Friday, May 17, 2019

COTTONWOOD SHOP REFIT ~ 2nd Week ~ Grafting Requires Persistence

Week Two started with us a few days ahead of the planned schedule. Painting the walls with Farrow & Ball Pavilion Grey No242 began to give a better feel for the shop as a space. The interior paintwork has a fiddly detailed door and window structure, proving quite a job and a half. Endeavouring to cover its dark green paintwork required two coats of undercoat before glossing could even commence. We laid laminate flooring in and under the window. Lighting strips were installed for us. All bar one of our orders placed in Harrogate arrived and they all look as good as we remembered. I made a cover to hide some rather ugly meters which is now referred to as 'The Monolith'. Its been hard graft after hard graft, with us sleep deprived but indominatable. We finished the week with a day of clearing up and cleaning as next week the shop fittings start arriving. Woo woo!














































Blue masking removed from windows

Stage One
Stage Two

Stage Three



















The Monolith

Tuesday, May 07, 2019

COTTONWOOD SHOP REFIT - 1st Week ~ The Removal of Ghastly Things

The refit of our new shop in The Courtyard, Sheringham is progressing well. We are ahead of our planned timescale. We started painting walls at the end of last week before the May Bank Holiday. After removing dozens of raw plugs, filling in the holes and removing a ghastly strip of wallpaper, we have spent ages getting the walls to be an even tone of white. Plus acquiring neck ache.










Colour swatch for new wall colour

Saturday, May 04, 2019

FEATURE 144 ~ Our Lady Of Walsingham

I keep returning to Walsingham, and to the figure of Our Lady Of Walsingham. The figure possess an allure for me I cannot totally fathom, a mysterious addiction that appears to get no easier to understand with repetition. I've been experimenting with visualising the figure whilst in meditation, which does appear to softly stir the emotions. I am intrigued. 



CARROT CAKE REVIEW 15 - A White Oil Slick Fights Back

Matlock Bath, Derbyshire.






















As if the giddy exhilaration of the cable cars lifting you up from the River Derwent really wasn't enough. You then take a tour down into to the dark murky and damp depths of the Masson Cavern. Bang your head a few times on your way to view the remains of the candlelit work of generations of lead miners hundreds of feet beneath the ground.  Could it be possible to match or exalt this heaven then hell experience on the confectionery level, with a humble carrot cake? 

As you take in the stunning views of the valley beneath you from the modern airy cafe you could be forgiven for believing you're perched on a white fluffy cloud observing what fools these mortals be. But nothing can bring you hurtling back down to earth on a stiflingly hot Easter Weekend, quicker than a half arsed carrot cake with a latte chaser.

Admittedly the latte was in a tall glass, not the cup and saucer of an ignoramus. Someone who believes a latte is the identical twin of a cappuccino, but served in different crockery, should be sent back to barista school for moral correction. Choosing the correct cup is, even then, no guarantee, nor a saving grace for a feeble latte, which however milky, tastes dry and powdery on the palate. Someone burnt the milk in their haste.

Finally we come to the carrot cake. Was it below or above average? Recollecting it now I'm hard pressed to come down with a favourable thing to say about it. If this were a heavily overweight man, who on a day where the temperature frequently exceeded twenty six degrees centigrade, had just walked up the steep hills from the river rather than fork out for the cable car, he couldn't have ended up more sweaty than this cake. Straight out of the chiller and into the sultry atmosphere of a cafe on heat, what do you expect Vidyavajra? Well, they could allow it acclimatise and catch its breath.

To my experienced eye the layered quality of a carrot cake was evident, the texture on the mouth had at least the feeling of carroty strands. But what the hell has happened here? There was hardly any discernible carrot flavour. As is quite usual with such poor quality carrot cakes this was semi drowned in the spice mix, this time with nuggets of nuts floating about in it. Regular readers should know my mantra by now so I don't really need to say it yet again, do I? I do? A Spice Cake Is Not a Carrot Cake! There its done now, with a delicious exclamation mark for added emphasis. A good carrot cake will be moist but if this moistness veers into a frankly doughy consistency, it becomes the epitome of claggy. Was it undercooked or recently defrosted, most probably both. 

So to that frosting, apart from doing a passable imitation of an white oil slick, it was really really sweet but in a profoundly artificial way. It had a chemical after taste, as though someone had a slip of the hand with the saccharin drops. But it was stiff and sturdy, thankfully, it was not the slippery companion to that sweaty surface sheen. Also they'd rendered the outer edges with a gravel of chopped nuts, which though these enhanced the textural experience during mastication. added little to the overall flavour. Well, at least it had a walnut to decorate its top. There, I found something eventually I really appreciated about it - a walnut.

CARROT CAKE SCORE  - 3/8




Tuesday, April 23, 2019

ARTICLE ~ The Brexit Creed

We believe in the one true Brexit,
the Farage is almighty,
maker of Us and Them,
of all things risible and divisible.

We believe in one Almighty Boris,
the Only Begotten Son of Brexit,
born of the Farage which he has conveniently forgotten.
Brexit means Brexit,
Leave means Leave,
A Hard Brexit is the True Brexit,
begotten, not negotiated, endorsed by the Farage
As through him all things are made.
For the democratically deficient, for their salvation
Boris came down to us from America
And via the Holy Gove was incarnate of the Virgin May,
and became Foreign Secretary.
For our sake he was crucified with accountability,
he suffered death and was buried,
and rose again on the third day
in accordance with the Deadlock.
Ascended unto heaven
and is seated upon the right hand of Farage.
They will come again in glory
to rule over the doubters and remainers
For their vanity hath no end.

