Roman de la Rose, Illustrated manuscript c.1398

MS 169 Fitzwilliam Museum

When I the age of 20 had attained –

The age when Love controls a young man’s heart –

As I was wont, one night I went to bed

And soundly slept. But there came a dream

Which much delighted me, it was so sweet...

Le Roman de la Rose, lines 14ff.

The Roman de la Rose was completed (de Lorris wrote the first 4058 lines) by Jean De Meun who added 17724 more between 1268 and 1285

This much more I’ll tell you: at the end,

when I dislodged the bud, a little seed

I spilled just in the centre, as I spread

The petals to admire their loveliness,

Searching the calyx to its inmost depths

Lines 21717 - 21.

But the hue? Is it not the same color, just darker? No, it isn't, especially not for the painter. While we paint, we tend to start seeing the colors of our subject matter with a much keener eye. We observe for a long time, until we see of what components each color is made of. Master painters like Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida and John Singer Sargent have shown us so convincingly that skin tones are not a mere variation of beige and brown, but that they are full of real color. 

El Bote Blanco, Jávea, Spain Oil on linen 105 x 150 cm - Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida - 1905

If the light that illuminates an object, or in our case the skin of a person, comes from a warm source, lets say direct sun on a hot day in the tropics, or an incandescent light bulb, the shadow colors will be cool. If the opposite happens, like outdoors, on a grey day in the northern hemisphere, or indoors, using a fluorescent light bulb, the colors in the shadows will be warmer in comparison to the colors in the light. 

Charles Woodbury by John Singer Sargent 1921

But that is not all: A particularly beautiful thing happens, when reflected light hits a shadow area. Shadow areas can take on a hue totally different from their local one, when another color, coming from an illuminated object nearby, is being reflected into that shadow. The surface of the object in shadow will be influenced by that secondary light source.

Here are a few examples.

Nude with Pink Curtain - medium / support:    oil on canvas size:    61x91 cm,  24x36 inches, Ilse T. Hable

"Nude with Pink Curtain" is bathed in soft colors. Daylight, coming from a high window, produced cool highlights and the shadow areas are comfortably warm, giving the whole painting a tender, feminine feeling.

"Mangos" is a different example: Strong sunshine illuminates the woman's skin with warm tones. In the shadow areas I saw cooler colors, but only relatively cooler, given the hot temperature of the tropical location of the scene.

Mangos  medium / support: oil on linen size: 61x46 cm,  24x18 inches Ilse T. Hable

"Lying Nude with Green Pillow" demonstrates reflected color: There is green from the pillow in the shadow of her arm and her nose; blue along the body, where it rests on the blue cloth. Where flesh throws a shadow onto flesh, like in the thighs, the shadow color appears much warmer, due to the warm local color of the source.

Lying Nude with Green Pillow - medium / support: oil on linen size:  45x61 cm,  17.5x24 inches -Ilse T. Hable

Color is relative; each color is affected directly by light and indirectly by the colors that surround it. For the painter, at least the representational painter, it is a must to refresh one's eyes constantly. I do this by establishing the color relationships early on in the process, trying to be accurate and moving rapidly from place to place, covering the whole canvas, so as not to "fall in love" with one area of color. The brain can get accustomed very quickly and you can lose the ability to use critical judgment about color relationships. A tone that appears to be warm may well look cool in comparison to another, much warmer one, next to it. If I leave an area white for too long, this whiteness will affect my choice for the surrounding colors.

In a painting, be it a portrait or a nude, the flesh tones are only some of many colors that make up the whole. They have to be mixed carefully to reflect the complexion of the sitter, but they also have to harmonize with the surroundings.

"Portrait of Teresa", a commissioned painting, may be a good example for that last point: The blue of her favorite chair was in strong contrast with the red of the dress. I normally don't pair two primary colors, but Teresa is definitely a "red dress woman" and somehow the cool, blue color of the chair made that even more obvious. I painted this portrait quite a few years ago and can only assume that I kept the skin tones relatively neutral, because the overall harmony demanded it so.

You see, with painting, there is always the element of gut - if you listen to it (and your ability allows it), you will do the right thing.

