Ways With Words

Fulfilling Fantasies at Festivals

Festivals are partly about wish-fulfillment. I know that a lot of people who will be coming to Dartington Hall next week are keen to see writers or broadcasters or polticians who they have always liked – or even disliked. As the festival programmer I know I have a Jim’ll Fix It role. “I’ve always wanted to see Ben Okri or Julia Neuberger or Michael Holroyd,” people say. Someone said, “I’ve read Lynn Barber’s interviews in The Guardian for years; I can’t believe she’ll be there”. Yes she will – and about 150 other writers.

Some events fulfill fantasies people have for travel, adventure, life-changing experiences. Many people have told me that they have always wanted to go through France on a canal boat. Damien and Siobhan Horner can tell you all about that. Other visitors are closet dancers or have come out as salsa or tango dancers. They will identify with Grevel Lindop who travelled round the world following his passion for salsa. 

It is difficult for most of us to imagine living like Fiona Houston for a year in the 18th century. She left all the 21st century comforts of her beautiful Scottish manse behind and moved across the garden to her bothy. She wore the clothes, ate the food, eschewed central heating and plumbing and learnt about the hardships of 18th century life. We went to visit her in the middle of her year and signed her visitors’ book with a quill. (But we did have hot showers in the house and used the usual facilities there).

Fi’s book of her year is so attractive. It has loads of photos and practical information such as making string from nettles. Maybe not for everyone but it is fascinating to hear about it. (And of course you can at the festival.)

Monty Halls went in for a similar escape from the stresses of normal life when he moved into a croft on the West Coast of Scotland with his gigantic dog Reuben. His life as a crofter was filmed for a major BBC2 series. He’ll show extracts from the series and tell us more about the whole-wind swept, midge-filled adventure.

Many Ways With Words customers would like to have their own books published. Some come to our writing courses in Europe for help and advice from published writers so we are delighted when someone succeeds. Chris Wadsworth was encouraged to send her stories to a publisher by James Long when he tutored a writing course in Italy. Now she has a 2 book deal for her stories about her experiences of artists and customers at her gallery in Cockermouth. She’s like the Gervaise Phinn of the art world. She’s coming to Dartington to talk about her book, "Hercules and The Farmer’s Wife", at the festival. “Good for Chris!” we shall be shouting! (We hope she gives our writing courses a plug.)

So festivals, like books, give you the chance to live out fantasies, lead several lives vicariously. Travel, lifestyle, adventure, relationships: you can explore many different worlds from the comfort of your seat in the Great Hall or the Barn Theatre.

The Ways With Words festival at Dartington Hall begins this Friday, 10 July and lasts for 10 days. All the above writers will be speaking together with about 150 others including Graham Swift, Michael Buerk, Salley Vickers, Prue Leith. To browse through the whole programme look on-line at waywithwords.co.uk

Une Mauvaise Surprise – But Many Bonnes Surprises Too

When you buy a house in France you find that there are often many depondances which are une surprise – usually pleasant ones. We didn’t really need a piggery, derelict cottage, a hen house and a huge barn but they felt like added value. Sadly our huge beautiful barn needed much work and money to keep it standing – not such good value. A conservationist re-tiled the roof (a jobbing builder would have been OK but our French didn’t run to jobbing builder so we spent a lot of money but now have an impressive roof done in old tiles).The same conservationist told us the back wall needed rebuilding before he could finish the roof. Barns are like cars, conservationists like mechanics; how could we argue when we know nothing? So work started on the massive back wall. Our old Devon friends, Mike and Lesley who now live in France, emailed us photos of the new wall and reported it was magnificent. Then followed more news: the new wall had fallen down. Our conservationist emailed too,‘This is bad for you and bad for me’. Particularly bad for us as he wanted lots more money.

 

Ohh La La!

When we arrived in France for our writing and art courses half the wall had gone up again. Our neighbours were full of stories of the collapse. "It was like 9/11" they told us. I was glad to learn they meant the noise and the dust from the rubble; the workmen had escaped without injury. JC, Jean-Claude the conservationist, came to discuss the mauvaise surprise. Fortunately Will Randall, our writing tutor, speaks fluent and fast French so offered to translate. He was brilliant at communicating and arguing but for the sake of entente cordiale and getting the job finished properly we agreed it had been une mauvaise surprise and we agreed to pay up.

