Ellen Terry: ‘All Divine Things Run on Light Feet’

Julia Margaret Cameron’s photograph of Ellen Terry at the age of 16

Ellen: I’ve never understood why ‘theatrical’ should be a term of abuse… Nobody says of music that it’s too musical, why then do they say of theatre that it’s too theatrical?

Recently, I very much enjoyed ‘Grace Pervades’, a new play by David Hare that reflects on the nature of theatre and the acting life. (The Theatre Royal, Bath. Sadly now over, but let’s hope it receives a transfer.)

Irving: Did you know that in Shakespeare there are seventeen ‘no’s to every one ‘yes’?... All his power is in the negative.

We meet Henry Irving (Ralph Fiennes), the towering figure of the nineteenth century British stage. He is lofty, awkward and gloomy, has a leg that drags slightly, and a deep voice that pronounces ‘god’ as ‘gud.’  

Irving: My critics accuse me of being dour… An evening in my company can on occasions be very grim.

Irving has built his formidable reputation on Shakespearean tragedies and historical pageants. And he is rather dismissive of modern writers like Ibsen, Strindberg and Shaw.

Irving: Too small. Too petty. Not large enough… People arguing isn’t theatre. People making points. 

Irving, planning to establish a new theatre company at the Lyceum in London (‘A company of equals in which I am the boss.’), enlists Ellen Terry (Miranda Raison) to join his players. She, by contrast with the great actor-manager, is cheerful, spontaneous and talkative; and her performing style is light, airy and understated.

Ellen: People say, ‘Oh she’s so natural,’ as if I were making no effort. It infuriates me…They don’t seem to realise floating is a technique.

Terry refuses to be a slave to tradition. In preparation for playing Ophelia, she visits an asylum, and she proposes to break with convention by playing her mad scene in white. She also tries to persuade Irving to put on more of Shakespeare’s comedies.

Ellen: Nobody needs to be told that life is terrible. They know it already. Tragedy is for people who don’t understand life and need it explained to them. Comedy is for those who already know.

Though very different characters, with very different approaches to their craft, Irving and Terry strike up an enduring partnershipwhich makes the Lyceum venture a roaring success. Terry is even emboldened to offer Irving some advice.

Ellen: I have a feeling that your acting could be improved if from time to time you directed your gaze at the other actor.

I was taken with Terry’s description of her own naturalistic acting style. 

Ellen: I put in just as much effort as anyone else, but I aim to excel at not letting it show.

For Terry, ease, grace and spontaneity are fundamental to her technique. 

Ellen: Myself, I never leave the dressing room till the last possible moment. I put down the newspaper I am reading, or the light novel, I fly down the stairs, sometimes I confess I even take the banisters, and then at the last possible moment – I pass. I pass from one world to another. I cross the invisible line between the real world and the imagined. 

In the field of commerce, it’s quite common for executives to make very public displays of their effort and industry. Confronted with a crisis, they are overwrought, melodramatic, histrionic. Their stress is contagious, their pessimism infectious. And inevitably they have an adverse impact on morale.

Ellen: I don’t regard actors who sweat and spit as especially accomplished. Grunting and heaving. That kind of behaviour belongs more properly on a building site.

I have always admired those who display calm under pressure, who radiate positivity and poise; cool-headed confidence and serene unflappability. I worked for many years at BBH with the incomparable Jon Peppiatt. He made every problem seem soluble, every barrier passable, every goal possible. As AA Gill wrote of the work of PG Wodehouse:

‘Success is not achieved, it is underachieved.’

John Singer Sargent, Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth, 1889, Tate Britain, London, UK.

Henry Irving is widely credited with making theatre respectable in Britain. A hard taskmaster, at the Lyceum he raised standards of both performance and staging, significantly increasing the numbers of actors, stagehands and designers. Motivating his staff with better pay and lavish parties, he was also a master of publicity, cultivating the press and royalty. In 1895 he became the first actor to be awarded a knighthood. He died in 1905, aged 67, having suffered a stroke at the end of a performance of Becket at the Theatre Royal, Bradford. Legend has it that his last lines on stage were ‘Into thy hands, O Lord, into thy hands.’ 

Ellen Terry was Irving’s leading lady for more than two decades. Touring extensively with him in Britain and America, she was much loved by the public, and was immortalised in a painting by Sargent. After Irving’s death, she performed the plays of Shaw and Ibsen, appeared in silent films and lectured on Shakespeare’s heroines. Her career lasted nearly seven decades. She is particularly remembered for her naturalistic style. In ‘Grace Pervades’ she quotes Friedrich Nietzsche:

‘All divine things run on light feet.’

'On the roller coaster ride
That my emotions have to take me on,
I heard a newborn baby cry
Through the night.
I heard a perfect echo die
Into an anonymous wall of digital sound,
Somewhere deep inside
Of my soul.
A natural beauty should be preserved like a monument to nature.
Don't judge yourself too harsh, my love.
Or someday you might find your soul endangered.
A natural beauty should be preserved like a monument to nature.’
Neil Young, 'Natural Beauty'

No. 530

The Mystifying Mentor: Choose Carefully, Listen Selectively

Giovanni Boldini: Conversation at the Café 

I had arrived early for lunch, and so found myself listening to the conversation at the next table.

Two polished American women, one mature and the other in her twenties, were meeting for the first time. The younger woman was keen to establish her credentials with a quick trot through her resume.