Ilse T. Hable

The Colour of Skin - Part II

When I was a boy in Argentina plants somehow were always part of my life even though I was not consciously interested in them. Walking to school from the Belgrano R station meant that while walking under the jacarandás I would either step on either their falling blue flowers or their large pods which we called chauchas. Riding the train home to Coghlan I would notice the blue or white flowers of morning glories. I was much too young to understand the difference between garden worthy plants and weeds.

My mother cultivated a beautiful garden that featured a large wisteria, many oleanders and plants that grow in the zone of Buenos Aires which is identical to South Africa. This meant we had irises and calla lilies. I think that my mother in a futile attempt to make me interested in the garden planted snapdragons. I still remember where they grew in the long narrow garden that we had. I was more interested in the many plum trees, the backyard fig tree and the níspero (loquat). I would climb them to eat their fruit. I tried a green persimmon (my father called it a kaki) once and that was enough. My mouth puckered up and I thought it was going to close in on itself.

I never connected the relationship between the irises to my Aunt Iris Hayward. My father insisted in pronouncing iris and Aunt Iris in Spanish. Sort of eerees (but you must place your tongue closer to your upper front teeth to get that Spanish r). I simply never connected even though my grandmother had some Filipino friends, the Moretas, whose many children (I think there were eight of them) were either (the men) named after biblical angels or archangels or (the women) after flowers. I only remember Violeta Moreta.

My knowledge of iris the flower ends right there. I know that my wife (she is snobbish in her choice of garden plants) considers bearded irises as common fodder but appreciates Siberian irisis and Iris ensata (Japanese iris).

But through the years of gardening here in Vancouver I do know that irises need full sun (in short supply in our shady garden). I have also heard Rosemary say that their flowers are short-lived. But both of us appreciate the Iris pseudacorus (Flag Iris). In spite of the shade of our side-garden pond they grow well (they are supposed to be invasive) and flower (yellow).

My Spanish Dictionary (Real Academia Española) informs me that iris derives  from the Latin and it means rainbow. In Spanish we unnecessarily call a rainbow an arco iris. It would seem according to the mataburros (donkey killer is an epithet for dictionary in Spanish) that iris is sufficient. It is because iris plants come in so many colours that they have been given that name

Further exploration has made me learn that the Florentine Iris, also known as Orris Root is used for perfumes and is one of the special ingredients of Bombay Sapphire Gin.

The Iris has suddenly made its appearance in our garden. A nearby house was sold and then sold again. We noticed the demolition markers on the sidewalk. So Rosemary and I “liberated” some of the plants. I know my father would have opted for the word pinch. In that garden there were two large irises with blue buds. Rosemary uncharacteristically nodded in the affirmative when I pointed my spade at them.

One week later the two irises are in bloom (very dark blue) in her perennial bed which is the sunniest in our garden. Today I cut one of them to scan.

I can report that besides being very beautiful their scent resembles cocoa powder.

In 1986 I was assigned to photograph Social Credit Cabinet Minister Pat McGeer. I knew he was a keen basketball player so I communicated to him that I would take his picture in the UBC Gym court. At the time I never used my 35mm cameras for anything except rock and roll photographs of local alternative scene bands. For anything else I used my heavy 6x7cm medium format Mamiya RB-67. Because magazines like photographs that were not murky I always used flash, and when possible a studio flash.

From what I remember I clamped a large Ascor flash and umbrella to the top of the backboard. I don’t remember exactly how. But you might notice from the picture that the ball and the ring are over-exposed as they were closer to the flash. But McGeer is properly exposed because I metered for him.

As to how I was up there with my heavy camera I have no recollection, but I was. Just in case, for once eschewed my usual Ektachrome transparency film (you had to be bang on) for the more forgiving colour negative, which in this case was Fuji HR100.

The photograph was used in a two-page spread for Vancouver Magazine. One page was a full bleed photograph and on the other page was McGeer’s profile.

I was having a bout of my usual insomnia, in this case not sleeping worrying about unfinished business in the garden as Rosemary and I are opening it for the Vancouver Rose Society on June 7. The though came to my head beginning with the beautiful Spanish word esmero.

 My translation: Full care and diligent attention in making things with perfection.

The word esmero comes from the verb esmerar.

That translates to, in its principal definition, to polish, clean and burnish. What is interesting is that papel esmeril or emery paper does seem to be connected to esmero via the Byzantine Greek.

