Wild Rose

I’m feeling vibrant and energised this morning. Yesterday was a free day and I went on a 10 mile walk starting from my house bright and early. I love observing the change in seasons and how suddenly it can be snowy and bone numbingly cold one weekend, and a week later, the birds seem to chatter and chirp in a fresh new key as they gather materials to create their new homes. I heard a woodpecker tapping away this morning when I was stretching with the window wide open. It’s definitely Spring thank goodness and when the sun is out, the warmth feels therapeutic.

Noticing these changes adds variety on a walk along paths we’ve trodden very well over the past year. Yesterday we avoided roads and ventured across country rather than sticking to the clearly established paths. You could call it the path less travelled and I like that a lot, going off piste. Towards the end of the walk we headed up to the moorland above Deer Hill reservoir. It was barren and rugged. Lovely!

I put on some simple fare when we got back. I love feeding people and I’ve missed that during lockdown.

We didn’t see any wild roses on our walk but these days, Saturday night is movie night. After a quick scroll through the Netflix top titles, I decided on a film called Wild Rose. It really blew me away which is why I’m telling you about it. It’s still with me this morning. It’s an inspiring and slightly gritty but uplifting story of a Glaswegian country singer desperate to make it big in Nashville. The protagonist is played by a phenomenal actress called Jessie Buckley who sings for real in the film, and Julie Walters does a fantastic job playing her mum. It really inspired me and I laughed out loud a few times which says a lot as most viewing leaves me po faced. That’s all I’m going to say. Watch it and let me know what you think, especially if you laughed out loud.

Have a super wild Sunday!

Reflections, Shadow and Light Manchester Art Gallery

“I was in Manchester recently for a much needed dose of musical inspiration. One of my favourite things is combining business with pleasure which I did with great joy by visiting a very special art gallery indeed.”

Torso

With its angular swoops and curves, this was one of my favourite works by Halima Cassell. Her exhibition was warm, engulfing, immense and poignantly beautiful

You may be justified in wondering why a harpist is writing about an art gallery. I’ve always harboured a fascination with these peaceful places, embellished with a humbling abundance of creativity.

Flow

Halima Cassell

I feel invigorated, stimulated, inspired when I see the wondrous result of months and maybe years of painstaking work. My imagination runs riot pondering the process that’s gone on behind the scenes with vivid clarity. This reflects my journey in music and my own personal artistic creative process with its pretty and not so pretty moments.

Ironic happy face Torture chair

Slice Chair - Matthias Bengtsson

Manchester was my stomping ground for many years on and off and I have a love hate relationship with the city. I love the green spaces that can be found in the most unexpected places, dotted haphazardly in and amongst its concrete architectural confusion of buildings. It’s a hectic city, rendered rabid with busy people clamouring to reach their destinations with critical urgency. I feel like a fish out of water when I’m there, jostled by elbows competing to get on malodorous buses, in lack of my bucolic country comforts. On the day of my visit, I managed a personal best of over 13,000 steps. Go me, and Take That, public transport.

Doves - Barbara Hepworth

Part of “And Breathe… Exploring the relationship between art and mindfulness”

I’ve started taking hundreds of photos in galleries, and mobile phones with gargantuan gigabyte memories make that a snap. I sometimes think I’m missing the point but I forget to have my specs to hand and I can’t absorb all the detail and information in a two hour splurge, so one of my favourite things is getting home to gleefully review what my eye didn’t quite capture. The images add a deeper perspective to my visit.

Phoenix

Halima Cassell

Galleries fascinate me. Why am I irresistibly drawn in by certain works and repelled by others? I used to feel a sense of inadequacy and inferiority about my lack of knowledge and I ridiculed the fact I homed in on details most people consider banal and insignificant. Take Sunday for example. There was a to-do about Da Vinci’s drawings which I didn’t even find. “How could you miss the major exhibition?” I hear you ask. Manchester Art Gallery has so many rarities shrouded in the protective dark chambers of its luxurious Farrow and Ball painted interior that it’s easily done.

Sema

Halima Cassell

Then there’s the allure of evocative trophies from the gift shop, not to mention the café. The waiter and I oohed over the cascading blossom tree confetti we could see through the elongated windows in front of the gallery, providing lush natural contrast to the smooth sandstone building.