‘Well, what can I say? I’m from Upstate New York, I was educated at Notre Dame and Columbia, and I’ve settled in London after studying at the LSE. I totally love the UK and I’m not going back. I’m in sports marketing now. I’m pretty self-confident, so it suits me.’

The mature woman remained silent, staring intently at her companion, her head inclined to one side. The younger woman continued.

‘When I first came to this city, I rented in Shoreditch. That was not good…’

She seemed suddenly distressed at the memory.

‘So I found myself in Kensington, which is fantastic. I tend to weekend in the Cotswolds. Heavenly. In fact, I had a birthday celebration there last weekend. It was quite indulgent actually. I hosted some girlfriends at a wonderful country house with a pool and a spa. On the Friday we dined at a cute country pub and then on Saturday we hired in a chef to cook dinner. We had such an elegant time.’

At this point the mature woman raised a hand.

‘Let me stop you there, Lauren. First of all, you should never apologise for spending your hard-earned money. It’s important for a woman to be ostentatious with her wealth.’

Lauren nodded appreciatively. I realised that I was witnessing a mentoring session.

‘Secondly, I notice that you’ve said “I am” a number of times. “I am American. I am self-confident. I am in sports marketing.”… Do not start any sentence with “I am.” It boxes you in, limits your horizons, constricts your growth. You should be whoever or whatever you want to be. You should always be the best advocate for yourself.’

Lauren looked a little puzzled, but gamely accepted the advice.

‘Oh, that’s really very helpful. Thank you so much.’

This exchange gave me pause for thought. 

We’re all encouraged to do a little mentoring nowadays. I do some myself. It makes sense for people who have been down the road before, to highlight for the next generation the challenges and opportunities that lie ahead. Mentors offer fresh perspectives, prompt self-awareness, build confidence.

But some mentors may be less relevant to contemporary tasks and careers. Some may have a very particular perspective. Some may talk well-intentioned gibberish. 

If you’re looking for a mentor, you should not assume that old heads are wise heads; that all advice is good advice. You should choose carefully and listen critically. 

The women continued with their discussion – earnest, intense, focused. 

I was distracted over lunch. How on earth was I going to navigate the challenge of never saying “I am“ again?

‘Let me down easy,
Though your love for me is all gone.
Let me down easy,
Since you feel to stay is wrong.
I know it's all over,
Except the last goodbye.
Let me down easy,
When you pass by me.
Say hello once in a while,
When you pass by me, baby,
Does it hurt so much to smile?
We promised that we'd still be friends 'til the very end.
I'm begging you, baby, please, let me down easy.’

Bettye Lavette, ‘Let Me Down Easy’ (W Holloway)

No. 529

The Kashmere Stage Band: Seeing the Future Inside of Us

Kashmere Stage Band

The splendid 2010 documentary 'Thunder Soul' (directed by Mark Landsman) tells the story of the legendary Kashmere Stage Band, as its alumni gather to play a tribute concert for their beloved leader, Conrad ‘Prof’ Johnson. 

Interviewer: Where does the feel to play come in?

Conrad Johnson: Well, I would say that the feeling comes, many times, from my demanding it.

In the late ‘60s and ‘70s, Johnson, a teacher at the Kashmere High School in Houston, Texas, coached the institution’s Stage Band into an  elite outfit. His success demonstrates that strict discipline, high expectations and inspirational vision can create a compelling cocktail, and that music education plays a special part in shaping young lives.

‘The focus was on moving forward. Get your education. There’s nothing that you can’t do. You’ve seen what has happened in the past. Now you take what has happened, you take it and you move forward.‘

Kashmere Stage Band member

In his youth Johnson had performed as a musician in the clubs of Houston, and had at one point played with Count Basie. He chose to pursue a career in education, and, once established at the Kashmere High School, formed its Stage Band. 

‘I got the idea to start a band and build a band out of young people that was equivalent in sound and in appearance to that of the professionals.’ 

Conrad Johnson

Johnson was a strict disciplinarian, and he demanded high technical standards. 

‘When they first come to me, regardless as to what kind of tone they have, I work to develop that tone. And that’s the first step. Learn to play the instrument. Then the music.’

Conrad Johnson

‘You came into this room with your focus, ready to play. Do not come into this room late. Do not talk. Do not interrupt. Do not this, that. I don’t care if it’s chewing gum. You cannot. And when that man says stand up, everybody stood up in synch. It was like a military sergeant.’

Kashmere Stage Band member

Conrad “Prof Johnson directing a band member

As the ‘60s drew to a close, Johnson sensed that the mood in his predominantly Black school was changing. The Civil Rights struggle had evolved into the period of Black Power. There was growing spirit of confidence, independence and resolve. 

‘This was the ‘70s. We were just coming out of the Civil Rights movement. And so there was a lot of pride. There were a lot of good things going on.’

‘Our parents had fought long and hard and it was time for us to shine.’
Kashmere Stage Band members 

Johnson determined to channel this new mentality into the Kashmere Stage Band.

