mention new kinds of bugs and butterflies. I discovered that unlike other places, autumn is the peak wildflower season here.

 

This year seemed to have an amazing series of sunsets, and I found some more good angles to shoot them. I made an effort to go out every day I could see good clouds out my window. Alas, there are other things to do and I didn’t get to witness every single sunset, but I tried.

 

I found out the prairie has a seasonal succession of plants in bloom. There is a completely new crop of wildflowers in the same place a month or two after the previous one finished, three or four wildflowers crops in a single season. A lot of wildflowers and bugs only appear for a short season and I’m just beginning to understand where and when different species will bloom. Now in my third year of shooting, I tried this year to get even better shots of things I’d shot before. This really stretched my photographic creativity and I experimented much more in difficult lighting conditions and with more difficult wildlife shots like birds in flight. There were lots of dismal failures, but once in a while I’d get something amazing. With digital, experiments are free, so why not play around? I was certainly lucky this year since it was a wet year and the vegetation was lush through the entire growing season. The tallgrass got really tall this year and the autumn sunflower bloom turned out to be spectacular.

 

I would have though it would get harder and harder to find things to photograph walking the same two or three miles of trails over and over again, but that hasn’t happened. It seems to be getting easier to find good photographic opportunities, not harder. Yosemite National Park is a spectacular place and I went backpacking there for a week in early September. I could hardly believe it, but I was muttering to myself some days on the trail that I could get better shots where I live in Wichita than in Yosemite. That’s a radical thought for me! I’ve long thought that everything in nature can make a good photo in the right light and in the right season. I really believe that now….

 

It’s getting colder and my photo walking season is nearly over for this year, but I can’t wait for spring to arrive. There’s no telling what amazing natural wonders are still left for me to discover and photograph in just one little city park.

 

Flickr has also been part of my photo epiphany. There are so many great images I can’t help but get new ideas and my visitors regularly leave perceptive comments. Often I find my visitors are better judges of my images than I am. You are the ones that put all these images in [the often capricious and maddening] Explore and I thank you for it. Also, since I’m a naturalist-challenged, shoot-first-and-figure-out-what-it’s-called-later kind of guy, my visitors have been very good at helping me identify things, with fellow flickrite and Chisholm Creek Park shooter Jon Inghram the king of that department. I’ve learned a lot from Jon.

 

Anyway, I’m a bit long-winded, but I wanted to share my thoughts today….

 

For those who are interested, here’s some info and a map of Chisholm Creek Park, the extraordinary city park that I once though was just ordinary: gpnc.org/chisholm.htm

 

1. I'm Not a Diva!, 2. Turtle Tilt, 3. The Kids Do It To Me Again, 4. Checkered-Skipper, 5. Flying Sip, 6. Painted Lady on Asters, 7. Silvery Checkerspot, 8. Monarch on Yellow,

 

9. Halloween Pennant, 10. Dressed to Kill #3 - Walking Stick Bug, 11. Dressed to Kill, 12. Prairie Wind, Prairie Fire, 13. Let the Wind Blow #1, 14. Yin and Yang, 15. Cottonwood Rhapsody, 16. Prairie Pond Mind Ping,

 

17. Have a Ball!, 18. Autumn Glide, 19. Goose Whispering, 20. Transitions, 21. Blackbird Migration, 22. Enchanted Pond, 23. Air Show Egrets, 24. Duck L'orange,

 

25. Red at Night, 26. Prairie Details # 1 - Eternal Renewal, 27. Prairie Details # 4 - Sweet September, 28. Prairie Details # 6 - Reflecting on Orange, 29. Prairie Details # 10 - Timeless Time, 30. Stop and Go Traffic, 31. Velvet Buck, 32. Handsome Young Drake, Almost Grown,

 

33. Migration Begins - A Sunset for the Other Theresa, 34. An Egret for Theresa, 35. Wichita Sunset Monopoly Continues..., 36. Spacious Skies, 37. Yes We Get Hazy Days Here..., 38. More NASA Work..., 39. Maximilian Sunflower Explosion, 40. Tallgrass Prairie #1,

 

41. Back to the Ordinary..., 42. Could There Possibly Be More?, 43. Here Comes the Sun..., 44. Rainbow Sunflowers, 45. What it Looked Like Before Lowell, 46. Cloudy Sunset Blues, 47. Quiet Thunderstorm, 48. September Prairie,

 

49. Kindling Spring, 50. Too Many Clouds Last Night, 51. Reflecting on Rays, 52. Surprise Sunset, 53. Triangulation #2, 54. Triangulation, 55. Wanna Come Over for Lunch Sometime?, 56. Big-eyed Blazing Star Butterfly,

 

57. Take a Sip and Your Wings Will Change Colors, 58. Lost in Space, 59. Fast Food, 60. On Golden Pond, 61. Swim Away Ducks, 62. Fly Away Duck, 63. Purple Poppy-Mallow Secrets Revealed, 64. Blanket Bokeh,

 

65. Prairie Sunset, 66. Sunset for Four Geese - May 7, 67. Almost Too Late #2, 68. June 15 - 8:00 PM - Boiling Fury, 69. June 15, 8:08 PM - Mouth to the Abyss, 70. Gliding Egret, 71. Takeoff, 72. In-Flight Conversation

  

This article is about the photography technique. For the Fringe episode, see Forced Perspective (Fringe), Unintentional forced perspective effect in this U.S. Navy photograph. The CH-47 Chinook helicopter at left is more than eighteen feet (5.4m) tall and almost one hundred feet (30.5m) long. The Potemkin Stairs in Odessa extend for 142 meters, but give the illusion of greater depth since the stairs are wider at the bottom than at the top. Forced perspective is a technique which employs optical illusion to make an object appear farther away, closer, larger or smaller than it actually is. It is used primarily in photography, filmmaking and architecture. It manipulates human visual perception through the use of scaled objects and the correlation between them and the vantage point of the spectator or camera.

In filmmaking .One example of forced perspective is a scene in an action/adventure movie in which dinosaurs are threatening the heroes. By placing a miniature model of a dinosaur close to the camera, the dinosaur may be made to look monstrously tall to the viewer, even though it is just closer to the camera. Forced perspective had been a feature of German silent films and Citizen Kane revived the practice.Movies, especially B-movies in the 1950s and 1960s, were produced on limited budgets and often featured forced perspective shots. Forced perspective can be made more believable when environmental conditions obscure the difference in perspective. For example, the final scene of the famous movie Casablanca takes place at an airport in the middle of a storm, although the entire scene was shot in a studio. This was accomplished by using a painted backdrop of an aircraft, which was "serviced" by dwarfs standing next to the backdrop. A downpour (created in-studio) draws much of the viewer's attention away from the backdrop and extras, making the simulated perspective less noticeable. Role of light Early instances of forced perspective used in low-budget motion pictures showed objects that were clearly different from their surroundings: often blurred or at a different light level. The principal cause of this was geometric. Light from a point source travels in a spherical wave, decreasing in intensity (or illuminance) as the inverse square of the distance travelled. This means that a light source must be four times as bright to produce the same illuminance at an object twice as far away. Thus to create the illusion of a distant object being at the same distance as a near object and scaled accordingly, much more light is required. When shooting with forced perspective, it's important to have the aperture stopped down sufficiently to achieve proper DOF (depth of field), so that the foreground object and background are both sharp. Since miniature models would need to be subjected to far greater lighting than the main focus of the camera, the area of action, it is important to ensure that these can withstand the significant amount of heat generated by the incandescent light sources typically used in film and TV production. Nodal point: forced perspective in motion Peter Jackson's film adaptations of The Lord of the Rings make extended use of forced perspective. Characters apparently standing next to each other would be displaced by several feet in depth from the camera. This, in a still shot, makes some characters appear much smaller (for the dwarves and Hobbits) in relation to others. An extensively used technique in The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring was an enhancement of this principle which could be used in moving shots. Portions of sets were mounted on movable platforms which would move precisely according to the movement of the camera, so that the optical illusion would be preserved at all times for the duration of the shot. The same techniques were used in the Harry Potter movies to make the character Hagrid look like a giant. Props around Harry and his friends are of normal size, while seemingly identical props placed around Hagrid are in fact smaller.

The techniques developed center around a nodal point axis, so the camera's panning axis is at the point between the lens and aperture ring where the light travelling through the camera meets its axis. By comparison, the normal panning axis would be at the point at which light would strike the film (or image sensor in a digital camera). The position of this nodal point can be different for every lens. However, on wide angle lenses it is often found between the midpoint of the lens and the aperture ring.

Comic effects

Use of forced perspective with the Leaning Tower of Pisa is popular in tourist photography.

Forced perspective of giant beer can model shown "perched" on top of a person's hand. As with many film genres and effects, forced perspective can be used to visual-comedy effect. Typically, when an object or character is portrayed in a scene, its size is defined by its surroundings. A character then interacts with the object or character, in the process showing that the viewer has been fooled and there is forced perspective in use. The 1930 Laurel and Hardy movie Brats used forced perspective to depict Stan and Ollie simultaneously as adults and as their own sons. An example used for comic effect can be found in the slapstick comedy Top Secret! in a scene which appears to begin as a close-up of a ringing phone with the characters in the distance. However, when the character walks up to the phone (towards the camera) and picks it up, it becomes apparent that the phone is extremely oversized instead of being close to the camera. Another scene in the same movie begins with a close-up of a wristwatch. The next cut shows that the character actually has a gargantuan wristwatch. The same technique is also used in the Dennis Waterman sketch in the British BBC sketch show Little Britain. In the television version, oversized props are used to make the caricatured Waterman look just three feet tall or less.

In The History of the World, Part I, while escaping the French peasants, Mel Brooks' character, Jacques, who is doubling for King Louis, runs down a hall of the palace, which turns into a ramp, showing the smaller forced perspective door at the end. As he backs down into the normal part of the room, he mutters, "Who designed this place?"

One of the recurring The Kids in the Hall sketches featured Mr. Tyzik, "The Headcrusher", who used forced perspective (from his own point of view) to "crush" other people's heads between his fingers. This is also done by the character Sheldon Cooper in the TV show The Big Bang Theory to his friends when they displease him.

In the making of Season 5 of Red vs. Blue, the creators used forced perspective to make the character of Tucker's baby look small. In the game, the alien character used as the baby is the same height as other characters.

Forced perspective in the Roman Emperor's Aula Palatina: The windows and the coffer in the apse are smaller, and the apsis has a raised floor.

From the outside, the true size of the apsis windows is apparent.

In architecture, a structure can be made to seem larger, taller, farther away or otherwise by adjusting the scale of objects in relation to the spectator, increasing or decreasing perceived depth.

 

For example, when forced perspective is used to make an object appear farther away, the following method can be used: By constantly decreasing the scale of objects from expectancy and convention toward the farthest point from the spectator, an illusion is created that the scale of said objects is decreasing due to their distant location. In contrast, the opposite technique was sometimes used in classical garden designs and other "follies" to shorten the perceived distances of points of interest along a path.

 

The Statue of Liberty is built with a slight forced perspective so that it appears more correctly proportioned when viewed from its base. When the statue was designed in the late 19th century (before easy air flight), there were few other angles from which to view the statue. This caused a difficulty for special effects technicians working on the movie Ghostbusters II, who had to back off on the amount of forced perspective used when replicating the statue for the movie so that their model (which was photographed head-on) would not look top-heavy. This effect can also be seen in Michelangelo's statue of David.

 

Illusion of a large space at the apse of Santa Maria presso San Satiro in Milan, Italy

 

Real space just around one meter deep

 

An extraordinary forced perspective doorway in Pézenas, France.

 

Through depth perception

 

The technique takes advantage of the visual cues humans use to perceive depth such as angular size, aerial perspective, shading, and relative size. In film, photography and art, perceived object distance is manipulated by altering fundamental monocular cues used to discern the depth of an object in the scene such as aerial perspective, blurring, relative size and lighting. Using these monocular cues in concert with angular size, the eyes can perceive the distance of an object. Artists are able to freely move the visual plane of objects by obscuring these cues to their advantage.

 

Increasing the object's distance from the audience makes an object appear smaller, its apparent size decreases as distance from the audience increases. This phenomenon is that of the manipulation of angular and apparent size.

 

A person perceives the size of an object based on the size of the object's image on the retina. This depends solely on the angle created by the rays coming from the topmost and bottommost part of the object that pass through the center of the lens of the eye. The larger the angle an object subtends, the larger the apparent size of the object. The subtended angle increases as the object moves closer to the lens. Two objects with different actual size have the same apparent size when they subtend the same angle. Similarly, two objects of the same actual size can have drastically varying apparent size when they are moved to different distances from the lens.Solely manipulating angular size by moving objects closer and farther away cannot fully trick the eye. Objects that are farther away from the eye have a lower luminescent contrast due to atmospheric scattering of rays. Fewer rays of light reach the eye from more distant objects. Using the monocular cue of aerial perspective, the eye uses the relative luminescence of objects in a scene to discern relative distance. Filmmakers and photographers combat this cue by manually increasing the luminescence of objects father away to equal that of objects in the desired plane. This effect is achieved by making the more distant object more bright by shining more light on it. Because it is known that luminance decreases by ½d (d is distance from the eye), artists can calculate the exact amount of light needed to counter the cue of aerial perspective. Similarly, blurring can create the opposite effect by giving the impression of depth. Selectively blurring an object moves it out of its original visual plane without having to manually move the object. A perceptive illusion that may be infused in film culture is the idea of Gestalt psychology, which holds that people often view the whole of an object as opposed to the sum of its individual parts. Another monocular cue of depth perception is that of lighting and shading. Artists also use lighting to establish shadows. Shading in a scene or on an object allows the audience to locate the light source relative to the object. Making two objects at different distances have the same shading gives the impression that they are in similar positions relative to the light source, and therefore, they are apparently much closer than they are in actuality .A simpler technique employed by artists is that of manipulating relative size. Once the audience becomes acquainted with the size of an object in proportion to the rest of the objects in a scene, a photographer or filmmaker can replace the object with a larger or smaller replica to change another part of the scene's apparent size. This is done frequently in movies. For example, to aid in the appearance of a person as a giant next to a "regular sized" person, a filmmaker might have a shot of two identical glasses together, then follow with the person who is supposed to play the giant holding a much smaller replica of the glass and the person who is playing the regular-sized person holding a much larger replica. Because the audience has seen that the glasses are the same size in the original shot, the difference in relation to the two characters allows the audience to perceive the characters as different sizes based on their relative size to the glasses they are holding. A monocular cue easily taken advantage of by painters is the trend for the color of objects in the distance to be shifted more towards the blue end of the spectrum, while closer objects' colors are shifted toward the red end of the spectrum. A painter can give the illusion of distance by adding blue or red tinting to the color of the object he is painting. The optical phenomenon is known as chromostereopsis.

Forced perspective has been employed to create dwarfs and giants in film series such as Hagrid, the half-giant in Harry Potter, and in the special effects of The Lord of the Rings film series to film the dwarves and hobbits. In reality, there is only a 5-inch height difference between Elijah Wood, 5′6″, and Ian McKellen, 5′11″, the two actors playing Frodo, and Gandalf, however the use of camera angles and trick scenery and props creates the illusion of a much greater difference in size and height.

In his painting entitled Still life with a curtain, Paul Cézanne creates the illusion of depth by using brighter colors on objects closer to the viewer and dimmer colors and shading to distance the "light source" from objects that he wanted to appear farther away. His shading technique allows the audience to discern the distance between objects due to their relative distances from a stationary light source that illuminates the scene. Furthermore he uses a blue tint on objects that should be farther away and redder tint to objects in the foreground.

Full size dioramas

A diorama in the Museum of Natural History in Milan (Italy).

Modern museum dioramas may be seen in most major natural history museums. Typically, these displays use a tilted plane to represent what would otherwise be a level surface, incorporate a painted background of distant objects, and often employ false perspective, carefully modifying the scale of objects placed on the plane to reinforce the illusion through depth perception in which objects of identical real-world size placed farther from the observer appear smaller than those closer. Often the distant painted background or sky will be painted upon a continuous curved surface so that the viewer is not distracted by corners, seams, or edges. All of these techniques are means of presenting a realistic view of a large scene in a compact space. A photograph or single-eye view of such a diorama can be especially convincing since in this case there is no distraction by the binocular perception of depth.

Carl Akeley, a naturalist, sculptor, and taxidermist, is credited with creating the first ever habitat diorama in the year 1889. Akeley's diorama featured taxidermied beavers in a three-dimensional habitat with a realistic, painted background. With the support of curator Frank M. Chapman, Akeley designed the popular habitat dioramas featured at the American Museum of Natural History. Combining art with science, these exhibitions were intended to educate the public about the growing need for habitat conservation. The modern AMNH Exhibitions Lab is charged with the creation of all dioramas and otherwise immersive environments in the museum.[10]

Theme parks

Forced perspective is extensively employed at theme parks and other such architecture as found in Disneyland and Las Vegas, often to make structures seem larger than they are in reality where physically larger structures would not be feasible or desirable, or to otherwise provide an optical illusion for entertainment value. Most notably, it is used by Walt Disney Imagineering in the Disney Theme Parks. Some notable examples of forced perceptive in the parks, used to make the objects bigger, are the castles (Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, and Belle). One of the most notable examples of forced perspective being used to make the object appear smaller is the The American Adventure Pavilion in EPCOT.

 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forced_perspective

Do we need to analyze our decisions and actions every second of the day?

Do we need to be perceptive of our subconscious? Do we need to be accountable to our actions every second of the day?

Is that what They means when They say “Get in-tune with yourself”? You, not being able to enjoy the moment?

Idk.

Awareness is a key, but how you take and apply your beliefs are central to your contentment.

My personal view: All in moderation - that’s the key.

I have one hardcore Vegan daughter, 2 Vegetarian daughters, and a son that can eat a horse’s head if he’s hungry.

I raised them well…

   

52 weeks of writing: week 23

gullible - easily deceived, naive (antonym: astute, discerning, wise, perceptive)

  

obsolescence.tumblr.com

Day 2 of 30 days of gratitude:

So grateful today for the inspiring evening I had with like-minded women, for creative self-expression, and the perceptive eye of the camera.

 

Unlike the previous two times this train ran, today there had been a lot of flapping that a 47 would be used for the Swansea-Carmarthen section & indeed an ETH variant was lurking ominously nearby on Margam together with 37038 as the only available locos. Late in the day a very perceptive person in control allocated the 47 to a menial task leaving 37038 to work the rugex. 1Z51, the 1620 Cardiff-Carmarthen & is seen here at twilight about to restart having reversed direction at Swansea High Street much to the delight of the assembled masses. Unsurprisingly the return 1835 "ECS" was the 2Z51 crankex this time instead of a class 5.

E-Mail :- pinkeshmodiphotography@gmail.com

 

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Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Today however, we are not at Cavendish Mews. We are not even in London. Instead, we are north of the capital, in the little Essex village of Belchamp St Paul*. Lettice met the world famous British concert pianist, Sylvia Fordyce last week at a private audience after a performance at the Royal Albert Hall**. Sylvia is the long-time friend of Lettice’s fiancée, Sir John Nettleford-Hughes and his widowed sister Clementine (known preferably now by the more cosmopolitan Clemance) Pontefract, the latter of whom Sylvia has known since they were both eighteen. Lettice, Sir John and Clemance were invited to join Sylvia in her dressing room after her Schumann and Brahms concert. After a brief chat with Sir John (whom she refers to as Nettie, using the nickname only his closest friends use) and Clemance, Sylvia had her personal secretary, Atlanta, show them out so that she could discuss “business” with Lettice. Anxious that like so many others, Sylvia would try to talk Lettice out of marrying Sir John, who is old enough to be her father and known for his dalliances with pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger, Lettice was surprised when Sylvia admitted that when she said that she wanted to discuss business, that was what she genuinely meant. Sylvia owns a small country property on which she had a secluded little house she calls ‘The Nest’ built not so long ago: a house she had decorated by society interior designer Syrie Maugham***. However, unhappy with Mrs. Maugham’s passion for shades of white, Sylvia wants Lettice to inject some colour into her drawing room by painting a feature wall for her. Thus, she invited Lettice to motor up to Essex with her for an overnight stay at the conclusion of her concert series at The Hall to see the room for herself, and perhaps get some ideas as to what and how she might paint it.

 

After agreeing to take Sylvia’s commission of a painted mural, Lettice and Sylvia are dining in Half Moon****, the Eighteenth Century public house in Belchamp St Paul where they sit in comfortable wooden seats either side of the large stone fireplace enjoying an apéritif before sitting down to dinner. The public house is decorated in the tasteful version of traditional country kitchen style which is fashionable, with comfortable mismatched cottage style chairs clustered around tables, throw rugs on the flagstone floor and a liberal scattering of silver knick-knacks along the fireplace mantle. Small clusters of local farmers populate the room, mostly gathered around the bar, and Lettice and Sylvia are the only women except for the publican’s wife who is kept busy pulling pints behind the bar. They are made even more conspicuous by Sylvia’s choice of outfit. She wears a pair of Oxford bags*****, accessorised stylishly with a pair of black patent leather heels, and a smart white silk blouse with a cross over frill. Released from beneath her over-sized brown velvet cloche, which hangs alongside her luxuriously thick half-length mink fur coat on a peg near the front door, Sylvia’s black dyed sharp bob sits neatly about her angular face. She wears no necklace or earrings, and her face is caked with a thick layer of white makeup. Her red painted lips the only colour afforded her in her entire outfit.

 

Sitting in her seat with a port and lemonade in one hand and a cigarette in the other, Sylvia observes as Lettice appraises her with alert eyes. “A penny for your thoughts, Lettice darling?” she asks.

 

“Hhhmm…” Lettice murmurs before sitting up more straightly in her seat, suddenly aware that she has been caught staring. “Oh! I was just pondering about you, Sylvia darling.”

 

“About me? Really?” Sylvia queries, arching a well-manicured eyebrow over her eye as she lifts her cigarette to her lips and draws upon it. “Why?”

 

“Well,” Lettice begins. “I was just thinking. If I am to paint a mural for you, Sylvia. I should very much like to know you a little better, so that I can paint something that truly reflects you, and your personality.”

 

“I’ve told you a little bit about my chequered past Lettice darling,” Sylvia replies, blowing a cloud of billowing smoke out of her mouth as she does. “I am a pianist, and was long before I was, unhappily married.”

 

“Yes, I know that Sylvia,” Lettice replies, sipping her own port and lemonade, screwing her eyes up thoughtfully as she examines Sylvia. “But I can’t help but feel that you are like an onion, with many layers, and that what you have shared is but the first of those.”

 

“How very intriguing.”

 

Lettice notices Sylvia shift ever so slightly in her seat, the movement suggesting discomfort at Lettice’s observations of her. “Perceptive I’d say, judging by your response, Sylvia darling.” Lettice corrects. “The woman who is before me is extremely talented, very forthright, fiercely independent, and is obviously used to getting what she wants. She sits fearlessly in a country pub, quite unruffled by the aghast stares and exclamations she gets from the men around her because she wears trousers just as they do.” Lettice watches as Sylvia smiles self-consciously as she brushes the knee of her right leg crossed over her left with her elegant left hand bearing its single aquamarine and diamond cocktail ring. Lettice is sure that beneath the mask of white makeup, Sylvia is blushing. “Who is Sylvia Fordyce?” Lettice asks.

 

Sylvia sighs heavily and shifts in her seat again. “Sylvia Fordyce is a confection of my own making. Talented, I shan’t deny. However, the woman who is so independent has not always been so. The woman you say gets what she wants has often been deprived of the most basic of human needs. The woman you say who wears trousers fearlessly, unafraid has been anything but in her past. Sylvia Fordyce is an enigma you shouldn’t even attempt to understand her, Lettice darling.”

 

“But how can I paint a mural for a, and I use your words Sylvia, a concoction or an enigma? I need to know a little more about the backstory of Miss Sylvia Fordyce if I am to take her commission on.”

 

“Is that a request, Lettice darling?” Sylvia asks.

 

“What do you think?” Lettice replies, sipping her drink.

 

“I’d say not.” Sylvia replies definitely, taking another deep draw on her cigarette. Blowing out smoke she takes another sip of her own drink before continuing, “And if I refuse?” Her right eyebrow goes up again, warily.

