From Tracey Moffatt’s mesmerising Laudanum:
I’m very proud that my book has been selected to be part of the charity Womankind’s International Women’s Day book group list. Here is the information.
This film appears in my new book. More information about the book later, but for now:
It is always such a pleasure to read a thoughtful review of my book. This one at a lovely blog called ‘a gallimaufry’ has made my evening.
“The photographs, especially in Bathes’ response to the child of the Winter Garden Photograph, capture the space of love…..”
“I was at the door of the hotel, horrified at seeing in the Alameda people go by who seemed to be made of wood. I rushed to the roof of the hotel and wept there, looking at the chained city below my feet, the city it was my duty to liberate. Coming down to Catherine’s room, I begged her to look at my face; I said to her: “Don’t you see that it is the exact representation of the world?” She refused to listen to me and put me out of her room.”
Leonora Carrington, ‘Down Below’
Here then on the table before us are photographs. The Spanish Government sends them with with patient pertinacity about twice a week. They are not pleasant photographs to look upon. They are photographs of dead bodies for the most part. This morning’s collection contains the photograph of what might be a man’s body, or a woman’s; it is so mutilated that it might, on the other hand, be the body of a pig. But those certainly are dead children, and that undoubtedly is the section of a house. A bomb as torn open the side; there is still a bird-cage hanging in what was presumably the sitting-room, but the rest of the house looks like nothing so much as a bunch of spillikins* suspended in mid air.
Those photographs are not an argument; they are simply a crude statement of fact addressed to the eye. But the eye is connected with the brain; the brain with the nervous system. That system sends its messages in a flash through every past memory and present feeling. When we look at those photographs some fusion takes place within us; however different the education, the traditions behind us, our sensations are the same, and they are violent.
Three Guineas, Virginia Woolf.
*Spillikins : a child’s game in which a collection of thin pieces of wood is thrown into a heap and players must pull off as many as possible without disturbing the rest, in which case the turn passes to another player.
Kolundia Airport, Jerusalem 1927
Biplane over Jerusalem
“But they would never have commanded public attention and persuaded people at all if spirit photography had not been so widely trusted against all its critics, and if children – especially little girls – had not enjoyed special access to wonderlands.” Marina Warner from ‘Phantasmagoria’
“However glorious their past, none of the cities of the coast, from Antioch to Alexandria, can show much man-made physical beauty or unity, as though the desert , the wilderness, were necessary to compress builders’ souls, to crystalise the jewelled facets of Jerusalem and Cairo and Damascus.” – from Soraya Antonius.
Hola Esteemed Readers, all thirty one of you,
I’m in the mood to listen to old ladies at the moment. This is is Leonora Carrington who wrote in ‘The Hearing Trumpet’:
“I suffer much from the idea that my loneliness might be taken away from me by a lot of mercilessly well meaning people. ”
Her kitchen looks somewhat like mine.
featured in New Movements in Art Exhibition Lancaster House 1942