‘Prof knew it was a time for change. He had all these kids in the band that had all this high energy. They wanted to play funk.’
Kashmere Stage Band member

‘I try to give them a chance to express themselves in the way that they are.’
Conrad Johnson

Many schools in the United States at the time had their own Stage Bands. These mostly white orchestras played sanitised, somewhat anaemic versions of pop and jazz standards. Johnson, by contrast, wrote original jazz compositions that absorbed the influence of James Brown, Sly Stone, Parliament and Funkadelic. The Kashmere sound was founded on intense rhythms and urgent harmonies, fierce beats punctuated with sharp stabs of funk.

 ‘At a time when they were still saying that ‘Black kids couldn’t learn, Black kids were inferior, they were violent’, the Kashmere Stage Band was our representative.’
Kashmere Stage Band member

Johnson also decided to introduce a performance element to the Band. He choreographed the guitarists to shuffle, the drummers to sway, the brass section to dip, twist and turn. The Band became a thrillingly precise, living music machine. 

‘I felt like the music wasn’t enough. Because there were people listening to the band that weren’t musicians. It wasn’t enough. So I put the show into it. And no one had thought to do that.’ 
Conrad Johnson

The Kashmere Stage Band won a succession of state and national competitions. They toured Europe and Japan and recorded eight albums, which were subsequently extensively sampled by hip-hop artists and DJs, including DJ Shadow and the Handsome Boy Modeling School. One number featured on the soundtrack of the movie 'Baby Driver.' 

‘The other bands were technically good. But they didn’t have the feel. They didn’t have the soul.’

‘Winning just gave us a sense that we were invincible when it came to competition.’
Kashmere Stage Band members

In the wake of the Stage Band’s countless victories, Kashmere High School’s football, track and basketball teams excelled. Its officer training corps, drama and debating sides won championships. And grades and scholarships rose across the board. A rising tide lifts all boats.

‘The Kashmere Stage Band gave the community part of its identity.’

‘It made everybody proud because we were kicking it.’
Kashmere Stage Band members

It’s clear that Johnson’s influence on his young students extended well beyond music and performance. He taught them life skills as well as technical skills.

‘I was kind of shy. I would basically hide behind my instrument. That’s where my power was. I didn’t have that thing that would get out and tell cats: ‘I’m here.’ I didn’t possess that. So my vehicle for that was the Band.’

‘People would make remarks like: ‘A girl on a trombone? Trombones are for boys. Girls don’t play trombone.’ They made me want to play it even more so.’

‘I grew up a straight-up thug… That man kept me alive. He moulded me into a whole different expression.’ 

‘He reached into our soul. He could see the future inside of us.’
Kashmere Stage Band members

Kashmere Stage Band with Conrad “Prof Johnson in pinstripe suit on left

In 1978 Johnson became dispirited by the politics, petty squabbles and jealousies that success brought with it. A new principal had withdrawn funding and, after a thirty-seven-year career, Johnson decided to retire.

‘I think that any school administrator that goes for taking music out of the system should be fired.’
Conrad Johnson

In 2008, thirty original members of the Kashmere Stage Band, all in their mid-50s, reunited for the first time in over three decades to pay tribute to their legendary leader, then 92 years old. In the documentary you can see that he was bowled over by the performance. 

Conrad ‘Prof’ Johnson died a few days later.

‘I gave them pride. I gave them honour. I gave them exceptional performance. And they knew it. And they appreciated it…But we had to work to do it now. It didn’t just come natural.’
Conrad Johnson 


'If you want me to stay,
I'll be around today,
To be available for you to see.
But I am about to go,
And then you'll know,
For me to stay here, I got to be me.

You'll never be in doubt,
That's what it's all about,
You can't take me for granted and smile.
Count the days I'm gone,
Forget reaching me by phone,
Because I promise I'll be gone for a while.

And when you see me again,
I hope that you have been
The kind of person that you really are now.
You got to get it straight,
How could I ever be late,
When you're my woman taking up my time?’

Sly and the Family Stone, 'If You Want Me to Stay’ (S Stone)

No. 528

Jenny Saville: ‘If There’s a Narrative, I Want It in the Flesh’

Reverse © Jenny Saville. All rights reserved, DACS 2025. Courtesy Gagosian

I recently enjoyed a retrospective of the work of Jenny Saville. (‘The Anatomy of Painting’ is at the National Portrait Gallery, London until 7 September.)

‘I started to think about not just the anatomy of the body, but about the anatomy of a painting.’
Jenny Saville

Born in Cambridge in 1970, Saville burst onto the British art scene following her acclaimed 1992 degree show at the Glasgow School of Art. Her monumental nudes, created with thick layers of oil paint, confront us with curved hips and rolling flesh; plump tummies and soft breasts. This is the human body raw and real, liberated from insecurities, glorying in its imperfections.

'I want to be a painter of modern life, and modern bodies, those that emulate contemporary life, they're what I find most interesting.’

Drift by Jenny Saville, 2020-2022 © Jenny Saville, Courtesy Gagosian

Saville is inspired by art history. She also employs photography and draws on images from medical texts. Generally working with her canvas spread out on the floor before her, she paints with radiant colours, soft flesh-tones lifted by luscious pinks, yellows and reds. She straddles naturalism and abstraction, constructing her own reality. And in so doing, she reframes the female nude.

'There is a thing about beauty. Beauty is always associated with the male fantasy of what the female body is. I don’t think there is anything wrong with beauty. It’s just what women think is beautiful can be different. And there can be a beauty in individualism. If there is a wart or a scar, this can be beautiful, in a sense, when you paint it.’ 

