Hello, and thank you for visiting my site. I hope that you'll return often and always find something of interest about my world and what inspires me to pick up a pen. (This is a figure of speech, unfortunately. My handwriting is terrible!) Here's what I've been up to recently...
Artistic Licence
One of the competitions included in Ripon Writers’ Group’s rolling programme challenges members to find inspiration in any branch of the arts. Always a lover of the Impressionists, I took this infamous painting as my source this time around.
Le déjeuner sur l’herbe
“Come to a picnic in the Bois de Boulogne, Victorine,” he said one day in 1863. “It will be quite an intimate affair; just the two of us, my brother and Suzanne’s, maybe and another young lady.”
“And not your wife?” I enquired acidly, although I already knew the answer to that question. Suzanne might accept my professional relationship with Monsieur M, but mix with me socially now that he’d finally made a respectable woman of her? No chance!
“I’m afraid not,” he replied with a shrug. She wouldn’t risk getting grass stains on one of her fine new dresses.” Not a problem for me, I thought. My dresses were adequate, even pretty, some of them. But fine? No. Not on what I earned.
“Well, where exactly did you have in mind?” I asked. He stroked his beard, something he always did when pretending not to have the answer straightaway, and then said casually,
“Oh, by a stream or a lake. Then some of us can bathe if we’ve a mind to.”
“I see.” I did see too. As if that hadn’t been his plan all along. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d feasted his eyes on me in the all together. An artist’s model has to cast off any notions of modesty, you know, so it’s lucky that I’ve always been comfortable in my own skin. Degas and Toulouse-Lautrec have both had an eyeful at different times. Several others too, if I’m honest. Well, how else was a red-haired girl from a poor background but with artistic ambitions of her own to support herself in Paris? I’ve always had a healthy appetite too and thought I could count on him, a man of considerable means, to put on a good spread for our woodland lunch. The polar opposite of an artist starving in a garret was Monsieur M. He was a toff and the only artist I knew who didn’t actually have to sell his work to keep his family in style, although he did take great pride in his paintings. Having some of his best rejected by the stuffy Paris Salon as too risqué was a hard pill to swallow and I wasn’t surprised when this latest painting, regarded by some critics as a scene of modern-day debauchery, made its first public appearance in the Salon des Refusés. It wasn’t on its own, of course. Napoleon III set it up to stem a public outcry when more than half the submissions to the official Salon were turned down, but that’s by the by.
Anyway, to get back to what I was saying, off we all went. The picnic wasn’t up to much, just fruit and bread and not a patch on those that his and Monet’s families enjoyed in their gardens, but this was going to be no mundane scene of everyday life. He wanted me, and only me, au naturel; not pretending to be a Greek goddess or the like, but as an ordinary young woman who just happened to be picnicking in the nude. There was to be no hanky panky. Men who’ve viewed the huge oil painting ever since might feel a stirring in their loins, but the way he posed our little group suggested that my companions hadn’t really noticed my state of undress. Far from it, in fact. They hadn’t even loosened their collars and he ordered them to appear deeply immersed in their conversation. Odd really, especially as one of them was sitting with his legs splayed out and my right foot was in pole position to give him a kick where the sun don’t shine. Chin cupped in my hand, I was minding my own business and gazing thoughtfully away from the others as if trying to catch the eye of any passer by who chanced upon the strange scene. They’d have taken me for a prostitute, of course, and the other girl too, although she’s never been named and therefore doesn’t share in my notoriety. Given that she appears to be emerging from her bathe dry and almost fully clad, as well as having difficulty scrabbling back up the bank, the painting wouldn’t have lost much if she’d been missed out altogether. The perspective is terrible, if you want my opinion as a fellow artist. She’s far too big and appears almost to be floating above us. The background lacks depth too and you might well imagine that it had all been done in a studio rather than outdoors. As for the stark lighting, it’s almost as though we’re on a stage with a spotlight like the new one at the Paris Opera turned onto us. It wasn’t for me to tell him that, of course, a man twelve years my senior and many social notches above me, but others have certainly done so since.
