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Viewing: Blog Posts Tagged with: Ashmolean, Most Recent at Top [Help]
Results 1 - 5 of 5
1. Fiddle parts and sound: how objects tell stories

Biography chooses us when there is alchemy between biographer and subject—a perfect fit of interlocking puzzle pieces. In my case, a lifelong fascination with objects and the craftsmen who make them led me to the story of a pioneering violinmaker—American Luthier: Carleen Hutchins—the Art and Science of the Violin.

The post Fiddle parts and sound: how objects tell stories appeared first on OUPblog.

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2. Animals at the Ashmolean


Last Wednesday saw me in Oxford to pick up a frame for a painting. After our
last visit to the Ashmolean and with my new determination to do more observational sketching, I decided to spend a few hours pottering there. I always like to begin with this staircase, as it takes me back to my art student days and the first time I breathlessly and reverently climbed them to visit the Renaissance rooms. I can still remember the emotional choke in my throat (dramatic child that I was) as I paid my respects to the Masters and began my own long artistic journey.


I like the continuity of returning with another sketchbook, over twenty years on, still tramping that same road, which has twisted in ways I could not have dreamt of then. And now I find the new extension has caught my heart too. It also leaves me breathless, though for a different reason.


I actually feel a little sick if I get too near the glass partitions and look down - or up. But I love the way you can watch the other galleries and their occupants on all levels, like a giant cultural ant's nest coiling round the central space which seems to me like an invisible pillar rising through the centre of the museum.


Needless to say, I took many photos of this and that, flashless photography (for personal use) being allowed. Just look at this little collection of lovelies - three needlework 'favours' or love tokens from the 1600s, each just few inches tall -

17 Comments on Animals at the Ashmolean, last added: 1/18/2011
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3. An old friend restored


The Ashmolean Museum, Oxford
In 1987, I hitchhiked to Oxford with my then boyfriend, a nineteen year old penniless, orphaned urchin, with no-one supporting me, determined - somehow - to become a *famous artist*. Does that sound dramatic? Well, that's how it was. Having left an unhappy foster home aged just 16, I had tried in vain to somehow earn my living through my artworks, with little training , absolutely no idea of how this was to be done, and having scant cultural background.
Suffering from what I now know was deep depression, the result of a chaotic childhood, traumatised by losing one parent after another, I was in a downward spiral, common to youngsters who are dumped by the care system and left to sink or swim. It was a hopeless situation, but at least I finally had the wit to realise that. So I was heading to Oxford for an interview to get onto an A level art course, at the more humble College of Further Education.
We were dropped off at the Abingdon Road roundabout and immediately a summer shower drenched us. We walked up to St Aldates. The sun came out. It was my first glimpse of Cotswold stone, and the wet buildings glowed golden yellow. Almost on cue, the bells of Oxford began to peal, as if welcoming me - it was a million miles away from the damp, slummy bedsit we had left behind us and I could actually sense the course of my life changing. I fell irretrievably in love with this ancient, beautiful city and it, in turn, civilised me.

I got my cherished place at the college and began the long, slow proc

27 Comments on An old friend restored, last added: 3/1/2010
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4. Watch the birdy

We are off on a big expedition to Oxford this week; we haven't had a day in town for years. It's a bit of a palaver, with our limited rural bus service (which bears no resemblance whatsoever to the Stagecoach advert we saw on TV last week). Although thank God we have one at all (she said, hastily crossing fingers). Like Cindrella - but without the frock - one has to return at a certain time before the Sun goes down, (eg when the last join-up 6 o'clock bus leaves) or fork out for an expensive taxi home. However it can't be avoided: I have frames/mounts to pick up. One has been custom made for Party Food -

- which will be hung (appropriately) in the client's dining room - and smaller ones for forthcoming paintings I have been itching to do. So I'm doing a lot of Moleskine scribbling, as until I actually have the frames and mounts in front of me I can't start planning what size the artworks will be. And I have a 'bread and butter ' job to continue, which I must knuckle down to. Not as much fun as this chap -



Frankly the idea of a day in town scares the bejabers out of me, I might just go and hide in the Ashmolean.

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5. My Friday

Good morning.

Let's see. I bade my dog and family farewell and got on a plane to the UK. Slept a little on the plane, and also read Sherman Alexie's forthcoming ABSOLUTELY TRUE DIARY OF A PART-TIME INDIAN, which was excellent in every way, poignant and really funny and heartwarming and honest and wise and smart. Seeing it's a YA book and that it contains alcoholism, an inappropriate erection and mentions of masturbation I have no doubt that in a year or so it'll both be winning awards and being banned.

Got to Gatwick, took the train to London. Checked in to hotel. Had a much-needed bath. Into town for a meeting with Hilary Bevan-Jones about THE ROAD TO EN-DOR and the mysterious Lyonesse, and from there to MARV films where I saw Matthew Vaughn, Jane Goldman, and Stardust Exec Producer Kris Thykier, along with a new long trailer for Stardust, and a dozen 30 second TV spots, a couple of which I really liked, some were okay, and some were just wrong.

From there to see John and Judith Clute (and Farah Mendelsohn) in Camden. John was writing his review of the Yiddish Policemen's Union while I was there, and would occasionally put his head around from the kitchen and ask about Eruvs.

From there I ate dinner with J. Michael Straczynski (who is doing a signing today at Forbidden Planet). It was great catching up on all of the wonderful things Joe is doing. Back to the hotel and fell asleep like a dead thing.

Now off to Northampton.

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