When Saville had children, she found it time-efficient to focus on charcoal drawings. (‘You could start and stop with ease.’) With overlapping figures, her tender mother-and-child sketches capture an infant’s restless energy and a parent’s loving embrace.

Most striking of all are Saville’s repeated images of the human face. Painted on a huge canvas from a low-to-high perspective, the face becomes a strange, intimate landscape to be examined and explored. 

‘I enjoy working on a large scale, so that, when you’re up close, the painting goes beyond your body and it’s all about the paint.’

Latent © Jenny Saville. All rights reserved, DACS 2025. Courtesy Gagosian

Saville presents us with beaten, bruised and bloodied heads; damaged and dimpled skin; cut lips and scarlet birthmarks. Her subjects, mostly young women, look straight at us. They are at once vulnerable and strong. Are these real people? Are they victims? Are they conscious? These faces speak to us of the integration of physical and mental experience; of lives spent negotiating countless challenges. They seem very much of our age.

 'I do hope I play out the contradictions that I feel, all the anxieties and dilemmas.’

Saville reminds us of the old media principle: focus and weight. The impact of her themes is amplified by their scale and frequency. She encourages us to regard each other carefully and critically; to recognise the raw, visceral, articulate power of the human face.

'If there’s a narrative, I want it in the flesh.’

Messenger© Jenny Saville. All rights reserved

'I've been crying, because I'm lonely.
Smiles have all turned to tears.
Tears won't wash away the fears,
That you're never, never gonna return,
To ease the fire that within me burns.
You keep me crying, baby, for you.
You keep me sighing, baby, for you.
I want you to hurry,
Come on, boy, see about me.

I've given up my friends just for you.
My friends have gone and you have too.
No peace shall I find,
Until you come back and be mine.
No matter what you do or say,
I'm gonna love you anyway.
You keep me crying, baby, for you.
Keep me sighing, baby, for you
I want you to hurry,
Come on, boy, and see about me.’

Barbara Mason, ‘Come See About Me’ (L Dozier / B Holland / E Holland)

No. 527

Buried in Their Beanies: Protecting Individuality in a Corporate Career

Woollen caps worn by Dutch Whalers 17thh century, found near Spitsbergen. Photo © D. Cummings-Palmer

'It is important to foster individuality, for only the individual can produce new ideas.’
Albert Einstein

On a recent visit to the splendid Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, I came across a display of six hats that had been owned by seventeenth century Dutch whalers. 

In 1980 archaeologists investigating the graves of 185 whalers in Spitsbergen, northern Norway, found that many of the skeletons were wearing knitted woollen beanies. Some of the hats were plain, some had distinctive edging and others were striped. All were different from each other. Wrapped up against the Arctic’s biting cold, caked in snow and ice, the whalers could only be recognised by the colours and patterns of their caps. And so their headgear became highly personal.

It was quite natural that they should be buried in their beanies.

In their dedicated glass cabinet, the antique woollen hats looked surprisingly vivid, stylish and modern. They prompted me to reflect on individuality in the workplace.

'To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.'
Ralph Waldo Emerson

As you set out on your career, your employers tend to impose standard processes and practices. They train you to behave in certain ways, to adhere to certain values. They shape you to be a good company representative.

Nonetheless, in a creative business your true worth resides in your individuality: your distinctive way of thinking, your particular perspective, your unique take on the world. Because your difference helps build difference for clients and brands.

Close-up: Woollen caps worn by Dutch Whalers 17thh century, found near Spitsbergen. Photo © D. Cummings-Palmer

Sometimes it seems that companies are asking too much when they request authenticity in their staff, and demand that you ‘bring your whole self to work.’ Really what they’re seeking is your individuality. 

Because the most valuable employees are at once true to the corporate brand and true to themselves.  

So, hold onto your identity, retain your rough edges, and try taking the advice of Frank Sinatra: 'Cock your hat - angles are attitudes.'

'There are many, many crazy things
That will keep me loving you,
And with your permission
May I list a few?
The way you wear your hat,
The way you sip your tea,
The memory of all that,
No, no, they can't take that away from me.
The way your smile just beams,
The way you sing off-key,
The way you haunt my dreams,
No, no, they can't take that away from me.
We may never, never meet again,
On that bumpy road to love.
Still, I'll always, always keep the memory of
The way you hold your knife,
The way we danced 'til three,
The way you changed my life,
No, no, they can't take that away from me.
No, they can't take that away from me.’

Frank Sinatra 'They Can't Take That Away From Me’ (I Gershwin, G Gershwin)

No. 526

Edward Burra: Cultural Immersion

 

Edward Burra - Dockside Cafe, Marseilles, 1929, © Estate of Edward Burra, courtesy Lefevre Fine Art Ltd, London

I recently enjoyed an exhibition of the work of Edward Burra. (Tate Britain, London until 19 October)

Burra painted satirical watercolours of French bohemians in the Roaring Twenties and the vibrant club scene during the Harlem Renaissance. He painted unsettling images of Spain as it descended into civil strife, and East Sussex in turmoil during World War 2. After the conflict, he painted British landscapes disfigured by industry and commerce. He had a knack for finding the nexus of social and historical change, immersing himself in culture, directing his acute eye to human foibles and foolishness.

Burra was born in London in 1905 into a wealthy banking and legal family. Diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and suffering from anaemia, he turned to painting as ‘a kind of drug’ that relieved the pain. He found it was physically easier to work with watercolours flat on a table, rather than with oils at an easel.