We believe in the Holy Grail, the Sovereignty,
the bringer back of control,
that proceeds from the Farage and the Boris,
that with the Farage and the Boris it is adored and glorified,
endorsed through the divine oracle of the Daily Mail.

We believe in the one, whole and undiluted Brexit.
A baptism of fire for remainers and compromisers, sinners in word and deed
We have faith in the resurrection of the Empire
the land of milk and honey, in England's right place and true entitlement on earth .

Amen.

Friday, April 19, 2019

WHAT MAKES A MAN A MAN ~ Part 2 ~ Putting The Con In Confidence.

In this photograph I'm with my Dad and though 12 years old I'm getting to be almost as tall as him. This snap was taken no doubt as a result of my Mother instructing my Father to get his camera out so someone could capture how smart she's badgered me into dressing. This level of control over my outward appearance would diminish over the ensuing teenage years. Yet here I am, on the cusp of that crucial period in 1969, with this nervous self-conscious aura surrounding me. The side parting, the floppy fringe that would often grow long enough to partially obscure me from view, my hands anxiously gripping onto each other. A boy/man, insecure about who he is or what he will become. As puberty and sexual orientation finally hits, a secretive side develops, something to really focus the status anxiety upon.

Teenage years, whatever the gender orientation, are for exploration and self-discovery in a succession of short lived but all consuming enthusiasms. Men tend to define themselves through the things that they do in preference to the more opaque mystery of who they are, and believe personal success in real life comes through focused single minded activity. I wondered at the time where any of my experimental ventures might lead - 'is this who I'll become, or is it this. or this, or this?  The possibilities and prospects were, imaginatively at least, wide open. Yet I remember affecting a vague indifference about what my ambitions were, to disguise the conflicted views I held over what my actual desires were. The future was left as just this dreamy bubble, with a fear filled crust of the unknown forming around it. This forged psychological barriers and all variety of confidence sapping monsters to rise up into my mind.  These sort of things you can spend years trying to expunge.

I was never the all conquering self-confident Alpha Male. But at that age I admired such men, or was it lusted after?  Well, it was just the Six Million Dollar Man actually. I desperately wanted to attain whatever it was he was portrayed as having - the strength, the stubble, the pumped up hairy chest, the whole assertive swagger and style of him. What I didn't know then was that Alpha Males have developed a way of sounding confident, to always know the best thing to do, to appear as the fount of all truth. Whilst in reality the substance to back it up could be somewhat lacking. It takes a while for you to realise that these men are just confidence tricksters, with an 'I take no bullshit' persona , a thuggish quality, that keeps everyone else in a position of awe. Assertive arrogance gets easily mistaken for self-confidence.The Six Million Dollar Man was not a full or real man. He was part cyborg, cold and emotionally removed which its worth noting is what enables him to always know whats best to do.

Confidence and self esteem are acquired traits, unlikely to be an expression of your gene legacy. No one pops out of their Mother confident, it's more usual for it to be nurtured in you by them. Who your parents are, your upbringing, wealth, class expectations, public or private education, has an awful lot to do with it. Given the right circumstances its easier to build self-confidence. You may not have the required talent and skills for a job, but you're able to talk as if you have. To charm a picture of your potential into the eyes of others. My parents were both kind, honest, straight forward people though they didn't have huge amounts of social self- confidence to pass on, keeping what ambitions they had to the smaller scale and manageable. All dreams were heavily tempered by the practicalities of what was thought to be 'realistic'. What my teenage self understood was that as a man I would be measured according to my level of self-confidence, irrespective of whether that was faked or not. This is the male confidence trick. Another bit of the presentational armour men seem required to wear.

Multi-millionaires have found a way to feel potent as a man through business success. Their wives, when they are on show, appear on the surface at least to tolerate being paraded as arm candy. However, these sort of men are not renowned for being gentlemen of great moral integrity or exemplary role models for future generations of men to emulate. They often get what they want by being willing to ride roughshod over anything and anyone that stands in their way, whether that's trading regulations, governments, employee well being, climate change, moral qualms or adherence to the truth. Your Elon Musk, Mike Ashley, Rupert Murdoch, Donald Trump, Phillip Greene, Jeff Bezos, Mark Zuckerberg, are all successful men behaving badly, whose indiscretions, missteps and violations are too readily treated as just 'so inimitably them.' These 'confidence trickster men' develop an erroneous sense of their own superiority that appears to put them beyond effective constraint or censure. The big dosh of big dickheads trashing all attempts to restrain them.

The egoic impulses to be competitive, exert power, be ambitious and accumulate huge wealth, are presented as the inevitable outcome for men who possess self-assertive confidence. Research has indicated that successful directors of multinational companies often share dominant psychological traits with those of a psychopath. Male behaviour in general and hence success in business could then be, at least in part, driven by the absence or weakness of perceived limits on behaviour. Men often contain within themselves the unfortunate conjunction of a narrow emotional range of expression with a moral compass that is fragile, faulty or broken.  This enfeebled ability to recognise and respect moral boundaries finds expression all the way down the line of male hierarchy via masculine toxic behaviour, the many oppressions, violations and rapes of people and places, at all levels and classes of society  The paramount need for self-assertion, often couched in terms of their free will or free speech, over respect for other people, civilised society, collective needs and responsibilities. This manifests even in 'the small rebellions of little men', those minor infringements of civil and social norms that are transformed into these totemic expressions of liberty, that are in reality a desperate need for power over an existentially powerless situation.  Its like sticking two fingers up to the wind.