However it is an ill wind ...and we all thought Une Mauvaise Surprise would be a good subject for a writing exercise.

The Bonnes Surprises came on the final day of the course. Under Rosemary Catling’s gentle tutoring the artists produced an impressive Private View. Our water jug, the almost-black geranium, the beams in the préau and the full moon (together with Howard Hodgkins and Francis Bacon) had inspired an amazing range of work and we felt we’d brought Tate Modern as well as 9/11 to sleepy little Leygonie. 
Will did a wine tasting amongst the paintings and got us all in pairs to articulate our criticism of local wines. I’ll remember his advice in future: “you can’t go wrong with a Côte du Rhone.”

The writers each read a favourite piece of work from the week except Boris who had written a short and witty play inspired by Wagner’s death which Steve and Will acted. This involved an improvised gondola and Steve singing arias. Very entertaining – as were all the contributions. Rona’s painting of the water jug had inspired an impressive poem from Pam which closed the event.

We packed in the film Couscous, a competitive game of boules and a leisurely last dinner together with a big log fire and candles for ambience.

It’s sad to say Au Revoir but it was just that as we know many will return to Leygonie for more Bonnes Surprises.

 

 

 

 

 

You Have Heard of The Booker – But Now Turn Your Attention to The Benson.

I check my emails quickly and infrequently in France, partly because England feels so far away – like my troubles – and I don’t want to be distracted from the sun, the wine, the cheese, the meadow and all the pleasures of this bit of the Dordogne. Also I don’t want to spend too long sitting in front of the computer because I like having a drink in the courtyard with the participants on the course. People mean conversation and as soon as we sit down to eat we start discussing all those topics people say you should avoid: religion, politics, education, art, literature. It can get heated but usually/always remains amicable. Will Randall – our writing tutor who lives in the Loire valley - said that the conversations are more typical of France than England. Our stereotypical view of France is one of a nation of artists, philosophers and intellectuals so we feel rather smug.

However back to The Benson. When I had a cursory look at my emails between discussions on the European elections and a swim in the pool I saw one which said that The Royal Society of Literature had unanimously decided to offer me a Benson Medal in respect of my outstanding contribution to literature and books. I have several friends who like playing tricks so my first reaction was to try to decide which joker had sent it. What do you do in this situation? Google of course. If someone was joking it was rather elaborate. The medal was said to have been instituted in 1916 by A.C. Benson, a writer, academic and Fellow of the Society. Better still the list of previous recipients made me glow with uncool pride: Lytton Strachey, J.R.R. Tolkein, Maureen Duffy, Anthony Burgess and many other distinguished writers including a real favourite of mine – Ronald Blyth.

At this point I accepted with puffed out chest. As the participants on the course feel so kindly towards Ways With Words and us it felt only right to tell them as you would parents who would want to know and would excuse your boasting. So I did. Well Steve banged for silence at lunch time and made an announcement. They said the right things and raised glasses of our local Bergerac wine. Will said it sounded better if we referred to it as The Benson rather than The Benson Medal. So if you see someone shopping in Safeway or Leclerc wearing a medal of 3” diameter in solid silver do come up to me and say can I admire your Benson.

The Benson Medalist tends her herbs.

The Fruits of France – Coping with Surfeits

Bowls of cherries from our next door neighbours' trees keep arriving. I never thought you could have a surfeit of cherries. But France is a place for surfeits. We have just returned from Ribérac market where I was tempted by trays of apricots, peaches, peppers, courgettes and aubergines but despite having a crowd of hungry artists and writers on our course there is a limit to what they can be tempted to consume. I keep presenting jugs of homemade lemonade and elderflower cordial and honey cake made with honey from our neighbours’ bees. If our customers don’t eat and drink more I shall have to throw food away. Can’t do that! I’ll just have to eat lots myself and endure a surfeit of flesh.

We have no problems with the surfeit of creativity though. Paintings of jugs, lilies and fields are festooning our barn. A full length mirror is propped against the wall and someone is examining herself (fully clothed I should add) for a large Francis Bacon style self portrait. Rosemary (Catling) the art tutor, showed slides of her work: many lonely figures in large landscapes and figures jumping into space – or water. She explained that her work reflects her concerns for the future of her grandchildren. As I suspected having grandchildren means I shall have yet more worries to try and control. There is probably a tipping point after which the anxieties can’t be contained. I shall find out whether I have reached that point next August when my daughter’s baby is born.