In short I see little effort in local contemporary magazine photography for any esmero and pride in one’s work. I remember not to long ago that a local photographer confessed to me that the quantity of lights and the quality of lights he used for shoots depended upon pay. I could not understand such a philosophy then and by now there seems to be no memory for putting effort before one presses one’s camera shutter button. 

It is interesting to note that Doctor Pat McGeer has been researching Alzheimer's for many years. I was struck by his intelligence the two times I took his photograph. It is my hope that in some way he will help find a treatment for this scourge.

Rosa 'William Lobb' June 13 2013

Rosa ‘Louise Odier’ is a beautiful intense pink rose with a heavenly scent. Rosa ‘Jacqueline du Pré’ is lovely and white and somehow seems musical. The naming of plants has a way of adding romance and interest. We have a clematis that I would consider ordinary. It is plainly maroon but Rosemary loves it because it's Clematis ‘Rebecca’. There is a hosta which I have never had the opportunity to buy, Hosta ‘Emily Dickinson’ even though my Hosta ‘Robert Frost’ is pretty nice.

So what can anybody say about Rosa ‘William Lobb’?

The venerable Royal Horticulural Society weighs in:

Other common names Rose 'William Lobb'

Synonyms Rosa old velvet moss

Genus

Rosa can be deciduous or semi-evergreen shrubs or scrambling climbers, with usually thorny stems bearing pinnate leaves and solitary or clustered, 5-petalled flowers followed by showy red or purple fruits

Family Rosaceae / Rosaceae

Species 'William Lobb' is a strong-growing medium-sized shrub, open in habit, with arching shoots. Moderately scented, double, deep magenta-purple flowers 9cm in width fade to greyish-purple. Heavily mossed buds

Horticultural Group

Centifolia Moss roses are lax, thorny shrubs with small clusters of often fragrant, semi-double or double flowers in midsummer, the flower stalks and sepals with an aromatic, moss-like growth.

 

Rosa 'William Lobb' June 1 2014

My bible, Peter Beales – Classic Roses says:

‘William Lobb’, ‘Duchesse d’Istrie’, ‘Old Velvet Moss’

Laffay  France 1855

When I show William Lobb to visitors to my garden I ask them to rub the unopened buds with their hands. The are rewarded with an intense pine resin scent. And that’s that. They lose interest and I take them to see other plants.

For a while I have wondered who William Lobb was. I found my answer yesterday in (yes!) Wikipedia. Lobb was a Cornish plantsman, (1809 – 3 May 1864) who worked for the most prosperous English plant sellers, Veitch of Exeter. James Veitch instantly caught on that Lobb, in spite of not having had a formal training in botany had the potential of being a very good plant hunter. At the time Victorians were madly pursuing the competition of who could have the rarest and strangest plant.

Lobb went to South America and up as far as Panama and from there to California. He introduced to England many plants and trees but there were three standouts, the Monkey Puzzle Tree (Araucaria araucana), the Sequoiadendron giganteum and a beautiful California shrub with yellow flowers (which I have in my garden, Fremontodendron californicum. Plant hunter David Douglas (why we call the Douglas Fir, Pseudotsuga menziesii, somehow overlooked the discovery of Thuja plicata so it was Lobb who introduced the Western Red Cedar to his homeland.

Most interesting is that Lobb went to San Francisco during the Gold Rush and disappeared in 1860. His family thought he had caught the gold fever. But that was not the case.

On 3 May 1864, Lobb died forgotten and alone at St. Mary’s Hospital in San Francisco. The cause of death was recorded as “paralysis”, but was probably the result of syphilis. He had no mourners at his burial on 5 May in a public plot in Lone Mountain Cemetery. In 1927, his headstone was moved to South Ridge Lawn and in 1940 to a crypt at Cypress Lawn Memorial Park under the care of the California Academy of Sciences. A small memorial plaque can be found in Devoran Church Cornwall where his brother Thomas Lobb (also a plant hunter) was buried in 1894.

It was interesting for me to read that Lobb obtained seeds of the giant Sequoia by shooting the cones with a rifle and having assistants scour the ground for seeds.