I didn't understand then how anyone became self-confident. You certainly couldn't buy it mail order. I learnt slowly through life, through experimentation, my own mistaken notions, the determination to not fail as a man and the suffering that followed when I felt I had. Pain acting as a harsh truth teacher. I think I've got a better grasp now on what causes a more authentic self-confidence to develop - mainly it comes down to a genuine self-knowledge - knowing what your values are and living by them, what provides purpose and meaning for you, doing the things you love doing, caring for the welfare others as well as your own, keeping an honest and balanced appreciation of what you are good and not good at. the relative strengths and weaknesses of the person you have become - and finally just being fine with all of that. These form a securer foundations for who you are. Most of these are learnt from reflecting and learning from your life experience. What makes a man a man is never about how confidently you wave your big dick around, that serves only to demonstrate how unformed and infantile your sense of yourself is. Self assertion is a lot lot subtler than that.

Things changed in me overtime, but some aspects stubbornly did not. You need to acknowledge that this shadow side exists too, without guilt and with a degree of humility. To resist punishing yourself for the intransigence of perceived character flaws. Living in the shadow of comparisons with other men can be a painful state. Trying to match up to the fake masculine ideal and its prevailing culture of manhood, that this was what you should to be like, but are not, can leave you feeling as though you are constantly failing. Once I could begin to drop these sort of pernicious ideas it was something of a relief, because a large amount of the angst left with them. I could discover a way to relax into my own skin. Become more confident in finding my own way of being a man. Based on an individually authentic and more truthful form of self-confidence.




ARTWORK ARCHIVE 2019 ~ Recent Work

It started out with just messing around with some old bits of distressed painted palletwood, but ended up with an interesting mixed media collage of wood with worked tin and air dried ceramic elements thrown in for good measure. This could well be the start of something.

Sunday, April 07, 2019

DEMOCRATIC DEMENTIA ~ The Early Symptoms

The most common early symptoms of democratic dementia are:

Memory loss
Declining memory, especially short-term memory, is the most common early symptom of democratic dementia. People with ordinary forgetfulness can still remember other facts associated with the thing they have forgotten. For example, they may briefly forget their next-door neighbour's name but they still know the person they are talking to is their next-door neighbour. A person with democratic dementia will not only forget their neighbour's name but also the context.

Difficulty performing familiar tasks
People with democratic dementia often find it hard to complete everyday tasks that are so familiar we usually do not think about how to do them. A person with democratic dementia may not know in what order to put clothes on or the steps for preparing a meal.

Problems with language
Occasionally everyone has trouble finding the right word but a person with democratic dementia often forgets simple words or substitutes unusual words, making speech or writing hard to understand.

Disorientation to time and place
We sometimes forget the day of the week or where we are going but people with democratic dementia can become lost in familiar places such as the road they live in, forget where they are or how they got there, and not know how to get back home. A person with democratic dementia may also confuse night and day.

Poor or decreased judgement
People with democratic dementia may dress inappropriately, wearing several layers of clothes on a warm day or very few on a cold day.

Problems with keeping track of things
A person with democratic dementia may find it difficult to follow a conversation or keep up with paying their bills.

Misplacing things
Anyone can temporarily misplace his or her wallet or keys. A person with democratic dementia may put things in unusual places such as an iron in the fridge or a wristwatch in the sugar bowl.

Changes in mood or behaviour
Everyone can become sad or moody from time to time. A person with democratic dementia may become unusually emotional and experience rapid mood swings for no apparent reason. Alternatively a person with democratic dementia may show less emotion than was usual previously.

Changes in personality
A person with democratic dementia may seem different from his or her usual self in ways that are difficult to pinpoint. A person may become suspicious, irritable, depressed, apathetic or anxious and agitated especially in situations where memory problems are causing difficulties.

Loss of initiative
At times everyone can become tired of housework, business activities, or social obligations. However a person with democratic dementia may become very passive, sitting in front of the television for hours, sleeping more than usual, or appear to lose interest in hobbies.


If you are experiencing any of these symptoms or are concerned about a friend or relative, visit your doctor and discuss your concerns.

* Source https://www.alz.co.uk/info/early-symptoms  Alzheimer's Disease International ~ with one minor editorial  adjustment.

Wednesday, April 03, 2019

SHERINGHAM DIARY 26 ~ This Is What Happens When A Virgin Enters Your Life


On one of our recent jaunts we stopped off in Walsingham. My memory was of a place filled with cheap tacky religious memorabilia.  Today the religious memorabilia is largely of better quality and there are fewer outlets. It also has a characterful cafe /bookshop called superbly Read & Digest, a good Farm Shop, a large Antiques warehouse, a place selling second hand religious ephemera, a home ware shop that never seems to be open, plus an underwhelming shop selling crappy craft, run by a man who talks of little else than he's a Yorkshireman and comes from Leeds.