 

“I have other potential clients ready to fill my diary, Sylvia darling. I go to see Dolly Hatchett at her new residence in Queen Anne’s Gate******* next week.”

 

“Dolly Hatchett.” Sylvia’s dark eyes grow wide. “As in the wife of Charles Hatchett, the MP for Tower Hamlets***? That Dolly Hatchett?”

 

“The same.” Lettice affirms with a smirk.

 

“Well, you are full of surprises.” Sylvia emits a low growling laugh. “Fancy you decorating for a Labour MP. Your Conservative parents must be furious!”

 

“They were when I did my first interior designs for her house in Sussex, but now they don’t comment on my choice of clients any more.”

 

“That’s because your star appears to be on the rise, Lettice darling. Features in Country Life*********, Tatler********** and The Lady*********** is a sure sign of success, my dear.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You know, you say that I’m used to getting my own way, and you’re right, but I think you’re far more used to getting yours, Lettice darling.” Sylvia points her finger with her manicured nail at Lettice.

 

“Perhaps Sylvia.” Lettice concedes. “So if that is true, my demand stands. I’d like to know a little more about you, so that I can create something beautiful that truly reflects you.”

 

“My story is a long one, Lettice.” Sylvia deflects.

 

“The night is young. We aren’t dining until eight. There is plenty of time.”

 

“It’s not a particularly happy story to enjoy before dinner.” Sylvia warns.

 

“I suspect that it isn’t. No woman can be as forthright as you are in a world of men without having to fight for your place in it. You wear your battle scars like a badge of honour.”

 

“A world of men.” Sylvia muses as she draws on her cigarette, making the paper crackle quietly as she does.

 

“I’m finding it to be the same, if it’s of any consolation.” Lettice admits. “I’m so often dismissed as the pretty viscount’s daughter who dabbles in design.”

 

“Hardly a cause for solace, Lettice.” Sylvia sighs, blowing out another plume of greyish white cigarette smoke thoughtfully. “Rather a tragedy really. Still, you have good lineage where independence and determination are concerned. You’ve probably been told this before by others, but you remind me very much of your aunt Eglantyne.”

 

“Aunt Egg?.” Lettice replies in surprise. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with her.”

 

“Oh yes,” Sylvia nods. “Being artists, albeit different types, she being a ceramicist and I being a musician, we do cross paths from time to time. She, Nettie and I used to meet at Gladys Caxton’s literary and artistic salons when she was still Gladys Chambers: if you can call a rather raucous and drunken gathering at her brother’s flat in Bloomsbury a ‘salon’.” Sylvia’s growling laugh burbles from deep within her, up her throat and out of her mouth.

 

“Well as it happens I have been told that I am like my Aunt Egg before,” Lettice replies proudly. “So, since you have started, why don’t you tell me a little more about yourself, Sylvia.”

 

“Is this the only way I will secure your commitment to paint a mural on my drawing room wall at The Nest, Lettice?” When Lettice doesn’t answer, Sylvia adds, “You drive a hard bargain, my dear.”

 

“It will be worth your while, Sylvia darling, I promise.”

 

“Very well,” Sylvia sighs. “But only under one condition.” When Lettice nods her ascent, she goes on. “You must not speak about what I am about to tell you with anyone except Nettie or Clemmie.” Sylvia says dourly, referring to Sir John Nettleford-Hughes, using his pet name used only by his closest friends from his younger days. “They are the only two people who know the truth of my history, and I only trust you with it because you are marrying Nettie.”

 

“I can be discreet.” Lettice assures her.

 

“I’m sure you can be, Lettice Darling. Very well.” Sylvia groans. She extinguishes her cigarette in the black ashtray on the table next to her glass and then withdraws another Craven “A” cigarettes*********** from her bright red and white packet, lighting it with a match. She puffs out a small burst of acrid smoke from between her teeth. “Where shall I begin?”

 

“You have said several times that you don’t pick the right men to love, and that you married unwisely,” Lettice begins tentatively, leaning forward over the large arch of stones of the fireplace. “Why don’t you start there?”

 

“To answer that question, my dear, we must go back even further to my childhood.”

 

“I’m listening.”

 

She settles back in her seat like a true performer: a storyteller before her enthralled audience. “My father was a haberdasher: Fordyce Fabrics along Uxbridge Road in Shepard’s Bush. We lived in a smart Queen Anne Revival house************ in Bedford Park************* with a bay window overlooking a neat garden and the street beyond - my parents and I with our cook, parlour maid and my nanny. My childhood was happy. My father always said that he had thread flowing through his veins, and he must have been right for two reasons: firstly, his haberdashery was very successful and secondly it can’t have been blood flowing to his heart, because he had a heart attack and died when I was just seven. It was then that my mother discovered why my father had no family to speak of. He was descended from a line of Huguenot************** weavers who fled France in the late Seventeenth Century*********** and set up business in Spitalfields****************. His real surname was Forvace, but he changed it to Fordice to overcome prejudice against foreigners – even though he was born in England along with many previous generations of the Forvace family – and build his business. His Forvace relations never forgave my father for changing his name, and they disowned him. My widowed mother was quite fragile mentally, and she certainly had no head for business, and she sold Fordyce Fabrics whilst still well and truly in mourning for my father to some swindlers at a grossly undervalued price. This led us before too long to be living in genteel impecuniousness.”

 

“That must have been hard for you, Sylvia.”

 

“It was. I was young and I didn’t fully understand why my nanny had to go. She was the first, and my mother learned rudimentary domestic skills from our cook before she too left along with our parlour maid. My mother began to sell some of our nicer possessions that might fetch a decent price at the pawnbrokers, but that could only go so far. Eventually my mother was forced to reach out for help to her only surviving close relation, her brother, my Uncle Ninian*****************, who was a wealthy, yet mean spirited, moneylender. Uncle Ninian never approved of my mother’s marriage to my father, feeling that she had married beneath her station, so whilst he did what he considered to be his Christian duty by providing for us, it wasn’t an easy life he made for us. My mother and I managed to get by with most of our house shut off to save on heating and lighting, her cooking our meals and a daily woman****************** who came in to help her when she needed it. We didn’t have money spare for treats like the annual trips to the seaside at Bournemouth, or new toys for birthdays and Christmas for me, like we did when my father was alive. Indeed, we were in such penury that as I grew out of my clothes as I became a young lady, my mother, who was a good seamstress, had to alter some of her own dresses for me to wear. I was always the ridicule of the other children at school because of my old fashioned and odd clothes, and I was only too pleased to leave school when I was fifteen.”

 

“How awful!” Lettice remarks as she sips some more of her port and lemonade. “However, one thing puzzles me, Sylvia darling.”

 

“And what’s that, Lettice darling?”

 

“Well, if you were in such straitened circumstances, how is it you came to be living with the von Nyssens, in Charlottenburg and attending the Universität der Künste, Berlin******************* when you met John’s sister? Clemance told me that is how you two met.”

 

“It’s true, Clemmie and I did meet because we were both staying with the von Nyssens, in Charlottenburg, and I was attending the Universität der Künste where I was studying piano. Going back to my rather unhappy childhood, my one consolation was my mother’s ability to play the piano. We had a very nice upright piano******************** which my mother loved to play, and thus it was never pawned by her, and her playing never cost us a penny. She was a very good pianist, and I imagine that it is from her that I have my aptitude for playing the instrument. My mother may not have had a mind for business, nor been very good at cooking, but she could use her piano playing skills to help bring in a little bit of extra money for us which we always seemed so sorely in need of to keep the bailiffs from the door. Living in Bedford Park, there were plenty of parents full of pretentions who wished for their bored and untalented children to learn to play the piano, so my mother gave lessons five mornings and three afternoons a week. She also tutored me most evenings, and what she discovered was that I had an aptitude that she felt, if nurtured properly, could make me into a concert pianist. Thus, one Saturday, she quite literally sewed me into her very best brown velvet dress and took me off to my Uncle Ninian’s house in Belsize Park. I must have looked ridiculous in a time of tightly fitting sleeves, sweeping hems with trains and cape like ornamentations over the bust and shoulder, sitting at my uncle’s piano dressed in tightly corseted velvet gown that was too short for me with old fashioned gigot sleeves*********************. However, Uncle Ninian saw beyond my ill fitting and old fashioned garb as he listened to me play a Mozart sonata. He agreed with my mother, that with my aptitude, under the right tutelage, I could perhaps make something of myself as a pianist. Thus, with his money behind me, I ended up at the von Nyssens and I met Clemmie. She became my first real friend I had had in years. She didn’t care that we came from such different backgrounds and upbringings, and she still doesn’t. We have stayed friends ever since, even if time passes by and we don’t see one another for long periods.”

 

“So that’s how you became a concert pianist then?” Lettice asks.

 

“Oh no my dear!” Sylvia laughs, blowing out another plume of acrid cigarette smoke. “It takes much more than an expensive musical education to become a concert pianist.”

 

“Oh yes, of course,” Lettice blushes with embarrassment at her rather naïve remark. “You would have had to work hard to gain a place in an orchestra.”

 

“Far more than that, Lettice, I needed the right connections. When my period at the Universität der Künste, Berlin came to an end and I left the von Nyssens, three years after Clemmie had gone back to London, rather than go home to Bedford Park as I presumed was going to happen, when I arrived back in the capital, I was instead taken to Belsize Park, back to my Uncle Ninian’s ghastly dark house. I wasn’t allowed even to see my mother, whom I had been corresponding with regularly whilst I was in Germany.” When Lettice’s face twists in a questioning way, Sylvia draws on her cigarette and goes on. “My Uncle Ninian‘s memory was long, and he still blamed his sister for marrying beneath her station for love. Thanks to Uncle Ninian’s investment in me, not only had I come back to London an accomplished pianist, but a cultured, elegant and fashionably dressed and pretty young woman. Uncle Ninian considered himself the creator of this silk purse from a sow’s ear, and he didn’t wish my mother to influence my chances of a good and advantageous marriage with her talk of romance. So, I became a prisoner in his home. He hired a companion for me who was far more a gaoler than a companion. She was a spinster who wore nothing but black and looked like a ghoul as she hung in the background wherever I went. She slept in the same room as me, and on the rare occasions I was allowed to go out when I wasn’t with Uncle Ninian, she had to accompany me. The only time I was ever free of her was when I was in the company Uncle Ninian. I wrote to my mother: copious piteous letters begging her to come and rescue me from their clutches, but she never replied.”

 

“Your letters were being intercepted?” Lettice asks knowingly.

 

“They were.” Sylvia nods sadly. “Not a one reached her as I was to later find out. I imagine they ended up on Uncle Ninian’s study fire and were turned to ashes in the grate. Once I was settled into my new prison of a home, Uncle Ninian began a regime of hosting dinner parties to which he invited older single men of his acquaintance: bankers mostly. Not a one was under forty, whilst I was twenty-three. My instructions were to play the piano for them, dressed in an array of sumptuous evening gowns and decked out in jewels Uncle Ninian would give my gaoler companion before each one of these awful evenings, and then take away again at the end of the night. I was to charm them into wanting to marry me, and I had no problem doing that.”

 

“And that is how you met your boorish and brutish brigadier?”

 

“No, my dear Lettice. Things were not that simple. My room at Uncle Ninian’s quickly filled with the cloying scent of hothouse flowers as bouquets and marriage proposals arrived. However, what Uncle Ninian hadn’t counted on was my friendship with Clemmie. When we were in Germany together, as young women of the same age, she opened my eyes to the stories in the romance novels she read, and she and Nettie’s parents had been a love match. I wasn’t going to settle for anything less, and I loathed all the old men paraded before me. Being trapped at Uncle Ninian’s, always on show at his soirées, I began to resent my ability to play the piano so well as the old leches he invited ogled me and pawed at me, all with the complicit agreement of Uncle Ninian. So, I began to play badly on purpose. However, I discovered that the only difference that made was with Uncle Ninian’s temperament. He started scolding me, and when that failed to change my attitude, he started to slap me and push me to the ground before proceeding to kick me, leaving my legs bruised.”

 

“That’s so terrible, dear Sylvia.”

 

“I did warn you that my tale was not a happy one, Lettice.” Sylvia cautions. “However, Uncle Ninian was smart. He kicked me where no-one would see my bruises, so the proof of his abuse, never surfaced. I do firmly believe that it is a mixture of his abuse and the pawing of those men during those years that has made me attracted to the wrong kind of man, and always older men,” She coughs awkwardly. “Well, mostly. However, Uncle Ninian’s mistreatment of me also taught me to be strong, to be forthright and not give in. I refused to accept a single proposal, and before too long, word spread about Ninian’s beautiful and talented, yet recalcitrant and intractable niece, and acceptances to his little dinner parties began to dwindle. Angry with me as he always was by that time, he finally played his trump card. He told me that he would give one more dinner party, and that I would accept one of the marriage proposals that came about as a result of it. If I failed to do so, he threatened to cut off my mother without a penny. I knew she couldn’t live on the pittance she earned from giving piano lessons in Bedford Park, so I agreed, under the one condition that I was allowed to see her.”

 

“Did your uncle agree?”

 

“To his credit, yes, Uncle Ninian was momentarily possessed by a skerrick of human kindness and it was arranged that I would be allowed to meet my mother for a half hour beneath the boughs of Shakespeare’s Tree********************** on Primrose Hill*********************** one Sunday afternoon in spring, escorted by him and my ghoulish gaoler companion.”

 

“And how did you find her?”

 

“She looked a lot older, and thinner, sadder, and generally genteelly tatty and unfashionable. I don’t think she owned a newer dress than those she had before my father had died even then. Nevertheless, her eyes sparkled and she smiled proudly when she saw what a beautiful young woman I had become since she had taken me to Uncle Ninian’s. It was at that meeting that I discovered that my mother had not received one of my letters since my return to London. Uncle Ninian told my mother about the ultimatum he had set for me. Before my companion, who was far stronger than her rangy figure portrayed, dragged my mother in one direction screaming, whilst I was dragged calling out to her back to our carriage by Uncle Ninian, my mother implored me not to comply and to live my life as I wanted, on my own terms. However, the hollow look of her underfed face haunted me in the nights after our assignation. I couldn’t bear to think of her cast out of our home in Bedford Park, a place of happy memories for her. It was the last vestige of the happy life she had once had, left to her. I couldn’t risk her losing that!”

 

“So you agreed to your uncle’s demands?”

 

“Yes, I complied to Uncle Ninian’s ultimatum, Lettice. However, what I didn’t know, couldn’t have known, was that by doing so, I began my slow escape into the freedom of the life I have today. By the time Uncle Ninian gave that final dinner party, all the wealthy bankers had long since dropped off, having no interest in a wilful girl like me, however pretty I may have been. Thus there were only older businessmen trying to build their profiles up in attendance, and rather than the dozens that were there initially, there were less than half a dozen in attendance that night. That left my pickings rather slim. However, one man amongst them dressed in white tie and tails wore his with particular flair. Although his hair was white, it theatrically long, rather in the style of the Pre Raphaelites************************. He turned out to be my saviour, or so, in my foolish girlhood, I thought.”

 

“Who was he?” Lettice breathes, enthralled.

 

“Josiah Pembroke was a theatrical agent: not a good one as it turned out, and I ended up being the only successful act, actually the only act at all, upon his books, and with no thanks or imput from him, but on the night of Uncle Ninian’s final dinner party he exuded success, and unlike any of the other men at those ghastly soirées , he was the only one who didn’t ogle me or try to caress my hands, or more. He was genuinely interested in my playing, and he obviously saw in me his theatre ticket stub to a life of wealth and comfort. A marriage proposal came and I accepted. We were married at St Peter's Church, Belsize Park************************* with only my mother and Uncle Ninian as witnesses.”

 

“But I thought you said that you married Marmaduke Piggott, a brigadier in the British army, Sylvia.”

 

“And so I was, but he was not my first husband. Josiah Pembroke was. The lack of wedding guests should have been a warning to me, but I was so anxious to flee the prison of Uncle Ninian’s house that I didn’t realise that I could be going from a frying pan into a fire. Josiah had no booked acts. He had no acts at all, and as I quickly discovered, all his friends were rather fey young men, many with what appeared to be rather dubious backgrounds, and all who regarded me with mistrusting eyes as they pulled my new husband out the door in the early evening into the London night, not returning from their escapades until the early morning light. And rather than the beautiful home, Josiah promised me, we ended up living in a rather squalid flat in Bloomsbury. Spending my nights alone in my bed, and my days with a crochety and grumpy man in a run-down flat where I had to do everything for us, including the cooking and the cleaning was not what I’d envisaged my marriage to be, nor what Josiah had promised Uncle Ninian. However, I did finally have my freedom, and it was because of where we lived that I ended up reacquainting myself with Clemmie and I met Nettie. The flat was not far from Gladys Caxton, then Gladys Chambers’ pied-à-terre**************************, and Gladys being Gladys, befriended everybody in the neighbourhood and she invited us to her ‘salons’. Whilst Josaiah was busy doing whatever he was doing with his friends in the dark London nights, with my new freedoms due to my neglectful husband, I began to become a known personality at different artistic parties throughout Chelsea. Soon I was performing, and I learned to love playing the piano again. I also learned about romantic love from men to whom I was attracted, and since my own husband was absent from my bed, I found love and companionship in the arms of other men. My mother’s final words to me, for they were her final as she died of bronchial pneumonia*************************** six months after I was married, reminded me to live my life as I wanted, and so I did.”

 

“And Josaiah didn’t care?”

 

“Josiah was too busy with his own shadowy and sordid life to pay much attention to me in the end, and nor did he care. To be honest, I have no idea why he married me since contrary to my initial thoughts, he didn’t take advantage of my talents to make money. Perhaps all he wanted was to have a woman to do for him that he didn’t have to pay: cooking his meals and washing his clothes. As I now know, my first husband was queer, my dear Lettice: as queer as his friends with the mistrusting eyes he went out carousing and rutting with, God knows where every night. I suppose they were jealous of me, and anxious that I should not spoil the rhythm and fun of their lives. Little did they know that they had nothing to fear from a girl like me who knew nothing about their way of existence. Within four years of our wedding day, Josiah Pembroke was dead. His body was found, bloodied and beaten to a pulp in the rather dark arches and passages of Adelphi Terrace****************************: a victim of foul play whether at the hands of the drunks and down-and-outs you still can find there, or as a result of an assignation gone wrong.”

 

“I’m truly sorry, Sylvia.”

 

“Oh I’m not, Lettice!” Sylvia laughs throatily before pausing. “Oh, forgive me my dear! I’ve shocked you. I’m sorry. Please don’t misunderstand me. I don’t wish to appear glib. I’m not happy that my first husband died, but like Brigadier Marmaduke Piggott’s death concluding my second ill-fated marriage, Josaiah Pembroke’s passing was the best thing for my first. I suddenly found myself a widow and as far as I was concerned, unfettered. Orphaned, with no family to speak of, as I wasn’t going back to Uncle Ninian’s in Belsize Park under any circumstances, for the first time in my life I was unconstrained and I could begin to do as my mother had implored me to do. I had rediscovered my love of the piano, and I was very good at playing it. I was young and pretty, and I knew it. This made me… now how do my American friends coin it?” Sylvia ponders for a moment. “I was… marketable. With Nettie and Clemmie’s help, I soon found the wonderful agent I still have now, an impresario who had me performing to packed houses firstly around Britain and then throughout Europe. Like now, it was a happy period of my life. I had freedom. I had money. I was independently wealthy. I married Marmaduke in 1911 not because I was obliged to, but because I thought, once again foolishly, that all women should marry if given the opportunity. You’d have thought that I’d have learned my lesson, wouldn’t you? However, by then I was in my early forties, so I was too old to have children – not that I wanted any – but that was a moot point between Marmaduke and I, and it spelled the beginning of our rocky and unhappy marriage. He drank, and God knows I did too, and still do.” Sylvia lifts her glass. “He was abusive, so I fought back by having affairs with equally unsuitable and usually married men, as tends to be my penchant. It’s taken me more than half a century of living, a controlling uncle and two abysmal marriages to work out that the only person I can truly rely upon is myself and as that is the case, I shall do as I please. Thus, how you come to find me the forthright and fiercely independent woman that I am. No more shall I be reliant upon a man, except for my own pleasures, even the ill-fated ones. My story may be a sad one, but please don’t feel sorry for me. In some ways, I am stronger than I might have been had my story been different, and as I said before, I am the happiest now that I have ever been. Whilst I may no longer be young or beautiful, I have my freedom, and I am independent and able to make my own decisions. I still have my talent, and enjoy playing the piano more now than I ever have. My select group of real friends, which I hope will now include you, Lettice darling, enrichen my life, which is a full and satisfied one.”

 

“Thank you Sylvia.” Lettice says after a few moments. “I certainly wasn’t expecting a story like yours, but I’m so grateful you’ve told me. It’s given me far more of an insight into you, and it will enable me to paint the right kind of mural for you.” Her eyes sparkle in the low light of the public house. “Something that inspires freedom, I think.”

 

“Excellent.” Sylvia purrs contentedly. “I like the sound of that.”

 

*Belchamp St Paul is a village and civil parish in the Braintree district of Essex, England. The village is five miles west of Sudbury, Suffolk, and 23 miles northeast of the county town, Chelmsford.

 

**The Royal Albert Hall is a concert hall on the northern edge of South Kensington in London, built in the style of an ancient amphitheatre. Since the hall's opening by Queen Victoria in 1871, the world's leading artists from many performance genres have appeared on its stage. It is the venue for the BBC Proms concerts, which have been held there every summer since 1941.

 

***Syrie Maugham was a leading British interior decorator of the 1920s and 1930s and best known for popularizing rooms decorated entirely in shades of white. She was the wife of English playwright and novelist William Somerset Maugham.

 

****The Half Moon Inn is a pretty thatched tavern overlooking Belchamp St Paul’s village green. With low beams and an old log fire it maintains most of the original features of the current Georgian era building. Originally built in the early Sixteenth Century, The Half Moon has been at the centre of Belchamp St Paul village life for more than four hundred years.

 

*****Oxford bags were a loose-fitting baggy form of trousers favoured by members of the University of Oxford, especially undergraduates, in England from the mid-1920s to around the 1950s. The style had a more general influence outside the university, including in America, but has been somewhat out of fashion since then. It is sometimes said that the style originated from a ban in 1924 on the wearing of plus fours by Oxford (and Cambridge) undergraduates at lectures. The bagginess allegedly allowed plus fours to be hidden underneath – but the argument is undermined by the fact that the trousers (especially in the early years) were not sufficiently voluminous for this to be done with any success. The original trousers were 22–23 inches (56–58 cm) in circumference at the bottoms but became increasingly larger to 44 inches (110 cm) or more, possibly due to a misunderstanding of the measurement as the width rather than circumference.

  

******Queen Anne’s Gate is a street in Westminster, London. Many of the buildings are Grade I listed, known for their Queen Anne architecture. Simon Bradley and Nikolaus Pevsner described the Gate’s early Eighteenth Century houses as “the best of their kind in London.” The street’s proximity to the Palace of Westminster made it a popular residential area for politicians.

 

*******The London constituency of Tower Hamlets includes such areas and historic towns as (roughly from west to east) Spitalfields, Whitechapel, Bethnal Green, Wapping, Shadwell, Mile End, Stepney, Limehouse, Old Ford, Bow, Bromley, Poplar, and the Isle of Dogs (with Millwall, the West India Docks, and Cubitt Town), making it a majority working class constituency in 1925 when this story is set. Tower Hamlets included some of the worst slums and societal issues of inequality and poverty in England at that time.

 

********Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

*********Tatler was introduced on the 3rd of July 1901, by Clement Shorter, publisher of The Sphere. It was named after the original literary and society journal founded by Richard Steele in 1709. Originally sold occasionally as The Tatler and for some time a weekly publication, it had a subtitle varying on "an illustrated journal of society and the drama". It contained news and pictures of high society balls, charity events, race meetings, shooting parties, fashion and gossip, with cartoons by "The Tout" and H. M. Bateman.

 

**********The Lady is one of Britain's longest-running women's magazines. It has been in continuous publication since 1885 and is based in London. It is particularly notable for its classified advertisements for domestic service and child care; it also has extensive listings of holiday properties.