While the artists are applying colour the writers are expanding nursery rhymes into short stories written in a particular genre. So Jack and Jill may become a horror story, Humpty Dumpty a detective story. Will (Randall) our writing tutor has been looking at short stories with the group. Someone flung a book of short stories across the table and said that she hated the writer. Any guesses who the despised author may be?

We are always amazed at the excess of creativity hovering within each person. Most of it is suppressed while everyday life is lived, but give someone a peaceful meadow, sunshine, elderflower cordial (or better still Bordeaux wine), encouraging tutors and time away from the common task and there’s a positive Chelsea Flower Show of creative expression.

Surfeits are usually welcome. An abundance of fruit and vegetables is heart warming, a plethora of paintings is inspiring – and you can never have too many words – nor grandchildren, though this may lead to an unwelcome surfeit of anxiety. If so I shall have to do what Rosemary does and transform the worries into works of art. It’s time to go on a Ways With Words holiday course.

For those who want to release their suppressed creativity, or control their anxieties, there are more Ways With Words Holiday courses this year:
Memoir Writing in the Dordogne, 9-13 September
Painting, writing, book groups and philosophy in Umbria, Italy 26 September - 3 October, 3-10 October.

Waiting For Customers

Like Estragon and Vladimir, Steve and myself have been waiting. We too have talked a lot about the arrival. But for us it is of our course members and unlike Godot we know for certain they will arrive and then the play will begin. Also our waiting has been a busy, active time, more action than talk in fact. We arrived at our French house just a week ago and the last week has been been getting the set ready in preparation for our writing and art courses. This means many trips to Leclerc and trolleys filled with wine, cheese, coffee, yoghurts etc. The garden pots are filled with geraniums. The rosemary and lavender are trimmed and watered. We try out the swimming pool; we get out the Penguin deckchairs; we prune the bay and we warn our French neighbours that the English are about to arrive. Happily we watch where the shadows fall in the courtyard to note cool areas for sitting to paint and write.

The house sparkles – as much as an old farmhouse in France can sparkle. Old, stone shutters and big fireplaces are by their nature dusty but hey ho it’s French dust so that’s alright. Last night I mopped the tiles in the kitchen as we backed out to go to bed. I greatly enjoyed seeing the white tiles come whiter and the black blacker. It was a D. H. Lawrence moment; he loved sweeping floors.

How awful if our course participants did a Godot on us. We would have to drink all the wine ourselves. Meanwhile we lie on the reclining chairs under the walnut trees, start on the wine, and wait.

Smile, You're On The Ways With Words Programme

 When people pick up a Ways With Words programme I want them to see lots of smiling faces. I’d be more likely to go to a festival where everyone looked cheerful than one which seemed to be full of misery guts. It’s surprisingly difficult to find writers smiling, let alone laughing merrily. Perhaps they want to appear serious, thoughtful and concerned, or maybe life is tough for writers.

James Lovelock looks very cheerful, despite thinking we’ve left global warming too late. Maybe he is thinking I’m almost 90 – not my problem. 

Simon Majumdar looks in pain. Perhaps on his travels to sample food round the world he was offered snake’s kidneys – or something didn’t agree with him. 

Satish Kumar looks serene; one would expect that from an ex Buddhist monk. Serenity at a festival is desirable. 

Ben Crystal looks as if he is about to hug someone. Maybe he is embracing the world. No-one could object to being embraced by Ben Crystal or Shakespeare. 

Prue Leith and Julia Neuberger get joint prize for being the most cheerful. They are enjoying life – hoorah.     

But a lot of our speakers only manage a wan grin, sometimes this turns into a grimace. Gyles Brandreth and Paddy Ashdown should have huge grins that say, “Thank God I am not in the House of Commons at the moment.” Instead they look wistful.

On the same page I am drawn to the cheeky grins of the Wondermentalist women, Liv Torc and Beryl the Feral. They look very good fun.

Oh Arthur what’s wrong with you?  Comedians are supposed to see the funny side of life. Put away your grumpy old man face. I bet his show is full of ascerbic comments on what’s wrong with the world – or MPs.