City centre safety

Scraping the sky

I found a partner in crime when I confessed to the waitress I was having cake for lunch. My hedonism reined in, I curbed my enthusiastic selection to two fruity numbers, and my tangy orange and almond cake (no ice cream (sad face)) washed down with the best flat white I’ve had in ages fuelled me for one last zing through the galleries. From top to bottom in twenty minutes, now there’s a challenge. I even did the survey on a tablet for the survey curator, albeit slightly begrudgingly, but a promise is a promise. I’d have rather seen the Da Vinci.

Airy lobby

Enwreathed in ingenuity

If you’re in Manchester, I can’t recommend Manchester Art Gallery highly enough. Even if you’re not in Manchester, find an excuse to visit! Here’s another handful of heartfelt memories:

Blue Loop

Rasmussen

Redolent of an amoebic ashtray

Halima Cassell

Top floor

Covetable curios

Open space

Nordic craft and design

“Have you been to Manchester Art Gallery? Which is your favourite gallery? What did you see, and how did it inspire you? Go to the Contact page to get in touch and let me know!”

Over the Bridge - Camac Harp Weekend, Cardiff

“Attending a music event can be a breath of fresh air and can provide inspiration in so many ways. Read on to find out what I got up to in Cardiff last weekend”

Oval Sculpture (Delos)

Barbara Hepworth, 1955

Last Saturday lunchtime I drove across the Severn Bridge for the first time. When I drive to Cardiff, I usually take the inner more “scenic” route (name a route in Wales that isn’t picturesque) but for some reason, this time I stayed on the motorway. The bridge’s sprawling telescopic steel limbs funnelled me into Wales like a minuscule spider scuttling home. Whooping as I drove excitedly over the monumental bridge, I gained the momentum I needed to keep going for the remaining hour of my journey. Cardiff’s a fair old drive from West Yorkshire.

I got lost here half an hour from home

In my defence, I’d taken an alternative route to get to the motorway to avoid a traffic jam, soon after having my car door slam on my shin, driven by strong winds. I heard a crack. I swear that cursing profusely for 5 minutes definitely eased my pain

The main reason for my trip was to get my harp serviced by those fantastic Camac technicians. Wrench wielding recent recruits Guillaume and Louis did themselves proud and my harp sounds great. Thanks guys! The after sales service Camac Harps provide is just brilliant and I know my harp is in the best hands.

I received a customary warm welcome from lovely Elen of Vining Harps, who were organising the harp weekend. Apart from having my harp seen to, I was very excited about the recital to be given by Isabelle Moretti that evening in the Impressionists Gallery at the National Museum of Wales. That all sounds a bit heavyweight doesn't it? And yes, it was, but effortlessly so. I felt like a VIP, granted permission to the museum after hours. My heart started racing walking past Rodin’s bronzes and, would you believe, some works by Yorkshire lass, Barbara Hepworth. You can take the girl out of Yorkshire… The intimate room was full to capacity and I couldn’t quite register how I was to be treated to such a sumptuous feast for my eyes and ears. I let it all wash over me like an exquisite wave, sweeping away the staleness from my business and my scant unenthusiastic solo practice.

The Clouds

Auguste Rodin

I’ve heard Isabelle perform many times and I can genuinely say I’ve never heard her play better. She performed with character and charisma, grace and elegance, and I forgot about my life for a couple of hours. I was whisked away to another universe, where music and emotion dominated. I can still hear her opening piece, the Sonatine by Marcel Tournier, played with an extraordinary palette of colours. Tears welled up as my soul was soothed. One minute my ear was drawn to the definition given to a phrase by her left hand, the next it zoomed in on her right hand, deftly negotiating a jump with élan and sparkle. To call her playing perfect is false. Isabelle’s playing is beyond that. When I listen to her, I don’t hear a harpist. I hear a musician, an artist, a human being, and I have no questions.

The best photo I got

of Isabelle’s spectacular Canopée harp with Monet’s work. The door looks nice doesn’t it?

In the first half of her meaty programme, she played famous pieces from the harp repertoire with a freshness that made me believe she hadn’t played them countless times in public over the years. After the intermission, we moved from Monet’s hazy impressionistic mood to Spain. The smooth transition came in the form of her own intricate arrangement of La Soirée dans Grenade by Debussy. After a marathon programme, her finale by De Falla from his opera La Vida Breve catapulted me straight back into the pit. The orchestral sounds flowed organically from her fingers. I could hear flamenco guitars and imagine swarthy bronzed hombres arrogantly blowing cigarette smoke in the faces of their sultry señoritas, their heels click-clacking noisily in a hot airless tapas bar.