We were both struck by the welcoming warmth of Walsingham as a village. This atmosphere is part and parcel with it being a place of religious pilgrimage. We went on a second visit, this time taking in the C of E Shrine and the Catholic Slipper Chapel. In terms of religious bling you'd expect the catholics to have this all sewn up. But the Church of England have aimed for 'high church' and clearly won it here. The Catholic Basilica is distinctly on the understated dowdy side. We are planning to come again during the Summer when one of the big pilgrimage processions happens.

Whilst being brought up a Methodist in a Protestant tradition, I was also a Church of England chorister in the Halifax Parish Church. I have history in both Christian camps. Similarly, though my disposition as a Buddhist is towards the paired back Zen aesthetic, what gets the emotions engaged is stirringly ostentatious ritual and unabashed bling. Something with a bit of theatre, prancing along the thinner edge of gay abandon. Triratna's approach, by comparison, could feel as though it was wary of even going there, and in the end, in my opinion, didn't go far enough. This reserve and imaginative ascetic meant I always felt an absence in the visual exuberance department. That I often tried to fill.

Here I am in Walsingham feeling like the cat that got the cream. Uplifted by the simple smell of church incense, the rich colours, the gilding. Walsingham has the vibe of somewhere ancient and revered, part of a much larger sacred landscape, most likely with pagan origins. The Slipper Chapel is over a mile out of town, so we walked along the Holy Way all the way there and back.  I've discovered this emotional connection with 'the holy virgin' of Our Lady of Walsingham, responding to it as a fertility compassion archetype I guess.

Though Catholic theology can be poisonous, their use of imagery is well honed and potent. It would be very easy to over think the significance of my response and sign myself up for the seminary straight away. But it does feel energising to have the freedom to go with whatever speaks to me. In the meantime I returned home with a Sensor, charcoal, a bag of Church incense, a resin version of Our Lady of Walsingham and a key ring with her picture on it. Quite a stash of religious themed goodies.

Hub cap centre cut out for a reliquary
On our return walk to Walsingham, it came to mind to create a hanging for our shrine back at home. A moment later I spotted a hub cap lying in the verge, thought it might be useful and was about to walk on when I checked myself and went back to pick it up. Since coming home I have developed a fascination with catholic monstrances and reliquaries, Walsingham is full of them. I've started a Pinterest board, and begun to think how this scruffy hub cap might be transformed into one.



Jnanasalin is still on a creative high with his sewing. He's finished his first sleeveless shirt, has made a meditation matt, stool and hand cushion and has started on the prep for a foreman style jacket for me. He is, as someone rather addicted to perfection, turning out to be rather good in the execution department.



















Myself, well, I've had my days of despondency, struggling with the limitations of my own skills mainly. I keep finding myself  bogged down in trying to finish items that just wont get finished. Generally just a wee bit imaginatively peeved and dry. I decided to cheer myself up by making an art piece, a collage made out of wood offcuts, tin cans and textured clay slabs, This lifted the flagging spirits almost immediately. I flourish when I have this type of creatively unstructured space, plus it also feeds into and enables the more imaginatively constrained craft production side to be sustainable.



Cottonwood Workshop Update
To narrow down options we've undertaken occasional tours across North Norfolk, visiting places that might be suitable shop venues. Its given us a good overview of the relative health of North Norfolk towns. Previously wealthy and healthy high streets such as in Holt, appear to be on a slightly downward curve at present. Sheringham appears to be holding up quite well by comparrison. Though in the back of our minds lingers a doubt about the future of high street retailing, when even the big boys are struggling, what chance us?

We've had a further re-think of our website revamp. To step up our game and launch it as a fully operational selling website. This has required a third period of revision for our photography standard, most required better image management. It has felt lately that we've been going over and over this same ground, and have struggled with the sense of inertia this engendered. But this process, however difficult personally, has refined our finish and approach to what we are ultimately trying to achieve. Jnanasalin has done a sterling job on the new selling platform we've chosen, it looks a really professional set up.

Update On The Update
Jnanasalin and I went to a Men's License to Stitch evening at Thread Your Wings, our current favourite local Yarn and Haberdashery stores. Whilst gossipping about what's happening in local empty shop units, we mentioned we were looking for a shop ourselves. The next day when we popped in, the Manager told us there was a unit empty in The Courtyard a small mall of shops further down the main street. Though off the main drag, it does have a half decent cafe, a local brewer outlet, hairdressers, hippy shop and a paper craft shop.

The unit is small, but not minscule, and the rent is peppercorn. We think it will be a suitable start up shop for our craft ware range ~ the craft cafe idea will have to wait for now. Whilst we aren't sure Sheringham is a perfect fit for us, it should provide us with a way of testing out our products. We couldn't make quickly enough to maintain stock, so we will need to buy in, particularly items we don't currently make. We also want to buy from local and UK craft and small batch makers and make that part of our distinctive MO. The lease will initially be only for a year, plus a month rent free before that in which to set up. We are hoping to get opened before the end of May.






Saturday, March 23, 2019

CARROT CAKE REVIEW No 14 ~ Too Bad It Was Left Out To Dry

Burnham Market, North Norfolk.


















This has a narrow frontage with the cafe going back a long long way, like an ever narrowing tunnel. On a windy and wet day in February it had a very local feel. Similar to wandering into a local people's pub, where all eyes swivel to look questioningly at you the moment you entered - 'Ah, here be foreigners.' Apart from the clientele something in the whole cafe layout and ambiance just felt uncomfortably wrong.

