Forms of Still Life by Jeannine Cook

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Inching my way back from the roles of hospital companion and guardian to my husband as he recovered from an emergency operation, I finally felt I could slip back into my artist world a little. It was a welcome move as there is nothing more debilitating, for patient and family, than sojourns in a hospital. My first treat to myself was to see a recently opened small exhibition at the Museu Fundacion Juan March in Palma de Mallorca. Entitled "Things: The Idea of Still life in Photography and Painting", it straddled 17th century Dutch still life paintings and late nineteenth-early twentieth century photographs.

It was a really interesting premise, examining the forms of still life and even the cultural differences in the use of the word, "still life". The German and English versions of the words echo the original Dutch/Flemish concept of examples of things that are faithfully recorded in a carefully organised composition. But the Spanish "naturaleza muerta" or 'bodegon" stray far from the original premise. Most of the work presented represented northern artists, thus closer to the true sense of still life.

The Dutch paintings were lovely small ones, where the artists had delighted in the play of light on a glass goblet or a small ceramic dish, spoon or the crisp glint of a peeled lemon.

Willem Heda, Still Life with a Roemer, Bread and a Lemon,  c. 1640-43. Colección particular
Willem Heda, Still Life with a Roemer, Bread and a Lemon, c. 1640-43. Colección particular

The leap to the early medium of photograph to record still life that, mostly, was pre-composed, was interesting. Sometimes, the photographs seemed airless, compared to the paintings, still a characteristic of many photographs today when compared to paintings. Yet there was an elegance and refinement in the photographs that were distinctive. As always, I seem to prefer the very simple compositions - such as one by Baron Adolphe de Meyer taken in 1908 of two hydrangea flowers in a glass of water, the reflections of the glass playing out on the wide expanse of the surface in the lower third of the photogravure.

Barón Adolphe de Meyer, Naturaleza muerta, 1908. Colección Dietmar Siegert
Barón Adolphe de Meyer, Naturaleza muerta, 1908. Colección Dietmar Siegert

The selection of photographic still life works was wide-ranging - from daguerreotypes to a coloured autochrome coloured back-lit plate of flowers by the Lumiere Brothers done in 1908, a circa 1895 trichromatic print of flowers (so much for all our modern "inventions" of technicolour) and then into the more modernist 1920-60 black and white work by Man Ray, Walker Evans, and many other European photographers.

Josef Sudek, From the series "The Window of my Studio", 1940-54, gelatin silver print, Dietmar Siegert Collection
Josef Sudek, From the series "The Window of my Studio", 1940-54, gelatin silver print, Dietmar Siegert Collection

Every interpretation of still life was there one could imagine - from carefully set up compositions, to views of life made still in abattoirs or after a volcanic eruption to Walker Evans spotting a natural still life scene on a back porch of a (sharecropper?) weather-beaten clapboard house.

Walker Evans, Washstand in the dog run of Floyd Burroughs's cadbin, Hale County, Alabama, Summer 1936, gelatin silver print, Dietmar Siegert Collection
Walker Evans, Washstand in the dog run of Floyd Burroughs's cadbin, Hale County, Alabama, Summer 1936, gelatin silver print, Dietmar Siegert Collection

As I looked at the different compositions and the elements that made up those compositions, mainly derived from nature, I could not help realising that most of my current artwork is, de facto, still life. I am using elements of nature in compositions that record stones, bark, flowers --stilled by being placed in a setting other than their original one. I have only strayed a little, like many other artists, from the path of still life "inventor" artists of the seventeenth century by cropping, zooming in on some elements and eliminating others, framing and thus altering the original concept and layout of the still life set up.

Cedar Swirls, silver-goldpoint on black ground, Jeannine Cook artist
Cedar Swirls, silver-goldpoint on black ground, Jeannine Cook artist

I love feeling this sense of kinship and heritage that comes when you look at artwork from previous times and understand how and why you do things the way you do, thanks to those earlier artists.

Thoughts on Crowdfunding for Art Projects by Jeannine Cook

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Noyers sur Serein, Burgundy, France

Noyers sur Serein, Burgundy, France

You certainly learn by doing! I decided to do a crowd-funding project on Hatchfund as an experiment, to push out frontiers as an artist and hopefully to give good publicity to a very worthy cause, the artist residences at La Porte Peinte, in Noyers, France.