Unlike my vivid imagination, there was no excess, no indulgence in Isabelle’s performance, one that will stay with me for a very long time.

What Isabelle played, by heart

Walking into the museum, I bumped into Ceri Wynne Jones who I hadn’t seen for years, possibly not since a Gregynog harp course. Remember those? It was great to catch up with her and compare stories from our freelancing endeavours. There was a post concert reception at the intimate Kooywood Gallery. Even more art! Wine was flowing freely. This was one of the first social events I’ve been to since I stopped drinking a year and 3 months ago. Despite feelings of inadequacy and shyness, I think I managed alright. I wasn’t a butterfly and neither was I a wallflower. I left with a clear head filled with notes and no anxiety about how I was going to get back to the hotel. It was reassuring not to feel a looming sense of dread in anticipation of the morning after.

Victor Hugo

Auguste Rodin

There’s never enough time to fit everything in at this type of event. I heard promising sounds from Claire Jones and her ensembles rehearsing and doing their sound checks, but I had to head back up North before the closing concert. And yes. I went over the bridge again with the exact same excitement. You can take the girl out of Yorkshire…

Hands on

Shoes off - a masterclass with Isabelle Moretti. It was, for me, a reminder of the importance of the rhythmic feeling within the bar

Colour full

Rhi-sabelle!

“See you next time for a blog post about Comic Relief!”

Edinburgh International Festival

                                       Siegfried - 8/8/18

I'm just back from a couple of days in Scotland performing with the Hallé at the Edinburgh International Festival.  I had my first experience of this iconic event last Summer when I was one of six harpists involved in a concert performance of Berlioz's sublime operatic masterpiece The Damnation of Faust given by the same orchestra under their inspirational music director Sir Mark Elder.  It was a memorable performance with some spectacular singing.  Sir Mark has a knack for sourcing outstanding vocal produce and this year, Siegfried was no exception.  After a stonking show in June, our memories rejigged from a rehearsal in Manchester, my musical exodus started on Monday afternoon when I drove up to Carlisle after the morning session.  With a 2.30 rehearsal on Tuesday afternoon at the beautiful Usher Hall in the heart of the city, and in light of having to "take" that motorway again, I booked a night at a hotel to minimise the risk of arriving late.  

The good, the bad and the downright ugly

I got to my car just before it got towed.  Luckily for me, Scottish traffic wardens are remarkably human and humane - it was just a caution, and still only £30 if I got stung, maybe cheaper than parking?  No wonder I need dark delights and I can safely say these prunes get 9 out of 10

Last year's experience was made slightly traumatic when I couldn't find parking by the hall after unloading my harp and I struggled to negotiate the narrow downward spiral of the claustrophobic multi storey car park through tears of frustration despite arriving very early for a sectional rehearsal with the man himself.  Not this year.  Oh no Edinburgh, I was onto you.  Being early and well tuned and prepared is a must in a scenario involving five other harpists and a knight.  There was no sectional this time, and despite a tight get in window (it busily boasts the status of international festival with good reason), I was on time, rested, fed and caffeinated.

The luxury of driving

means I can pack quite a lot of home comforts including my Pilates mat and bands and 2 days worth of food.  And my cherished pillow

My heart plummeted when I arrived at my halfway hotel.  Despite requesting a ground floor room when I booked, I was on the first floor with no lift.  The helpful apologetic receptionist ran me through my options - I was early enough to be moved to a ground floor room.  Anxious at the thought of being separated from my harp for all of 12 hours, plan A was ditched after I saw the disused leisure centre that had enjoyed a previous life as an important hub within the brand consistent hotel.  There was a pool!  It looked enticing in its state of disrepair.  I was told there was also a sauna and steam room.  Reception and I agreed that it could be the Tebay of UK hotels with a travellers' spa but as is often the case with dream projects, it's complicated.  I'm not sure if it's the thought that it might have been humid in there, or if it was a bit of jealousy at imagining Kite having a better time than me plunging pedals first into cool water followed by a session sweating it off swathed in nothing but a towel, but I couldn't bring myself to abandon her even though it seemed secure.  Besides I like sleeping with my harp occasionally.  She's surprisingly quiet and low maintenance - she'd only inaudibly popped her top G by the time we got to Edinburgh.