 

***********Craven A (stylized as Craven "A") is a British brand of cigarettes, currently manufactured by British American Tobacco. Originally founded and produced by the Carreras Tobacco Company in 1921 until merging with Rothmans International in 1972, who then produced the brand until Rothmans was acquired by British American Tobacco in 1999. The cigarette brand is named after the third Earl of Craven, after the "Craven Mixture", a tobacco blend formulated for the 3rd Earl in the 1860s by tobacconist Don José Joaquin Carreras.

 

************British Queen Anne Revival architecture, also known as Domestic Revival, is a style of building using red brick, white woodwork, and an eclectic mixture of decorative features, that became popular in the 1870s, both for houses and for larger buildings such as offices, hotels, and town halls. It was popularised by Norman Shaw (1831–1912) and George Devey (1820–1886).

 

*************Bedford Park is a suburban development in Chiswick, begun in 1875 under the direction of Jonathan Carr, with many large houses in British Queen Anne Revival style by Norman Shaw and other leading Victorian era architects including Edward William Godwin, Edward John May, Henry Wilson, and Maurice Bingham Adams. Its architecture is characterised by red brick with an eclectic mixture of features, such as tile-hung walls, gables in varying shapes, balconies, bay windows, terracotta and rubbed brick decorations, pediments, elaborate chimneys, and balustrades painted white. The estate's main roads converge on its public buildings, namely its church, St Michael and All Angels; its club, its inn, The Tabard, and next door its shop, the Bedford Park Stores; and its Chiswick School of Art. Bedford Park has been described as the world's first garden suburb, creating a model of apparent informality emulated around the world. It became extremely fashionable in the 1880s, attracting artists including the poet and dramatist W. B. Yeats, the actor William Terriss, the actress Florence Farr, the playwright Arthur Wing Pinero and the painter Camille Pissarro to live on the estate. It appeared in the works of G. K. Chesterton and John Buchan, and was gently mocked in the St James's Gazette.

 

**************The Huguenots were Protestants who fled France and Wallonia (southern Belgium) from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century due to religious persecution during the European Wars of Religion. After the English Reformation, England was seen as a safe place for refugees.

 

***************After the Massacre of St Bartholomew's Day in Paris in 1572, when over ten thousand Huguenot Protestants were murdered, many fled to England. A second, larger, wave of Huguenots fled from France in the 1680s when King Louis XIV revoked a previous royal edict protecting Protestants from religious persecution and they were again attacked. Many Huguenots had difficult and dangerous journeys, escaping France and crossing to England by sea.

 

****************Many Huguenot Protestants upon arriving in England after their dangerous journey, set up in London, in Spitalfields, the City, Clerkenwell, Soho, Greenwich, Marylebone and Wandsworth.

 

*****************Ninian is a Christian saint, first mentioned in the 8th century as being an early missionary among the Pictish peoples of what is now Scotland. Whilst the meaning of Ninian is uncertain, it may have links to the Irish and Scottish Gaelic word naomh, meaning “saint,” “holy,” or “sacred.”

 

******************A “daily woman”, charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service.

 

*******************The Universität der Künste, Berlin (Berlin College of Music) ranks as one of the largest educational music institutes in Europe, rich in content and quality. It dates back to the Royal (later State) Academy of Music, founded under the aegis of the violinist Joseph Joachim, a friend of Brahms, in 1869. From the date of its foundation under directors Joseph Joachim, Hermann Kretzschmar, Franz Schreker and Georg Schünemann, it has been one of the leading academies of music in the German-speaking countries. Composers such as Max Bruch, Engelbert Humperdinck and Paul Hindemith, performers such as Artur Schnabel, Wanda Landowska, Carl Flesch and Emanuel Feuermann, and academics such as Philipp Spitta, Curt Sachs, Erich Moritz von Hornbostel and Kurt Singer taught there. Prominent teachers later included the two directors Boris Blacher and Helmut Roloff, and the composer Dieter Schnebel.

 

********************In the beginning, the piano was the privilege of the aristocracy but this began to change by the mid Nineteenth Century with the rise of the middle class. With the advancement of industrialisation and improved production methods, pianos started to become more affordable for the up-and-coming bourgeoisie. When upright pianos became popular around the same time, they became commonplace in the front parlours and drawing rooms of any respectable middle-class house, and it became the expectation of middle-class children, particularly daughters to learn the piano as part of their education.

 

*********************A gigot sleeve is a sleeve that was full at the shoulder and became tightly fitted to the wrist. It was more commonly known as a leg-of-mutton sleeve.

 

**********************An oak tree, known as "Shakespeare's Tree" stands on the slope of Primrose Hill, planted in 1864 to mark the three hundredth anniversary of Shakespeare's birth. A large crowd of workmen marched through London to watch the planting ceremony in 1864. A replacement tree was re-planted in 1964.

 

***********************Like Regent's Park, the park area of Primrose Hill was once part of a great chase, appropriated by Henry VIII. Primrose Hill, with its clear rounded skyline, was purchased from Eton College in 1841 to extend the parkland available to the poor people of north London for open air recreation. At one time Primrose Hill was a place where duels were fought and prize-fights took place. The hill has always had a somewhat lively reputation, with Mother Shipton making threatening prophesies about what would happen if the city sprawl was allowed to encroach on its boundaries. At the top of the hill is one of the six protected viewpoints in London. The summit is almost sixty-three metres above sea level and the trees are kept low so as not to obscure the view. In winter, Hampstead can be seen to the north east. The summit features a York stone edging with a William Blake inscription, it reads: “I have conversed with the spiritual sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill.”

 

************************The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood (later known as the Pre-Raphaelites) was a group of English painters, poets, and art critics, founded in 1848 by William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Michael Rossetti, James Collinson, Frederic George Stephens and Thomas Woolner who formed a seven-member "Brotherhood" modelled in part on the Nazarene movement. The Brotherhood was only ever a loose association and their principles were shared by other artists of the time, including Ford Madox Brown, Arthur Hughes and Marie Spartali Stillman. Later followers of the principles of the Brotherhood included Edward Burne-Jones, William Morris and John William Waterhouse. The group sought a return to the abundant detail, intense colours and complex compositions of Quattrocento Italian art. They rejected what they regarded as the mechanistic approach first adopted by Mannerist artists who succeeded Raphael and Michelangelo. The Brotherhood believed the classical poses and elegant compositions of Raphael in particular had been a corrupting influence on the academic teaching of art, hence the name "Pre-Raphaelite".

 

*************************St Peter's Church, Belsize Park is a Victorian church built in the gothic style with a clock tower. Built on Belsize Square, it was consecrated in 1859, and stands in its own garden.

 

**************************A pied-à-terre is a small flat, house, or room kept for occasional use.

 

***************************Bronchopneumonia is a subtype of pneumonia. It is the acute inflammation of the bronchi, accompanied by inflamed patches in the nearby lobules of the lungs. Bronchopneumonia. Other names. Bronchial pneumonia, bronchogenic pneumonia.

 

****************************In 1768, the Adam brothers built a very large and elegant development including a run of houses with a terrace that over-looked the river Thames in Westminster, which was much closer before the Embankment was built. It was this terrace that caused the word "terrace" to take on the meaning of a row of houses. Torn down in 1935 and replaced with the art deco New Adelphi building, it was the demolition of the Adelphi that was, at least partially, responsible for the creation of the Georgian Society in 1937. Adelphi Terrace had a series of arches and passages beneath it which functioned as wine cellars and storage space for the tenants, as well as accommodation for unfortunate down-and-outs and alcoholics before its demolition.

 

Though this may be the perfect example of an interwar public house, things are not entirely as you may suppose, for this scene is made up entirely of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection,.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Central to our image is a very special piece, and one of my more recent additions to my miniatures collection. Made painstakingly by hand, the fireplace was made by my very dear Flickr friend and artist Kim Hagar (www.flickr.com/photos/bkhagar_gallery/), who surprised me with this amazing handmade fireplace as a Christmas gift, with the intention that I use it in my miniatures photos. Each stone has been individually cut, made and then worn to give texture before being stuck to the backing board and then painted. The only real part of the fireplace is the thick wooden mantle. She has created several floors in the same way for some of her own miniature projects which you can see in her “In Miniature” album here: www.flickr.com/photos/bkhagar_gallery/albums/721777203007....

 

Around the fireplace stand two windsor chairs. They are both hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniatures which came from America. Unfortunately, the artists did not carve their name under the seats, but they are definitely unmarked artisan pieces. The Georgian table with the raised edge and the other pedestal table came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom, as did the black painted metal fireplace fender, the brass firedogs the basket in the grate and the brass fire pokers in their stand.

 

On the table nearest the fire stands a black ashtray, which is an artisan piece, the base of which is filled with “ash”. The tray as well as having grey ash in it, also has a 1:12 cigarette which rests on its lip (it is affixed there). The packet of Craven “A” cigarettes and the Swan Vestas matchbox beneath it were made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, with extreme attention paid to the packaging. The glasses of port on both tables are made from real glass. I acquired them, along with small slivers of lemon floating on their surfaces from miniature stockists on E-Bay.

 

The silverware that clutters the mantlepiece come from various different suppliers. The two Georgian style ale jugs were made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The plates and the bowl at the back of the mantle are 1:12 artisan miniatures made of sterling silver by an unknown artist. They all came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop. The brass and wood bed warmer also comes from there. The two pairs of Staffordshire dogs and cows were hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys.

 

The brass candlesticks and ashtrays in the background come from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop.

Le parc national des monts Glass House est un parc national dans le Queensland en Australie, à 70 km au nord de Brisbane. Il se compose d'une plaine ponctuée par des dykes volcaniques, cheminées d'anciens volcans qui se sont formées il y a de 27 à 26 million d'années. Les cones pyroclastiques extérieurs ont été érodés.

 

Ils doivent son nom à James Cook qui passa dans la région en 1770 à bord de son navire Endeavour. Il aurait trouvé que la forme des montagnes lui rappelait les verreries (glasshouse) de son pays natal le Yorkshire.

 

Le mont Beerwah est le point culminant du parc avec ses 555 m. Le mont Coonowrin (377 m) en est le deuxième sommet le plus élevé et le mont Tibrogargan (364 m) le troisième. On peut normalement grimper aux sommets du mont Beerwah et du mont Tibrogargan (bien que le mont Beerwah soit interdit d'escalade depuis avril 2009), toutefois l'escalade du mont Coonowrin est interdite en raison du danger de chutes de pierres.

 

Les pics abritent un large éventail d'habitats, y compris de landes, zones arbustives, forêts et terres boisées et de petites zones de forêt pluviale sur certains sommets. Les lande de montagne sont particulièrement riches en espèces menacées et endémiques dont beaucoup ne peuvent être trouvées nulle part ailleurs.

 

Tradition : Pour les Aborigènes de la région, les montagnes sont les membres d'une famille dont le père est le mont Tibrogargan et la mère le mont Beerwah. Toutes les autres montagnes sont des enfants du couple, l'aîné étant le mont Coonowrin.

Tibrogargan, le père, observant que la mer montait, demanda à Coonowrin, son fils aîné, de mettrer sa mère enceinte en sécurité. Terrifié, Coonowrin s'enfuit. Excédé par la lâcheté de son fils, Tibrogargan le poursuivit et le frappa si fort qu'il le blessa au cou.

Une fois le danger passé, Coonowrin se sentit fortement coupable de par son comportement et demanda pardon à son père, ses frères et sœurs qui pleuraient tous de honte. Cela explique les nombreux petits ruisseaux qui traversent la région. Tibrogargan tourna le dos à son fils et regarda vers la mer refusant de voir son fils Coonowrin qui, honteux, continue de baisser la tête et pleure. (source : Wikipedia)

 

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The Glasshouse Mountains are a series of steep-sided volcanic plugs which dominate the landscape of the Sunshine Coast Hinterland. According to science, they were formed of rhylite and trachtyte, lavas which hardened inside the vents of teritiary volcanoes that have been greatly reduced by about 25 million years of erosion.

 

On May 17, 1770 Captain James Cook (a rather perceptive fellow) wrote the following in his journal: "These hills lie but a little way inland, and not far from each other: they are remarkable for the singular form of their elevation, which very much resembles a glass house, and for this reason I called them Glass Houses."

 

The peaks support a diverse range of habitats including montane heath and shrubland, open forest and woodlands and small rainforest patches on some peaks. The montane heath is particularly rich in threatened and endemic species many of which can be found nowhere else on earth. The Glasshouse Mountains.

 

According to Aboriginal legend, Tibrogargan (364m high), the father and Beerwah (555m - highest peak) the mother, had a number of children. Coonowrin (377m high - narrowest and most dramatic of all the volcanic plugs) was the eldest, Tunbubudla were the twins (293m and 312m), Coochin (235m), Ngungun (253m), Tibberoowuccum (220m), Miketeebumulgrai (199m) and Elimbah (129m).

 

Tibrogargan, the father, observes that the sea is rising and asks that Coonowrin the eldest son help their pregnant mother to safety. Terrified, Coonowrin instead flees. Infuriated by his sons cowardice Tibrogargan pursues him and strikes him so hard that he dislocates Coonowrin's neck. Once the danger passes Coonowrin feels tremendous guilt for his actions and asks his father, brothers and sisters for forgiveness but all wept with shame. This is said to explain the many small streams that flow through the area. Tibrogargan turned his back on Coonowrin and gazes out to sea refusing to look at his son Coonowrin who continues to hang his head in shame and weeps.(From : sunshinecoast-australia.com/glass-house-mountains and Wikipedia)

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Infos prises de vue

Canon 7D - Canon EF 24-105 mm f4L IS USM – 1/50 pour Iso 100 – f18 – 40mm – priorité ouverture -

 

Post traitement : Utilisation de filtre compte tenu de la lumière difficile ce dimanche matin.

 

Agrandi sur fond noir – View On Black

 

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Today we are a short distance from Cavendish Mews, in the nearby upper-class suburb of Belgravia where Lettice is paying an unexpected call on Lady Gladys Caxton at her Regency terrace in Eaton Square*. Through her social connections, Lettice’s Aunt Egg contrived an invitation for Lettice to an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Caxton, who are very well known amongst the smarter bohemian set of London society for their weekend parties at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, and enjoyable literary evenings in their Belgravia townhouse. Lady Gladys is a successful authoress in her own right and writes under the nom de plume of Madeline St John. Over the course of the weekend, Lettice was coerced into accepting Lady Glady’s request that she redecorate Phoebe’s small Bloomsbury pied-à-terre** in Ridgmount Gardens. Phoebe, upon coming of age inherited the flat, which had belonged to her parents, Reginald and Marjorie Chambers, who died out in India when Phoebe was still a little girl. The flat was held in trust by Lady Gladys until her ward came of age. When Phoebe decided to pursue a career in garden design and was accepted by a school in London closely associated with the Royal Society, she started living part time in Ridgmount Gardens. Lady Gladys felt that the pied-à-terre was too old fashioned and outdated in its appointment for a young girl like Phoebe. When Lady Gladys arranged for Lettice to inspect the flat, Lettice quickly became aware of Lady Gladys’ ulterior motives as she overrode the rather mousy Pheobe and instructed Lettice to redecorate everything to her own instructions and taste, whist eradicating any traces of Pheobe’s parents. Reluctantly, Lettice commenced on the commission which is nearing its completion. However earlier today Pheobe came to visit the flat whilst Lettice was there, and with a little coercion, Pheobe shared what she really felt about the redecoration of her parent’s pied-à-terre. Desperately wanting to express herself independently, Pheobe hoped living at the flat she would finally be able to get out from underneath the domineering influence of her aunt. Yet now the flat is simply another extension of Lady Glady’s wishes, and the elements of her parents that Pheobe adored have been appropriated by Lady Gladys. Determined to undo the wrong she has done by Pheobe by agreeing to all of Lady Glady’s wishes, in a moment of energizing anger, Lettice has decided to confront Lady Gladys, so now she is at Eaton Square.

 

“I’m sorry Miss Chetwynd, but if you haven’t made an appointment, I’m afraid that Lady Gladys cannot see you.” explains Miss Goodwin, Lady Gladys’ rather harried personal secretary, as she rustles papers, rearranging them distractedly into different piles on her small desk as she speaks. “She is simply too busy!”

 

“But Miss Goodwin…” Lettice begins.

 

“No, Miss Chetwynd!” the secretary replies more firmly. “Lady Gladys had a book reading in Charing Cross at two, and then there are the details of her American book tour to iron out.”

 

“You must be able to fit me in, Miss Goodwyn!” Lettice implores desperately. “I simply must see her about Phoebe’s pied-à-terre.”

 

“Is there something wrong with Miss Chambers’ pied-à-terre, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“No… well, yes… well… it’s nearly ready, but it’s all wrong.” Lettice replies, flustered as she falls under the sharp, owl-like gaze of the middle-aged spinster secretary, made all the more prominent by her gold rimmed pince-nez****. “It’s difficult to explain.” she finally concludes in a rather deflated fashion.

 

Miss Goodwin arches her expertly plucked and shaped eyebrows over her eyes sceptically. “Evidently.” she remarks in a dismissive fashion. Reluctantly picking up her appointment book for Lady Gladys, she flips through the lined pages filled with her neatly written copperplate. “Let’s see.” she mutters, exhaling through her nostrils in frustration as she does. “I can fit you in next Tuesday at three o’clock if you like.” She picks up her fountain pen in readiness to record Lettice’s name.

 

“Next Tuesday?” Lettice retorts in horror. “But I can’t wait until next Tuesday, Miss Goodwin.”

 

“Oh?” Miss Goodwin queries. “But I thought you said the flat redecoration was nearly complete, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“Well it is, Miss Goodwin.”

 

“Then, I’m sure this small matter,” the secretary emphasises the last two words as she speaks. “Can wait until then.”

 

Lettice gulps for air in an exasperated fashion. “But… I…”

 

“No, Miss Chetwynd!” Miss Goodwin says again, firmly pressing the palms of both her hands into the piles of paper before her defiantly.

 

“What’s all this sound of discourse then?” comes a male voice, booming through the charged air of Miss Goodwin’s small office on the ground floor of the Eaton Square terrace.

 

“Oh! Sir John!” the secretary exclaims, as Lady Glady’s husband, a tall and white haired gentleman in a smart morning suit pops his head around the door, his gentle face moulded into a look of concern. “Please forgive us. I was just explaining to Miss Chetwynd, that Lady Gladys cannot possibly see her now.”

 

“Oh enough of the ‘sir’ and ‘lady’, Goody,” Sir John says with a smile as he sees Lettice standing in front of the secretary’s desk, addressing Lady Glady’s secretary by the pet name given her by Sir John and Lady Gladys. “Lettice knows us intimately enough to know we don’t go by the titles bestowed upon us.” His smile broadens. “Lettice, what an unexpected pleasure.” He steps into the room and places his large hands firmly upon her shoulders. “I was just on my way out to Whites***** when I heard the commotion. Whatever is the matter, my dear?”

 

“Si… John,” Lettice begins, her eyes looking imploringly at Sir John as he towers over her. “It’s imperative I see Gladys right away. It’s about Pheobe and the flat.”

 

“That does sound serious.” he remarks, his face clouding over.

 

“Oh it is, and that’s why I must see Gladys now.” She turns her head slightly and glares at Miss Goodwin, whose own face is sternly defiant in her reluctance to admit Lettice.

 

“Well,” Sir John says with a chuckle. “I’ve quite literally just left her in her upstairs study, autographing some of her novels. She isn’t due at Foyles****** until two o’clock, is she, Goody?” Sir John doesn’t wait for her reply as he sweeps an arm around Lettice’s shoulder comfortingly and guides her away from the secretary and towards the door. “So come along.”

 

Leaving the affronted Miss Goodwin behind, Sir John leads Lettice up the grand main staircase of the terrace, with its thick stair carpet affixed with brass stair rods******* and stylish gilt detailed black metal balustrade.

 

“Are these all Caxtons?” Lettice asks as she gazes up the generous Regency proportioned stairwell at the portraits in oils hanging in gilded frames along the walls.

 

“Hhhmm… a few.” Sir John mutters. “Like him.” He points to a rather serious looking gentleman in middle-class mid Victorian sombre black. “But most of them I bought when I bought the house. It seemed a shame for them to be parted, especially as their former bankrupted owner had no use for them any more. He needed the money, and I… well…” He chuckles a little awkwardly.

 

“You needed the lineage.” Lettice completes his sentence.

 

“How perceptive you are, Lettice.” Sir John says without missing a beat as they walk. “It’s what comes with the pretentions of a social climbing first wife, and my acquired title*******. I’m not as fortunate as you to have such a distinguished lineage, having been born into a wool merchant family in Hallifax.”

 

Lettice doesn’t reply, and merely smiles and nods her acknowledgement.

 

“Now, what’s all this about Pheobe’s flat then, Lettice? I hope you aren’t having any problems with the wages for the tradesmen traipsing in and out of Ridgmount Gardens. I’ve been writing so many cheques for them lately that I can barely keep up.”

 

“Oh, it has nothing to do with their wages, John.”

 

“Then what? You sounded most insistent back there with Miss Goodwin, and whilst I don’t claim to know you well, you don’t strike me as a girl who gives in to having histrionic fits.”

 

Lettice smiles and chuckles softly as Sir John’s remark reminds her of her friend, ‘Moaning’ Minnie Palmerston, wife of a London banker, who is known for her histrionics.

 

The pair reach the landing between the ground and first floor, where a large marble bust of a gentleman in a periwig******** stares out with blind eyes and a frozen, magnanimous smile at the treetops of the garden square outside through a large twelve pane sash window. Lettice stops, causing Sir John to do the same.

 

“May I be frank, Si… err, John?” Lettice asks, gazing up at the man’s wrinkled face.

 

“Please, Lettice.” he agrees.

 

“Well, I’ve had concerns about this commission, ever since I first visited Ridgmount Gardens.”

 

“Concerns?” Sir John’s face crumples. “What concerns, Lettice?”

 

“When Gladys took me there, well no, even before that, I’ve been worried about Glady’s motivations for wanting the flat decorated.”

 

“What motivations?”

 

“It struck me, John, as she discussed the redecoration for the flat with me, that it is more to Gladys’ taste than Pheobe’s.”

 

“Is that all?” Sir John chuckles and sighs with relief. “You’ve met Pheobe. She’s a sweet child, and I love her as one of my own, but she isn’t overly forthcoming, is she?”

 

“But it’s more than that. I’ve observed that whenever Pheobe expresses an opinion that contradicts Gladys, that Gladys wears her down to her down, and brings her around to her own way of thinking.”

 

“Ahh..” Sir John says a little awkwardly. “Well, you may lay the blame for that solely at my feet, dear Lettice. I’m afraid that when I met Gladys, I was so taken by her pluck and spirit that I indulged her. I saw so much potential in her: potential that was stymied due to her lack of wealth. We’ve been married for a good many years now, and I’m afraid that she is rather used to getting her own way.”

 

“Well, I can work with that, John. Gladys isn’t without panache and certainly has a sense of style.”

 

“Then I don’t see the problem, my dear.” He looks quizzically at her. “You said you wanted to be frank. Speak plainly.”

 

Lettice sighs and her shoulders slump. “You’ll think it preposterous, and I am sorry to say this, but I think that Gladys is eradicating the memory of Pheobe’s parents.”

 

Sir John laughs. “You’re right, I do find that idea preposterous, my dear, but only because Pheobe has very little memories of her parents there to erase. She only ever lived the first year of her life in Ridgmount Gardens before Reginald took her and Marjorie back to India, and when he and Marjorie died out there, Pheobe was only five, and Gladys and I were married by that time, so we took Pheobe back to Gossington and she grew up there. She has no associations with Ridgmount Gardens, other than she has always known that her father bequeathed it to her and that she would take possession of it when she came of age.”

 

“John, Pheobe came to the flat today to fetch some of the books she needed that had been packed up when she decamped Ridgmount Gardens so the redecoration could commence, and she expressed the opinion which she also did with Gladys that she wanted to keep her father’s writing desk and her mother’s crockery. Pheobe says that she feels the essence of her parents in those pieces more than in the photographs she has of them.”

 

Sir John smiles indulgently. “That sounds like Pheobe. She’s always been fey and other world like, imagining that she can see inside people to their inner essence, ever since she was that forlorn child we brought back from Bombay.” He shakes his head dismissively.

 

“Yet Gladys has taken the bureau in spite of Phoebe’s wishes, claiming that her brother intended for her to have it, and she gave me the china to dispose of. Pheobe also told me that Gladys has said in front of her that her brother should never have married Phoebe’s mother. It seems to me that she is intentionally trying to remove any reminders of her brother and his wife.”