For Burnham Market, usually a beacon for the high end and expensive, it as what can only be described as a 'homely scruffiness.' You need to descend further into its darker recesses in order to view the cakes. I dimly peered at them, everything looked dark brown, and it was hard to discern what the labels said. So I ordered what I believed to be a carrot cake, along with my usual flat white.

Now, I have a word or two to say about flat whites. If you order a flat white and they ask you at the counter if you want a regular or large, you wont be served a flat white, just a strong latte - in a Big Cup! A flat white should be served in a small cup, one size up from an espresso, and be strong and creamy with a rich rounded flavour. So if your flat white turns up in an ordinary tea cup, as here, prepare to be disappointed.

A flat white has the unique ability to lay bare the quality of coffee a cafe uses, and highlights, for good or ill, the skill level of their barista. I've had some shockingly bad flat whites in my time, burnt, bitter, dry and destined to give my stomach a lining of brown acidic dust. Confusion is widespread over these 'new fangled' coffee varieties, what are they supposed to be like?  In North Norfolk they've taken decades to hardly grasp the difference between a cappuccino and a latte. I presume they're just waiting to see if the fad passes.

Anyway, I digress, back at the cafe and to the carrot cake. Well, I was quite taken by surprise, it wasn't actually that bad. It had that recognisably strandy textured look that tells you this has got a goodly amount of carrot in it. The taste was actually moderately rich, had just the right amount of sultanas,walnuts and spice, with a light zesty aftertaste. Also a generous and fair sized wedge to get your molars snapped around too. Quite a traditional carrot cake, neither too weighty, worthy nor wonderful.

The frosting was largely icing sugar and distinctly on the sparse side. Whoever had applied it was super skilled with the spatula, skimming the cake and leaving only a millimetre of frosting in its wake. This was a cake made by the mean spirited for the calorie conscious.There were signs it had once borne a gravel lorries worth of chopped nuts. Somewhere between the cake display and my plate they'd shuffled off their stratified layer.. All that was left was an imprint and a few stray nut nuggets miraculously clinging to the fore skin of frosting.

And finally, well, it was dry. This cake had either been left out overnight or been in and out the fridge one too many times. For it was well on its way to becoming sedimentary rock.


CARROT CAKE SCORE - 3/8






Saturday, March 16, 2019

BOOK REVIEW ~ The Beauty of Everyday Things ~ Soetsu Yanagi

The Beauty of Everyday Things has emerged as an odd sort of sequel to the first compilation of Yanagi's writings - The Unknown Craftsman.  The latter has been such an influential book for me in how it defined Beauty, Art and Craft and creativity in all its forms as a spiritual practise. So I approached this new book with anticipation of a richly rewarding experience, but also wondering whether anything could really compare well against The Unknown Craftsman.

Comparisons don't allow things to be what they are. So what is this book? The title itself, The Beauty of Everyday Things, sets you up with an expectation of  being helped to appreciate the objects in your home in a new light. It is inconsistent in this aim and frequently covers the same ground as The Unknown Craftsman but with less clarity and succinctness in its explication. In fact whilst reading some chapters you really do wonder what on earth all this has got to do with appreciating The Beauty of Everyday Things.

For example, there is a long chapter near the end which is a transcript of a letter he wrote to the Korean people to apologise for the way the Japanese had treated them. and in it he extols the qualities and achievements of Korean culture at great length. But this doesn't relate back to the books purported subject matter at all. Similarly, the concluding chapter about how the Japan Folk Museum was founded.

Soetsu Yanagi  1889-1961




















The first quarter of the book contains its better written chapters, the peak being for me the essay on What Is Pattern?  This had me jumping up and down with delight and underlining the sentences that somehow got to the nub of why ordinary things could be a source of beauty. Discussing how pattern presents to you the essence of an object.That there are three qualities that combine to make a pattern beautiful - utility, materials and technique. He then broadens out his argument to extend the beauty of patterning beyond just being a feature of craft making to patterning in pictures.  It is classic Yanagri at his most insightful and inspiring.

"A pattern is thus not a depiction of an object as it exists in nature, not a realistic rendition. It is an image of the object as it appears to the intuition."  

" it is only with the advent of pattern that we truly come into touch with the beautiful. Pattern is the conveyor, the transmitter, of beauty."

"Good pattern is pattern that belongs to all the people"

The chapters which follow immediately after this are on particular forms of Japanese folk craft, bashofu, kasureru and kogin  textiles, ceramics, woodblock prints and Otsu-e  painting. Which though informative about the techniques and history of their making, again enlighten you little about what makes these ordinary things beautiful. They are more folk art history, a record of a dying craft.

As a book on the beauty of everyday things this is not a good one, its a very thin affair. One really excellent chapter followed by what could be seen quite frankly as a lot of filler. However, this was not a book written and conceived by Yanagi, its really an editorial compilation of articles he wrote. They were never written with a book with this title in mind. For the title is pure marketing that fits it into a certain contemporary publishing zeitgeist.

It makes you appreciate all the more the editors of The Unknown Craftsman, who expertly wove their compilation into such a seamlessly cohesive book. That its taken several decades for this book to emerge means that was a truly hard act to follow. The compilers of The Beauty of Everyday Things being left with only a few scraps of Yanagi's genius to sweep up and make something of. If you've never read any Yanagi before, read The Unknown Craftsman, before this.