The first frontier I had to extend was getting into video-making, an area I had not yet visited. I met charming video-makers and although the first video was not what I hoped for, simply because I was utterly inarticulate with 'flu at the time, the second was better because I was more coherent and able to talk.

I am fascinated with the idea I developed - namely to try to marry together the metalpoint monastic heritage that flowered in Burgundy and elsewhere, the wine-producing heritage there and the extraordinary fossilised oyster shells found in stones lying in some Chablis vineyards. It will be a really interesting challenge to weave these strands together into viable art. I suppose that is what art residencies are for - peace and time for experiments!

La diète de salut. France, Burgundy, c. 1490 (Image courtesy of the Morgani Library, New York)

La diète de salut. France, Burgundy, c. 1490 (Image courtesy of the Morgani Library, New York)

Chablis and vineyards, Burgundy

Chablis and vineyards, Burgundy

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Chablis Stones containing Fossilised Oyster Shells

However, the other, and perhaps most time-consuming, aspect of my crowd-funding venture has been the actual fund-raising. I clearly had not thought through all the implications of such a project. Nonetheless, I soon found myself sitting down and writing to friends and supporters who have been wonderful enough to collect my art over the years.

I have to say the results have mostly been heart-warming and gratifying. There have of course been days of nothing at all happening, no one even acknowledging my e-mails, but then, out of the blue, comes a short e-mail from Hatchfund saying that such and such a person has supported the project.

Slowly the figures have crept up, until two days ago, I realised with a shock that I had passed the magic threshold mark of the minimum amount needed to fund the project and thus release the funds to me. What a relief!

En route to that point, I have learned a few aspects of this crowd-funding world. The first is distinctly cultural: I realise that a British background of not blowing one's own trumpet and not putting oneself forward does not prepare one well for the necessary soliciting of funds. Americans seem to have no such problems. The second is that the American way seems to require a considerable amount of outright hucksterism, two-for-the-price-of-one department. I think one has to be selective in approaches, depending on the type of project one is trying to promote.

The third and last consideration I have found to be interesting. In an era that supposedly has everyone fully converted to and comfortable with on-line financial transactions, there is still a high proportion of people very reticent indeed about putting a credit card on-line. Cheques still retain a high degree of reliability and safety to many people and on-line fraud is a very real threat.

However, towards the end of the Hatchfund fund-raising period on my Art Residency at La Porte Peinte, I am beginning to feel that it has been a good thing to have done. Mostly because it has given me reason to touch base with friends and supporters with whom I might not have exchanged news and greetings until later in the years. Also too, such a project, willy-nilly, forces one to measure oneself out there in the big, wild world -- and it is always nice to find that it is possible to bob along and keep afloat in the choppy waters of competition.

Thank you all, my generous supporters. And to my other friends from whom I have not heard, I hope to hear from you, especially to hear that your summer is going along happily.

Crowd-Funding with Hatchfund for a Metalpoint-Drawing Residency in Burgundy by Jeannine Cook

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I firmly believe that every artist should be open to new ventures, both in creating art and then in finding ways to reach other people who might share a passion for that type of art.  There are always new and potentially fascinating horizons to explore. In that spirit, I have just embarked on a crowd-funding venture with AIM Hatchfund to fund an artist residency at La Porte Peinte, in Noyers sur Serein, Burgundy.  All the details are at the Hatchfund website - both in video form and in text form.

La-Porte-Peinte, Noyers sur Serein, Burgundy, France

La-Porte-Peinte, Noyers sur Serein, Burgundy, France

Basically I have until 4th July to raise a minimum of $3000 to help defray the costs of going to Noyers to create a body of metalpoint drawings that weave together some fascinating but seemingly disparate aspects of life in Burgundy. Not only was the region a famed centre of monastic production of illuminated manuscripts.

Book of Hours, Paris 1430-35 - March (Image courtesy of the Morgan Library, New York)

Book of Hours, Paris 1430-35 - March (Image courtesy of the Morgan Library, New York)

Detail of Book of Hours, March. Paris 1430-35 (Image courtesy of the Morgan Library)

Detail of Book of Hours, March. Paris 1430-35 (Image courtesy of the Morgan Library)

Its renown too as a wine-producing region, thanks to those same industrious monks (and the Romans before them!), is sometimes enhanced by vines planted in soils rich in 150 million year old fossilised minute oyster shells that confer a unique “terroir” hallmark, particularly in the Chablis area.