 

“It is true that there was never any love lost between Gladys and her sister-in-law. I’m not quite sure why, other that the fact she claimed that Marjorie stymied Reginald’s career in some way. I couldn’t see that myself. He was on his way to being a magistrate from what I could see. She was always evasive, never wanting to rake over the coals. I only ever met Reginald and Marjorie a few times around Gladys’ and my wedding day, and even then, it was only a fleeting visit, so I cannot say that I was critical of their marriage the way Gladys was. I did chide Gladys for speaking out of turn about Marjorie in front of Pheobe, but,” He looks guiltily at Lettice. “You know what Gladys is like. She’s always spoken her mind, and for all the fault in her that it may be, it is one of the reasons I love her.”

 

“But to intentionally remove any reminders of Mr. and Mrs. Chambers, John?”

 

“Oh I’m sure it isn’t intentional, Lettice.” Sir John assures her. “It’s good you’ve come when you have. You can speak to Gladys about this misunderstanding.”

 

“Misunderstanding?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure that’s all that it is. Whatever my wife may or may not be, she has tried all her life to do the best my Pheobe, and I’m sure that if Phoebe is as impassioned as you say she is about her father’s desk and her mother’s china, she probably just needs someone else to speak for her about it to Gladys.” He wraps his arm around Lettice assuring and gives her forearm a hearty rub. “And you’ll be capital about that. Now, come along.”

 

The pair take the final flight of stairs to the first floor in thoughtful silence. Sir John leads Lettice up to a doorway, knocks and opens it, walking in without waiting for a reply. “Look who I found downstairs, having the fiercest argument with your goodly protectress, Gladys.”

 

Lettice follows Sir John into a beautiful high ceilinged first-floor room flooded with light from two large and tall Regency windows. Like Gossington, the Scottish Baronial style English Art and Crafts castle near the hamlet of Kershopefoot in Cumberland belonging to Sir John and Lady Gladys, the walls are decorated with William Morris********* patterned wallpaper, and the room is furnished with Edwardian and Art Nouveau furnishings. However, unlike Gossington’s public rooms, which are crammed full of Edwardian clutter, the scheme in this room is far lighter, with the delicate and softer ‘Willow Bough’ pattern in the paper, and rather than being upholstered in Morris pattern as well, the sofas and chairs situated about the room are covered in a stripped back creamy Regency stripe, perhaps in deference to the terrace’s origins. Even the clutter here is less, with fewer vases and trinkets covering the surfaces of tables. In fact, the mantle is the most cluttered, and even then it is mostly with invitations and correspondence addressed to Lady Gladys’ non de plume of Madeline St John. And there, at a small black japanned regency desk sits Lady Gladys in her favoured pastel shades and pearls.

 

“Lettice!” she gasps, looking up from signing a copy of her latest Madeline St John romance novel, ‘Miranda’. “What an unexpected pleasure.” She picks herself up out of her high backed black japanned and gilt French Second Empire chair and opens her arms to Lettice, exposing the pretty knitted patterns woven through her light, pale pink cardigan that she has chosen to wear over a pink floral print cotton frock. As Lettice crosses the room, gracefully moving through the obstacle course of low occasional tables and comfortable salon and armchairs, Lady Gladys’ face clouds. “Or is it? Did… did we have an appointment today, my dear?”

 

“No, no, Gladys.” Lettice assures her as she reaches Lady Gladys and allows herself to enveloped in her lavender scented embrace. “It’s an unannounced visit.”

 

“Well then, I do hope that Goody wasn’t too cantankerous with you. I adore her, and she’s an excellent and superbly organised secretary, but Goody doesn’t particularly like surprise visits and will do almost anything to stick rigidly to her arrangement of my schedules.”

 

“I caught Goody in full flight, and rescued poor Lettice from her recalcitrant clutches.” Sir John remarks.

 

“Always the knight in shining armour, John. Bravo!” Lady Gladys applauds her husband.

 

“Well, I’m off then.” Sir John says.

 

“Oh, won’t you stay, John?” Lettice says, her voice cracking. She had been hoping he might stick to form as her rescuer and stay to help influence her pleas with Lady Gladys favourably.

 

“Oh no, Lettice my dear!” He starts to back away towards the door. “Whites waits for no man, and nor does my contract bridge partner. I’ve tarried long enough. Besides,” he adds. “This is between you two ladies.” And with that, he turns on his heel and retreats out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

 

“Say hullo to Fillmore for me, and give him my love, John.” Gladys calls after his retreating footsteps.

 

The room falls into a soft silence broken only by the twitter of birds in the trees outside, the purring of a passing motorcar on the road and the gentle tick of a gilt clock on a bombe chest between the two windows.

 

“Well, I have a little bit of time before I must away to Foyles.” Lady Gladys says, pulling back the sleeve of her cardigan and glancing at her delicate gold and diamond studded wristwatch. “Oh! Which reminds me, I must, must, must, sign copies of a couple of my novels for your maid. Edith, isn’t it?”

 

“Quite so, Gladys.”

 

“Good! You can take her a copy of ‘Miranda’ today.” Lady Gladys takes a seat again as she takes up a copy of the book and inscribes it with a flourish of her pen. “To Edith, with my best wishes, Madeline St John.” she utters as she writes. Finishing the inscription, she closes the cover of the book with a thwack. “I almost need a forger on my retinue of office staff to sign all the requested copies of my books.” She hands the book to Lettice. “Please, sit.” She indicates to a tall wingback armchair by the fireplace with an open gesture. As Lettice sits, she spins in her own seat, leaning heavily against the chair’s left ornately spindled arm. “Now, what can I do for you, Lettice?”

 

Lettice takes a deep breath. “Well, Gladys, I wanted to talk to you about the flat.”

 

“Oh yes!” Gladys crows, clapping her hands, the diamonds and other precious stones of her rings winking in the light. “My spies tell me that it has been quite the hive of activity at Ridgmount Gardens!”

 

“Your spies?”

 

“Oh, don’t look so shocked, Lettice.” Lady Gladys laughs. “Bloomsbury is such an artistic area, full of writers, many of whom I know.” She smiles slyly. “Writers are notorious for being observant of their surroundings. It doesn’t take long for the jungle drums to start beating, my dear.”

 

“Oh.” Lettice remarks.

 

“Now, what is it about the flat you want to talk about?” Yet even as she asks, she then adds, “Oh, the chintz curtains I wanted did arrive, didn’t they, Lettice?”

 

Lettice shudders at the thought of them. “Yes, Gladys, and they are hanging in the drawing room, just as you’d requested.”

 

“Excellent!”

 

“But it’s your requests,” Lettice gulps awkwardly. “Or rather… your demands… that I’ve come to speak to you about.”

 

“Demands?” A defensive edge makes its way into her well enunciated words as Lady Gladys queries Lettice’s remark.

 

“Commands.” Lettice blunders.

 

“Commands!” Lady Glady’s eyes flicker slightly.

 

“There’s a problem with your requests, Gladys.” Lettice tries to venture, her voice faltering and sounding weak as the words catch in her throat.

 

“A problem with my requests, Lettice?” Lady Gladys lowers her left arm so it dangles down by her side, whilst raising her right to her chin in a ponderous pose as she considers her visitor, perching on the edge of her seat awkwardly, as if seeing her for the first time. “What could possibly be wrong with any of the requests I have made? Have I made demands that are unreasonable? Is there something wrong with the shade of green of the walls, the choice of soft furnishings,” She pauses. “The chintz curtains?”

 

“Well,” Lettice tries to momentarily make light of the moment. “Chintz isn’t something I’d choose for myself, Gladys.”

 

“I chose those for Phoebe specifically,” Lady Gladys says sharply, the volume of her voice rising slightly as she does.. “Because I thought she might appreciate the connection between the nature she so loves and her living space.”

 

“And she does, Gladys.” Lettice defends. “She even remarked on them when she was at Ridgmount Gardens today.”

 

“Oh, so that’s where she went.”

 

“She came to fetch some books she left behind at the flat that she needs for her studies.”

 

“Or so Pheobe claims.” Lady Gladys retorts.

 

“And whilst we were there, we had a conversation,” Lettice tries to steal her voice as she adds, “An honest conversation.”

 

Lady Gladys does not reply immediately, but considers Lettice’s statement before asking, “And what was it in that honest conversation that now has you at my door, Lettice?”

 

Lettice notices, as she feels sure she is meant to, that the endearments of ‘my dear’, usually attached to her name, have suddenly vanished.

 

Well, you’ll forgive me, Gladys, but when Pheobe and I were speaking, she shared with me her concerns that the flat is perhaps not being redecorated,” Lettice quickly, yet carefully considers each word as she speaks it, conscious of the precarious situation she finds herself in. She doesn’t want to invoke Lady Gladys’ ire against phoebe, nor against herself. “In the… the style which she would prefer.”

 

“The style she would prefer?” Gladys suddenly leans back in her seat and starts laughing, but the laugh is devoid of joy. “Lettice, Pheobe has no opinion when it comes to style, the little mouse.” She stares out of the window into the sunshine bathing the trees of the gated garden square across the road. “Actually, she has very little opinion about anything, quite frankly.”

 

“Well, there I would beg to disagree with you, Gladys.” Lettice retorts, suddenly filled with a necessity to defend Phoebe.

 

“Do you indeed?”

 

“I do.” Lettice affirms, her voice growing stronger. “You see, you have a very… a very strong personality.”

 

“Forthright is what John would call my personality.”

 

“Strong, forthright: either description amounts to much the same. I’ve observed that on the rare occasions Phoebe disagrees with your opinion, you quickly snuff out any objection.”

 

“Such as?” Lady Gladys asks warily.

 

“Such as when I first visited Ridgmount Gardens with you, after we had been to your book launch at Selfridges, when Phoebe protested that she wanted to keep her father’s bureau desk, you wouldn’t let her.”

 

“Lettice,” Lady Gladys sighs heavily. “As I mentioned to you both then, and have repeated several times when the subject of my brother’s desk has been raised by Phoebe subsequently with me, Reginald wanted me to have it. He simply died before he had a chance to put his affairs in order.”

 

“And her mother’s china?”

 

“Good god, Lettice!” Lady Gladys exclaims. “Why on earth should Phoebe want those old hat Style Liberty********** cups, saucers and plates, when she can have something of far superior quality and are more up-to-date in style.”

 

“You seem to be a proponent of Style Liberty, Gladys.” Lettice indicates with waving gestures about the room.

 

“And as I said to you at Gossington, the style may have been fashionable when I was younger, but it died when all our young men did, during the war. It’s past: dead! Anyway,” she sulks. “They are cheap, nasty pieces of pottery, and many of them are chipped, even if Marjorie kept them for best. She never did have good taste.”

 

“Whether they are cheap or chipped, Gladys, Phoebe feels that her flat is missing her parent’s essence.” When Lady Gladys scoffs scornfully, Lettice continues, “She specifically mentioned the chips in her mother’s plates and teacups and the grooves and ink stains in her father’s bureau.”

 

“Phoebe always was an odd child,” Lady Gladys ruminates. “Going on about the essence of a person. She has photos to look at if she wants to get an essence of her long dead parents. Lettice, John and I have been far more of parents to her than Reginald and Marjorie.”

 

“I’m not disputing that, Gladys. All I am stating is what Phoebe told me. You have your own desk,” Lettice points to the delicate desk before which Lady Gladys sits. “Why not give Phoebe what she wants? Is it so hard?”

 

“I’ve been giving that child all that she needs and wants for years: ever since I brought her back from India as a five year old. I’ve given her everything a real mother would.”

 

“Then why not give her the bureau. Please, Gladys.”

 

“I repeat!” Lady Gladys snaps. “Reginald wanted me to have his bureau! It’s mine!”

 

Lady Gladys suddenly sits upright in her seat and slams her palms into its arm rests, huffing heavily with frustration. “Well Lettice, I have enjoyed our impromptu little tête-à-tête, but I’m afraid I really must go. I don’t wish to keep the Messrs Foyle waiting. They have been very good to me, arranging this reading at their bookshop.”

 

“But…” Lettice begins.

 

Lady Gladys picks up a silver bell from the surface of her desk and rings it, the metal bell emitting a high pitched ring. “Whom, may I ask is paying the bills for all the tradespeople you have engaged on your little project of redecorating Ridgmount Gardens?”

 

“Sir John.”

 

“Then let me remind you that Sir John is acting on my behalf, paying those bills. When you agreed to accept my commission, we entered into a contract: a contract that you and I both signed before our lawyers.”

 

“Yes, at your insistence.”

 

“Exactly, because I suspected a situation somewhat sticky like this might arise. I didn’t have to choose you to redecorate Phoebe’s flat. I could have chosen any number of my friends who dabble in interior design. Indeed Syrie Maugham*********** felt quite slighted that I chose you over her, with all her successes. I wanted to give you the opportunity to increase your profile as a society interior designer , because my word goes a long way.” “Lettice, I might be many things, but I’m not a woman without tact, but as our time today is up, you must force me to be blunt.” She begins to shuffle the remaining copies of her novels on her desk irritably. “You agree that you signed a contract with me, so as your client I request… no I demand,” She uses Lettice’s choice of words back at her. “That you do everything I want: everything, down to the last little detail, or I shall consider the contract null and void, and therefore I shall be under no obligation to arrange for John to pay any outstanding bills, and further to that, if you do anything forcing me to terminate our contract, I shall make sure that every drawing room is talking about your untrustworthiness, Lettice. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Just at that moment, Miss Goodwin bustles into the room. “You rang, Gladys?”

 

“Yes Goody.” Gladys says with a painted smile. “My delightful impromptu meeting with Miss Chetwynd is over. Would you kindly show her out. I must get ready for my reading at Foyles.”

 

“Yes Gladys.” She smiles at Lettice. “Right this way, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

As Miss Goodwin ushers Lettice towards the door, Gladys adds from her seat at her desk, “Thank you so much for visiting me today, my dear Lettice. I think it has helped us both better understand our positions. I’m sure you agree.”

 

“This way, Miss Chetwynd.” Miss Goodwin says again as she guides the shocked and silent Lettice out of the door, closing it quietly behind her.

 

*Eaton Square is a rectangular residential garden square in London's Belgravia district. It is the largest square in London. It is one of the three squares built by the landowning Grosvenor family when they developed the main part of Belgravia in the Nineteenth Century that are named after places in Cheshire — in this case Eaton Hall, the Grosvenor country house. It is larger but less grand than the central feature of the district, Belgrave Square, and both larger and grander than Chester Square. The first block was laid out by Thomas Cubitt from 1827. In 2016 it was named as the "Most Expensive Place to Buy Property in Britain", with a full terraced house costing on average seventeen million pounds — many of such town houses have been converted, within the same, protected structures, into upmarket apartments.

 

**A pied-à-terre is a small flat, house, or room kept for occasional use.

 

***Charing Cross is a junction in Westminster, London, England, where six routes meet. Since the early 19th century, Charing Cross has been the notional "centre of London" and became the point from which distances from London are measured. It was also famous in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries as being the centre for bookselling in London.

 

****Pince-nez is a style of glasses, popular in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries, that are supported without earpieces, by pinching the bridge of the nose. The name comes from French pincer, "to pinch", and nez, "nose".

 

*****White's is a gentlemen's club in St James's, London. Founded in 1693 as a hot chocolate shop in Mayfair, it is the oldest gentleman's club in London. Notable current members include Charles III and the Prince of Wales and former British prime minister David Cameron, whose father Ian Cameron was the club's chairman, was a member for fifteen years but resigned in 2008, over the club's declining to admit women. The club continues to maintain its tradition as a club for gentlemen only, although one of its best known chefs from the early 1900s was Rosa Lewis, a model for the central character in the BBC television series “The Duchess of Duke Street”.

 

******W & G Foyle Ltd. (usually called simply Foyles) is a bookseller with a chain of seven stores in England. It is best known for its flagship store in Charing Cross Road, London. Foyles was once listed in the Guinness Book of Records as the world's largest bookshop in terms of shelf length, at 30 miles (48 km), and of number of titles on display. Brothers William and Gilbert Foyle founded the business in 1903. After failing entrance exams for the civil service, the brothers offered their redundant textbooks for sale and were inundated by offers. This inspired them to launch a second-hand book business from home. Flushed with success, they opened a small shop on Station Parade in Queen's Road, Peckham, where they painted "With all Faith" in gilt letters above the door. The brothers opened their first West End shop in 1904, at 16 Cecil Court. A year later they hired their first member of staff, who promptly disappeared with the weekly takings. By 1906, their shop was at 135 Charing Cross Road and they were described as London's largest educational booksellers. By 1910, Foyles had added four suburban branches: at Harringay, Shepherd's Bush, Kilburn and Brixton. Not long afterwards, the brothers moved their central London store to 119 Charing Cross Road, the Foyles Building, where it remained until 2014. Foyles was famed in the past for its anachronistic, eccentric and sometimes infuriating business practices (ones I have been personally involved in), so much so that it became a tourist attraction. It has since modernised, and has opened several branches and an online store.

 

*******A stair rod, also commonly referred to as a carpet rod, is an ornamental decorative hardware item used to hold carpeting in place on steps.

 

********Titles into the British Peerage weren't for sale as such, but a social climbing gentleman could certainly buy his way into the nobility if he were wealthy and well connected enough, and used the social and political power of wealth wisely. In the pre-war (Great War) years, when money went a great deal further than it did before the introduction of heavy income taxes and death duties, if you had money, it was not hugely difficult to effectively buy yourself a seat in parliament or a commission in the military (both of which were functionally up for sale), which could often result in a peerage being granted if you stayed around long enough in the right circles, or were favoured by the right people. The Tories of the late Eighteenth Century were infamous for packing the House of Lords with supporters in order to retain a majority (most aristocratic families had favoured the Whigs earlier in the Georgian era). If a man were shrewd enough to curry favour with a Tory like Lord North or Pitt the Younger, then he could probably get a title quite easily, since the Tory base of support was within the untitled gentry, and they needed to maintain control of the Lords. Currying favour with the monarch worked equally well, and King Edward VII was famous for minting fresh peers regularly, filling his levees with wealthy industrialists, manufacturers and men of business whom he found more engaging than the idle peers of long standing aristocratic titles.

 

********A periwig a highly styled wig worn formerly as a fashionable headdress by both women and men in the Eighteenth Century and retained by judges and barristers as part of their professional dress to this day.

 

*********William Morris (24th of March 1834 – 3rd of October 1896) was a British textile designer, poet, artist, writer, and socialist activist associated with the British Arts and Crafts movement. He was a major contributor to the revival of traditional British textile arts and methods of production. His literary contributions helped to establish the modern fantasy genre, while he helped win acceptance of socialism in fin de siècle Great Britain. In 1861, Morris founded the Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co. decorative arts firm with Burne-Jones, Rossetti, Webb, and others, which became highly fashionable and much in demand. The firm profoundly influenced interior decoration throughout the Victorian period, with Morris designing tapestries, wallpaper, fabrics, furniture, and stained glass windows. In 1875, he assumed total control of the company, which was renamed Morris & Co.

 

**********The artistic movement we know of today internationally as Art Nouveau, was more commonly known as the “Arts and Crafts Movement” or “Style Liberty” in the United Kingdom during the years before and after the Great War, driven by the Glasgow School of Arts, where a great many proponents of the style came from, and by the luxury London shop Liberty on Regent Street which sold a great deal of William Morris’ designs to the general public.

 

***********Gwendoline Maud Syrie Maugham was a leading British interior decorator of the 1920s and 1930s who popularised rooms decorated entirely in white. In the 1910s, Maugham began her interior design career as an apprentice under Ernest Thornton-Smith for a London decorating firm, learning there about the intricacies of furniture restoration, trompe-l'œil, curtain design, and the mechanics of traditional upholstery. In 1922, two years before this story is set, at the age of 42, Maugham borrowed £400.00 and opened her own interior decorating business at 85 Baker Street, London. As the shop flourished, Maugham began decorating, taking on projects in Palm Beach and California. By 1930, she had shops in London, Chicago, and New York. Maugham is best-remembered for the all-white music room at her house at 213 King's Road in London. For the grand unveiling of her all-white room, Maugham went to the extreme of dipping her white canvas draperies in cement. The room was filled with massive white floral arrangements and the overall effect was stunning. Maugham charged high prices and could be very dictatorial with her clients and employees. She once told a hesitant client, "If you don't have ten thousand dollars to spend, I don't want to waste my time."

 

This English Arts and Crafts upper-class drawing room is different to what you may think at first glance, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Lady Glady’s pretty black japanned desk has been made by the high-end miniature furniture manufacturer Bespaq, and it has been hand painted with chinoiserie designs. Her Louis XIV white Regency stripe upholstered chair and its pair which can just be seen behind the desk to the left of the fireplace have been made by the high-end miniature furniture manufacturer, J.B.M. They too have been hand painted and decorated, even along the tops of the arms. On the desk are some 1:12 artisan miniature ink bottles, a silver pen and a blotter all made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures. The ink bottles are made from tiny faceted crystal beads and have sterling silver bottoms and lids. The pen is a twist of silver with a tiny seed pearl inserted into the end of it The ink blotter is sterling silver too and has a blotter made of real black felt, cut meticulously to size to fit snugly inside the frame. The silver double frame on the top of the desk comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniature Collectables. The silver tray holding letters on the top left of the desk is sterling silver as well and was acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

Also on the desk are some copies of Lady Gladys’ books. They are all examples of 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, this selection of romance novels are not designed to be opened. What might amaze you in spite of this fact is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make them all miniature artisan pieces. The books in the Art Nouveau fretwork cabinet in the background are all made by Ken Blythe as well. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The correspondence on the fireplace mantle and on the silver tray on Lady Gladys’ desk were made meticulously by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. They are 1:12 miniature versions of real documents.

 

At either end of mantle stand a pair of Staffordshire sheep which have been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. If you look closely, you will see that the sheep actually have smiles on their faces!

 

The two Art Nouveau style vases at either end of the mantlepiece and the squat one in the middle half hidden by correspondence came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The irises in the vase on the left-hand side of the mantle are all made of polymer clay that is moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. Very realistic looking, they are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany.

 

The two gilt edged paintings hanging to either side of the fireplace were made by Marie Makes Miniatures in the United Kingdom. The painting in the white painted wooden frame hanging above the mantlepiece comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop as does the finely moulded plaster fireplace itself and its metal grate.

 

The enclosed bookcase full of Ken Blythe’s miniature books in the background to the left of the photo with its glass doors and Art Nouveau fretwork was made by Bespaq Miniatures, as were the white Regency stripe upholstered wingback armchair in front of the fireplace and sofa just visible to the left of the photograph. The hand embroidered footstool in front of the armchair comes from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls’ House Shop.

 

The wallpaper used to decorate Lady Gladys’ walls is William Morris’ ‘Willow Bough’ pattern.

 

The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.

• This is a scan of this Banksy photo running in the Boston Globe on May 13, 2010. This is the first time I've made the newspaper with one of my photos :-) (The Globe later ran a longer article, titled Tag — we’re it: Banksy, the controversial and elusive street artist, left his mark here. Or did he? with a photo taken by one of their staff photographers, Essdras M. Suarez.)

 

• • • • •

 

Interestingly, both of the Boston area Banksy pieces are on Essex St:

 

• F̶O̶L̶L̶O̶W̶ ̶Y̶O̶U̶R̶ ̶D̶R̶E̶A̶M̶S̶ CANCELLED (aka chimney sweep) in Chinatown, Boston

• NO LOITRIN in Central Square, Cambridge.

 

Does that mean anything? It looks like he favors Essex named streets & roads when he can. In 2008, he did another notable Essex work in London, for example, and posters on the Banksy Forums picked up & discussed on the Essex link as well.

 

Is there an Essex Street in any of the other nearby towns? It looks like there are several: Brookline, Charlestown, Chelsea, Gloucester, Haverhill, Lawrence, Lynn, Medford, Melrose, Quincy, Revere, Salem, Saugus, Somerville, Swampscott, and Waltham. Most of these seem improbable to me, other than maybe Brookline, or maybe Somerville or Charlestown. But they start getting pretty suburban after that.

