Something of a Tribute

Thanks go to WilsdenWalker who reminded me that the David Hockney 'A Year in Normandie' exhibition was about to come to a close this weekend, so this morning we combined a visit to Salt's Mill with filling up the car with petrol; picking up a few forgotten things from the supermarket and dropping various bits and pieces off at the local recycling centre.

On her visit several years ago, NannaK tried hard to help me understand Hockney's work and she did leave me with something of an appreciation,  but I can say that I did enjoy this huge piece depicting the changing seasons around his home in Normandie, particularly so because it is displayed in the roof of the mill which was once a huge weaving shed and makes a great gallery.  

We didn't tarry long at the Hockney but through the doorway into the other side of the roof we came across the Ian Beesley Retrospective and spent quite a bit of time enjoying his photographs from forty years of his work in and around Bradford and Yorkshire, depicting working people in mills and factories and mines, all developed in the old fashioned way and in black and white.  What made it more special was that Beesley was there, talking about his life and his photography.  We didn't join the group but the dynamics of the roof meant we could hear his stories whilst we enjoyed looking at his work.  He was sincere; funny; obviously engaged with his subject and the people he spoke with.  Many of their stories and comments were handwritten on his photographs.  There was Dolly, incarcerated in the Moor psychiatric hospital as a teenager for having an illegitimate child.  She died in there well into old age.  There was Lily, 101 years old, who told Beesley; 'I've had my hair and make up done, bought a new dress, borrowed these pearls, made a real effort and you look like you've been dragged through the hedge backwards.'  Her fiancee was killed at the Somme and she never married.  There were the mill workers who told him to photograph them in black and white because that was what the work was like.  

I thought it was interesting to see this space, which once would have been deafening with the clack of great machines and children scrabbling under them to pick up fallen threads, was now filled with folks enjoying their down time.

A poignant morning rounded off with a tasty lunch at the Craft House.