Tuesday, February 26, 2019

SHERINGHAM DIARY 25 ~ A Vicious Bush & Appliqued Busts

The Wounds


With late February turning out so mild, I exhumed the tools for the Post- Winter garden clear up. After a successful start last year, I wanted to complete the taming of the cotoneaster hedge. It is truly impossible to kill it, so I severely slashed at it with a hedge trimmer I'd borrowed. Cutting swathes away, using both saw and trimmer, to produce as neat a hedge as its possible to sculpt in what is the organic equivalent of barbed wire. However, anyone whose tried this will know, a cotoneaster hedge is a vicious vengeful bitch, with thorns for fists. Despite protective gloves, my arms were lacerated as though an angry cat had mauled them. If ever we do have cat, we're now going to call it Cat-oneaster.

Well, I never knew that












Jnanasalin and I took off in Nigella, our black Corsa, heading for the delights of a Coventry Travelodge. Like many midland towns, Coventry no longer knows why it exists. Probably it can be found somewhere in the middle of the insane tangle of its inner city ringroads. Its iconic Cathedral, is a remnant of a once courageous post war optimism that has now completely vanished. The cities current state is encapsulated by the Herbert Museum, an art gallery that has lost its way. It seems overly focused on encouraging access to its collection of largely old white male artists. But it doesn't even present these well, in the rush to dumb it all down for the children. Whilst Coventry, a town known for its racial and cultural diversity, with a rich seam of black and white working class popular culture to be mined, particularly musically, is totally and unforgivably absent. Whose culture is being celebrated here?

Why go to Coventry? Because, boys and girls, it's on the way to the Giftware Spring Fair at the NEC. Its a long time since I was there as a punter. All I remember is the exhaustion of plodding up and down the halls, and how hard it is to miss the dominant female presence in the giftware industry. Mature, proffesional, confident women, often spectacularly draped in soft scarves and power statement jewellery, or with resplendently bedecked bosom cliffs in knitted tops with added applique. The artless splash of shimmer fabric, sequins or, at the tatty end, glitter, is everywhere. Somehow effortlessly bypassing both the chic and the classy whilst on their way to striking.

















We went to take the temperature on trends, pick up ideas or future UK based makers. As pretty much everyone there imports, the latter didn't happen. However, we attended two talks on colour trends for 2019/20, which we found extremely useful. Reassuring us we know what we're doing with our colour ranges, and helping in defining them better. But mostly we just picked up ideas for finishes, textures and materials. We started in the high end halls, gradually losing all will to live as we grew nearer to the lower end ones. What is apparent is that high end is where the newer, innovative stuff is found. Some of this filters down to the middle range suppliers, and only what proves to be popular and can be cheaply knocked off, reaches the lower priced 'shonky' end of giftware. Its like watching the last ten years of retail trends cascade before your eyes.















We are on our way out of Morrison's, loaded up with our own shopping when a woman calls out  to us, she has her trolley in one of those lockable cupboards they provide ~ 'can you help me please, my key doesn't work'  Thinking I'd instantly understood what was required I stepped forward, fiddled with it a bit, till the door miraculously fell easily open. Exasperated she bellowed at me.' I wanted it shut'. I locked it, quickly moving on, not really expecting or receiving thanks.




















Another month another National Live broadcast at the Sheringham Little Theatre of David Hare's new play I'm Not Running.'. It centres on the past life and political awakening of Pauline and her relationship with her former lover from student  days, Jack. Their trajectories both lead into politics but take divergent routes getting there. Jack climbs up the Labour hierarchy, whilst Pauline becomes a popular single issue campaigner against NHS Hospital closures.

Hare captures the political posturing and hypocrisies of a man like Jack, a career politician, loyal to the party, but morally slippery. Though not drawn from one particular political figure, he is a recognisable amalgam of various Blairites. Its Hare's real skill as a dramatist to make us feel we know these people, whilst also showing what we don't know, their passions, frailties, origins and backgrounds, plus their honest desire to serve as well as their vain self deceptions. They become more rounded individuals instead of political ciphers or broad caricatures.

The attendance on the coldest night of the Winter so far, was noticeably thinner than for Alan Bennett's 'Alleluyah! in November. But this was David Hare, prickly and pointed, not the cudddly whimsy of Alan. Both plays subject matter crossed similar territory, but Hare's is a far superior play. His sentiments are far more under control than Bennett's. Hare's wit and humour is used to reveal character, to touch the real heart of the matter, producing guffaws of recognition

************

There is a butcher's shop in Cromer called Icarus Hines, don't ask why.  I saw one of their tote bags hanging from a shopping trolley. In white cursive script lettering on black it said Icarus Hines -' More than just a Butcher.'  In what way Icarus Hines is more than just a butcher is unclear. Perhaps he serves cream teas whilst churning out the beef mince, forms macrame hanging baskets out of pig bones and hair, or is a bigamist and serial killer with bodies buried in his cold cellar. We do need to know.





















The revamp of our Cottonwood Workshop website progresses. Its taken a bit longer than we'd originally anticipated, but it is nearing completion. Jnanasalin has found working on the never ending detail of it, has a real potential to do more than his head in. The end result will represent our business far better, and eventually people will be able to buy off it too. We continue to look out for a suitable retail site. Once the first VAT quarter is reached in April, businesses often pull up the drawbridge. Not to mention the added likelihood of a post Brexit collective throwing in of the towel. We are just waiting patiently to see what bubbles up.