 

But, again, why "Essex"? In a comment on this photo, Birbeck helps clarify:

 

I can only surmise that he's having a 'dig' at Essex UK, especially with the misspelling of 'Loitering'. Here, the general view of the urban districts in Essex: working class but with right wing views; that they're not the most intellectual bunch; rather obsessed with fashion (well, their idea of it); their place of worship is the shopping mall; enjoy rowdy nights out; girls are thought of as being dumb, fake blonde hair/tans and promiscuous; and guys are good at the 'chit chat', and swagger around showing off their dosh (money).

 

It was also the region that once had Europe's largest Ford motor factory. In its heyday, 1 in 3 British cars were made in Dagenham, Essex. Pay was good for such unskilled labour, generations worked mind-numbing routines on assembly lines for 80 years. In 2002 the recession ended the dream.

 

• • • • •

 

Banksy

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

 

Banksy

• Birth name

Unknown

 

• Born

1974 or 1975 (1974 or 1975), Bristol, UK[1]

 

• Nationality

British

 

• Field

Graffiti

Street Art

Bristol underground scene

Sculpture

 

• Movement

Anti-Totalitarianism

Anti-capitalism

Pacifism

Anti-War

Anarchism

Atheism

Anti-Fascism

 

• Works

Naked Man Image

One Nation Under CCTV

Anarchist Rat

Ozone's Angel

Pulp Fiction

 

Banksy is a pseudonymous[2][3][4] British graffiti artist. He is believed to be a native of Yate, South Gloucestershire, near Bristol[2] and to have been born in 1974,[5] but his identity is unknown.[6] According to Tristan Manco[who?], Banksy "was born in 1974 and raised in Bristol, England. The son of a photocopier technician, he trained as a butcher but became involved in graffiti during the great Bristol aerosol boom of the late 1980s."[7] His artworks are often satirical pieces of art on topics such as politics, culture, and ethics. His street art, which combines graffiti writing with a distinctive stencilling technique, is similar to Blek le Rat, who began to work with stencils in 1981 in Paris and members of the anarcho-punk band Crass who maintained a graffiti stencil campaign on the London Tube System in the late 1970s and early 1980s. His art has appeared in cities around the world.[8] Banksy's work was born out of the Bristol underground scene which involved collaborations between artists and musicians.

 

Banksy does not sell photos of street graffiti.[9] Art auctioneers have been known to attempt to sell his street art on location and leave the problem of its removal in the hands of the winning bidder.[10]

 

Banksy's first film, Exit Through The Gift Shop, billed as "the world's first street art disaster movie", made its debut at the 2010 Sundance Film Festival.[11] The film was released in the UK on March 5.[12]

 

Contents

 

• 1 Career

•• 1.1 2000

•• 1.2 2002

•• 1.3 2003

•• 1.4 2004

•• 1.5 2005

•• 1.6 2006

•• 1.7 2007

•• 1.8 2008

•• 1.9 2009

•• 1.10 2010

• 2 Notable art pieces

• 3 Technique

• 4 Identity

• 5 Controversy

• 6 Bibliography

• 7 References

• 8 External links

 

Career

 

Banksy started as a freehand graffiti artist 1992–1994[14] as one of Bristol's DryBreadZ Crew (DBZ), with Kato and Tes.[15] He was inspired by local artists and his work was part of the larger Bristol underground scene. From the start he used stencils as elements of his freehand pieces, too.[14] By 2000 he had turned to the art of stencilling after realising how much less time it took to complete a piece. He claims he changed to stencilling whilst he was hiding from the police under a train carriage, when he noticed the stencilled serial number[16] and by employing this technique, he soon became more widely noticed for his art around Bristol and London.[16]

 

Stencil on the waterline of The Thekla, an entertainment boat in central Bristol - (wider view). The image of Death is based on a 19th century etching illustrating the pestilence of The Great Stink.[17]

 

Banksy's stencils feature striking and humorous images occasionally combined with slogans. The message is usually anti-war, anti-capitalist or anti-establishment. Subjects often include rats, monkeys, policemen, soldiers, children, and the elderly.

 

In late 2001, on a trip to Sydney and Melbourne, Australia, he met up with the Gen-X pastellist, visual activist, and recluse James DeWeaver in Byron Bay[clarification needed], where he stencilled a parachuting rat with a clothes peg on its nose above a toilet at the Arts Factory Lodge. This stencil can no longer be located. He also makes stickers (the Neighbourhood Watch subvert) and sculpture (the murdered phone-box), and was responsible for the cover art of Blur's 2003 album Think Tank.

 

2000

 

The album cover for Monk & Canatella's Do Community Service was conceived and illustrated by Banksy, based on his contribution to the "Walls on fire" event in Bristol 1998.[18][citation needed]

 

2002

 

On 19 July 2002, Banksy's first Los Angeles exhibition debuted at 33 1/3 Gallery, a small Silverlake venue owned by Frank Sosa. The exhibition, entitled Existencilism, was curated by 33 1/3 Gallery, Malathion, Funk Lazy Promotions, and B+.[19]

 

2003

 

In 2003 in an exhibition called Turf War, held in a warehouse, Banksy painted on animals. Although the RSPCA declared the conditions suitable, an animal rights activist chained herself to the railings in protest.[20] He later moved on to producing subverted paintings; one example is Monet's Water Lily Pond, adapted to include urban detritus such as litter and a shopping trolley floating in its reflective waters; another is Edward Hopper's Nighthawks, redrawn to show that the characters are looking at a British football hooligan, dressed only in his Union Flag underpants, who has just thrown an object through the glass window of the cafe. These oil paintings were shown at a twelve-day exhibition in Westbourne Grove, London in 2005.[21]

 

2004

 

In August 2004, Banksy produced a quantity of spoof British £10 notes substituting the picture of the Queen's head with Princess Diana's head and changing the text "Bank of England" to "Banksy of England." Someone threw a large wad of these into a crowd at Notting Hill Carnival that year, which some recipients then tried to spend in local shops. These notes were also given with invitations to a Santa's Ghetto exhibition by Pictures on Walls. The individual notes have since been selling on eBay for about £200 each. A wad of the notes were also thrown over a fence and into the crowd near the NME signing tent at The Reading Festival. A limited run of 50 signed posters containing ten uncut notes were also produced and sold by Pictures on Walls for £100 each to commemorate the death of Princess Diana. One of these sold in October 2007 at Bonhams auction house in London for £24,000.

 

2005

 

In August 2005, Banksy, on a trip to the Palestinian territories, created nine images on Israel's highly controversial West Bank barrier. He reportedly said "The Israeli government is building a wall surrounding the occupied Palestinian territories. It stands three times the height of the Berlin Wall and will eventually run for over 700km—the distance from London to Zurich. "[22]

 

2006

 

• Banksy held an exhibition called Barely Legal, billed as a "three day vandalised warehouse extravaganza" in Los Angeles, on the weekend of 16 September. The exhibition featured a live "elephant in a room", painted in a pink and gold floral wallpaper pattern.[23]

• After Christina Aguilera bought an original of Queen Victoria as a lesbian and two prints for £25,000,[24] on 19 October 2006 a set of Kate Moss paintings sold in Sotheby's London for £50,400, setting an auction record for Banksy's work. The six silk-screen prints, featuring the model painted in the style of Andy Warhol's Marilyn Monroe pictures, sold for five times their estimated value. His stencil of a green Mona Lisa with real paint dripping from her eyes sold for £57,600 at the same auction.[25]

• In December, journalist Max Foster coined the phrase, "the Banksy Effect", to illustrate how interest in other street artists was growing on the back of Banksy's success.[26]

 

2007

 

• On 21 February 2007, Sotheby's auction house in London auctioned three works, reaching the highest ever price for a Banksy work at auction: over £102,000 for his Bombing Middle England. Two of his other graffiti works, Balloon Girl and Bomb Hugger, sold for £37,200 and £31,200 respectively, which were well above their estimated prices.[27] The following day's auction saw a further three Banksy works reach soaring prices: Ballerina With Action Man Parts reached £96,000; Glory sold for £72,000; Untitled (2004) sold for £33,600; all significantly above estimated values.[28] To coincide with the second day of auctions, Banksy updated his website with a new image of an auction house scene showing people bidding on a picture that said, "I Can't Believe You Morons Actually Buy This Shit."[6]

• In February 2007, the owners of a house with a Banksy mural on the side in Bristol decided to sell the house through Red Propeller art gallery after offers fell through because the prospective buyers wanted to remove the mural. It is listed as a mural which comes with a house attached.[29]

• In April 2007, Transport for London painted over Banksy's iconic image of a scene from Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction, with Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta clutching bananas instead of guns. Although the image was very popular, Transport for London claimed that the "graffiti" created "a general atmosphere of neglect and social decay which in turn encourages crime" and their staff are "professional cleaners not professional art critics".[30] Banksy tagged the same site again (pictured at right). This time the actors were portrayed as holding real guns instead of bananas, but they were adorned with banana costumes. Banksy made a tribute art piece over this second Pulp Fiction piece. The tribute was for 19-year-old British graffiti artist Ozone, who was hit by an underground train in Barking, East London, along with fellow artist Wants, on 12 January 2007.[31] The piece was of an angel wearing a bullet-proof vest, holding a skull. He also wrote a note on his website, saying:

 

The last time I hit this spot I painted a crap picture of two men in banana costumes waving hand guns. A few weeks later a writer called Ozone completely dogged it and then wrote 'If it's better next time I'll leave it' in the bottom corner. When we lost Ozone we lost a fearless graffiti writer and as it turns out a pretty perceptive art critic. Ozone - rest in peace.[citation needed]

 

Ozone's Angel

 

• On 27 April 2007, a new record high for the sale of Banksy's work was set with the auction of the work Space Girl & Bird fetching £288,000 (US$576,000), around 20 times the estimate at Bonhams of London.[32]

• On 21 May 2007 Banksy gained the award for Art's Greatest living Briton. Banksy, as expected, did not turn up to collect his award, and continued with his notoriously anonymous status.

• On 4 June 2007, it was reported that Banksy's The Drinker had been stolen.[33][34]

• In October 2007, most of his works offered for sale at Bonhams auction house in London sold for more than twice their reserve price.[35]

 

• Banksy has published a "manifesto" on his website.[36] The text of the manifesto is credited as the diary entry of one Lieutenant Colonel Mervin Willett Gonin, DSO, which is exhibited in the Imperial War Museum. It describes how a shipment of lipstick to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp immediately after its liberation at the end of World War II helped the internees regain their humanity. However, as of 18 January 2008, Banksy's Manifesto has been substituted with Graffiti Heroes #03 that describes Peter Chappell's graffiti quest of the 1970s that worked to free George Davis of his imprisonment.[37] By 12 August 2009 he was relying on Emo Phillips' "When I was a kid I used to pray every night for a new bicycle. Then I realised God doesn’t work that way, so I stole one and prayed for forgiveness."

• A small number of Banksy's works can be seen in the movie Children of Men, including a stenciled image of two policemen kissing and another stencil of a child looking down a shop.

• In the 2007 film Shoot 'Em Up starring Clive Owen, Banksy's tag can be seen on a dumpster in the film's credits.

• Banksy, who deals mostly with Lazarides Gallery in London, claims that the exhibition at Vanina Holasek Gallery in New York (his first major exhibition in that city) is unauthorised. The exhibition featured 62 of his paintings and prints.[38]

 

2008

 

• In March, a stencilled graffiti work appeared on Thames Water tower in the middle of the Holland Park roundabout, and it was widely attributed to Banksy. It was of a child painting the tag "Take this Society" in bright orange. London Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham spokesman, Councillor Greg Smith branded the art as vandalism, and ordered its immediate removal, which was carried out by H&F council workmen within three days.[39]

• Over the weekend 3–5 May in London, Banksy hosted an exhibition called The Cans Festival. It was situated on Leake Street, a road tunnel formerly used by Eurostar underneath London Waterloo station. Graffiti artists with stencils were invited to join in and paint their own artwork, as long as it didn't cover anyone else's.[40] Artists included Blek le Rat, Broken Crow, C215, Cartrain, Dolk, Dotmasters, J.Glover, Eine, Eelus, Hero, Pure evil, Jef Aérosol, Mr Brainwash, Tom Civil and Roadsworth.[citation needed]

• In late August 2008, marking the third anniversary of Hurricane Katrina and the associated levee failure disaster, Banksy produced a series of works in New Orleans, Louisiana, mostly on buildings derelict since the disaster.[41]

• A stencil painting attributed to Banksy appeared at a vacant petrol station in the Ensley neighbourhood of Birmingham, Alabama on 29 August as Hurricane Gustav approached the New Orleans area. The painting depicting a hooded member of the Ku Klux Klan hanging from a noose was quickly covered with black spray paint and later removed altogether.[42]

• His first official exhibition in New York, the "Village Pet Store And Charcoal Grill," opened 5 October 2008. The animatronic pets in the store window include a mother hen watching over her baby Chicken McNuggets as they peck at a barbecue sauce packet, and a rabbit putting makeup on in a mirror.[43]

• The Westminster City Council stated in October 2008 that the work "One Nation Under CCTV", painted in April 2008 will be painted over as it is graffiti. The council says it will remove any graffiti, regardless of the reputation of its creator, and specifically stated that Banksy "has no more right to paint graffiti than a child". Robert Davis, the chairman of the council planning committee told The Times newspaper: "If we condone this then we might as well say that any kid with a spray can is producing art". [44] The work was painted over in April 2009.

• In December 2008, The Little Diver, a Banksy image of a diver in a duffle coat in Melbourne Australia was vandalised. The image was protected by a sheet of clear perspex, however silver paint was poured behind the protective sheet and later tagged with the words "Banksy woz ere". The image was almost completely destroyed.[45].

 

2009

 

• May 2009, parts company with agent Steve Lazarides. Announces Pest Control [46] the handling service who act on his behalf will be the only point of sale for new works.

• On 13 June 2009, the Banksy UK Summer show opened at Bristol City Museum and Art Gallery, featuring more than 100 works of art, including animatronics and installations; it is his largest exhibition yet, featuring 78 new works.[47][48] Reaction to the show was positive, with over 8,500 visitors to the show on the first weekend.[49] Over the course of the twelve weeks, the exhibition has been visited over 300,000 times.[50]

• In September 2009, a Banksy work parodying the Royal Family was partially destroyed by Hackney Council after they served an enforcement notice for graffiti removal to the former address of the property owner. The mural had been commissioned for the 2003 Blur single "Crazy Beat" and the property owner, who had allowed the piece to be painted, was reported to have been in tears when she saw it was being painted over.[51]

• In December 2009, Banksy marked the end of the 2009 United Nations Climate Change Conference by painting four murals on global warming. One included "I don't believe in global warming" which was submerged in water.[52]

 

2010

 

• The world premiere of the film Exit Through the Gift Shop occurred at the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah, on 24 January. He created 10 street pieces around Park City and Salt Lake City to tie in with the screening.[53]

• In February, The Whitehouse public house in Liverpool, England, is sold for £114,000 at auction.[54] The side of the building has an image of a giant rat by Banksy.[55]

• In April 2010, Melbourne City Council in Australia reported that they had inadvertently ordered private contractors to paint over the last remaining Banksy art in the city. The image was of a rat descending in a parachute adorning the wall of an old council building behind the Forum Theatre. In 2008 Vandals had poured paint over a stencil of an old-fashioned diver wearing a trenchcoat. A council spokeswoman has said they would now rush through retrospective permits to protect other “famous or significant artworks” in the city.[56]

• In April 2010 to coincide with the premier of Exit through the Gift Shop in San Francisco, 5 of his pieces appeared in various parts of the city.[57] Banksy reportedly paid a Chinatown building owner $50 for the use of their wall for one of his stencils.[58]

• In May 2010 to coincide with the release of "Exit Through the Gift Shop" in Chicago, one piece appeared in the city.

 

Notable art pieces

 

In addition to his artwork, Banksy has claimed responsibility for a number of high profile art pieces, including the following:

 

• At London Zoo, he climbed into the penguin enclosure and painted "We're bored of fish" in seven foot high letters.[59]

• At Bristol Zoo, he left the message 'I want out. This place is too cold. Keeper smells. Boring, boring, boring.' in the elephant enclosure.[60]

• In March 2005, he placed subverted artworks in the Museum of Modern Art, Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Brooklyn Museum, and the American Museum of Natural History in New York.[61]

• He put up a subverted painting in London's Tate Britain gallery.

• In May 2005 Banksy's version of a primitive cave painting depicting a human figure hunting wildlife whilst pushing a shopping trolley was hung in gallery 49 of the British Museum, London. Upon discovery, they added it to their permanent collection.[62]

 

Near Bethlehem - 2005

 

• Banksy has sprayed "This is not a photo opportunity" on certain photograph spots.

• In August 2005, Banksy painted nine images on the Israeli West Bank barrier, including an image of a ladder going up and over the wall and an image of children digging a hole through the wall.[22][63][64][65]

 

See also: Other Banksy works on the Israeli West Bank barrier

 

• In April 2006, Banksy created a sculpture based on a crumpled red phone box with a pickaxe in its side, apparently bleeding, and placed it in a street in Soho, London. It was later removed by Westminster Council. BT released a press release, which said: "This is a stunning visual comment on BT's transformation from an old-fashioned telecommunications company into a modern communications services provider."[66]

• In June 2006, Banksy created an image of a naked man hanging out of a bedroom window on a wall visible from Park Street in central Bristol. The image sparked some controversy, with the Bristol City Council leaving it up to the public to decide whether it should stay or go.[67] After an internet discussion in which 97% (all but 6 people) supported the stencil, the city council decided it would be left on the building.[67] The mural was later defaced with paint.[67]

• In August/September 2006, Banksy replaced up to 500 copies of Paris Hilton's debut CD, Paris, in 48 different UK record stores with his own cover art and remixes by Danger Mouse. Music tracks were given titles such as "Why am I Famous?", "What Have I Done?" and "What Am I For?". Several copies of the CD were purchased by the public before stores were able to remove them, some going on to be sold for as much as £750 on online auction websites such as eBay. The cover art depicted Paris Hilton digitally altered to appear topless. Other pictures feature her with a dog's head replacing her own, and one of her stepping out of a luxury car, edited to include a group of homeless people, which included the caption "90% of success is just showing up".[68][69][70]

• In September 2006, Banksy dressed an inflatable doll in the manner of a Guantanamo Bay detainment camp prisoner (orange jumpsuit, black hood, and handcuffs) and then placed the figure within the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad ride at the Disneyland theme park in Anaheim, California.[71][72]

 

Technique

 

Asked about his technique, Banksy said:

 

“I use whatever it takes. Sometimes that just means drawing a moustache on a girl's face on some billboard, sometimes that means sweating for days over an intricate drawing. Efficiency is the key.[73]”

 

Stencils are traditionally hand drawn or printed onto sheets of acetate or card, before being cut out by hand. Because of the secretive nature of Banksy's work and identity, it is uncertain what techniques he uses to generate the images in his stencils, though it is assumed he uses computers for some images due to the photocopy nature of much of his work.

 

He mentions in his book, Wall and Piece, that as he was starting to do graffiti, he was always too slow and was either caught or could never finish the art in the one sitting. So he devised a series of intricate stencils to minimise time and overlapping of the colour.

 

Identity

 

Banksy's real name has been widely reported to be Robert or Robin Banks.[74][75][76] His year of birth has been given as 1974.[62]

 

Simon Hattenstone from Guardian Unlimited is one of the very few people to have interviewed him face-to-face. Hattenstone describes him as "a cross of Jimmy Nail and British rapper Mike Skinner" and "a 28 year old male who showed up wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a silver tooth, silver chain, and one silver earring".[77] In the same interview, Banksy revealed that his parents think their son is a painter and decorator.[77]

 

In May 2007, an extensive article written by Lauren Collins of the New Yorker re-opened the Banksy-identity controversy citing a 2004 photograph of the artist that was taken in Jamaica during the Two-Culture Clash project and later published in the Evening Standard in 2004.[6]

 

In October 2007, a story on the BBC website featured a photo allegedly taken by a passer-by in Bethnal Green, London, purporting to show Banksy at work with an assistant, scaffolding and a truck. The story confirms that Tower Hamlets Council in London has decided to treat all Banksy works as vandalism and remove them.[78]

 

In July 2008, it was claimed by The Mail on Sunday that Banksy's real name is Robin Gunningham.[3][79] His agent has refused to confirm or deny these reports.

 

In May 2009, the Mail on Sunday once again speculated about Gunningham being Banksy after a "self-portrait" of a rat holding a sign with the word "Gunningham" shot on it was photographed in East London.[80] This "new Banksy rat" story was also picked up by The Times[81] and the Evening Standard.

 

Banksy, himself, states on his website:

 

“I am unable to comment on who may or may not be Banksy, but anyone described as being 'good at drawing' doesn't sound like Banksy to me.[82]”

 

Controversy

 

In 2004, Banksy walked into the Louvre in Paris and hung on a wall a picture he had painted resembling the Mona Lisa but with a yellow smiley face. Though the painting was hurriedly removed by the museum staff, it and its counterpart, temporarily on unknown display at the Tate Britain, were described by Banksy as "shortcuts". He is quoted as saying:

 

“To actually [have to] go through the process of having a painting selected must be quite boring. It's a lot more fun to go and put your own one up.[83]”

 

Peter Gibson, a spokesperson for Keep Britain Tidy, asserts that Banksy's work is simple vandalism,[84] and Diane Shakespeare, an official for the same organization, was quoted as saying: "We are concerned that Banksy's street art glorifies what is essentially vandalism".[6]

 

In June 2007 Banksy created a circle of plastic portable toilets, said to resemble Stonehenge at the Glastonbury Festival. As this was in the same field as the "sacred circle" it was felt by many to be inappropriate and his installation was itself vandalized before the festival even opened. However, the intention had always been for people to climb on and interact with it.[citation needed] The installation was nicknamed "Portaloo Sunset" and "Bog Henge" by Festival goers. Michael Eavis admitted he wasn't fond of it, and the portaloos were removed before the 2008 festival.

 

In 2010, an artistic feud developed between Banksy and his rival King Robbo after Banksy painted over a 24-year old Robbo piece on the banks of London's Regent Canal. In retaliation several Banksy pieces in London have been painted over by 'Team Robbo'.[85][86]

 

Also in 2010, government workers accidentally painted over a Banksy art piece, a famed "parachuting-rat" stencil, in Australia's Melbourne CBD. [87]

 

Bibliography

 

Banksy has self-published several books that contain photographs of his work in various countries as well as some of his canvas work and exhibitions, accompanied by his own writings:

 

• Banksy, Banging Your Head Against A Brick Wall (2001) ISBN 978-0-95417040-0

• Banksy, Existencilism (2002) ISBN 978-0-95417041-7

• Banksy, Cut it Out (2004) ISBN 978-0-95449600-5

• Banksy, Wall and Piece (2005) ISBN 978-1-84413786-2

• Banksy, Pictures of Walls (2005) ISBN 978-0-95519460-3

 

Random House published Wall and Piece in 2005. It contains a combination of images from his three previous books, as well as some new material.[16]

 

Two books authored by others on his work were published in 2006 & 2007:

 

• Martin Bull, Banksy Locations and Tours: A Collection of Graffiti Locations and Photographs in London (2006 - with new editions in 2007 and 2008) ISBN 978-0-95547120-9.

• Steve Wright, Banksy's Bristol: Home Sweet Home (2007) ISBN 978-1906477004

 

External links

 

• Official website

• Banksy street work photos

ootd, job interview edition!

 

sheer bow blouse: Target

 

navy cami: Target

 

slacks: Target

 

awesome purse: Lux De Ville, gift

 

shoes: cute patent black flats from clearance at work

 

i can't believe how tall these pants make me look! it doesn't show so well in the picture, but the blouse is navy blue, not black. i found out i was going to be interviewed on short notice the day before, so i ran out and picked up pretty much everything at Target, having no "professional" clothes in my wardrobe anymore. oh, and i trimmed up my hair myself this morning. i was a little worried, but my future boss told me she liked my haircut, hehe. and as i was crossing the street, a random stranger yelled "hey, beautiful!" out their car at me. this look received so many compliments today, i felt awesome. not that my power comes from other people, but it's nice when others are perceptive enough to appreciate my beauty. ;)

If you're very perceptive, you'll notice something I shared about this car (the Playboy logo). This is one of maybe ten very early E-type coupes, the outside bonnet latch cars, during its days as a dragster.