Edward Burra - Minuit Chanson, 1931. Photograph: © Estate of Edward Burra, courtesy Lefevre Fine Art Ltd, London

Having studied at Chelsea Polytechnic and the Royal College of Art, Burra, who had learned French at an early age, travelled to Paris. He visited the museums and galleries; feasted on the cinema, literature and music; soaked up the cosmopolitan nightlife in the cafes and clubs of Montparnasse and Montmartre; took trips to the sunny south, to Marseille, Toulon and Cassis. 

We visit a mirrored dancehall, an underground gay bar, a grubby dockside hangout - where high-society smoothies rub shoulders with shady lowlife and flat-capped gangsters. Bobbed women in cloche hats and dark eye-shadow chatter conspiratorially, hold cigarettes nonchalantly, down cocktails eagerly - at Le Café du Dome, Le Select, Le Boeuf sur le Toit. Eager customers crowd into the listening booths at the new record store on Boulevard Clichy. Burlesque dancers serve at the teashop. Uniformed sailors stand chatting to the diffident attendant. It's all rather emancipated, permissive, decadent.

In 1933 Burra sailed to New York and stayed in Harlem for several months. (He would return throughout the ‘30s and ‘50s.) He was besotted with the nightlife, drinking and dancing; with Club Hot-Cha, the Apollo Theatre and the Savoy Ballroom. He collected 78 RPM records and would listen to jazz while he painted - to McKinney’s Cotton Pickers, Cab Calloway and Clarence Williams; to Billie Holliday, Duke Ellington and Ella Fitzgerald. In his work he captured the syncopated glamour of the band; the joyful strutting on the dancefloor. He portrayed people hanging out on the doorsteps of brownstone tenements, a train passing by on the elevated railway. 

Burra’s pictures were not always accurate records of reality. Rather he freely integrated his memories with his imagination.

‘When I go back there, I’m always puzzled by what I’ve left out.’

Edward Burra - Harlem 1934, © Tate

An independent spirit, one afternoon he walked out on his family home in Rye without saying a word. His parents only discovered he had been in the United States when he returned weeks later. 

In the 1930s Burra travelled to Spain, visiting Barcelona, Grenada, Seville and Madrid. Again he immersed himself in the country’s art, literature and music. And again he learned the language. Inspired by Spain’s history and tradition, he painted strutting matadors and proud flamenco singers, austere governesses and sophisticated society hostesses. But he also became aware of the tensions on the street as Civil War loomed. Initially sympathising with the Fascists, his work grew darker and more surreal. The Grim Reaper, demons and the Devil stalk the cityscape, overseeing destruction and decay.

Edward Burra - War in the Sun

At home in Sussex during World War 2, with his medicine rationed and his movement restricted, Burra felt isolated, hemmed in. His paintings stayed depressed and downbeat. We are shown a claustrophobic world, distorted by trucks and military paraphernalia, crowded with soldiers in sinister carnival masks.

Burra was an elusive character. Garrulous and gossipy with his friends, he was guarded and reticent with strangers. He rarely gave interviews, and he refused to explain his art. 

Burra: I never tell anybody anything… So they just make it up. I don’t see that it matters. 
Interviewer: What does matter?
Burra: Nothing.

Looking back on Burra’s artistic journey, I was struck by his ability to locate himself in the hotspots of cultural change. He regarded what he found with a mixture of affection and cynicism; with the acuity of an eternal outsider. He teaches us to seek out the melting pots, the frontiers and borderlands; to learn the language and soak it all up; to participate and yet retain some distance. 

In the 1960s, as Burra’s frail health deteriorated further still, he took long driving tours of Britain with his sister Anne. Once more, he was alert to change. Whilst depicting the beautiful hills, valleys and moorland that he saw through the windscreen, he also recorded the power stations, pylons and petrol stations; the motorways, diggers and brash advertising hoardings. This was an uneasy landscape, a countryside in distress. He was an early prophet of environmental decay.

 Burra died in 1976, aged 71.

Edward Burra - Picking a Quarrel, 1968-69 © Estate of Edward Burra, courtesy Lefevre Fine Art Ltd, London

'I'm just a woman, a lonely woman,
Waiting on the weary shore.
I'm just a woman that's only human,
One you should be sorry for.
Woke up this morning alone about dawn.
Without a warning I found he was gone.
How could he do it? Why should he do it?
He'd never done it before.
Am I blue? Am I blue?
Ain't these tears in these eyes telling you?
Am I blue? Why, you'd be too.
If each plan with your man done fell through.’
Ethel Waters, ‘
Am I Blue?’ (H Akst, G Clarke )

No. 525

The Havering Council Spy Planes: Jeopardy (Whether Real or Imagined) Stiffens the Sinews and Focuses the Mind 

Roger Mayne - Boys Against a Wall, Dublin 1957

‘Jump off the cliff and learn how to make wings on the way down.’
Ray Bradbury

Over the long hot summers of my childhood, my brother Martin and I would play cricket, collect grasshoppers and dig holes in the back garden.

Our house backed onto a school playing field, and sometimes Jeff Richards and the Chergwin boys would gather on the other side of the fence, so that we could throw mud bombs at each other. 