Because of the division of our various creative labours, we can end up working isolated from each other, Vidyavajra in the workshop, Jnanasalin in the craft room. One consequence of this can be that we lose the sense of it being a shared project we are engaged in. So we are endeavouring to work on at least one project together. The results are often our best finished items. The first one off the block is a 1970's gold vellure covered ottoman transformed into an altogether more stylish contemporary item.

Before














After


















In the meantime, Jnanasalin has found a brand new craft enthusiasm ~ learning to sew. As its all about precision cutting, sewing and assembling, like structural engineering, but in fine cloth, this is literally a marriage made in heaven. I've not seen him this joyfully enthusiastic and motivated since he discovered he was a major marvel with crochet. One of his first sewing tasks was making a pouch to put my Japanese Wood Cutlery in, the original was pink with white spots,which wasn't the hearts desire. So here we are embracing the full orientalist cliche. 

















As I write, he's preparing his first mock up of a short sleeved shirt out of an old beige bedsheet
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*************
Whilst walking the sunlit streets of Norwich, I passed a gaggle of slightly over excited middle aged ladies. One of them loudly declared, without a whiff of innuendo ~ 'But I love my bush'

At the moment I cannot concur.

Monday, February 18, 2019

CARROT CAKE REVIEW No 13 ~ In A Blind Taste Test I'd Be Stumped

Carrot Cake eaten in The Courtyard Cafe, Holkam Hall, Norfolk.
£2.60















We became fond over the Summer last year of the walk from Wells next the Sea across the Holkham Estate to the Hall. So, on a bright breezy Sunday morning in February we set off.  Now, there is also an additional incentive, a revamped Courtyard with a spacious,well designed cafe and larger gift shop. Holkham Hall Estate does seems at present to be outrunning the National Trust with the stylish improvements to its facilities. Though a bit more attention to the quality of their cakes is called for.

Hubby, separate from me, chose an Apple Spice Cake and I picked a Carrot Cake from off their confectionery table. Only when we sat down at a table was it clearly apparent how very very similar they looked.  The only thing to externally distinguish one from t'other was the sugar dusted frosting on the Apple Spiced Cake, and the walnut pieces on the Carrot Cake. I tried a fork full of Hubby's cake, he had a fork full of mine, and guess what? they tasted exactly the same too!

As you can see from the photo of the cake it looks a little on the anaemic side. Any sultanas having become a mere suggestion as they've been cooked down to the state of a moist stain. The cake's texture was quite blandly uniform. In a blind taste test I'd be stumped to say what it was, carrot cake would never have come to mind. If a few strands of grated carrot did happen to slip into the mixing bowl it doesn't show either visibly or when it hits your taste buds.  So say after me ~ 'A spice cake is not a carrot cake' ~ repeat loudly three times, bang your forehead with clear resolve on the table, before you scream and scream out your despair, then walk away the cathartic moment having passed. Until the next time.

My opinion didn't improve once it did reach my mouth, for it was clearly also gluten free. Though to be honest for a gluten free spiced cake it was considerably better than some horrors I could, and probably have, already mentioned. It still had more than a hint of that dry floury after taste though. Here accompanied by it forming into a kind of slurry along the bottom of my mouth. Actually I have no objection to a cafe providing gluten or dairy free options, as long as they make the traditional version too. These days, however, its common to find gluten or dairy free cakes mostly on offer. These are presented as though if they're indistinguishable from the traditional version, when they clearly or not. I want the real deal not a neutered facsimile. Let the sugar filled, dairy fat filled, busting with eggs, fruit, nuts, carrot cake lovers have a choice too, please !

Finally, just one more thing, the butter cream filling and frosting was NVN ~  not very nice.


CARROT CAKE SCORE~  2/8



Tuesday, February 05, 2019

WHAT MAKES A MAN A MAN ~ Part 1 ~ The Sissy Factor

In this photograph I am five years old, a half awake, sweet natured, yet bleary eyed child, that still survives somewhere in my psyche's back catalogue. That I was, and some might say still am, a bit of a day dreamer, is caught there for all to see. My parents would chide me for living in a world of my own, trying to ground me by stating the self-evident practicalities of life. Though there's little content wise to distinguish dreaming from day dreaming, you are after all simply mulling over possibilities, they are viewed differently, one is seen as aspirational, the other as delusional. Whether children, teenagers or adults we continue to day dream, its how we emotionally engage with the future direction our lives might take. There should always be a place made for it, because as adults we tend to dismiss our day dreams out of fear, insecurity or reductive practicalities.

A young child doesn't know how separate their dreams are from reality. The young boy in this photo appears too soft, too open, too vulnerable, too emotional, too unguarded and too easy a target for being bullied by other boys. At an early age boys discover there's a very easy way to enhance your masculine credentials, to do so at the expense of other boys by tormenting or beating the hell out of them. Boys have to make the choice between fight or flight, and suffer whatever the dents or bonus to their self-esteem may be. These linger off stage like a gremlin whispering prompts into the ears of the adult actor - cheering or jeering at you.