Some say that Monsieur M pinched the whole idea from an early 16th century Italian painting that’s still hanging in the Louvre. Supposedly representing both art and music, Le Concert Champêtre (The Pastoral Concert) does have a similar grouping, but both women are naked. One of them is not only chubby, rather like Suzanne, in fact, but also facing forward. The cloth draped around her legs hides nothing of significance! Classical works can usually get away with it, but just imagine the reaction in 1863 if Monsieur M had posed me in all my glory like that. He didn’t live to see the heyday of the ‘artistic’ postcards that made fortunes later on for vendors in Pigalle!
Another source of inspiration for our painting is said to have been an old engraving featuring the judgment of Paris. That one shows a naked water nymph seated in a pose very similar to mine and one of the river gods with her has his family jewels on display. It would have been interesting to see the reaction of either of my buttoned-up male companions, especially the dandy who didn’t even remove his silly hat – I ask you, who wears a hat with a tassel at a picnic? – to a suggestion of that sort. No David he!
Anyway, the whole thing was considered a terrible affront to propriety by the Parisian elite who flocked to see it and it was something of a shock to me too. Had he put my head onto Suzanne’s body? It certainly looked like that, but there was no doubting that it was my face. It was even worse when he painted me, naked again, of course, as the courtesan Olympia waiting for her next client. By then all Paris knew my name and it hasn’t mattered how many times I’ve been painted with my clothes on, eating cherries, singing in the street, playing a guitar or even preparing to fight a bull. I’ll always be remembered as the shameless fille de joie in those damned paintings. I’ve been told that respectable men hurried their wives past before themselves returning for a closer look!
At least I got some positive recognition later on, when the classes I took at the Académie Julian paid off and my self portrait was accepted for exhibition by the jury of the Paris Salon. That was in 1876, another year in which Monsieur M’s work was not included. I don’t want to be mean-spirited about all this, though. The sweetest success of all came in 1879 when he was approaching the zenith of his career and I, little Victorine Meurent from the back streets of Paris, had the honour and satisfaction of seeing a work of mine displayed in the same room as a Manet!
Footnote: Although Victorine Meurent exhibited in the Salon six times and was inducted into the Société des Artistes Français, her work has been all but erased from art history. Le Jour des Rameaux or Palm Sunday, recovered in 2004 and displayed in the Musée Municipal d’Art et d’Histoire de Colombes, a suburb of Paris, may be her only surviving painting, although I do hope not.
The competition was expertly adjudicated by well known York poet and lecturer Oz Hardwick, who had this to say about my entry, to which he awarded second place:
Manet’s famous painting is indeed one of those which demands that the viewer ask what on earth is going on, and this is a very good response. As you say in your footnote, Meurent has pretty much vanished in the past 140 years, so it’s good to give her a voice at last. And it’s a convincing voice, which is experienced and wise, with a little bit of playfulness. That you have focused on her as the artist she was, as well as Manet’s most frequently used model, gives you the chance to bring in the viewer’s perspective as well as that of a participant in the scandalous scene (with its disappointing picnic). Yes, what was he thinking about when he added that figure leaving the water? Your speaker’s reasoned connoisseurship gives her a real sense of authority. If there’s one thing I’d have liked a bit more of (within the word limit – never easy), it would have been a bit more of the atmosphere in the Salon des Refusés: a quote from an outraged visitor or two would have let us enter into the crowd for a moment. That one point aside, there’s something very appealing about animating these enigmatic silences in history and you do it rather neatly.
16 July, 2021 - Make the first comment on this story
A Starring Role for Jago
Jago has featured many times in my writing since he came to us and here he is again!
(May 2021 issue of Your Cat)
18 April, 2021 - There are 2 comments on this story
Foreshadowing – now in print
A working holiday in France for so little?
“It sounds too good to be true,” says Daisy’s mother, but her warning falls on deaf ears.
This short prequel to ‘Shadows of the Past’ reveals how the three English schoolgirls at the heart of the story are drawn into a sequence of events beyond their parents’ worst nightmares. Old sins have long shadows and nowhere more so than in the village for which their daughters are now heading.