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

For nearly a year Lettice has been patiently awaiting the return of her beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, after being sent to Durban by his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy their relationship which she wants to end so that she can marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Now Lettice has been made aware by Lady Zinnia that during the course of the year, whilst Lettice has been biding her time, waiting for Selwyn’s eventual return, he has become engaged to the daughter of a Kenyan diamond mine owner whilst in Durban. Fleeing Lady Zinnia’s London townhouse, Lettice has been milling over her options over the last week as she reels from the news.

 

Now we find ourselves standing with Lettice outside the imposing Regency townhouse of Sir John Nettleford-Hughes, not far from Lettice’s cavendish Mews flat, in the upper-class London suburb of Belgravia. Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John is still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intends to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a time after the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Selwyn rescued Lettice from the horror of having to entertain him, and Sir John left the ball early in a disgruntled mood with a much younger partygoer. Lettice reacquainted herself with Sir John at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, a baronial Art and Crafts castle near the hamlet of Kershopefoot in Cumberland. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again at the Portland Gallery’s autumn show where she found him yet again to be a pleasant companion for much of the evening.

 

Now, standing on the sweeping steps of Portland stone she looks up at the impressive Regency façade of Sir John’s townhouse and knocks at the black painted front door with the polished brass knocker. A gentle faced butler in his stiffly starched collar and black barathea suit, answers the door.

 

“The Honourable Lettice Chetwynd to see His Lordship.” Lettice says firmly and the butler steps aside, ushering her from the golden late afternoon light outside into the cool darkened marble hallway within.

 

The clip of Lettice’s louis heels echo throughout the lofty entrance hall which is illuminated from a dome three storeys above by a grand electrified crystal chandelier, already on as the autumnal evenings draw in. The butler politely asks her to wait whilst he strides silently up the sweeping carpeted spiral staircase to the upper floors of the townhouse. Lettice has not long been settled into the seat of a walnut Regency hall chair when he returns.

 

“His Lordship will be pleased to see you, Miss Chetwynd. If you’d please be so good as to follow me.”

 

Lettice smiles nervously as she follows him up the stairs, past portraits of Sir John’s ancestors who peer imperiously down upon her from their ornate gilded frames. “Interloper!” they seem to silently say: their looks accusational and critical as she lightly treads behind the serious but kind looking butler. Do they know what she has planned, she wonders in a moment of fancy.

 

“The Honourable Miss Chetwynd.” the butler announces stiffly as she opens the door for Lettice, swinging it widely open and allowing Lettice to walk into the brilliantly illuminated room where music plays on a gramophone, and where Sir John sits in his favourite chair, dressed in a smart velvet smoking jacket.

 

Being an interior designer, as soon as she is shown in, Lettice immediately appraises Sir John’s drawing room: taking in the elegant and uncluttered lines of his Regency stripe upholstered sofas and chairs, the Regency swan tables and matching pedestals upon which stand some beautiful blue and white Chinese vases, the heavier and more masculine William and Mary cabinets made of age darkened oak and the beautiful Eighteenth Century chinoiserie screen featuring stylised oriental scenes painted in gold and bronze on a black background.

 

“What a pleasant surprise, Lettice.” Sir John says, rising from his wingback armchair with the aid of a silver topped walking stick. “Please, take a seat. I take it that you’ll stop for a little while?”

 

“Yes of course.” Lettice replies with a shy smile, doing as Sir John bids and taking a seat on the low backed sofa where he indicates to her with an open gesture.

 

“Excellent! Grindley, a bottle of champagne for Miss Chetwynd and I.” he says to his butler.

 

“Yes, Your Lordship.” the butler replies, before retreating discreetly from the room.

 

“Thank you Si…” Lettice pauses halfway through Sir John’s, title. “John.”

 

Sir John smiles as he resumes his seat.

 

“Sorry, old habits die hard.” Lettice apologises as a flush of colour fills her cheeks.

 

“I know Lettice,” he replies as he watches her with his piercing blue eyes as she shucks her fox fur stole which has kept away the chill of London’s late afternoon weather, and drapes it over the edge of the sofa. “But habits can be changed.”

 

“Well,” Lettice observes, gazing around the comfortably appointed drawing room again. “This isn’t quite what I was expecting.”

 

“No, Lettice? What did you expect my rooms to be like?”

 

“Oh,” Lettice ponders. “I don’t know. Perhaps a little more masculine. Perhaps like my father’s taste. Lots of dark wood and books is what I’d imagined.”

 

“Well, I do have a library downstairs on the ground floor, Lettice. It is panelled with dark mahogany and is full of books, but I find it rather stuffy, whereas in here it is light and airy, with views overlooking the street.” He points to the large sash windows which flood the room with fading afternoon light. “So, I bring my books.” He picks up a tan leatherbound volume from a pile on a table next to his chair. “And my other reading material, in here,” He indicates to a row of the day’s London papers on a low table nearby. “Where I find it much more pleasant.”

 

“Oh yes, John. It’s a lovely room, and the daffs are a lovely bright burst of colour.” She nods at the yellow and white daffodils raising their heads proudly above the lip of a tall blue and white oriental vase.

 

“I wandered lonely as a cloud,

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze*.”

 

“Wordsworth**, John!” Lettice gasps. “You do surprise me!”

 

“Really Lettice?” Sir John asks, a little surprised himself. “Well, I am British to the backbone, but yes, you may be a little surprised to learn that for all my dull London business affairs, I do have a few romantic bones in my body.”

 

“That explains the recording on the gramophone, then.” Lettice remarks. “The Willow Song***: disappointed love. Has one of your young paramours recently left you a little broken hearted, John?”

 

Sir John clears this throat in an embarrassed fashion, quickly stands up, once again leaning heavily on his cane to do so. “How unconscionably rude of me! Please forgive me, Lettice.” He strides across the thick oriental silk carpet to the gramophone standing on a William and Mary sideboard nearby and lifts the needle, causing the soprano to cease singing her song mid note.

 

“So do you?” Lettice persists.

 

“Do I what?” Sir John retorts questioningly.

 

“Have a broken heart?” Lettice indicates again to the gramophone with its nickel-plated morning glory horn.

 

“I’m not that much of a hopeless romantic, Lettice. My heart should be a pile of shards if I let it break so readily, when so many women have walked in and out of my life.” He pauses for a moment and looks across at Lettice in concern. “Does that statement shock you?”

 

“It might have once, John, but not now that I know you better.”

 

“Good!” he replies. “I was actually listening to The Willow Song because I happen to like Nellie Melba****. Sorry to be so practical.”

 

“Not at all, John.”

 

“Oh!” Sir John suddenly notes Lettice’s stumpy ended umbrella as it leans against the sofa next to her. “Grindley should have taken that from you. I’m so sorry.”

 

Lettice glances to where Sir John is looking. “Oh, please don’t be cross with your butler, John. I have been holding it so tightly, I think he was probably afraid to ask me to relinquish it.”

 

“Well, I’ll get him to take it with him when he returns. With the champagne.” Sir John pauses momentarily as he walks back across the room. “Are you feeling tense, Lettice?” he asks. “In my presence?”

 

“A little.” Lettice admits.

 

Sir John resumes his seat and eyes Lettice. She is dressed in a light moss green satin frock with lilac trim with a matching green hat adorned with lilac satin roses and peacock feathers which he remembers her wearing at Gossington, the Scottish country residence of Sir John and Lady Caxton. Lady Gladys, a successful romance novelist, had once been one of many of Sir John’s lovers before she married Sir John Caxton. As he observes her, Lettice toys distractedly with a long strand of creamy white pearls cascading down her front. She looks beautiful, and proud, yet at the same exudes vulnerability.

 

“Well, it’s clear you haven’t come paying a social call to pass comment on my décor or musical listening habits.”

 

“That’s very perceptive of you, John.” Lettice admits with a guilty lilt.

 

“So, what is it that I can do for you, Lettice?” Sir John asks, resting his elbows comfortably on the rounded arms of his wingback chair, steepling his long and elegant fingers before him.

 

“Do you remember the last time we met, John?” Lettice ventures.

 

“Of course I do, Lettice. It was at the Portland Gallery’s autumn showing. I escorted Priscilla because her husband couldn’t, feigning illness as I recall. I met you before that rather brash and unintelligible fingerpainting by that Spaniard that certain people seem to have taken a fancy to.” He pauses. “What’s his name again?”

 

Lettice smiles at John’s summation of the painting ‘The Lovers’ which hung above the fireplace in Mr. Chilvers’ Bond Street gallery. “Picasso.” she replies.

 

“That’s it! That’s the chap!”

 

“Do you remember our conversation, John?” Lettice remarks meaningfully.

 

“We talked about a good deal as I recall, Lettice.” Sir John replies, the hint of a smile just teasing the edges of his thin-lipped mouth. “Was there something in particular you were referring to?”

 

Lettice sighs and glances awkwardly around her, her eyes moving in a desultory fashion over a fine collection of Georgian and Regency silhouettes hanging on the white striped paper on the wall above the sideboard on which the now silent gramophone stands.

 

“You aren’t going to make this easy for me, are you, John?”

 

“I’ve spoken plainly enough before you, Lettice. Please don’t feel embarrassed or anxious about speaking as plainly before me.”

 

Lettice sighs again, dropping the pearls in her hand so that they fall elegantly down the green satin front of her bodice. “You made me a proposal, John.”

 

“Did I?” The smile blossoms a little more on his lips. He pauses for a moment, observing Lettice as she holds her breath. “Oh yes, I did, didn’t I?”

 

“Do you recall what your proposition was?”

 

The smile, triumphant and self-assured makes itself clearly known now as Sir John’s whole face and demeanour change. “I do.” he says with a pleased purr.

 

“Then would you mind refreshing me of it, John?” asks Lettice squirming in her seat on the sofa.

 

“Do you need clarification, Lettice?”

 

“Put it down to too much of Mr. Chilvers excellent champagne.”

 

“Ahh yes! I seem to recall commenting on that as well.” Sir John remarks. “Very well.”

 

He pauses again for a moment, clearly savouring Lettice’s awkwardness.

 

“It was a proposal of marriage, as I recall, Lettice.”

 

“But not a standard marriage, isn’t that so, John?” Lettice clarifies.

 

Sir John’s slender greying eyebrows arch high over his hooded eyes. “No, not a standard marriage. Call it…” He hums and haws for a moment as he deliberates the words he wants to use to describe it. “A marriage à la mode.”

 

“A poor choice of words, John.” Lettice chides him politely from her seat. “As I recall, Hogarth’s***** ‘Marriage A-la-Mode’****** ended up disastrously for the newlyweds.”

 

“Very adroitly observed, Lettice, but regardless of the outcomes of the marriage, it was an arrangement, and what I proposed to you that night was also an arrangement of sorts: a marriage of convenience shall we say.”

 

Lettice gulps, her throat suddenly parched as she dares to ask, “Would you mind terribly, re-stating what the details of that marriage of convenience are, John?”

 

“Ahh, now we get to the crux of it.” Sir John says knowingly. “As I said, Lettice, you could have spoken plainly to me and simply asked me what my terms of the marriage were, rather than pussyfooting around them.” He winds one of his hands around the engraved silver knob of his cane. “There is something to be said for the merit of directness in business.”

 

‘Well, I’m not as well versed in business affairs as you obviously are, John.”

 

“Perhaps not, but if you are to have a successful business, Lettice, or as successful as it can be, I’d recommend a modicum of directness. Whilst perhaps not always perceived as desirous in a young lady, in a businesswoman who intends to make her way through a very male dominated world, it is essential.”

 

“Your conditions, John.” Lettice exclaims.

 

“Ahh, there!” He wags a finger at her. “You see! Directness! Excellent!” He sighs contentedly. “I’d never propose a conventional marriage to you, my dear Lettice. I don’t claim to have won your affections romantically, the way Spencely has.” He smiles his oily smile at her again as he licks his lips. “Let me speak plainly, Lettice. You are a frightfully captivatingly attractive girl. Part of that appeal for me, is that you are also an intelligent girl as well as a pretty one, with more brains than half the women of my acquaintance, and you know I know more than a few of them.” His lascivious chuckle makes Lettice cringe. “I don’t speak of love between us. Pity save me, a successful man, from that foolish emotion. No, I speak of respect.”

 

“Since we are speaking plainly, you’ll forgive me, John, when I tell you that I have trouble reconciling marriage and respect with a man who openly has dalliances with chorus girls.”

 

“Extra-martial liaisons with Gaiety Girls******* are nothing new, Lettice, particularly in our circles. You have eyes and ears, and you obviously know how to use them. You cannot be oblivious to such a fact.”

 

“No, John, but I find the idea rather,” Lettice licks her lips. “Rather unpalatable, shall we say.”

 

“I assure you, Lettice, that if you deigned to marry me, I would keep my liaisons,” The last word sounds even more lascivious dripping from his suddenly blood reddened lips. “Discreet, and no matter how many of them there were, I would never shame you. However, if you find this topic of conversation so unpalatable as you say, why are we having it? You have Spencely. You’ve made that quite clear. I don’t understand this sudden interest in a marriage proposal you seemed so obvious to spurn.”

 

“Oh please!” Lettice scoffs bitterly. “Don’t play the innocent with me, John. It doesn’t suit you. Surely Lady Zinnia has told you, as an interested party, the news.”

 

“My dear Lettice, I have said before that Zinnia and I are merely nodding acquaintances, as all members of aristocratic families such as ours are in society. I think the last time I spoke to her was over a bridge table at a house party hosted by a mutual friend of ours before the war, and then it was simply social niceties. Zinnia isn’t my friend, and she certainly wouldn’t draw me into her confidence. In this instance, I must plead innocence. What has happened with Spencely to change your mind that you would consider my unusual marriage proposal?”

 

Lettice doesn’t answer immediately, allowing her head to loll forward, the brim of her firmly affixed hat hiding her face from view. She takes a few deep breaths that cause her shoulders to rise and fall before she sits up again. “Our engagement is over.”

 

“No Lettice!” Sir John gasps in shock. “This cannot be! Surely this is some contrivance of Zinnia? She separated the two of you on purpose to try and break your bond, but I told you to stay strong to win out over her scheming. She’d like nothing better than to triumph! I thought you were both playing the long game to win out over Zinnia.”

 

“I was.” Lettice says with a deflated tone. “And I thought that Selwyn was too, but it appears not. He’s engaged to a diamond mine heiress he met in Durban.”

 

“No! Surely not, Lettice? Do you have proof?”

 

“Lady Zinnia invited me to tea at her home here in London. I thought she was going to concede defeat: foolishly I did, John.” Tears well up in Lettice’s eyes and spill over her lids, running in rivulets down her lightly powered dusted and rouged cheeks. “And then she brought out a sheaf of newspaper clippings: photos of Selwyn and this heiress together.”

 

“A photo does not a guilty party make, Lettice.” Sir John cautions.

 

“No, but the typeface beneath the photos does.” Lettice snivels, reaching into her crocodile skin handbag and withdrawing a dainty lace handkerchief that she dabs her nose with. “It said they are engaged.”

 

“Oh Lettice!” Sir John clambers up from his seat and moves to sit beside her. Clasping her hands tenderly in his, he allows his right knee to brush up against Lettice’s own white lisle clad one as it peeps just underneath the hem of her lilac trimmed frock. “Lettice I am truly sorry to hear this terrible news. Are you quite sure it’s true?”

 

Lettice nods shallowly. “The source is apparently quite reliable and independent of Lady Zinnia.”

 

“But engagements end.” Sir John insists.

 

“These articles come from papers over the last few months. I doubt that the engagement will end now.”

 

Finally, the emotional threshold for Lettice bursts and she flings her arms around Sir John’s neck, collapsing against his dark maroon velvet smoking jacket and weeping uncontrollably. Sir John allows her to cry and gently consoles her for a short while.

 

At length, he deftly grasps her by the shoulders and sits her upright before him. He runs his right hand over her tear stained left cheek, wiping it gently and with a care filled brush. He looks her directly in the eye. “Spencely is a fool and a swine if he lets a pearl like you slip through his fingers, Lettice!”

 

“Oh John!” Lettice gasps.

 

“It is true, I don’t offer you a conventional marriage, and I know I am old enough to be your father, but I can still father an heir with the right wife who understands me and respects my needs. I’d be proud to have you on my arm at public functions, and as I said, I would never cause you public shame. I would respect you, your interests and your wishes. Perhaps love might come over time with any luck, but if not, at least respect would sustain our marriage. The generosity of the allowance I would gladly give you would rival your own, Lettice. You would gain a title. You would be chatelaine to this house, a vast castle in Bedfordshire and several manor houses, including Fontengil Park, which is an easy drive to your own family home. I would allow you freedom. You may follow your own interests and pursuits unimpeded. I would allow you to continue to run your interior design business, even if it is a rather unconventional arrangement. Most men in my position would baulk at the idea of their wife running her own business, even for pin money*******, but as a businessman, I’d be proud to have a successful businesswoman as my wife: especially one as pretty as you, even when you do cry.”

 

Lettice cannot help but release a snuffling laugh. “Oh John! So,” She gulps heavily. “So the offer is still there?”

 

“What? Yes! Of course it is, Lettice! And I meant what I said that night too.”

 

“What was that, John?” Lettice sniffs.

 

“That if you married me, I’d pay for and let you hang daubs like that Picasso chap in our home.”

 

“What?” Lettice asks in a breaking voice. “Even in here?”

 

Sir John looks around him at the elegant Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century pictures hanging about the room. “Well, if you are such the arbiter of interior design as Country Life********* claims you to be, I’ll allow you, Lettice.”

 

Lettice laughs more light-heartedly this time.

 

“In fact, I think you should go and see Chilvers this week, and tell him to put that daub on my account. If you will play the dutiful wife, give me an heir, and you let me take my enjoyment where I like it and not complain,” He lowers his voice. “You may even have liaisons of your own, so long as they are discreet ones, and that the paternity of any offspring is beyond doubt mine.”

 

“So does this mean we’re engaged then?” Lettice asks timidly, sniffing again. “Even if I probably do look like a wreck.” She begins to wipe her still damp cheeks.

 

“Not at all, my dear Lettice. You look positively charming.” he assures her. “But only if you are sure that your engagement to Spencely is over. I would hate to step in where there is no place for me.”

 

“It’s over, John.” she replies with an affirmative nod. “And I’ve been thinking about your proposal over the last week since I found out, so it’s not a step I take lightly of flippantly.”

 

“Then I suppose we are engaged, my dear Lettice.” Sir John replies joyously, and then overcome by emotions he leans in and kisses Lettice on the lips.

 

Lettice is taken aback, as much by the feeling of Sir John’s lips pressed against her own as by the surprise of it happening. His lips aren’t soft like Selwyn’s are. They are harder and more forceful. Still, Lettice imagines that she will grow accustomed to them, just as she will become accustomed to Sir John himself as her husband over time.

 

Sir John suddenly breaks their kiss.

 

“Oh. Should I be seeking your father’s blessing, Lettice my dear, or Lady Sadie’s?”

 

“Oh don’t worry about that.” Lettice says a little breathily, waving his concern aside. “He’ll be happy if Mater is happy, and Mater will be in raptures when she hears the news. She was vying for proposal of marriage to me ever since the Hunt Ball. We’ll go down to Glynes and break the news to them together. Then we can discuss the banns**********.”

 

“Very well then, Lettice my dear. Only if you’re sure.”

 

“Yes!” Lettice says with a steeliness in her voice. “I’m sure.”

 

Just at that moment, the door to the drawing room opens and the butler returns.

 

“Oh splendid!” Sir John exclaims as the butler walks in carrying a silver wine cooler of ice from which protrudes a bottle of champagne and two gleaming champagne flutes. “You can be the first to congratulate us, Grindley.”

 

“And what might I be congratulating you for, Sir?” the manservant asks.

 

“Miss Chetwynd and I have just become engaged!” Sir John says, joyously.

 

“Congratulations, Miss Chetwynd! Congratulations Sir!” he replies heartily.

 

“Thank you, Grindley.” Lettice replies.

 

“Now you may leave us, Grindley. I can pop the champagne myself. And we are not to be disturbed, thank you.”

 

“So you won’t want the car brought about at nine, Sir?” the butler asks, implying an underlying meaning to his question.

 

“The car?” Sir John queries. “Oh, the car! No. No! Annabeth Du Barrie can find someone else to take her out to supper at the Savoy*********** after the show. I’ll write a note to that affect which I’ll have you send around to His Majesty’s************ stage door.” He looks earnestly at Lettice. “I may be a philanderer, but at the very least out of respect to my new fiancée, I shall pass on the pleasure of Miss Du Barrie’s company this evening.”

 

Sir John withdraws the bottle of champagne from its nest of ice and deftly pops the cork. Pouring champagne into Lettice’s flute he hands it to her before filling his own.

 

“A toast!” he announces. “To the future Lady Nettleford-Hughes!”

 

Lettice and Sir John’s glasses clink together, cementing their impromptu engagement.

 

*“I wandered Lonely as a Cloud” (also sometimes called "Daffodils"), is a lyric poem written by William Wordsworth. It is one of his most popular, and was inspired by an encounter on 15 April 1802 during a walk with his younger sister Dorothy, when they saw a "long belt" of daffodils on the shore of Ullswater in the English Lake District. Written in 1804, this twenty-four line lyric was first published in 1807 in “Poems, in Two Volumes”, and revised in 1815.

 

**Born in 1770, William Wordsworth was an English Romantic poet who, with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, helped to launch the Romantic Age in English literature with their joint publication “Lyrical Ballads” in 1798. Wordsworth was Poet Laureate from 1843 until his death from pleurisy on 23 April 1850.

 

***Otello is an opera in four acts by Giuseppe Verdi to an Italian libretto by Arrigo Boito, based on Shakespeare's play Othello. It was Verdi's penultimate opera, first performed at the Teatro alla Scala, Milan, on 5 February 1887. One of the songs performed by Desdemona is The Willow Song, which originated as an anonymous Elizabethan or earlier folk song used in the penultimate act of Shakespeare's Othello, which Verdi recreated for his opera. The earliest record of the Willow song is in a book of lute music from 1583, while Shakespeare's play was not written until 20 years later in 1604. The willow is the conventional symbol of disappointed love. In Othello, Othello believes that Desdemona has been unfaithful, despite her unyielding loyalty to him. Their love has become discontented at the hands of Iago and the Willow Song foreshadows Desdemona's fate.

 

****Dame Nellie Melba was an Australian operatic lyric coloratura soprano. She became one of the most famous singers of the late Victorian era and the early Twentieth Century, and was the first Australian to achieve international recognition as a classical musician. She took the pseudonym "Melba" from Melbourne, her home town.

 

*****William Hogarth was an English painter, engraver, pictorial satirist, social critic, editorial cartoonist and occasional writer on art. His work ranges from realistic portraiture to comic strip-like series of pictures called "modern moral subjects", and he is perhaps best known for his series A Harlot's Progress, A Rake's Progress and Marriage A-la-Mode. Familiarity with his work is so widespread that satirical political illustrations in this style are often referred to as "Hogarthian".

 

*****“Marriage A-la-Mode” is a series of six pictures painted by William Hogarth between 1743 and 1745, intended as a pointed skewering of Eighteenth Century society. They show the disastrous results of an ill-considered marriage for money or social status, and satirise patronage and aesthetics. The were originally sold as a set of six and offered for sale by twelve noon on the 6th of June 1751, but only attracted two bidders, one of whom bought them all for £126.00. The series was acquired for the newly formed National gallery of London in 1824.

 

******* Gaiety Girls were the chorus girls in Edwardian musical comedies, beginning in the 1890s at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in the shows produced by George Edwardes.

 

********Originating in Seventeenth Century England, the term pin money first meant “an allowance of money given by a husband to his wife for her personal expenditures. Married women, who typically lacked other sources of spending money, tended to view an allowance as something quite desirable. By the Twentieth Century, the term had come to mean a small sum of money, whether an allowance or earned, for spending on inessentials, separate and in addition to the housekeeping money a wife might have to spend.

 

********* Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

**********The banns of marriage, commonly known simply as the "banns" or "bans", are the public announcement in a Christian parish church, or in the town council, of an impending marriage between two specified persons.

 

***********The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.

 

************His Majesty's Theatre in London’s West End is a theatre situated in the Haymarket in the City of Westminster, London. The building, designed by Charles J. Phipps, was constructed in 1897 for the actor-manager Herbert Beerbohm Tree, who established the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art at the theatre.