Burgundy -Chablis-Le-Clos (Image courtesy of Mick Rock, photographer)

Burgundy -Chablis-Le-Clos (Image courtesy of Mick Rock, photographer)

Chablis Stones 1 small

Chablis Stones 1 small

Chablis, Kimmeridgian stone containing fossilised oyster shells (J. Cook photographer)

Chablis, Kimmeridgian stone containing fossilised oyster shells (J. Cook photographer)

The link for me in these two facts? Metalpoint drawing. Metalpoint is a medium born in medieval monasteries where monks used lead styli to delineate illuminations and draw the lines for their beautiful manuscripts. After a chequered history, metalpoint is currently undergoing a third renaissance. My passion for this subtle, shimmering medium dates from the early 1980s. I use mainly gold, silver and copper to make marks on prepared paper; the lines cannot be erased, and silver and copper will evolve in colour as they tarnish, making the medium even more alive.

Huitres de Chablis I , silverpoint-Prismacolor, Jeannine Cook artist

Huitres de Chablis I , silverpoint-Prismacolor, Jeannine Cook artist

Wine-making, illuminating manuscripts and drawing in silver and other metals are all activities where time has a very different rhythm compared to much of today’s world. We often need reminders that at times, a slower pace of life can bring joy, fascination and quiet rewards. A body of metalpoint drawings can serve as such a reminder.

With those thoughts in mind, I have just uploaded all the required information, video and text to Hatchfund, had the staff approve the contents and make it live. And now I have to hope that other kind people share my optic that travelling though time and different worlds is always fascinating. By making a tax-free donation to this metalpoint drawing project, I would have the pleasure of sending a thank you gift to contributors and then taking them along with me on the path of creating the art, thanks to technology.

Dear reader, share the fun of creation with me!

The Fascination of Butterflies by Jeannine Cook

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Talking to a friend the other day about encouraging people to create or recreate habitat for butterflies along the coast of Georgia, it made me think immediately of the role butterflies have always played in art. I love their messages of beauty, lightness and grace, allied to their incredible ability to survive long, taxing journeys and terrible adverse weather. They add a lilt to life and still the passage of time for a moment as you watch them float from flower to flower in the sunshine. The art created about butterflies also has a timelessness and beauty in so many instances. Medieval manuscripts frequently incorporated butterflies in their marvellous illuminations and paintings.

Livre d'Heures Cambray 1401-1500

Livre d'Heures Cambray 1401-1500

Libro d'ore Rothschild, Flanders, 1500-1520, private collection

Libro d'ore Rothschild, Flanders, 1500-1520, private collection

Remember, these amazing images were being created at a time when only careful observation and dead specimens were the means of recording - no cameras!

Detail of border with flowers, moths, flies - Hours of Joanna I of Castille, Netherlands, c. 1500 British Library

Detail of border with flowers, moths, flies - Hours of Joanna I of Castille, Netherlands, c. 1500 British Library

This heritage of celebrating butterflies continued and continues down the centuries.

British Library MS Royal I E V

British Library MS Royal I E V

Snowdrops and a painted lady, Jacques Le Moyne des Morgues, c. 1575 (Victoria & Albert Museum)

Snowdrops and a painted lady, Jacques Le Moyne des Morgues, c. 1575 (Victoria & Albert Museum)

Paintings of Flowers, Butterflies and Insects, late 16th century, Jacques Le Moyne de Morgues

Paintings of Flowers, Butterflies and Insects, late 16th century, Jacques Le Moyne de Morgues

This is just a sampling that I found when I went looking to share images that the wonderful early artists created, showing their love of butterflies.  It was a love, too, over and above the entomology that was already beginning to be important.  This was a love of beauty in its most fragile and exquisite form.

No wonder my friend wants to ensure that the butterflies of today live safely and well along the coast of Georgia and far beyond. It is not only artists who celebrate these wondrous insects.