I'd no idea how to toughen up and never became a fisty-cuff fighter. I became adept at spotting risky situations where there might be a need to defend myself. Being called out across the street for being 'a sissy', was frequently accompanied by the sound of my legging it.  I understood that my masculinity, however unformed, was publicly being called into question. That this ought not go unchallenged, because no one voluntarily chooses to be a 'sissy', do they?, Five year old boys, though only 'proto-men', do sense what they are expected to be like. I instinctively understood that the macho sporty competitive physical type was not me, so I only half-heartedly tried.  I would never be a forward striker in masculinity football.  I actually found it hard to really understand what all that blokey punching, kicking and posturing was all in aid of. Nowadays, I still find it unnecessary, if not slightly bemusing. Back then it definitely wasn't funny.

Girls are not boys. For young boys, girls are where femininity resides.  Keeping your distance from them appears a worrisome thing for  'true boys.' Wherever 'the feminine' is, you are supposed to be wary of it, reject, ridicule, or if you discover you have it, for god sake try to hide or expel it. Any boy who betrays 'feminine qualities' exposes themselves to the fate of girls; driven from the boy's playground, belittled, patronised, teased and made fun of. Playground behaviour lays the foundations for our confidence in future social interactions. It also sets a self-justifying tone for future misogyny and hostility towards, not just homosexuality, but to anyone else who might have the misfortune to be considered 'foreign','alien' or 'different.'

The word 'sissy' itself comes with its own prejudicial baggage, of a skinny, weak muscled male, not willing to fight, whose masculinity is gentler and sensitive, perceived as not robust, flawed by virtue of the feminine traits present. You don't even have to be the stereotypical effeminate man. You simply have to show interest in subjects devoid of physical prowess, such as maths, science, art or culture, and the 'sissy' badge and T-shirt will arrive in the post.

Boys learn its important to demonstrate their manhood, to show what they are and are not. More grown up men than you might think, straight or gay, play along with macho masculine behaviour simply in order to get by unnoticed and unharmed. A strategy hardwired from an early age. All men become trapped within the narrowly defined constraints of what constitutes a man. a few lay siege to it, whilst most loyally defend.  The frustration and anger that unfortunately readily surfaces in men, arises quite often when a self-perceived failing, a falling short of that unattainable male ideal surfaces. This can gnaw away at the core of a man's sense of his own manhood. Violence towards themselves or others becomes a form of cathartic release. How I coped at Primary School was by retreating to the girl's playground, because that was the place where I felt accepted, where 'sissy boys' could safely hide from the brutal oversight of other boys.

There is no guidebook to what makes a man a man, every boy learns the hard way through their missteps. Picking up suggestions from how older boys and the men around them behave, or male role models in comics, art, history, advertising, books or films and TV. These show you strong, tenacious, resourceful men in full control of their lives, oozing self-confidence, cleverness and ambition, able to assert themselves, take risks, holding hard to a sense of their own power and success. This stereotypical man holds mastery over themselves and their world  Few have cause to question whether this is a fraudulent fiction. They keep up the pretence, that they are all of those things and more. Its as though the whole edifice of traditional masculinity is like a house with very few firm foundations, but with a lot of very heavy props and prompts holding it upright.

So, even if they say otherwise, no man is cutting the full masculine mustard. They must, however, still be seen as possessing power, even when life circumstances and their own feelings scream at them that they do not. Their true selves concealed behind the masculine facade, continuing to play the game according to the known rules. Few men will expose you, for fear of a reprisal. But if your are bequeathed a persona that is 'a bit queer', then this is a game changer for adherence to those rules. In order to survive you'll be forced to turn the way you are into an act of defiance, a vivid, visible and often verbal assault on the revered statutes of traditional masculinity. You have to do what Quentin Crisp recommends:

' the time comes for everybody when you have to do deliberately what you used to do by mistake, this is the only way to get the joke onto your own terms'

Boy-men of any age who call someone 'a sissy' or a 'puff', avoid the questioning finger being pointed at them, by being first on the offensive. Domination is the last refuge of a man who is feeling powerless. Men fear being publicly shamed by women or gay men, and shown up as weak. Their cutting banter sees the flaws and punctures with relish the masculine armour. A macho man is ,paradoxically, at his most vulnerable, emotionally and psychologically. Heterosexual men uses banter differently as a form of subliminal control. Disguised behind lighthearted friendly joshing, its ridicule and teasing is a reminder to not step out of line. If a man's masculinity is publicly exposed for what it truly is, it would not be just humbling, but deeply crushing and destabilising. They would truly lose it.

Its like a citadel whose walls will crumble under the stress of constant siege. If life throws a few curve balls at a man, losing control of his life, career, partner, children or home, only then might they start to dwell on discomforting questions about what they have become and who they really want to be. Many men,unfortunately, continue to avoid or fail to find the answers to these questions, and end up opting out on life completely.

Men, speaking very generally, see no need for self-analysis, remain blind to the privileges of their position as a male, and probably when drunk will espouse the self-evident superiority of their gender. They have little reason to question the toxicity or otherwise of their behaviour as a man, because its still kinda working for them. The world, after all, remains largely run according to the male viewpoint. There are few signs of men self-liberating themselves from the masculine constraints to which patriarchy chains them. He who has risen to be the Lord of the Manor finds it hard to say 'It's a fair cop chaps' no matter how many peasant revolts they have had to suppress.

If you are a woman, a person of colour, a gay person, or anything between and beyond these designations, you'll spend a good part of your life having to become more self-aware in order to discover what you really are. Struggling in the face of prejudice, oppression and ignorance, to become a truer representation of you, to the best of your ability. One way or another you'll have to discover how to 'sissy that walk,' of yours