 

This upper-class Belgravia drawing room may look real to you, but it is not all that it seems, for it is in fact made up entirely of miniatures from my 1;12 miniatures collection, including some particularly special pieces.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Lettice’s pretty dyed green straw cloche adorned with satin roses, green ribbons and peacock feathers is an artisan miniature. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. The maker of this hat is unknown, but it is part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel.

 

Lettice’s crocodile skin handbag comes from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniatures in England.

 

Lettice’s furled green umbrella is a 1:12 artisan pieces made of silk, with a wooden lacquered handle. It comes from specialist artisan miniature makers in England. Sir John’s silver knobbed walking stick is also a 1:12 artisan miniature. The top is sterling silver. It was made by the Little Green Workshop in England who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures.

 

Lettice’s fur draped over the sofa end is in actuality, a mink tail attached to one of my own vintage fur tippets. It is just the right size to be a thick fur stole that could have been worn by Lettice as she pays calls on a cool autumnal afternoon in London.

 

Sir John’s smart and select drawing room has been furnished for the most part by the high-end miniature manufacturers Bespaq and J.B.M. The gilt swan decorated tables and pedestal come from Bespaq, whilst the Regency stripe low backed sofa and wingback arm chair come from J.B.M.

 

The beautiful gold and bronze decorated black chinoiserie screen in the background is a very special 1:12 miniature screen created especially for me, and there is no other like it anywhere else in the world. It was handmade and decorated over a twelve month period for me as a Christmas gift last year by miniature artisan Tim Sidford as a thanks for the handmade Christmas baubles I make him every year. Tim’s miniature works are truly amazing! You can see some of his handmade decorated interiors using upcycled Playmobil, found objects and 1:12 miniatures here: www.flickr.com/photos/timsidford/albums/72157624010136051/

 

The champagne glasses on the central swan table are 1:12 artisan miniatures. Made of glass, they have been blown individually by hand by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering and are so fragile and delicate that even I with my dainty fingers have broken the stem of one. They stand on an ornate Sixteenth Century style silver tray made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The wine cooler is also made by Warwick Miniatures. The Deutz and Geldermann champagne bottle is also an artisan miniature and made of glass with a miniature copy of a real Deutz and Geldermann label and some real foil wrapped around its neck. It was made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. Even the ice blocks in the coolers are made to scale and also came from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The blue and white Chinese vase, like the ones on the pedestals in the background are 1:12 artisan miniatures. The vase on the table, which has been hand decorated was acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop in the United Kingdom, whilst the two in the background came from an online specialist on eBay. The daffodils in the vase are all made of polymer clay that is moulded on wires to allow them to be shaped at will and put into individually formed floral arrangements. Very realistic looking, they are made by a 1:12 miniature specialist in Germany.

 

The pile of books in the table next to Sir John’s armchair, and the newspaper broadsheets in the foreground are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print, as is the case with the headlines on the newspapers! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, the books on the table are non-opening, however what might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The tall Dutch style chest of drawers to the far left of the photo was one of the first pieces of miniature furniture I ever bought for myself. I chose it as payment for several figures I made from Fimo clay for a local high street toy shop when I was eight years old. All these years later, I definitely think I got the better end of the deal!

 

The two Regency silhouettes hanging on the wall came from Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop.

 

The Georgian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom. The striped wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.

Update: I have processed and posted my image of the abandoned basketball court behind this decaying detention facility. Please see Shot in the Dark for a look-see.

 

A few years ago, I wrote one of my first blog posts on the creepy abandoned Sunny Acres juvenile detention facility located here in San Luis Obispo, California. This 'asylum' (as it is known) lurks high on a hill above the former San Luis Obispo County General Hospital, affording a view of the city that some say is unparalleled. It has a very dark history and has reinvented itself several times from orphanage to juvenile offender detention facility. Some old-timers even claim it was a TB sanatorium for a brief time.

 

Boarded up for nearly 40 years, this two-story brick building – known for its exquisite Romanesque architecture – looks quite ominous, haunted and gothic. It is owned by the cash-strapped county of San Luis Obispo, although located within city limits. The county, city and local residents have advocated for preserving the building, but it is nearing collapse and is very hazardous due to the heavy presence of asbestos and lead. In addition, vandalism and neglect have taken their toll.

 

During an outing with my good photographer friend Mimi we decided to shoot the 'asylum' at night, in hopes of getting a nice Milky Way shot over the building. The weather conditions seemed ripe, as there was a new moon and the skies were dark and clear. (Well, at least they were when we headed out.) And photo apps confirmed that the Milky Way would be visible over the building. After arriving onsite we discovered a large fence had been placed around the entire perimeter of the sprawling building, preventing close access, limiting vantage points, and interfering with a clean fenceless shot.

 

Nonetheless, we waited for complete darkness to fall (although it was kind of spooky and cold out there) then used several flashlights to do some light painting on the building and front steps. It was very dark out there and hard to find our footing. Unfortunately, clouds and rainy weather quickly moved in and we only got a few shots in as the rain began to fall. You can see the bank of clouds begin to roll in on the upper left side of this image.

 

This single RAW capture was taken with my Nikon D800 and Tokina 16-28mm f2.8 lens. The image was shot at ISO 400 for 30 seconds at f5.6, at 16mm. It was processed in Lightroom and Photoshop. We plan to return in the future when better weather conditions prevail. I also managed to get one more shot in of the abandoned basketball court in the rear of the building and will post it once it is processed. Extra: There is a rather spooky Easter Egg located within this photograph. If you can find it, you are very perceptive and perhaps a fan of the paranormal!

 

Update 2015: This gem of an abandoned building, still standing, is currently completely fenced off, making it difficult to photograph without trespassing. Transitions Mental Health is currently raising funds to convert the facility into housing for some of their clientele, which has created a lot of controversy and opposition in the surrounding affluent neighborhood. It will take a ton of money for the environmental cleanup alone. The question remains whether the exorbitant cost is worth housing a small number of transients with mental challenges.

 

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Copyright notice: © 2015 Renee M. Besta/Ren Mar Photography, All Rights Reserved. All my photographs are digitally watermarked and copyrighted. No photograph shall be copied, saved, reproduced, republished, downloaded, displayed, modified, transmitted, licensed, transferred, sold or distributed or used in any way by any means, without prior written permission from me. No exceptions.

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I found these little guys on the side of the road in the middle of Tokyo.

The Glorification of God (13:31-33)

What makes Jesus glorious is how his life was all about God’s glory. God’s glory was displayed in the perfect obedience of the Son and the perfect revelation of the Father to humanity. God’s glory has been revealed in Jesus. Jesus viewed his death in terms of the glorification of the Father that would result from it. If it will give the Father glory, Jesus will do it no matter the cost. Five times Jesus uses the words “glorify” or “glorified.” It is all about the glory of the Father. Remember what the apostle Paul taught us in Ephesians. We are to be the to praise of his glory (Ephesians 1:12). God is to be glorified in us. How can God be glorified in our lives? Ephesians showed us a few ways but John wants to emphasize one way.

 

All People Will Know That You Are My Disciples (13:34-35)

Jesus says he gives his disciples a new commandment. The command to love one another is nothing new. Leviticus 19:18 is where we read the command given, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” So there is nothing new about the command to love one another. But here is what is new about this command: “Love one another, just as I have loved you.” The commandment is new because Jesus has exemplified what it means to love one another. Christ’s love for us becomes the new basis for what love looks like and what it means to love our neighbors as ourselves. We have never seen love in action like this until we see Jesus. Now we are able to see what it means to love one another. Notice how Jesus says this in verse 34. “Just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.” Think about what Jesus just said this command looked like. “Just as Jesus loved his disciples” becomes the standard by which we are to love one another.

 

Verse 35 becomes the point that we need to consider this morning. This kind of love is the mark of discipleship. Love will be how all people will know we are Jesus’ disciples. Going to a church building on Sunday is not the mark. Trying to be a good person is not the mark. Love for others is to be the reflection of our new status as God’s children. This new community that exists because we have been redeemed through the blood of Jesus has a trait that all people can see. The trait is not merely loved. The trait is loving one another just as Jesus loved us. This is not a warm feeling for other people. Love is giving ourselves as seen through Jesus in foot washing and in the cross. To put together what we have seen in this chapter: God is glorified when we love others like Jesus loved us. We saw in our last lesson that Jesus showed amazing, humble, self-sacrificing service. Jesus showed a complete disregard for himself, who he is, his status, and his position and gave himself for us.

 

Think about what one of the biggest criticism there is against Christianity in the world. Isn’t the criticism that Christians do not show love? Now, I recognize that there are false criticisms. It is love to tell people that if they continue living their lives the way that they are they are going to lose their souls and suffer eternal punishment. I am not loving you if I do not tell you that the wrath of God stands against us all if we do not come to Jesus. I also recognize that people use the lame excuse that the church is full of hypocrites. I have no problem with that criticism. I do not live up to what God has called us to do. I do not love like Jesus commands me to love in this text. That does not mean I am not trying. But I am not going to lie to anyone and suggest that I obey God perfectly. I would not need Jesus if I did. Being God’s people means admitting that we are a bunch of sinners in need of forgiveness by God. So the excuse of hypocrisy will not work because no one is exempt from this charge.

 

But what I think we must consider is if we really look different to the world through the love we show toward one another. By showing self-sacrificing love and humility, we show the world that we are disciples of Jesus. Think about what this looks like in practice. In marriages, the love that spouses show for each other, humbly submitting and serving each other will show the world that both of you are disciples of Jesus. In a family, the love that is shown for parents and children, humbly serving and doing what is in each other’s best interests will show the world that we are disciples of Jesus. In our assemblies and when Christians come together, humbly submitting and serving each other will show the world that we are disciples of Jesus. Remember who Jesus showed this love to in this room. Jesus washed the feet of Judas, his betrayer. Even the one who had lifted his heel against Jesus would be the recipient of Jesus’ humble service and amazing love.

 

Now let us consider one more aspect of this command before we move on. If the world is to know that we are Jesus’ disciples by this love, then this demands that this love is not contained inside our homes or inside this building. All people will not know we are his disciples if our love is not seen outside of these facilities. Let us add this to our thinking: God is glorified by showing love outside of these walls to the world so they can see we are disciples of Jesus. We must live in such a way so that all people will know that we are disciples.

 

Do you know what I do sometimes? I try to live in a way so that people will not know that I am a disciple. I get afraid. I get discouraged. I get nervous. So rather than living my life so that all people will know that I am a disciple of Jesus, I live so that no one will know that I am a disciple. I try to blend into the world. I try to act like the world. I dress like the world. I talk like the world. I don’t want to stand out. But doing this is denying Jesus as my Master and Teacher. Jesus says that the goal is to let all people know that we are his disciples. We do not let the world know this to draw attention to ourselves. We do not let all people know to boast in ourselves. We let all people know that we are disciples so that God is glorified through our loving other people. How do we get to this goal? We have to completely deny ourselves. We have to stop thinking about ourselves and acting for ourselves. This is what we learn at the end of this chapter.

 

Following Jesus (13:36-38)

Peter seizes on something Jesus says. Jesus said, “Where I am going you cannot come” (13:33). Peter asks where Jesus is going. Jesus tells them that they cannot follow Jesus now, but afterward, they will follow him. Peter seems to be perceptive about what Jesus is saying. Peter responds in verse 37. “Lord, why can I not follow you now? I will lay down my life for you.” Peter understands that Jesus makes a spiritual declaration. Peter understands what following Jesus now means. Peter says he will go to the death of Jesus. Jesus has said that these disciples cannot follow him now, but they will follow him in this manner later. They won’t give their lives now for Jesus. But they will later, after the resurrection. Peter is going to deny Jesus now but will follow Jesus to his death in the future. Here is the point: the disciples were not ready yet to follow Jesus all the way.

 

Conclusion

All people will know we are disciples of Jesus when we go all the way in self-denial. This is the only way to love. This is the love Jesus showed us. This is the love that is the new commandment to our lives. God is glorified when you love others like Jesus loved you. We will do this when we live in God and not for self. Go all the way giving your life completely to Jesus so that people will see Jesus in you.

Vaydak is an unusual Rahi: intelligent and tribal, a cunning hunter who takes trophies from the predators he kills. Tiryn is a perceptive little Matoran from Ko-Koro village who assists Vaydak in tracking his prey, hoping to keep the area safe from wilder creatures.

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If you appreciate Music it is a special privilege and an eye-opener for an inner perceptive action, and most possible a way of life.

 

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It’s unclear when Beethoven was actually born, but December 17th marks the 245th anniversary of his baptism.

 

Help Beethoven's unfortunate journey to the symphony hall by arranging his masterpieces in time for the big crescendo!

 

Even when you’re the preeminent musical genius of your generation, sometimes you just step in it. So begins Beethoven’s trip to the symphony hall in today’s musical puzzle, which Leon Hong created in collaboration with artist Nate Swinehart and engineers Jonathan Shneier and Jordan Thompson. It happens that our story isn’t much of a stretch in the broader context of Ludwig van Beethoven’s life, which saw more than its share of rotten luck.

  

17 December 2015

Celebrating Ludwig van Beethoven's 245th Year

  

www.google.com/doodles/celebrating-ludwig-van-beethovens-...

   

Johanna Schweizer's fiber chrochet sculpture "Androgyna".

Size: 60 x 18 x 9 cm, made 2008.

 

View from the current Strich & Faden art show at Kunstraum Richard Sorge in Berlin-Friedrichshain.

 

Johanna Schweizer (Netherlands):

 

Johanna Schweizer is often - lazily - described as the Dutch Louise Bourgeois. This may refer to the surrealist aspects of her work; her perseverance and consistent vision; or the long time it took for the world to catch up with her work.

 

After impressive presentations at Brutto Gusto fine_arts (Berlin), and her recent participation in the "Just Different" Queer-art exhibition in the Amsterdam Cobra Museum, the interest in Schweizer's oeuvre is now steadily growing.

 

The artist's extensive collection of crocheted fiber sculptures are made in the last six years. Both profound and witty, it has a wholly un-academic rootedness in contemporary life, alluding to a wide array of themes, from cross-genderness and cross-speciesness; to religious suffering and sexual ritual. Folkloric, pagan, and fairy tale elements are incorporated as well, the sensually playful and the deadly serious going hand in hand.

 

The artist has a Diane Arbus-like fascination for deformity and otherness, but leaves out the voyeurism. The colorful sculptures offer a perceptive, amused female view of male sexuality and chauvinism that is arguably unique in contemporary art.

 

From the exhibition "Strich & Faden - Heimat, Folk-art and Travesty" featuring: Ari Versluis & Ellie Uyttenbroek (Netherlands), Astrid Küver (Germany), Betty Stürmer (Germany), Cross stitch ninja (Sweden), Jn. Ulrick Désert (Germany/USA), Johanna Schweizer (Netherlands), Kathrin Schädlich (Portugal), Mumbleboy / Kinya Hanada (USA), René Schmalschläger (Netherlands), Sharon Pazner (Israel).

This series is of the Ruby Throated Hummingbirds that took up residence in and around my back yard and garden this past Summer.

I found it amazing how perceptive these little creatures are. They would fly rite up in front of me and hover when I would enter their space . I think to say please leave my space, or hover and feed within a few feet of were I sat or stood, but point a camera in their direction and poof they were gone. Still I have managed to get a few pics of them . here are a few of my favorites.

Late Mr KG Maheshwari began his morning chore one of them was his call to me and he would inquire about my health my diabetes and next he would inquire about my granddaughter Marziya ..he wanted me to bring her to Maheshwari house one day but that never happened .

It was late Prof BW Jatkar who introduced me to Maheshwariji at my camera club Photographic Society of India Mumbai.

We three were a kind of trinity as we jointly posted our entrys to national international salon.. I was a newbie between these two stalwarts a bot of their understanding of photography and a lot of their humility did rub of on me ,,,I never aspired to shoot like them it was like a sparrow trying to fly with falcons ,,,my style of point and shoot on a DSLR was different from their Art of Pre Mediated composing and reading understanding of light .

I simply shot with my eyes closed ..this is a powerful mystical metaphor I felt there was a genie in the camera with every shot he captured you ,, later I was given to understand it was the Third eye of Shiva that formulated your vision and photography most of all I was told not all photographers have the third eye of Shiva .

I do not like studio photography but gracefully became a model for my Guru Maheshwariji at his house ..my guru used a single light used bedsheets as reflectors a 50 yar old tripod and twin reflex lens medium format Mamiya 330 .

He would talk of the old masters founders of PSI anecdotes , his interaction with Mahatma Gandhiji who lived at Birla House ..my Guru was the son in law of the Birlas , he talked about Quit India movement he talked and I listened he was totally dependent on his beautiful wife his Marg darshan his crutch of life ..she was like a shadow that loomed nurtured his creativity .

Despite his poor health vertigo he came to my fashion studio I felicitated him he came to my son Asifs wedding ..we went to most events together Photofair or functions at our camera club.

He used to tell me if he Google searched KG Maheshwari it turned up with all my posts ..because I loved him immensely I was not worthy to be his disciple but I touched his feet and accepted him as my main Guru of photography .

He knew my genre was street photography religious feasts and occult ..but he never forced his views on me .

When he died I cried like a man who has lost everything ,,I collapsed such was the intensity of a pain I was wailing like a madman.

I miss his calls I miss his voice I was shattered by the loss of this great Guru and there will never be a Guru like him..

That he told his son Kamalbabu that I was a good perceptive street photographer is his blessings to me and my art as a photographer and as a poet .

This picture was shot by another great photographer Bhupesh C Little.

So every picture has a story but every story does not become picture perfect.

I must let you into a secret it is only Facebook or Twitter that make me voluptuously vocal adding depth to my fragmented creativity of shadowboxing with the restlessness of life and despair.

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Today however we have headed east of Cavendish Mews, down through St James’, around Trafalgar Square and up Charing Cross Road, where, near the corner of Great Newport Street, Lettice is visiting A. H. Mayhew’s*, a bookshop in the heart of London’s specialist and antiquarian bookseller district, patronised by her father, Viscount Wrexham. It is here that Lettice hopes to find the perfect present for her oldest and dearest childhood chum, Gerald Bruton. Gerald is also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. It will soon be his birthday, and Lettice is treating him to an evening at the Café Royal** in Regent Street. However, she also wants something less ephemeral than a glittering evening out to dinner for Gerald to look back on in the years ahead as he turns twenty-five. Knowing how much he loves books, but also knowing that any profits his fledgling atelier makes must be re-invested in his business rather than indulging in books, Lettice has settled upon acquiring a beautiful and unusual volume for him from amongst the many tomes housed in Mr. Mayhew’s bookshop.

 

As Lettice lingers out the front of Mr. Mayhew’s, enjoying the luxury of peering through his tall plate glass windows that proudly bear his name and advertise that he does purchase libraries of old books, knowing that whether she is lucky enough to spot the perfect gift in the window display or not, somewhere amidst the full shelves inside, there will be a wonderful book for Gerald. She releases a shuddering sigh from deep within her chest as she remembers the last time she peered through these self-same windows in October of 1923 when the book she hoped to find was to give to Selwyn as a birthday gift in an effort to further solidify her commitment to him in his eyes. Her plan was to give him the book she bought – a copy of a volume of John Nash’s*** architectural drawings including his designs for the Royal Pavilion built for the Prince Regent in Brighton, Marble Arch, Buckingham Palace – at private dinner that he had arranged for the two of them at the Savoy****. However, from there everything had gone awry. When Lettice arrived at the Savoy and was shown to the table for two Selwyn had reserved for them, she was confronted not with the smiling face of her beau, but the haughty and cruel spectre of his mother, the Duchess of Walmsford, Lady Zinnia. Lady Zinnia, and Selwyn’s Uncle Bertrand had been attempting to marry him off to his cousin, 1923 debutante Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lady Zinnia had, up until that moment been snubbing Lettice, so Selwyn and Lettice arranged for Lettice to attend as many London Season events that year as possible where Selwyn and Pamela were also in attendance so that Lettice and Selwyn could spend time together, and at the same time make their intentions so well known that Lady Zinnia wouldn’t be able to avoid Lettice any longer. What the pair hadn’t calculated for in their plans was that Lady Zinnia is a woman who likes intrigue and revenge, and the revenge she launched upon Lettice that evening at the Savoy was bitterly harsh and painful. With a cold and calculating smile Lady Zinna announced that she had packed Selwyn off to Durban in South Africa for a year. She made a pact with her son: if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with Lettice, if he comes back and doesn’t feel the same way about her as he did when he left, he agreed that he will marry Pamela, just as Bertrand and Lady Zinnia planned. If however, he still feels the same way about Lettice when he returns, Lady Zinnia agreed that she would concede and will allow him to marry her. The volumes in Mr. Mayhew’s window begin to shimmer and blur as tears begin to sting Lettice’s eyes and impair her vision.

 

“Still.” Lettice breathes bitterly as she allows her head to lower as she closes her eyes. “Still, I cannot think of Selwyn without wanting to cry.” she thinks. “What is wrong with me? Come on. Pull yourself together, girl. Don’t let Lady Zinnia win.”

 

She sniffs and sighs deeply, taking a few deep breaths as she slowly regains her composure. After a few minutes of standing in front of the shop’s window, appearing to all the passers-by to be just another keen window shopper, Lettice finally feels composed enough to enter the shop.

 

“You won’t get the better of me, Lady Zinnia,” she mutters through barred teeth. “And you won’t destroy my love of books, nor my love for my best friend.”

 

She walks up to the recessed door of the bookshop which she pushes open. A cheerful bell dings loudly above her head, announcing her presence. As the door closes behind her, it shuts out the general cacophony of noisy automobiles, chugging busses and passing shoppers’ conversations. The shop envelops her in a cozy muffled silence produced by the presence of so many shelves fully laden with the volumes of the past. She inhales deeply and savours the smell of dusty old books and pipe smoke, which comfort and assure her that she has come to a safe place that will assuage her damaged heart. The walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves, all full of books: thousands of volumes on so many subjects. Summer sunlight pours through the tall shop windows facing out to the street, highlighting the worn Persian and Turkish carpets whose hues, once so bright, vivid and exotic, have softened with exposure to the sunlight and any number of pairs of boots and shoes of customers, who like Lettice, searched Mayhew’s shelves for the perfect book to take away with them. Dust motes, something Lettice always associates with her father’s library in Wiltshire, dance blithely through beams of sunlight before disappearing without a trace into the shadows.

 

Lettice makes her way through the shop, wandering along its narrow aisles, reaching up to touch various Moroccan leather spines embossed with gilt lettering of titles and authors, until she nears the middle of the shop, where sitting at his desk before a small coal fire, smoking his pipe, sits the bespectacled proprietor, Mr. Mayhew, in his usual uniform of jacket, vest and bowtie, carefully cataloguing volumes he has acquired from a recent country house contents auction***** he attended in Buckinghamshire, his pipe hanging from his mouth, occasionally emitting puffs of acrid grey smoke as he works. The portly, balding gentleman is so wrapped up in his work that he does not notice Lettice as she walks up to his desk.

 

“Mr. Mayhew., how do you do” Lettice says, clearing her throat, her clipped tones slicing through the thick silence of the shop.

 

“Ahh,” Mr. Mayhew sighs with delight, puffing out another small cloud of pipe smoke as he realises who is standing before him. Removing the pipe from his mouth, he peers over the top of his gold rimmed spectacles. “Why if it isn’t my favourite Wiltshire reader herself.” He takes one final pleasurable puff of his pipe before reaching behind him and putting it aside on the pipe rack sitting precariously on the little coal fire’s narrow mantle shelf.

 

“I’m almost certain that you say that to every reader whom you know well, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice rolls her eyes and smiles indulgently.

 

“Not every reader I know well come from Wiltshire though, Miss Chetwynd” the old man remarks with a chuckle, lifting himself out of the comfort of the well worn chair behind his desk, wiping his hands down the front of his thick black barathea vest.

 

“You’re just like my Aunt Egg, complimentary, but with an air of mystery.”