My scenic drive up from Carlisle through the imaginatively named villages of Carlops and Dolphinton kept my mind from boredom and was uneventful.  I passed Manor Garage which I managed to get my car to when the exhaust broke on that very same stretch of road a few years back on my way to work in the big city.  They miraculously fixed it while I waited and I was on time for the seating rehearsal.  Needless to say, I pulled over as soon as I could to book its service for next week.  My sister suffered the misfortune of a blown engine recently after forgetting to check the oil.  I'm paranoid about checking my tyres, and I can now add oil to my list of concerns.

Dicky!

showing off his jauntily creative side with a clever selfie angle.  People - the brighter side of touring.  

After a non stop busy day, my body a bit achy and in the mood for a quiet night in, I headed away from the festival bustle to the nearest pub for a slap up dinner.  I felt like part of the crowd ordering their stiffest Virgin Bloody Mary and coughed reassuringly at the kick of heat to the back of my throat.  My tastebuds were tantalisingly teased and tickled by salt and pepper squid and Kaarage chicken and I tried Katsu sauce and mooli for the first time.  9 out of 10 for the food, and being on my own wasn't an issue either.  The waitress and I were soon creased with belly laughs as we compared notes on our sugar addictions.  An attractive svelte European blessed with a stunning sparkly smile and a personality to match her looks, her poison was a cookie, lots of them by the sounds of it.  Each to their own.  If you're in Edinburgh and want some excellent food away from the madding crowds, I can recommend the Salisbury Arms very highly - great service and no funny looks for dining solo.

Narrow escape

After 2 delicious starters including the delightfully named Kaarage chicken in a nice pub by the halls, the waitress insisted on showing me the dessert menu.  Was she trying to kill me?  I narrowed it down to three and didn't have any.  They didn't open until midday so I definitely couldn't go back and have them for breakfast

The 20 minute rehearsal and subsequent 5.5 hour performance flew past, well it would as we harps were only in Acts 1 and 3.  I felt the urge to be social but, having had a scant 4 hours' sleep, the urge to honour an appointment in my car for a snooze was stronger, and I made my polite excuses not to join my harp colleagues for dinner.  Fortunately I woke up in time to eat my healthy chicken and kale rainbow salad, a workout for my mouth taking the best part of twenty minutes, that's how much fibre was packed into that plastic container.  Can you imagine going all the way up to Edinburgh and missing Act 3?

Baby tubas

My turn to get creative with those horns.  Most things look artistic through harp strings

There was a really good energy in the hall, a Festival vibe if ever I felt one, and I relished people watching when I wasn't engrossed in the indulgent magnitude and intimacy of Wagner's epic music.  The rapt expressions I glimpsed in the audience reflected the quality of the pared down production and world class singing.  Christine Goerke made for a beautiful bellowing Brünnhilde filling the hall with her powerful soprano, and my guess is she must have sung that role quite a few times - how else could she have embraced the challenge of such terse rehearsal and given a display of vocal wizardry with grace, ease and a warm generosity that captivated our audience?  Simon O'Neill was as good as he was back in June in Manchester, and I noticed he occasionally referred to an iPad, a sign of the times.  A hearty robust rambunctious Siegfried with the stamina of an ox, it's a role that suits him perfectly. The rest of the cast, conductor and orchestra were on top form too, playing with endurance, vibrant passion and élan.  A special mention goes to the Woodbird's gold sequinned white denim jacket ornate with eye catching sparkles that would have hypnotised a magpie.  I shook my head with disbelief several times at the sheer beauty of what my ears often couldn't register.  Some truly outstanding musicianship took place that night.

Comforting symmetry

My view when I turned around in Usher Hall.  There were quite a few Wagner fans sitting in those cushionless classroom pews for around 4 hours.  I considered myself heroic for lasting an hour and a half on a piano stool in Act 1

No sooner than you could say Siegfried, it was time to up sticks with the controlled dash that packing a huge orchestra into a truck and two coaches entails, and before I knew it, I was on the road again.  Unwilling to negotiate another round of parking, lifts and corridors only to decamp again a few hours later and lose a whole day travelling, I didn't spend a second night in halls.  