Probably my favourite photo is of Lynn Barber smoking. Smoking! How politically incorrect can this festival get? This one deserves a prize in a special category because it made me laugh.

There are many serious moments at Ways With Words when big problems like greed, inequality, environmental issues are tackled but overall it is a joyful experience to come to Ways With Words – festive in fact.

To see the smiling and unsmiling faces [and Lynn Barber smoking] phone 01803 867373 for a paper programme or download the programme from the festival page on the website.

Away With Words

My professional life has been dominated by words. Not surprising when I spend my time running Ways With Words. I read around a hundred books a year for my work - which is not enough. There is no getting away from the fact that it is a word-dominated life and yet I would describe myself as a visual person. I get up early to watch mist rise over the fields; I am in ecstasy at a simple white cup on a wooden table; shades of green in May have me rushing for my paints. So when we go to France to run our Ways With Words course I shall choose to do painting rather than writing. Give me a sunny courtyard, and the quiet creativity of a group of writers and painters working under parasols, and I get out my brushes.

WHAT INSPIRES ME
Peeling paint on wooden boards, the stripes of fields of vines and olives, a red jug next to a white mug, three bluebells in a jar, a bowl of purple plums, a rusty corrugated iron roof– inspiration tends to come from unexpected sources. My paintings usually fall into two categories: those inspired by fields, fences, water, skies – the outdoors, and those that come from the kitchen – eggs, lemons, bottles, mugs.

There’s lots of kitchen stuff in France and fields and peeling paint too so no shortage of subjects for paintings. No excuse - so away with words and up with pastels, paints and paper. Of course with the Ways With Words Dartington festival starting on 10 July I shall be reading lots too. A pile of books will come with me:

• 'Solving The Arts Puzzle' by Richard Fox (Sat. 11 July at 5pm)
• 'A Single Swallow' by Horatio Clare (Tues. 14 July at 2pm)
• 'My Judy Garland Life' by Susie Boyt (Sun. 12 July at 10.45am) – re-reading this as I am chairing this event. Found it quirky, thoughtful, insightful – loved it.
• 'The Music Room' by William Fiennes (Sat. 11 July at 9.30am)
• 'How to Paint a Dead Man' by Sarah Hall (Sun 12 July 12 noon) - not connected with my painting but because she is an exciting young novelist.

Looks as if words will be battling with brushes for my time in France. Ways With Words writing and art workshops run from 2-9 June in the Dordogne area of France.
More details are on our website or phone 01803 867373.

From the Big Apple to Droridge Apple Trees

Instead of shopping at Zabars it’s Riverford Farm foodshop, instead of the Gourmet Garage it’s Dartington Garage. Our Broadway is Totnes High Street. The Tribeca Film festival has been replaced with the Barn Cinema. Dartington Gardens is our Central Park. The BBC is our CNN, The Guardian our New York Times. We keep kicking each other in our standard double bed after the giant conjugal bed we had in New York. I haven’t seen anyone jogging since we returned. How diverse lives are.

I didn’t have the necessary leads to put photos on the blog while I was in New York so here are some now to transport you across the Atlantic.

Metropolitan Museum of Art - Rooftop Terrace - Roxy Paine's sculpture 'Maelstrom'

The Brooklyn Bridge - on our way to BAM

Chuck Close (and attendant angels) - Meatpacking District

Shop window on Mott Street

SoHo lofts

Christopher Park - West Village

Our book-lined pied à terre - Upper West Side

More Gawking in New York

USES OF (AMERICAN) ENGLISH
• There is an Open Homes and Gardens w/e coming up which sadly we are missing. The headline in the paper was, “Homes and Gardens, Open For Gawking”. That’s me sussed.
• Yesterday we were offered a bowl of ‘heirloom tomato soup’.
• Overheard, father to little child, “No, you had white flour for breakfast; you can’t have any more.”