Harmless fun. Though our elderly neighbour, flat-capped Mr Holland, a veteran of the First World War, would look up from his loganberry bushes to warn us of the danger of hidden stones.

 ‘You’ll take someone’s eye out with that!’

Often Martin and I would clamber up the lilac tree and over the back fence, to join Jeff and the Chergwins in the school playing fields. There, under a bright yellow sun, we would compete in our own Heath Park Road Olympics: racing around the running track, jumping in the sandpit, boxing without gloves. 

Technically we were not allowed on the council fields, and when occasionally a light aeroplane flew overhead with its lights blinking, we all threw ourselves face down onto the grass, so as not to be identified in the photographs.  

‘Dive! Dive! Quick! It’s the council!’ 

In retrospect, I guess those were not Havering Council spy planes. They were just regular flights making their approach to a nearby airfield. But the sense of danger, the fear of being identified as trespassers, made it all seem so thrilling.

‘Art is an adventure into an unknown world, which can be explored only by those willing to take risks.’
Mark Rothko

In the world of work, we may also find that we perform better when there is a certain amount of risk – of losing a campaign, of being fired from an account, of missing our numbers. The jeopardy stiffens the sinews, focuses the mind.

Similarly, a rivalry can get the juices flowing. I recall from ‘The Last Dance’ documentary that Michael Jordan would perceive, or even invent, slights, insults or disrespectful gestures from opposing players, so as to motivate himself and his teammates. 

Without conflict, competition or peril, there is always the danger of complacency. The effort drops. The pace slackens. The focus drifts.

And so, whatever the task or endeavour, we would all do well to embrace urgency and intensity; to introduce opposition and jeopardy; to reflect on risks and rivalries - whether they be real or imagined.

If you practise poetry the way I think it needs to be done, you're going to put yourself in jeopardy.'
Amiri Baraka

'I'm all mixed up inside,
I want to run, but I can't hide.
And however much we try,
We can't escape the truth and the fact is...
Don't matter what I do,
It don't matter what I do,
Don't matter what I do,
Don't matter what I do,
Don't matter what I do,
Because I end up hurting you.
One more covered sigh,
And one more glance you know means goodbye.
Can't you see that's why
We're dashing ourselves against the rocks of a lifetime.
In my mind different voices call.
What once was pleasure now's pain for us all.
In my heart only shadows fall.
I once stood proud, now I feel so small.
I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
The long hot summer just passed me by.’
Style Council, ‘
Long Hot Summer’ (P Weller)

No. 524

A Bout de Souffle: Strategic Spontaneity

Jean Seberg and Jean-Paul Belmondo

‘Instead of finding something a long time before, I’ll find it just before.’
Jean-Luc Godard

The 1960 crime drama 'A Bout de Souffle' (Breathless) was written and directed by Jean-Luc Godard. His first full-length film, it was one of the key works that ushered in French ‘nouvelle vague’ cinema.

Patricia: I want to know what's behind your face. I've looked at it for ten minutes now, and I still know nothing, nothing, nothing. I'm not sad, but I'm scared.

The movie is remarkable for its cool detachment and moral ambiguity; its natural feel and documentary style; its freewheeling conversations and precipitous pace. In its making, Godard embraced looseness and liberation, a kind of Strategic Spontaneity.

Michel: Don't use the brakes. Cars are made to go, not to stop!

Jean-Paul Belmondo plays petty criminal Michel, who steals a car in Marseille and then impulsively kills a policeman on a country road. He is tall and dapper, sporting a jacket and tie, silver chains, sunglasses and fedora. He walks with a swagger and a Gauloises glued to his lips.

Michel: If you don't like the sea... or the mountains... or the big city... then get stuffed!

Michel is also reckless and erratic, sexist and cynical, a fantasist who styles himself on Humphrey Bogart.

Michel: There's no need to lie. It's like poker. The truth is best. The others still think you're bluffing, so you win. 

Jean-Paul Belmondo

Michel flees to Paris, hoping to call in a loan that will fund an escape to Italy. There he hooks up with one-time girlfriend Patricia, played by Jean Seberg. She is an American student, an aspiring journalist who sells the New York Herald Tribune on the grands boulevards. With shorn blonde hair, wearing a pleated skirt, stripey shirt and shades, she seems modern and carefree. But she is gripped by youthful anxieties. 

Patricia: If I could dig a hole and hide in it, I would…I don't know if I'm unhappy because I'm not free, or if I'm not free because I'm unhappy.

We spend time with Patricia and Michel as she pursues various journalistic assignments, and he chases down his money. They watch a Western together at the cinema and pass through a crowd welcoming President Eisenhower to Paris. They walk and wait and smoke; drive around the streets, hang out in her apartment and make love. Periodically he buys a newspaper to see if the police are closing in on him. 

Patricia: It's sad to fall asleep. It separates people. Even when you're sleeping together, you're all alone.

All the time they talk. They discuss cultural and gender differences, Patricia’s grammar and where to place a poster in her apartment. They consider fear of aging, the shortcomings of modern architecture and the nature of their relationship. 

Patricia: You know you said I'm scared, Michel. It's true, I'm scared. Because I want you to love me. But at the same time, I want you to stop loving me. 

Film Poster - Breathless

Godard captures the irregular rhythms and logical inconsistencies of young people’s everyday speech. The conversation ranges from macro to micro; from profound to trivial; from engaged to detached. The protagonists are often melodramatic and solipsistic, caught up in their own private worlds, oblivious to broader social concerns.