‘Foreshadowing’ gives a great deal of additional background information about Daisy, Kate and Ronnie before their disappearance. Why did the unlikely trio decide to cross the Channel together that summer and how, out of all the villages in France, did they have the misfortune to end up in Saint-André-la-Forêt? This prequel is already available to download free of charge from Amazon or Smashwords, but printed copies can only be obtained directly from me. For a limited period, I will enclose a complimentary copy with each signed copy of Shadows of the Past (£8.99 + £3.20 p&p in the UK) ordered through this website. Please contact me for further details.
24 February, 2021 - Make the first comment on this story
Every Little Helps!
As well as writing stories, articles, reviews and even the odd poem, I’ve always enjoyed submitting ‘fillers’ of all kinds. My little handbook Easy Money For Writers & Wannabes was a best seller when it first came out and, although publications have come and gone since then, is still a useful guide to the basics. There will always be a market for anecdotes, jokes, handy tips, amusing photographs and so on and they can be rewarded with prizes or cold hard cash. The former can range from an electric sander from a DIY magazine to a caddy full of loose leaf tea from The People’s Friend, as in the image below.
I always enjoy reading stories by fellow contributors to TPF and the one mentioned above particularly caught my eye. What home spun fun children enjoyed before the advent of computer games!
7 February, 2021 - Make the first comment on this story
Spirit & Destiny
The inspiration behind A Locket Full of Love is a story very dear to my heart.
Readers of my novel Shadows of the Past know that a locket plays a significant part in that story too. It can be seen three times on the front cover: draped over the photograph of the young couple, worn by the girl and just glimpsed to the right in the photo of the older lady.
The true story behind the locket is just as poignant as the fictional accounts that I have woven around it. My maternal grandmother fell on hard times after losing her first husband, who left her with three children to bring up alone. Marrying my widowed grandfather and having his son and then two more babies to look after drove her further into poverty and the little jewellery she’d had was sacrificed to keep the family afloat. Her eldest son Albert, pictured below, swore that he’d buy her a gold locket as soon as he could afford it, but that was not to be. He went down with HMS Ardent during the Battle of Jutland in 1916, leaving his mother to mourn him until her own death in 1930. She did get the locket, though, deciding to devote the meagre compensation she was awarded for the loss of her son to its purchase. In due course the locket passed down to my own mother, who wore it throughout World War 2 while my father was away with the Army and she left it to me, her only daughter. I never knew either my grandmother or my uncle, but their memories and the locket are very precious to me. I also have the bronze memorial plaque my grandmother, like millions of other bereaved people, was sent. It’s colloquially known as ‘the Dead Man’s Penny’, which some believed bitterly was all that the government thought their sacrifice was worth.
29 January, 2021 - There are 2 comments on this story
The People’s Friend is definitely my friend too!
This week began very well for me, when I was featured on TPF’s website as ‘Writer of the Week’.
My latest story, inspired by my television work, appeared today and I’m delighted with the illustration created by Sailesh Thakrar. One might almost wonder if Sailesh is psychic, because we’ve never met and yet the main character is wearing a jacket almost identical to one I’ve worn several times on set. What do you think?
Spot me in the background of Emmerdale’s Woolpack?
There are many good things about writing stories for The People’s Friend and I shall list a few:
The Fiction team is ever receptive to new and experienced writers alike.
Each writer, once his/her first submission is accepted, is allocated an individual editor.
The editors are unstinting with their advice and support.
Writers are paid on acceptance of a story.
The magazine does not demand all rights.
To top it all, I heard from my editor today that another of my stories has been accepted. WATCH THIS SPACE!
18 November, 2020 - Make the first comment on this story
August 2020 – a month to remember for (almost) all the wrong reasons!
Sadly, August 2020 will be recalled with very little pleasure by most people, myself included. My heart has gone out to examination candidates embroiled in the shambles surrounding their ‘results’ as well as business people and travellers whose lives remain on a roller coaster with no end in sight. The cancellation of the Writers’ Summer School, the high spot of every year since 2006 for me, pales in comparison but was nevertheless a huge disappointment.