Right under Arthur's Seat

Great name, location and breakfast.  Bloody minded canteen attendant

Best coffee in Edinburgh

My best efforts couldn't get me a decent coffee on campus at 7am.  I got some exercise walking to the local shop where I was warmly served my hand stirred brew in my travel mug by lovely Ali shivering in front of his fridges 

Right under my nose

The Commonwealth Pool, closed until 14 August, so no early morning swimming session

Having carefully planned my route the old school way and avoiding the long drive involving a ferry crossing to Ireland which my satnav humorously initially suggested, I finally got some sense from it and went down the East side of the country, not quite the coastal route and I had the roads to myself as I crossed the rivers of Tyne, Tweed and Blackadder.  No kidding.  Google it.  After just over an hour I started drifting even though I was fuelled by an energy drink.  Sensing danger, I blearily parked up in Coldstream and tried to get in the zone for a quick nap.  Fifteen minutes later I set off again only to be overcome by another strong bout of insomnia after half an hour.  This time I stopped in a lay-by in deepest darkest who knows where.  I hacked away at my imagination's most ghastly ghouls and zombies crawling up the bonnet of my car to rudely peer in at my slumber before eventually getting a decent amount of shuteye in the tranquil pitch black setting.  That got me just past Newcastle with greater ease but I started to drift again. Back in civilisation, I stopped at the services and had a good hour of deep sleep under my blanket supported by the comfort of my pillow.  If you've never slept with a harp in the back of your car, I can tell you it's quite an art to cosy up.  A few spine and leg stretches in the facilities helped get my circulation going again and there's something to be said for 24 hour services and the friendliness of the people who make them happen.  Maybe they get extra money for doing the early shift.  Probably not, but they should.

First breakfast

taken at 4.29 am and washed down with a strong flat white, it kept me tapping my feet and gently headbanging intentionally to Ben Folds down the A1

Boosted by even more caffeine, off I went accompanied by the lively strains of Ben Folds.  A fabulous pianist, lyricist, vocalist and tunesmith, I can't recommend Best Imitation of Myself strongly enough as a great soundtrack for a long drive.  His songs are quite literally food for thought.  Check out Philosophy below which is worth watching for all of almost 6 minutes if only for his witty repartee with Jools:

I wouldn't want to tune his pianos.  With too many catchy numbers to list here, there's also Gracie, a most poignant father/daughter tribute.  Rockin' the Suburbs is a tongue in cheek number with a few swear words thrown in for good measure.  I was The Luckiest (another BFF classic beauty) when I had the good fortune to be part of the orchestra for a Ben Folds concert in Bristol a few years back.  A previously unknown entity, I was immediately hooked by his dazzling dexterity as he more often than not stood up to play his beloved piano.  His professionalism and the energy of his performance resonated with me as well as his engagement with his loyal audience - he  held them in the palm of his talented hands as they sang along with us.  Ben came to France with me when I drove there and back a couple of years ago so he's really made the distance and I know I can count on him for future journeys.  Rufus is overdue an airing, though the track for my next long car trip will probably involve some work related Puccini - I love combining business and pleasure.

At 4.29 the cones were just being lifted after they'd closed part of the A1.  A near miss.  At 5.17 I passed Temple Newsam and knew I was on the home stretch.  It was a doddle from there.  Slightly jet-lagged and hyperactively exhausted from my Scottish sojourn, I realised that almost all I've written about in this post is driving and car related.  Unfortunately it goes with the territory.  The time I spend with my harp actually enjoying my music is all too rare these days and I intend to change that during the next few months.  A promise I made myself in Scotland was a week off, which is swiftly dwindling to a few days as more distractions start flooding in, some of them welcome, others less so.  One of the biggest challenges we freelancers face is time management, and planning holidays is something I need to learn to incorporate into my life.  So if it's silence from me for a few days, I apologise but I have to create some breathing space.  Another promise is to dip my toes in sea and sand.  I always keep my promises.

Balancing act

All six of us closet sugar fiends, we were each offered a gift by Principal Harp Marie from the most amazing macaroon shop in the city, Madame Macaron.  Sugared out from the 3 I oohed over after lunch (pistachio, beautiful blue lavender without a hint of Zoflora, and peanut butter and chocolate), I saved mine for my post dinner ritual on Thursday night.  It tasted even better garnished and for travelling all the way from Scotland

Detox

In an attempt to manage my anxiety, I'm going coldish turkey next week.  If it helps, where can I get decaf coffee beans?

Welcome home!  The sky at 6.23 on the morning of my return to Yorkshire.

A beautiful heroine

Missing from this week's performance - I would have loved to see her and she would have LOVED Siegfried!  We shared the same inspirational teacher, mentor and close friend and like minded ally, Eira