Transformations by Jeannine Cook

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Transformations from the object an artist is viewing to the art created always seem like magic. No matter how lucid an explanation is given about how the artist gets from point A, the subject matter, to point B, the resultant artwork, there always seems to be another dimension. Perhaps that is because none of us can really get into the head of another human being, no matter how. Each of us is that proverbial "island unto ourselves" and that includes the conscious or subconscious process by which art is created. Of course, there is that other aspect - that the art that happens is also somewhat of a mystery to the artist as well. Each artist really never knows what is going to happen during the art-making process, no matter how carefully the preparation is done, or how meticulously laid out the plan for the work.

Personally, I am learning, slowly, simply to trust that small voice inside my head that says, "look hard at what you are seeing, allow your eye to select the next aspect to draw or paint, and just go with the zeitgeist of that moment of creation." In other words, relax, don't think too hard and work intuitively as much as possible.  I have also come to realise, with time, that whether I like it or not, my life experiences, my personality - who I am - will come through my art, for good or for bad.

I was trying simply to live intuitively in the moment last week when I had one of my rare, precious times to draw en plein air. I found an amazing live oak "sculpture" of the remains of a mighty tree - just the stump, the essence of sinews and strength.

Live Oak Tree Stump I, photographer J. Cook

Live Oak Tree Stump I, photographer J. Cook

Live Oak Tree Stump II, photographer J. Cook

Live Oak Tree Stump II, photographer J. Cook

The sunlight was shining on parts like a floodlight, and they sang. The only trouble was that of course, the sun moved, the light changed and other parts began to be more visible and the aspects that had interested me simply faded into shadow! Paciencia, as the Spanish say!

Nonetheless, by the end of the time spent in peace and fascination, I had done some small metalpoints. They are a version of this mysterious alchemy of transformations.

Rhythms of Oak, silverpoint-Prismacolor, artist Jeannine Cook

Rhythms of Oak, silverpoint-Prismacolor, artist Jeannine Cook

Live Oak Lingering, gold-silverpoint, artist Jeannine Cook

Live Oak Lingering, gold-silverpoint, artist Jeannine Cook

The Intensity of Size - Big or Small in Art by Jeannine Cook

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When I went to see the Richard Diebenkorn survey at the Royal Academy in London recently, I found it interesting but was surprised at my lack of excitement at seeing most of the work. The Ocean Park series on display were, of course, the most lyrical, but again, I was reminded of an internal conversation I frequently have with myself. Does a really big canvas manage to convey the intensity of the artist's passion? Or does the sheer size become, in many cases, a path to dilution of that excitement and energy? If you have to go on labouring day after day to paint huge surfaces, do you run out of steam? Of course, it is not always the case by any means — think of the Sistine Chapel ceiling, when Michelangelo laboured day after day in the most difficult of physical positions and conditions, and yet he achieved a power and impact of work that reverberates for every viewer.

Nonetheless, not every artist is a Michelangelo. And in the case of Richard Diebenkorn, I personally found that all his large canvases began to lack intensity. My reaction to these works was unexpectedly reinforced by three small paintings hung amongst the Ocean Park canvases.

They were three equally abstract works, painted on small cigar box covers. He used the cigar box cover paintings as gifts to friends, apparently, and my feeling was that these were the true gems in the exhibition. They were the perfect epitome of "small is beautiful". AsSarah C. Bancroft, curator of one Diebenkorn museum exhibition observes in the catalogue essay, they “capture one’s attention from across the room and command an expanse of wall space disproportionate to their actual size.”

Richard Diebenkorn, Cigar Box Lid #4, 1976. Oil on wood, 8-3⁄8 x 7-1⁄8". The Grant Family Collection. © The Estate of Richard Diebenkorn.

Richard Diebenkorn, Cigar Box Lid #4, 1976. Oil on wood, 8-3⁄8 x 7-1⁄8". The Grant Family Collection. © The Estate of Richard Diebenkorn.

Lyrical, free, certainly intense, but utterly lovely - they just sang. The more one explores the work Diebenkorn did in this small format, on cigar box lids, the more delightful and intimate the body of work becomes. Perhaps Diebenkorn felt liberated in this small format - he was not constrained by acres of canvas, nor the demands of gallery settings and collectors demanding impressive pieces. He could just create small delights that are intimate in scale, where his true sense of colour and the fitness of abstraction could be married to an acute sense of human celebration of life.