Patricia: We look each other in the eyes, and it means nothing.

Godard set out to create a documentary feel. He briefed cinematographer Raoul Coutard to shoot on a hand-held Cameflex camera with minimal crew and limited lighting. Most of the movie had to be dubbed in post-production, because the Cameflex was noisy and incapable of synchronized sound. Street scenes were filmed without permits, Coutard hiding in a postal cart with a hole for the lens. 

Michel: Once you look for someone, you never find them.

For interior sequences, Godard dispensed with a complicated dolly and instead pushed Coutard around in a wheelchair. In the editing, he employed jump cuts, abruptly propelling the action from one sequence to another.

Patricia: I’m shutting my eyes tight, so everything goes black. But I can’t do it. It’s never entirely black.

Having drafted a traditional screenplay for the first 14 minutes of action, Godard dispensed with it and decided to write each day’s script the night before. He conducted only brief rehearsals, so as to encourage natural performances. Shooting days could range from 15 minutes to 12 hours, depending on how many ideas he had had that morning. 

Patricia: I was just thinking…I can’t decide.
Michel: Thinking about what?
Patricia: I don’t know. Otherwise, I wouldn’t hesitate.

Jean Seberg

Earlier this year, the only known script of ‘A Bout de Souffle’ was put up for auction. (Kim Willsher, The Guardian 20 March 2025) This document comprises just some 70 pages of Godard’s handwritten notes and synopses of various scenes.

In a 1968 edition of Cahiers du Cinéma, Godard explained his approach to writing the script. 

‘I had written the first scene and, for the rest, I had a huge number of notes corresponding to each scene. I said to myself, this is outrageous! I stopped everything. Then I thought about it … Instead of finding something a long time before, I’ll find it just before. When you know where you’re going, it should be possible. It’s not improvisation, it’s last-minute fine-tuning.’

Godard’s techniques for shooting realistic characters and spontaneous behaviour may seem familiar to us. Most movies and theatre productions today seek some sense of naturalism and authenticity. But they were revelatory 65 years ago.

Patricia: I’m not thinking about anything. I’d like to think about something, but I can’t seem to.

I’m sure there’s a lesson here for us in the world of commercial communication. Sometimes, in endeavouring to control outcomes, we can over-plan. We dissect the detail, micromanage the process, manicure the execution. At its worst, this can eradicate the opportunity for serendipity and happenstance. It asphyxiates the idea. 

Michel: Are you scared?
Patricia: It’s too late to be scared.

Perhaps we too should embrace a little Strategic Spontaneity. Instead of finding something a long time before, we should try finding it just before.

Michel: Informers inform, burglars burgle, murderers murder, lovers love.

Inevitably, at the end of 'A Bout de Souffle,' Michel gets his comeuppance. He embraces his fate like one of his film noir heroes. And he has a rare moment of clarity about his flawed relationship with Patricia.

Michel: When we talked, I talked about me and you talked about you, when we should have talked about each other.

'We say to ourselves when we are twenty,
We are the kings of the world,
And that forever
There will be in our eyеs
All of the blue sky.
It’s the timе of love,
The time of friends
And of adventure.
When time comes and goes,
We think of nothing
Although we are injured.
Because the time of love
Puts in your heart
A lot of heat
And happiness.’
Francoise Hardy, ‘
Le Temps de L’Amour’ (L Morisse, A Salvet J Dutronc)(Translated)

No. 523

Hiroshige: Disposable Creativity

Utagawa Hiroshige - ‘Cherry Blossoms on a Moonless Night Along the Sumida River’ Colour woodblock print triptych 1847-48.
Photo Matsuba Ryōko

I recently attended a splendid exhibition of the woodblock prints of Utagawa Hiroshige. (‘Artist of the Open Road’ is at the British Museum, London until 7 September 2025.)

‘[My] drawings present completely true-to-life landscapes to give people just a moment
of pleasure without the inconvenience of a long journey.’
Utagawa Hiroshige

Hiroshige was born in 1797, into a low-ranking samurai family in Edo, present-day Tokyo. It was a time of social upheaval, as Japan experienced urban expansion, famine and foreign military incursions. His work, however, offered reassurance, capturing the pleasures of bustling city life, the tranquillity of remote landscapes, the quiet calm of the country’s flowers and wildlife.

‘Suffused with scent,
each falling drop of dew releases
the chrysanthemum's perfume!’
Anonymous (1700s–early 1830s) Poem inscribed on Hiroshige's 'Pheasant and chrysanthemums'
 

Early morning visitors admire the plum garden at Kameido. Pleasure boats pack the Sumida river as fireworks explode overhead. A wealthy merchant family treads carefully through the newly fallen snow. An elegantly dressed woman clutches her fan in her teeth, pausing to adjust her sash. When a sudden rainstorm catches people unawares, they scurry for shelter. Geese settle on the fields as the evening bell tolls, and cherry trees line the street in springtime. The full moon lights a view of Edo Bay.  

'The mountains of Kai Province stretch into the distance: high peaks, low valleys, the pure running waters of the Katsura River, the magnificent views changing every ten or twenty paces – beyond words to describe, beyond my poor brush to capture.’
Utagawa Hiroshige

 Utagawa Hiroshige - 'Gion Shrine in the Snow'

Hiroshige’s images are vibrant, crammed with detail and nuance. They are also observant, witty and sympathetic. Employing bold colour gradation to give the appearance of three-dimensions, he juxtaposes large foreground subjects with distant landscapes, drawing us into a scene.