AND GAWKING IN GALLERIES
We discovered that the galleries that line the 20+ W. streets in Chelsea are open for Private Views on Thursday nights, often with the artists present and usually with wine and partying a go-go. Never ones to miss a party we arrived late afternoon as we wanted first to see the Sophie Calle exhibition. Men beware! If you want to dump your conceptual artist lover be very, very careful. Calle’s ex lover sent her an email explaining that he didn’t want to see her any more and ended, Take care of yourself. Cue for an exhibition. Hell hath no fury like an artist scorned. She sent the email to 107 women (amongst them an anthropologist, psychologist, dancer, criminologist, teenager, clairvoyant) for their reactions. Their responses were displayed in films, photographs and textual analysis. This exhibition warranted much time and attention. I needed and wanted to spend hours there. The woman who danced her response made me laugh; also the one who said that he was obviously a man who would prefer jazz to rock. A translator discussed each phrase used in the email. “Take care of yourself” – big mistake.
It was a witty, moving, intriguing exhibition. I bet the ex-lover wished he’d phoned her instead of emailing.

People were gathering in the other galleries so we followed them. The dilemma was whether to watch the visitors or the art – the arty, party folk won in several exhibitions. The huge industrial gallery spaces were also visually compelling. In one gallery we were drawn by all three. Chuck Close, the artist was seated in his wheelchair high above the crowds. A host of angels/beautiful women were encircling him. He was obviously revered but I’m ashamed to say we didn’t know of him though I recognised his big portraits – one of Clinton. Later Alastair Sooke told me that he’d interviewed him for the Telegraph so I read his interview on line.

We queued for ages at Spice Market for dinner afterwards. Food and gawking value worth the wait.

Feet and Art in New York

We had two very different art experiences yesterday and both left me baffled, unmoved and uninspired. The New Museum in the Lower East Side (stunning modern building) had an exhibition of young artists’ work – Younger Than Jesus it was called, ie younger than Jesus at his crucifixion, 33. Maybe it’s because I’m much older than Jesus that I found it difficult to engage, or maybe my feet were tired with walking for miles. You never know what shapes your responses and feet, age and how much wine you had at lunch may be factors. After 4 floors of art, that I didn’t bother to struggle with, we arrived at the 5th floor and sat on a very comfortable sofa to watch a 30 minute film with footage on the seminal moments (political, artistic, musical, social) of the last 33 years. I found this fascinating – so, considering the sofa, maybe my feet had influenced my reactions when I was walking around the gallery.

Feet semi-recovered we walked a lot further: into Chinatown, over the Brooklyn Bridge and to BAM - the Brooklyn Academy of Music. We had booked for a performance of modern dance. This isn’t an art form we know much about but we have seen some striking modern dance in New York in the past and pride ourselves on our open minds. As we were early for our show we went into the huge café for refreshments. What a space: lots of red and aluminium, huge arches and white plaster cast bodies hanging from the very high ceiling - an un-childlike mobile. Surprisingly the auditorium was quite traditional, like a West End theatre. The dance show consisted of 4 pieces created by Trisha Brown: one from the 60s, one designed by Robert Rauschenberg, a 2004 piece and the premier of a new opera and dance. I enjoyed it all in a soporific way. (I noticed lots of people were yawning in the interval so maybe I wasn’t alone).Considering that Steve and myself are both uneducated in modern dance I didn’t expect to be able to give an informed critique but we were rather underwhelmed by the experience. At the end Trisha Brown came onstage and got a standing ovation, huge bouquet and lots of woops and cheers. I understood what it means to be illiterate.  

The marvellous subway whisked us from BAM, right up to our door in the Upper West Side in 25 minutes. Obama’s first 100 days were being discussed on TV. The audiences were asked to phone in to give him grades for his achievements in several areas including his response to swine flu. Poor man; swine flu only arrived in America about 2 days ago and all I’ve heard him say is put your hand over your mouth if you cough.

My Grades for Today’s Activities:
Lunch at Freemans – loved its grey walls, purple flowers, stuffed birds – so A for environment, B+ for food.
New Museum – Building A, Art D, film B
Brooklyn Bridge – AAA – fantastic
BAM – Building A, dance C+
Subway home – A
Television coverage of Obama’s 100 days – off the scale; I’m not sure which end.

The debate over what is good art, or what is art, and who decides, has been bubbling for many years. The plastic arts seem to invoke the most ire but not entirely. An elderly relative used to say, “I think a play should have a beginning, a middle and an end.” – usually to express her wrath at Pinter or Beckett.
To engage with the art conundrum come to hear Richard Fox at Ways With Words on Saturday 11 July at 5pm in Dartington Hall’s Barn Theatre.