With most normal activities curtailed, not going stir crazy has been quite a challenge. However, some people have worked very hard behind the scenes to provide ‘virtual’ substitutes for their normal programmes and I’m particularly grateful to the dedicated staff of Ripon Community Link, the Swanwickers who organised the ‘virtual book room’ and Peter Page, Ripon Writers’ Group’s indefatigable Secretary.
There have, of course, been compensations. The sunflowers in our back garden – a ‘blush’ variety – have reached triffid-like proportions and provided both colour for us and a source of nourishment for the bees. The tomato plant donated earlier in the summer by our good neighbours is groaning with ripe fruit* and the same neighbours have been kind enough to share their plum harvest. *Yes, I’m aware that knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is not putting it into a fruit salad!
We haven’t ventured far from home, preferring to walk along the canal or riverside, but we did manage a brief visit to the east coast. More popular resorts being ludicrously crowded with ‘staycationers’, we walked down to the sands at Hunmanby Gap. (Hardened by childhood holidays in Bridlington, I was the only one to venture into the North Sea for a paddle!)
This has not been a productive month for writing, but I generally do better once the evenings start to draw in. No doubt Jago, who loves having his family at home almost all the time, will continue as my co-editor. Watch this space!
3 September, 2020 - Make the first comment on this story
Plus ça change…
Over a month has gone by since my last post and I was hoping to report an improvement in the situation. Sadly, that was not to be. Despite some restrictions having been lifted, face masks in shops and most other indoor spaces are compulsory from today. £100 fines are threatened for those who refuse to conform.
Even outdoors, caution is required, as shown by my first post-lock down hair do. Not only were masks worn during the proceedings, but I had to wash and blow dry my own hair afterwards. It’s still going to be messy for a while as, after years with the same ‘style’, I’ve decided to let my fringe grow out. Until it’s possible to tuck my hair behind my ears again, I’ll be resorting to a variety of grips and slides to keep it out of my eyes. Unfortunately, with the addition of my specs, I’ll probably bear a strong resemblance to Olive from ‘On the Buses’! Remember her?
Usually by this time of year I’m making plans to go to Swanwick, having attended the Writers’ Summer School every August since 2006. Unfortunately, that too has been cancelled along with just about everything else I had planned for the rest of 2020.
However, thus far family and friends are in reasonable health, the countryside is flourishing after copious amounts of rain and a fair amount of sunshine, the road outside our house is newly resurfaced and Jago didn’t get his paws into the fresh tarmac. There’s always something to be grateful for! (One of the workmen recommended cleaning said paws with vegetable oil, should the worst happen, but we were able to keep our very resentful cat indoors until the danger had passed.)
As for writing, I’m entering a few competitions and keeping up with Ripon Writers’ Group’s virtual meetings via our group email. Getting together again in the flesh seems a distant hope at the moment, but nothing lasts forever and ‘this too shall pass away’.
24 July, 2020 - Make the first comment on this story
Life in the Time of Covid-19
For millions of us, this seems like the film Groundhog Day. We wake up each morning and realise that we’re about to relive the same day as yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. This was brought home to me recently when I decided for some reason to wear my watch and realised that I hadn’t yet put it forward to British Summer Time. With no urgency to do anything on a particular day, even to remember which day of the week it is, lethargy can so easily creep in.
So what have I been doing? Well, if I’m honest, not a lot. I’ve discovered that I work far better under pressure and that is sadly lacking. I know that I shall kick myself one day over all this time I’ve wasted and yet getting my brain into gear to do some serious writing is proving impossible. Glorious weather has played its part in that, of course, with the garden and long walks exerting more pull over me than my desk. Ripon, blessed with three rivers, a canal and the glorious Spa Gardens, has more than its fair share of beauty spots to enjoy.
It’s been good, though, to see the odd article, ‘filler’ and short story submitted before lock down appearing in print. Now that the weather has cooled down, I’m hoping to be more productive. Watch this space!
6 June, 2020 - Make the first comment on this story
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