‘Sailing right along
on a three-day crescent moon,
the long-eared owl longs
for an earful of music:
the pines humming in the wind.’
Hachijintei (active 1810s–30s) Poem inscribed on Hiroshige's 'Owl on pine branch'

The samurai government had banned foreign travel since the 1630s. And so, by Hiroshige's time, domestic journeys were hugely popular. People made pilgrimages, sightseeing and business trips, along the Eastern Coast Road connecting Edo with Kyoto, the emperor's capital. Or they took the more challenging Central Mountain Road through steep passes and over precarious suspension bridges.  

We see samurai lords with their attendant retinues en route to pay their respects to the shogun. Fishmongers set up their market stalls at the waystation. Crowds of female musicians flock to the shrine at Enoshima Island. Sailboats ferry travellers across the bay. Poets visiting Mount Kanō, relax at the inn after an evening bath. While outside the rain pours persistently down.  

Utagawa Hiroshige - Nihonbashi asa no kei 日本橋 朝之景 (Nihonbashi - Morning Scene)

‘These break my heart:
red leaves coating a ground of green moss,
and cool winds crossing a sky of evening rain.
Bai Juyi (AD 772–846) Poem inscribed on Hiroshige's print ‘Between the Leaves’

The mass-production of colour woodblock prints during Hiroshige’s time enabled ordinary people to buy beautifully made but disposable images at modest prices. His best-selling designs may have been printed up to 15,000 times before the woodblocks wore down. And publishers would issue multiple variants.

Hiroshige also created designs for well over 500 uchiwa, inexpensive hand-held fans. These elegant, fragile objects - oval-shaped and set on fixed ribs with a handle - were used in the warm weather for just one season and then discarded.
 

Utagawa Hiroshige - Sudden Shower over Shin-Ōhashi Bridge and Atake, 1857

I was struck by this phenomenon of Disposable Creativity: with his affordable, accessible prints, Hiroshige was producing fleeting moments of beauty for average citizens in the midst of their hectic lives. This should perhaps inspire those of us working in the contemporary communication sector. We may be engaged in hard-nosed commercial transactions. We may occupy an insignificant part of consumers’ everyday experience. But we can still aspire to leaving our audiences with a precious moment, a brief intimacy, a fragile beauty. 

‘As, throughout the night,
more and still more dew sprang up
on their horsetail mat,
the rabbit's missus likewise
could not remain long in bed.
Kawanoya Yukisa, Poem inscribed on Hiroshige's 'Rabbits and horsetail beneath the moon'

After Hiroshige's death in 1858, European and American artists and collectors admired his work as part of the nineteenth-century movement known as Japonisme. At the exhibition you can see a faded Hiroshige print owned by Van Gogh, and the meticulous trace he made of it, so as to paint his own oil copy.  Ultimately Hiroshige’s transient art has endured.

'When the night draws on,
Crevices deep down to me.
At last my memories are free,
That let my fish loose.
Trace the spiral alone,
Here in the fifth lake.
Shadows and the silence,
Time creeps on the night.
 Fish and miller or deep sea.
Fish with eyes of blue.
Feeding on the blue seeds,
Swimming through my mind.’
Nobukazu Takemura, '
Let My Fish Loose'

No. 522

Lose that Hangdog Expression: Optimists Are More Effective Workers

Winslow Homer - Hunting Dogs in Boat (Waiting for the Start)

I read recently about a study into the impact of dogs’ emotional disposition on their efficacy at work. (Rhys Blakely, The Times, 9 April 2025)

A team from the University of Bristol tested 66 sniffer dogs to establish the positivity of their outlook. Dogs were deemed to be ‘optimistic’ if, having encountered a bowl containing food in one location, they anticipated that the same bowl in a different location also contained food. 

The dogs were then set a range of sniffing tests. The optimistic dogs were discovered to be more confident and playful, and consequently more effective in the tasks.

This research tallies with my own experience in the world of work. I found that successful teams are fuelled by optimism. A sunny disposition precipitates curiosity, promotes engagement, forges partnerships. It prompts people to go the extra mile and sustains them through tough times. Indeed, I would go so far as to say: positive people have bigger, better ideas.

'Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.’
Groucho Marx

Having said this, the University of Bristol researchers observed that pessimistic dogs do have their value. Downbeat dogs are more cautious when making decisions, and so in the trial they gave fewer ‘false positives’: they were less likely to indicate incorrectly that something smelt suspicious.

We should perhaps conclude that, while high performance teams should for the most part be made up of optimists, they should also contain a few pessimists. The occasional sceptic challenges assumptions, provokes debate and insures against groupthink.

'The optimist thinks this is the best of all possible worlds. The pessimist fears it is true.’
J Robert Oppenheimer

'Black eyed dog, he called at my door.
The black eyed dog, he called for more.
A black eyed dog, he knew my name.
I'm growing old and I want to go home.
I'm growing old and I don't want to know.
I'm growing old and I want to go home.
Black eyed dog, he called at my door.
The black eyed dog, he called for more.’

Nick Drake, 'Black Eyed Dog'

No. 521