Cigar Box Lid #5

Cigar Box Lid #5

Richard Diebenkorn, Cigar Box Lid #6, oil on wood, 1979

Richard Diebenkorn, Cigar Box Lid #6, oil on wood, 1979

As Diebenkorn himself observed, "The idea is to get everything right — it’s not just color or form or space or line — it’s everything all at once."  He certainly achieved that for me in the cigar box lid paintings.

The three large rooms of the Royal Academy's Diebenkorn exhibition were distilled down to these three small pieces, for me. In a funny way, they helped me feel more reassured about my own art - my frequent choice of small format in metalpoint drawings was strangely validated. I was grateful to Diebenkorn for that, but most of all, for three paintings that still sing to me weeks after seeing them.

Tiny Images, Vast Scenes by Jeannine Cook

The Tempest, Peder Balke, 1862

The Tempest, Peder Balke, 1862

Peder Balke is not the name of an artist that readily springs to mind, yet he is now considered the pre-eminent Norwegian artist of the 19th century. His landscapes and especially seascapes, highly unusual in their techniques, are now justly celebrated. I was lucky enough to see an exhibition of his paintings at the National Gallery, having seen a smaller one of his work in the same rooms four years ago. Balke lived from 1804-1887, started out as a full-time painter and then had to turn to other ways of earning his living. Nonetheless, he continued to paint, for his own pleasure, experimenting and using paints in ways that heralded modern expressionism. He travelled to the North Cape in Norway, an area of dramatic coastlines and radiantly strange light of the Arctic Circle. These scenes continued to influence him many years later. He did not always paint specific scenes, but used the moods and impressions of nature, often in almost abstract fashion, to convey the majesty, mystery, solitude and power of the natural world.

The Old Bridge, Oil on panel, Peder Balke

The Old Bridge, Oil on panel, Peder Balke

Seascape c. 1860, oil on canvas mounted on panel, Peder Balke

Seascape c. 1860, oil on canvas mounted on panel, Peder Balke

While the larger paintings on display in the National Gallery exhibition were impressive, especially the highly atmospheric ones of Northern scenes, done in the 1870s, the ones that fascinate me are the tiny ones. They pack a punch, almost in a visceral way.

Stormy Sea, oil on panel, Peder Balke

Stormy Sea, oil on panel, Peder Balke

Stormy Sea, oil on cardboard, Peder Balke (Image courtesy of Drammens Museum)

Stormy Sea, oil on cardboard, Peder Balke (Image courtesy of Drammens Museum)

They are indeed small, mostly blacks and white, seascapes and some landscapes of glaciers or waterfalls, often almost abstracts. They are not small, however, when it comes to impact. Their effect is perhaps more powerful than that of many of the larger paintings he did. Perhaps my love of monochromatic works leads me to them, but to me, they are stunning in their big voices coming from very small rectangles of oil on cardboard or oil on board.

Northern Lights, 1870s, Peder Balke

Northern Lights, 1870s, Peder Balke

Norther Lights over Coastal Landscape, c. 1870, oil on panel, Peder Balke

Norther Lights over Coastal Landscape, c. 1870, oil on panel, Peder Balke

Peder Balke

Peder Balke

Sun breaking through the Clouds at Vardohus, 1860-1870s, oil on panel, Private Collection

Sun breaking through the Clouds at Vardohus, 1860-1870s, oil on panel, Private Collection

The Tempest, oil on panel, Peder Balke

The Tempest, oil on panel, Peder Balke

Seascape, Peder Balke

Seascape, Peder Balke

I wonder if other people find them as arresting as I do?

"A-ha" Moments in Exhibitions by Jeannine Cook

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Do you ever experience a wonderful moment when you see something in an exhibition, it suddenly resonates and explains some connection, or gives an unexpected insight into something else? I love those moments. I had a few such instances during my exhibition "orgy" in London recently. The first one came as I was marvelling at Goya's drawings in the superb "Goya: The Witches and Old Women Album" at The Courtauld Gallery. This exhibition was the first reconstruction of the dispersed 23 drawings from Francisco Goya's so-called Album D, "Witches and Old Women, produced during the wonderfully productive last decade of his life, together with other related drawings and prints.