 

“There is no mystery to me, Miss Chetwynd.” He reaches out and takes Lettice’s dainty glove clad hand and squeezes it. “I am like,” He chuckles lightly. “An open book as it were.” He sweeps his free hand expansively around him, indicating to all the tomes lining the shelves that hedge his cluttered workspace. “I will pay a compliment to any customer who takes the time to enter my shop, appreciate my books, and speak to me with politeness: especially when they are as pretty as you, Miss Chetwynd.” He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it.

 

“Oh, Mr. Mayhew!” Lettice laughs. “You speak such sweet, honeyed words.”

 

He gasps. “I do hope, Miss Chetwynd, that you don’t consider me to be as duplicitous as Richard III.” the old man says, picking up on Lettice’s literary Shakesperean reference******.

 

“Never, Mr. Mayhew!” Lettice exclaims

 

“Very good, Miss Chetwynd,” Mr. Mayhew replies. “I would hate for you to misjudge my motivations. I didn’t establish my little bookshop simply to make money. What a ludicrous idea that any shopkeeper would set up his establishment just to make money, when he can take equal measure of profit and pleasure from his endeavours. I have a great love of books, Miss Chetwynd, as I know you do too, my dear, both the written word and the engraving,” He waves his hands expansively at the floor to ceiling bookshelves around him, filled with hundreds of volumes on all manner of subjects. “As well you know.”

 

“Indeed Mr. Mayhew. I enjoy nothing more than spending time in my father’s library at Glynes, where more than one of your own volumes sits on his shelves.”

 

“And how is His Lordship, Miss Chetwynd? I sent him a beautiful 1811 calfskin vellum******* edition of Voltaire a few weeks ago with some lovely hand tinted engravings, a marbleised cover and colourful gilt bindings.”

 

“He is well, thank you Mr. Mayhew. I saw him just a few weeks ago, although it was only a fleeting visit, so he didn’t show me your volume of Voltaire.”

 

“A fleeting visit, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew queries. “What a pity you didn’t tarry longer with His Lordship. You must have him show you the Voltaire next time you go home to stay, Miss Chetwynd. Really it is rather lovely. It came to me after being sold at the second Stowe House Great Sale******** in 1921. I wanted to make sure it went to the right home, and I could think of no-one better than your father to be its custodian.”

 

“I have no doubt that it is, Mr. Mayhew. However, this time I went to Wiltshire not for pleasure, but to meet a gentleman who wishes to have a room redecorated as a surprise for his wife.”

 

“So, your interior design business is going well then, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew queries.

 

“It is indeed, Mr. Mayhew,” Lettice affirms. “Perhaps more successful than I had ever dreamed.”

 

“Well, that is splendid news, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew purrs rubbing his hands together. “And will you be accepting this gentleman’s commission.”

 

“Perhaps against my better judgement, I am, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice admits.

 

“Against your better judgement, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“Well,” Lettice sighs. “The lady for whom this gentleman wants the room designed is his wife, and she is currently redecorating many other parts of the house. I am concerned that she won’t appreciate an interloper like me coming in and enforcing my designs upon her home. However, Mr. Gifford, the gentleman, assured me that if his wife doesn’t like it, he will accept any and all blame. So, in spite of my misgivings, I have accepted. Like Richard III, Mr. Gifford wooed me with his honeyed words.” Lettice sighs again. “In addition, he is the godson of Henry Tipping********* who has promised me a favourable review in Country Life********** if Mrs. Gifford likes the room.”

 

“Splendid! Splendid!” Mr. Mayhew says comfortingly. “We all have doubts and misgivings sometimes, Miss Chetwynd, however it sounds like a reasonable gamble.”

 

“I do hope you are right, Mr. Mayhew.”

 

“Now, what is it that I can entice you to add to your bookshelves today, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew steps out from behind his cluttered desk and speaks as he moves. “Something to help inspire you with this fraught new commission, perhaps?”

 

“Oh, that is a lovely idea, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies. “However, it isn’t me that I’ve come looking for a book for.”

 

“Then to what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“I want something for my friend, Mr. Bruton, Mr. Mayhew.”

 

“The costumier?” Mr. Mayhew queries.

 

“The couturier.” Lettice corrects the bookseller.

 

“Of course, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“He turns twenty-five next week, and I would like to find him a beautiful book on fashion for him to enjoy.”

 

“Oh.” Mr. Mayhew utters with a mixture of disappointment and concern. “Well, I’m afraid that I don’t have anything contemporary, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“Oh, I don’t want something contemporary, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice assures him. “Rather I want something that is beautifully illustrated that he might enjoy.”

 

“Well, in that case, Miss Chetwynd, I may have some things that might suit your friend Mr. Bruton. I just hope that I shan’t disappoint you, my dear Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew returns her smile.

 

“You never disappoint me, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice counters. “But you never cease to surprise me, either.” she adds with the heavy implication that she hopes he can find for her the perfect birthday present for Gerald.

 

As if she has uttered magic words to strike the old bookseller into action, Mr. Mayhew’s face animates. “Then let Mayhew’s not let you down today, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

Mr. Mayhew picks up his spectacles and puts them on the bridge of his nose again before looking around him, squinting as he considers what buried treasures are hidden amidst the tomes on the shelves in the darkened, cosy interior of his bookshop. As a proprietor who knows his stock well – almost like one would know a family – he says, “I think I might have just the thing. Please, take a seat, Miss Chetwynd.” He indicates to the chair on the opposite side of the desk to his own. “If I may beg your indulgence, I won’t be too long.”

 

“You may, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies.

 

The bookseller makes a small bow before he bustles off, disappearing amidst the bookshelves.

 

Lettice initially perches herself on the edge of the rather hard Arts and Crafts wooden seat and peruses Mr. Mayhew’s cluttered desk which is piled with old leather volumes, some of which speak of times long ago with their worn covers and aged pages. Then she spies a book of beautiful rose prints standing open on top of the ornate mahogany bookshelf to the left of the fireplace. Standing up, she walks over to it and gently begins turning the pages, admiring the beautiful engraved*********** illustrations.

 

“That’s a very fine copy of Redouté’s*********** Roses from the 1820s with beautiful stipple engravings************. You have exquisite taste, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew says as he returns with several volumes in his arms.

 

“Then it is my mother who has good taste, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies. “I was just admiring it because I know my mother has a copy of this book in the morning room at Glynes. I think my father is a little jealous of her having it.”

 

“I would be too, Miss Chetwynd.” the old bookseller remarks as he slips the volumes with a soft thud atop the other closed books on his desk. “Now! Here we are!” Mr. Mayhew indicates to the books he has come back with. “Hopefully there is something here that Mr. Bruton will like.”

 

Lettice returns to her seat, whilst Mr. Mayhew also returns to his behind the desk. He hands her a large but slender volume with a rust coloured cover. Lettice reads on its cover in bold black printed typeface that it is a catalogue of ladies’ shoes from historical times to the present.

 

“It’s from the early 1810s, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew says proudly. “Around the time our beloved Miss Auten penned Sense and Sensibility, so even though it speaks of history in the title, the volume itself has become a part of history.”

 

Lettice murmurs her own delight as she turns the pages and looks at beautiful engravings of dainty shoes with fine court heels: each illustration clearly showing even the finest of details of each shoe. The illustrations are arranged in colours and dates, with three slippers illustrated on every page. “Delightful!” Lettice opines.

 

“Then there is this.” Mr. Mayhew holds out another volume, this time with an aquamarine coloured cover.

 

“Revue des Chapeaux,” Lettice reads.

 

“Published during the war, this book’s pages review in brilliant pictorial detail, millinery styles between 1913 and 1917.” Mr. Mayhew says with a sigh. “The photographs really are quite stylish, as is the presentation.”

 

Lettice turns the pages, admiring the images showing each hat usually contained, but occasionally stretching out of, a circle. The black and white photographs have been partially tinted before being printed to draw attention to some of the elegant ruffles and soft fabric roses of each hat. Lettice chuckles to herself as she spies a royal blue hat with a brim significantly smaller than some of the voluminous hats her mother wore before the war, the hat’s crown dominated by a bunch of pink hyacinths. “I used to have a hat similar to this.” Lettice muses, patting her own green cloche hat self-consciously as she does, as if distracted enough to believe that she is still wearing the old fashioned pre-war hat with its whimsical bouquet of flowers sticking from it.

 

“Did you indeed, Miss Chetwynd?” Mr. Mayhew purrs.

 

“Yes.” Lettice replies, suddenly snapping out of her reverie. “I think this one, however lovely, is perhaps not quite to Gerald’s taste.”

 

“Very well Miss Chetwynd.” the bookseller says obsequiously, withdrawing the offending volume. “As you wish.” He then fumbles a little as he takes a rather thin catalogue from beneath a much larger volume. He looks carefully at Lettice before asking, “You won’t be offended by a German volume, will you?”

 

Lettice laughs. “Good heavens, no, Mr, Mayhew! You sell my father antiquarian versions of Gothe*************! As his daughter, how could I possibly be offended?”

 

“No, of course not, Miss Chetwynd. Well,” Mr. Mayhew says rather awkwardly. “Will Mr. Bruton take offence?”

 

“I doubt it, Mr. Mayhew.” Lettice replies.

 

“That’s good, because in the years of anti-German sentiment of the war, after the Lusitania’s sinking**************, I had to hide this beautiful catalogue, along with quite a number of other books which I have only just recently started returning to my post-war shelves.”

 

Lettice takes the Victorian catalogue from Mr. Mayhew’s hands and opens it.

 

“It is a catalogue of coats, furs and blouses from 1898 from a Berlin manufacturer.”

 

She flips through the fine pages beautifully illustrated with chromolithographs***************. Ladies with synched waists and protruding bosoms thanks to the influence of S-bend corsets**************** wearing feather and flower adorned hats and bonnets, show off fur tippets*****************, automobiling coats and jackets with leg-o’-mutton sleeves******************. “Beautiful!” Lettice murmurs with admiration, running her hand over one mode of a woman in a coat of deep violet with fur lapels.

 

“I thought you might like that one, Miss Chetwynd.” Mr. Mayhew says proudly. “Of course, I only show this to a very small selection of privileged clients whom I think may be interested in it.”

 

“Well thank you, Mr, Mayhew.” Lettice replies with satisfaction. “I’m most grateful you did. I think this will do nicely for Gerald.”

 

“But wait, Miss Chetwynd. I do have one more volume to show you.” He holds up a very large buff coloured volume before handing it to Lettice. “It’s not marked, but this is a volume of Art Nouveau jewellery from Paris.”

 

Lettice gasps as she turns the pages of the volume in her lap as the sinuous, feminine lines of art nouveau appear in image after image in the shape of combs and pins, necklaces, cufflinks, brooches, cravat pins, hairpins, bracelets, hatpins and tiaras: fabulous creations made of gold, silver and platinum, studded with precious and semi-precious stones. Mr. Mayhew smiles and nods as he looks at Lettice’s transfixed face.

 

“For all his love of modernity, Gerald does have a rather silly soft spot for Art Nouveau.” Lettice utters.

 

“Then might I recommend that volume, Miss Chetwynd?”

 

“Mr. Mayhew, yet again you never cease to amaze me with what you have within your shop. I think you have just found me, the perfect birthday gift for Gerald.”

 

“Splendid, Miss Chetwynd! Splendid!” Mr. Mayhew claps. “I’ll return the others then.”

 

As he begins gather up the books, Lettice adds, “I’ll take the German catalogue too.” She smiles. “It seems a shame for it to remain hidden away. I’ll give it to Gerald for Christmas!”

 

“Very good, Miss Chetwynd.” the old bookseller acknowledges.

 

As he returns from having put the other two volumes back on the shelves from where they came, Mr. Mayhew asks Lettice, “By the way, Miss Chetwynd, I meant to ask you how your young aspiring architect liked the volume of John Nash’s architectural drawings you bought him?”

 

Lettice’s face, so bright and flushed with colour, suddenly drains and falls.

 

“Oh dear!” Mr, Mayhew gasps, putting his pudgy fingers to his mouth. “Did I just drop a social briquette, my dear Miss Chetwynd?”

 

Quickly recovering herself, Lettice blusters with false joviality, “No! No, Mr. Mayhew! Not at all!”

 

“However?” the old man asks, indicating for Lettice to go on with her unspoken statement.

 

“Well,” Lettice continues. “It’s just, I don’t actually know whether he liked it or not.” Remembering the book wrapped up gaily in bright paper and decorated with a satin ribbon left abandoned on her seat at the Savoy, she continues, “Things didn’t quite eventuate the way we’d planned for my friend’s birthday. He had to leave England quite unexpectedly, and I didn’t see him that night.” She pauses. “He… he’s gone to Durban for a year or so.”

 

“Oh.” Mr. Mayhew exclaims, shocked by her statement, knowing what he does about Lettice’s attachment to Selwyn. “But he will be back, Miss Chetwynd?” He returns to his seat behind the desk and reaches for his pipe. Striking a match, he lights it and puffs away with concern on it as he looks to Lettice.

 

Lettice doesn’t reply straight away, watching the bookseller looking her earnestly in the face, awaiting a response. “I hope so.” When Mr. Mayhew’s face falls, she quickly adds, “Of course! Of course he will return, Mr. Mayhew! Of course!” She cannot countenance losing her steely resolve and breaking down in tears in Mr. Mayhew’s bookshop.

 

Sensing Lettice’s unhappiness and awkwardness, Mr. Mayhew quickly pipes up, “Well, you can give it to him when he returns, Miss Chetwynd.” He begins fumbling through the pile of books he had been cataloguing before Lettice’s arrival. “That’s the good thing about books,” he says as he rifles through the marbleised volumes with leather spines. “Unlike cakes and chocolate, they will keep.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice breathes, sighing with relief at Mr. Mayhew’s perceptiveness and kindness. “You’re quite right.”

 

“Aha!” Mr. Mayhew withdraws a volume from the pile. “Here it is.” He hands it to Lettice. “Have you ever read this?”

 

“Jane Eyre.” Lettice reads from the gilded letters on the spine. “No, Mr. Mayhew. I don’t think I’ve ever read anything by the Brontë sisters.”

 

“Tut-tut, Miss Chetwynd!” Mr. Mayhew admonishes her teasingly. “You don’t know what literary treasures you have been missing out on all these years of your young life. Start with Miss Eyre. Take it from me as a gift.” He smiles.

 

“Oh, but Mr. Mayhew!” Lettice exclaims.

 

“Take it!” he sweeps her protestations aside. “I have plenty of other volumes of it on my shelves. It was just part of this lot, and I wanted it for the seven 1811 volumes of The History of Charles Grandison*******************.”

 

“But Mr. Mayhew…”

 

“You’ll be doing me a favour, Miss Chetwynd.” he assures her. “Really you will.”

 

Lettice turns the pretty volume over in her hands.

 

“Besides, I think you may just find Miss Eyre to be a little bit of an inspiration for you, Miss Chetwynd.”

 

“How so, Mr, Mayhew?”

 

“Well, Jane Eyre came to know a lot about the vicissitudes of life.”

 

*A. H. Mayhew was once one of many bookshops located in London’s Charring Cross Road, an area still famous today for its bookshops, perhaps most famously written about by American authoress Helene Hanff who wrote ’84, Charing Cross Road’, which later became a play and then a 1987 film starring Anne Bancroft and Anthony Hopkins. Number 56. Charing Cross Road was the home of Mayhew’s second-hand and rare bookshop. Closed after the war, their premises is now the home of Any Amount of Books bookshop.

 

**The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.

 

***John Nash (18 January 1752 – 13 May 1835) was one of the foremost British architects of the Georgian and Regency eras, during which he was responsible for the design, in the neoclassical and picturesque styles, of many important areas of London. His designs were financed by the Prince Regent and by the era's most successful property developer, James Burton. Nash also collaborated extensively with Burton's son, Decimus Burton.

 

****The Savoy Hotel is a luxury hotel located in the Strand in the City of Westminster in central London. Built by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte with profits from his Gilbert and Sullivan opera productions, it opened on 6 August 1889. It was the first in the Savoy group of hotels and restaurants owned by Carte's family for over a century. The Savoy was the first hotel in Britain to introduce electric lights throughout the building, electric lifts, bathrooms in most of the lavishly furnished rooms, constant hot and cold running water and many other innovations. Carte hired César Ritz as manager and Auguste Escoffier as chef de cuisine; they established an unprecedented standard of quality in hotel service, entertainment and elegant dining, attracting royalty and other rich and powerful guests and diners. The hotel became Carte's most successful venture. Its bands, Savoy Orpheans and the Savoy Havana Band, became famous. Winston Churchill often took his cabinet to lunch at the hotel. The hotel is now managed by Fairmont Hotels and Resorts. It has been called "London's most famous hotel". It has two hundred and sixty seven guest rooms and panoramic views of the River Thames across Savoy Place and the Thames Embankment. The hotel is a Grade II listed building.

 

*****British and Irish country house contents auctions are usually held on site at the country house, and have been used to raise funds for their owners, usually before selling the house and estate. Such auctions include the sale of high quality antique paintings, furniture, objets d'art, tapestries, books, and other household items. Whilst auctions of estates was nothing new, by 1924 when this story is set, the sun was already setting on the glory days of the country house, and landed gentry who were asset rich but cash poor began selling off properties and their contents to pay for increased rates of income tax and death duties.

 

******In Shakespeare’s Richard III, after killing her first husband, Richard pursues Lady Anne, charming her and wearing her down until the mourning widow finally agrees to may him, only to discover that his charms are all a farce, and that in reality, he despises her, and thinks of her as mothing more than a trophy won, and to them be discarded. She opines to Queen Elizabeth:

“Even in so short a space, my woman's heart

Grossly grew captive to his honey words

And proved the subject of my own soul's curse,

Which ever since hath kept my eyes from rest;

For never yet one hour in his bed

Have I enjoy'd the golden dew of sleep,

But have been waked by his timorous dreams.”

 

*******Vellum is prepared animal skin or membrane, typically used as writing material. It is often distinguished from parchment, either by being made from calfskin, or simply by being of a higher quality. Vellum is prepared for writing and printing on single pages, scrolls, and codices.

 

********Stowe House is a grade I listed country house in Stowe, Buckinghamshire, England. It is the home of the private Stowe School and is owned by the Stowe House Preservation Trust. Over the years, it has been restored and maintained as one of the finest country houses in the UK. Stowe House is regularly open to the public. The house is the result of four main periods of development. Between 1677 and 1683, the architect William Cleare was commissioned by Sir Richard Temple to build the central block of the house. This building was four floors high, including the basement and attics and thirteen bays in length. From the 1720s to 1733, under Viscount Cobham, additions to the house included the Ionic North colonnaded portico by Sir John Vanburgh, as well as the re-building of the north, east and west fronts. The exterior of the house has not been significantly changed since 1779, although in the first decade of the Nineteenth Century, the Egyptian Hall was added beneath the North Portico as a secondary entrance. The house contained not one but three major libraries. Held by the aristocratic Grenville-Temple family since 1677, Reverend Luis C.F.T. Morgan-Grenville inherited Stowe House from his brother Richard G. Morgan-Grenville who died fighting at Ploegsteert Wood during the Great War in 1914. The Reverend sold Stowe House and most of its contents in 1921. The second Great Sale in October 1921, in which 3,700 lots were sold by Jackson-Stop Auctioneers.

 

*********Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

 

**********Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

************Pierre-Joseph Redouté (1759 – 1840), was a painter and botanist from Belgium, known for his watercolours of roses, lilies and other flowers at the Château de Malmaison, many of which were published as large coloured stipple engravings. He was nicknamed "the Raphael of flowers" and has been called the greatest botanical illustrator of all time

 

************Stipple engraving is a technique perfected by Pierre Joseph Redouté which helped him reproduce his botanical illustrations. The medium involved engraving a copper plate with a dense grid of dots that could be modulated to convey delicate gradations of colour. Because the ink rested on the paper in miniscule dots, it did not obscure the “light” of the paper beneath the colour. After the complicated printing process was complete, the prints were hand finished in watercolour to conform to the models Redouté provided.

 

*************Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 – 1832) was a German polymath and writer, who is widely regarded as the greatest and most influential writer in the German language. His work has had a profound and wide-ranging influence on Western literary, political, and philosophical thought from the late Eighteenth Century to the present day. Goethe was a German poet, playwright, novelist, scientist, statesman, theatre director, and critic. His works include plays, poetry and aesthetic criticism, as well as treatises on botany, anatomy, and colour.

 

*************Following the torpedoing and subsequent sinking of the British Cunard passenger liner RSM Lusitania by a German submarine (U-boat) in 1915, resulting in the loss of 1,195 deaths including many women and children, there was a wave of anti-German sentiment throughout Britain. Mobs of angry people stormed through the streets of British cities, hurling bricks through the windows of shops and restaurants with German sounding names, stealing merchandise in some cases, setting fires in others. Hotels refused rooms to people with Germanic names like Muller or Schultz, even when they could produce documents proving their British citizenship. Homes were ransacked and people driven from them, cars were vandalised, music by Mozart, Strauss and other German composers banned, German books destroyed, bottles of German Mosel smashed and according to more than one report of the day – a few mentally deficient patriots did their bit for the cause by chasing poor dachshunds down the street kicking them, or killing them!

 

***************Chromolithography is a method for making multi-colour prints. This type of colour printing stemmed from the process of lithography, and includes all types of lithography that are printed in colour. When chromolithography is used to reproduce photographs, the term photochrome is frequently used.

 

****************Created by a specific style of corset popular between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the outbreak of the Great War, the S-bend is characterized by a rounded, forward leaning torso with hips pushed back. This shape earned the silhouette its name; in profile, it looks similar to a tilted letter S.

 

*****************A tippet is a piece of clothing worn over the shoulders in the shape of a scarf or cape. Tippets evolved in the fourteenth century from long sleeves and typically had one end hanging down to the knees. By the 1920s, tippets were usually made of fox, mink or other types of fur.

 

******************A leg-o’-mutton sleeve (also known in French as the gigot sleeve) was initially named due to its unusual shape: formed from a voluminous gathering of fabric at the upper arm that tapers to a tight fit from the elbow to the wrist. First seen in fashionable dress in the 1820s, the sleeve became popular between approximately 1825 and 1833 – but by the time Queen Victoria ascended to the throne in 1837, the overblown sleeves had completely disappeared in favour of a more subdued style. The trend returned in the 1890s, with sleeves growing in size – much to the ridicule of the media – until 1906 when the mode once again changed.

 

*******************The History of Sir Charles Grandison, commonly called Sir Charles Grandison, is an epistolary novel by English writer Samuel Richardson first published in February 1753. The book was a response to Henry Fielding's The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, which parodied the morals presented in Richardson's previous novels.

 

This dark, cosy and slightly cluttered bookshop may appear real to you, but it is in fact made up of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

All the books that you see lining the shelves of Mr. Mayhew’s bookshop are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. So too are all the books you see both open and closed on Mr. Mayhew’s desk. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. Therefore, it is a pleasure to give you a glimpse inside five of the books he has made. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into this volume and the others, the books contain dozens of double sided pages of images and writing. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. For example, published in 1917, “Revue des Chapeaux” (the book at the front on the right) reviews in brilliant pictorial detail, millinery styles between 1913 and 1917. The pages shown in my photo may be seen photographed from the actual book and uploaded to Flickr in these two links: here ( www.flickr.com/photos/taffeta/7062767671/in/album-7215762... ) and here ( www.flickr.com/photos/taffeta/7062758273/in/album-7215762... ). The other books are also real books, including the catalogue of historical ladies’ shoes from 1812, the French book of Art Nouveau jewellery and metalwork design, the jacket catalogue from a Berlin manufacturer and the copy of Les Roses (1824) by Pierre-Joseph Redouté in the background to the upper left-hand corner of the photograph. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter. I hope that you enjoy this peek at just a few of hundreds of his books that I own, and that it makes you smile with its sheer whimsy!

 

Also on the desk beneath the books are some old papers and a desk calendar which I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The Chippendale desk itself is made by Bespaq, and it has a mahogany stain and the design is taken from a real Chippendale desk. Its surface is covered in red dioxide red dioxide leather with a gilt trim. Bespaq is a high-end miniature furniture maker with high attention to detail and quality.

 

The photos you can see in the background, all of which are all real photos, are produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames are from various suppliers, but all are metal.

 

The aspidistra in the blue jardiniere that can just be seen to the right of the fireplace in the background, the pipe and pipe stand, and the map also came from Kathleen Knight’s Dollhouse Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The gold flocked Edwardian wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.