The exhibition was riveting in every way - Goya's economy of drawing, his powers of depicting human emotions in their most raw and dramatic forms, his mordant commentaries on human foibles, all so simply done on small sheets of paper, in shades of ink - oh heavens! The scholarly work done that permits the reconstruction of this album, in a coherent and likely order of drawings, was also most fascinating and impressive.

Then, in the works accompanying the 23 drawings, there was a brush and brown ink drawing from Album B, Estas Brujas lo diran (Those Witches will tell).

Estas Brujas lo diran, Francisco Goya, brush & brown ink, (image courtesy of Prado Museum, Madrid)

Estas Brujas lo diran, Francisco Goya, brush & brown ink, (image courtesy of Prado Museum, Madrid)

I was so astonished. The line from Goya ran straight and true to Egon Schiele's Self Portraits. Goya's drawing is a haunting image of a naked old witch devouring snakes. Egon Schiele's Self-Portraits tell of equally disturbing solitary states of mind.

Self-Portrait, Egon Schiele, 1912 (Image courtesy of Leopold Museum)

Self-Portrait, Egon Schiele, 1912 (Image courtesy of Leopold Museum)

Egon Schiele, Self Portrait, 1915

Egon Schiele, Self Portrait, 1915

Both artists are fluid in their lines, their vigorous treatment of wet and dry passages of drawing media. Did Schiele know of Goya's drawing in the Prado? Or was it just happenstance, the result of two gifted draughtsmen's states of mind?

Another "aha" moment for me that stands out in my memory was when I was looking at one of several unusual Claude Monet paintings in "Inventing Impressionism: Paul Durand-Ruel and the Modern Art Market" at the National Gallery. In the gallery showing works by Monet that Durand-Ruel had exhibited in a pioneering monographic show in 1883, , there was an arresting painting of two apple tarts or galettes on wicker platters, Les Galettes, painted in 1882 and in a private collection today.

Les Galettes, 1882, oil on canvas, Claude Monet, Private Collection

Les Galettes, 1882, oil on canvas, Claude Monet, Private Collection

Its vigour and brio of treatment, its golds and yellows and close-cropped composition all take one straight to Vincent Van Gogh and his sunflowers or even a study of humble fishes, or bloaters. Did he see Monet's study of the Galettes - he most probably did, as he produced the first studies of cut sunflower heads some five years later.

Two Cut Sunflowers, Vincent Van Gogh, 1887, oil on canvas, (Image courtesy of Kunstmuseum, Bern)

Two Cut Sunflowers, Vincent Van Gogh, 1887, oil on canvas, (Image courtesy of Kunstmuseum, Bern)

Two Cut Sunflowers, oil on canvas, 1887. Vincent Van Gogh (Image courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum, New York)

Two Cut Sunflowers, oil on canvas, 1887. Vincent Van Gogh (Image courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum, New York)

Bloaters on a Piece of Yellow Paper, oil on canvas, 1889, Vincent Van Gogh

Bloaters on a Piece of Yellow Paper, oil on canvas, 1889, Vincent Van Gogh

The third moment of fascination for me was in the same Impressionist exhibition, again a Monet painting done in 1875, The Coal Carriers. Monet had seen workers unloading coal for the Clichy gasworks from the train from Argenteuil to Paris, and painted this work partly from memory.

The Coal Carriers, oil on canvas. Claude Monet, c. 1875 (Image courtesy of the Musee d'Orsay, Paris)

The Coal Carriers, oil on canvas. Claude Monet, c. 1875 (Image courtesy of the Musee d'Orsay, Paris)

The rhythmic placement of the men on the gangplanks, the silhouettes and dark colours somehow reminded me of many of the Japanese ukiyo-e prints, their rhythms and cropped views. Monet was an avid admirer of the new wave of Japanese prints coming in to Paris at that time.

Twilight Moon at Ryogoku Bridge from series Famous Views of the Eastern Capital, Utagawa Hiroshige

Twilight Moon at Ryogoku Bridge from series Famous Views of the Eastern Capital, Utagawa Hiroshige

Utagawa Hiroshige: Twilight View of the Snow-clad Ryogoku Bridge

Utagawa Hiroshige: Twilight View of the Snow-clad Ryogoku Bridge

I love these moments when you can link up artists, influences and inspirations. They validate one's own endeavours as an artist as you study and view other artists' works, not to copy, but to use as pathways to grow and spread wings.

Delirium of Art Exhibitions by Jeannine Cook

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My problem with a visit to London is that it is never long enough! There is always another exhibition that beckons or a concert that demands to be heard. Nonetheless, there is a distinct delirium in the dizzying number of art exhibitions that I managed to see. There is always the vast diversity of size and type of exhibition from which to choose. The huge and fascinating "Inventing Impressionism: Paul Durand-Ruel and the Modern Art Market" at the National Gallery is currently one extreme. The other is a really interesting and diverse small exhibition, "Cotton to Gold: Extraordinary Collections of the Industrial North West".

This show, "Cotton to Gold" was a delight from beginning to end, not least because of where it is exhibited. Two Temple Place is a relatively new exhibition venue, along the Victoria Embankment, on the Thames, in front of the amazing Law Courts complex. A small but seriously over the top  neo-Gothic building, it was built as an office for the first Viscount Astor, William Waldorf, in the 1890s. Lavish beyond belief in details and embellishments, it was a statement of power and wealth seldom equalled today. The building alone, now the home of The Bulldog Trust, is well worth a visit, quite apart from any exhibition put on during the winter months.

Two Temple Place, London. Central Hall

Two Temple Place, London. Central Hall

Two Temple Place, London. Main Hall-Office

Two Temple Place, London. Main Hall-Office

"Cotton to Gold" was a show curated from the collections of three small museums in the British North West, collections that had been donated by very wealthy private citizens in the late 19th/early 20th century. These men had made their money in Lancashire's booming textile industry. Not only did they collect with a passion, but they were also serious local philanthropists, supporting social and cultural institutions.

Mosaic Panel with two sulphur-crested cockatoos attributed to Joseph Briggs, c. 1908, favrile glass in bronze tray, Briggs Collectiob, Haworth Art Gallery

Mosaic Panel with two sulphur-crested cockatoos attributed to Joseph Briggs, c. 1908, favrile glass in bronze tray, Briggs Collectiob, Haworth Art Gallery

The collections from which this show was curated ranged hugely. Early icons from Greece, Russia and the Eastern Mediterranean; Greek and Roman coins; superb Japanese ukiyo-e prints (pictures of the floating world); cuneiform tablets, manuscripts and books that traced the history of writing from 4000 years ago until the 20th century; carved ivories, J.M.W. Turner watercolours; John Everett Millais' life drawings; work from the largest public collection of  Tiffany glass in Europe; even beetles and Peruvian funerary objects. It was a mind-stretching but really fascinating selection. There was something to interest everyone, in essence.

Book of Hours, 13th century, Paris, parchment, from Robert Edward Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Book of Hours, 13th century, Paris, parchment, from Robert Edward Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Some of the early illuminated manuscripts collected by Robert Edward Hart were exquisite, while others from 15th or 18th century Persia fascinated by their elegance.

Detail, Book of Hours, early 16th century, possibly Rouen, parchment, Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Detail, Book of Hours, early 16th century, possibly Rouen, parchment, Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Missal written by Johannes de Berlandia, c. 1400, Lombardy, parchment, Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Missal written by Johannes de Berlandia, c. 1400, Lombardy, parchment, Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Muhammad ibn Sulayman al-Jazul, Dala'il al-khayrut, (Guide to Goodness), 18th century, Persia/Iran. Robert Edward Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Muhammad ibn Sulayman al-Jazul, Dala'il al-khayrut, (Guide to Goodness), 18th century, Persia/Iran. Robert Edward Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Nizanni Ganjavi, Khamsa (Quintet), late 15th century, Persia/Iran, Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Nizanni Ganjavi, Khamsa (Quintet), late 15th century, Persia/Iran, Hart Collection, Blackburn Museum

Early printed books showed the straddle between printing and hand illustrations, then printing predominated completely. There were early copies of names that resonate - Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Montaigne or Swift. It made one stretch back into one's early education, a rather humbling affair!

This exhibition reminded me that an exhibition conceived on a very human scale and with such a diversity of content is often unusual today. Nonetheless, it was a delicious and memorable set of collections woven together for everyone's delight. The exhibition runs until 19th April, 2015 - well worth a saunter along the Victoria Embankment beneath the huge plane trees until you reach Two Temple Place.