I find it coincidentally funny that I love Rosa 'William Lobb' in decline as my scans here of the flowers. It is perhaps my paean to Lobb's syphilis. You might note that the rose has another name, perhaps because the hybridizer, Jean Laffay was French and he might have wanted to please his French countrymen. The Duchesse d’Istrie was a beautiful woman married to a French hero in the Napoleonic wars. He was Jean-Baptiste Bessières, duc d’ Istrie, maréchal d’ empire.

On 27 October 1801, he had married in the castle of Carrussel (at Ferussac, Lot-et-Garonne) Marie-Jeanne-Magdelaine Lapeyrière (1781-1840).  A most delightful portrait in miniature of La Maréchale Bessières, duchesse d’ Istrie, has been executed by Jacques Delaplace; the piece is preserved at Rueil-Malmaison in the musée national des châteaux de Malmaison et de Bois-Préau. The piece – tabatière– was aquired in 1953; inventory number M.M.40.47.8633; ancient collection of baron Rabusson-Corvisart.

So far I have not been able to locate a portrait of William Lobb.

If you consult your Wikipedia you will find out:

Seconda pratica, literally "second practice", is the counterpart to prima pratica and is more commonly referred to as Stile moderno. The term "Seconda prattica" was coined by Claudio Monteverdi to distance his music from that of e.g. Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina and Gioseffo Zarlino and describes early music of the Baroque period which encouraged more freedom from the rigorous limitations of dissonances and counterpoint characteristic of the prima pratica.

Stile moderno was coined as an expression by Giulio Caccini in his 1602 work Le nuove musiche which contained numerous monodies. New for Caccini's songs were that the accompaniment was completely submissive in contrast to the lyric; hence, more precisely, Caccini's Stile moderno-monodies have ornamentations spelled out in the score, which earlier had been up to the performer to supply. Also this marks the starting point of basso continuo which also was a feature in Caccini's work.

In the preface of his 5th Book of Madrigals (1605) Monteverdi announced a book of his own: Seconda pratica, overo perfettione della moderna musica. Such a book is not extant. But the preface of his 8th Book of Madrigals (1638) seems to be virtually a fragment of it. Therein Monteverdi claims to have invented a new “agitated” style (Genere concitato, later called Stile concitato) to make the music "complete/perfect" ("perfetto").

Since I am not completely ignorant of the above I can add that the 17^th century is sometimes called the fantastic period of the baroque.

Think of young Turks not wanting to be part of the establishment. Think about punks tired of long, over-the-top guitar solos. Think of Schoenberg wanting to exist music as he knew it. Think experimental.

It seems that in this fantastic period composers dallied with dissonant notes. A few years ago I could hear them in the works of Pandolfi and, amazingly in some Vivaldi cello sonatas. I could not hear, except for a few nicely jarring ones today in a concert that was billed as Dance and Dissonance.

One of my fellow concert goers Marc Destrubé, a virtuoso violinist, who specializes in just about every period of music beginning in the 16^th century to the present (and I could be wrong) said, “Those notes were there, you simply have become used to them.”  

You could compare that to trying to remember what it was like to first listen to the music of Thelonius Monk. They sounded like wrong notes to me at first and then they became the “right”, wrong notes!

I had a similar experience listening to a Vancouver punk band, the Modernettes for the first time in the late 70s. I could not believe that musicians could possibly be professional and sing off key. I had no idea that the singer, Buck Cherry (aka John Armstrong) was doing his best to sing off key to emulate the music of the proto-punk band The New York Dolls. It was their way, their version of stile moderno to escape the clutches of sugary pop music.

Stile Moderno played the music of composers Andrea Falconieri (c.1585-1656), Dario Castello (?1585-?1630), Giovanni Battista Buonamente (?1595-1642), Girolamo Frescobaldi (1583-1643), Salamone Rossi (c.1570-1630). Biagio Marini (1594-1663), and Marco Uccelini (1603-1680). I must confess, and I am not ashamed to, that I only know of three from that batch. I have CDs of Biagio Marini and Falconieri and I first heard Frescobaldi played in a baroque Mexican church in the early 60s. The other composers were empty ciphers. Of note (all nicely explained by Neel) is Salamone Rossi, a virtuoso violinist who was so good that he was accepted by his fellow Mantua musicians and composers in spite of the fact that he was Jewish.

What all that means that with the exception of the Biagio Marini I was listening to new music played by musicians in the know who with their smiles were plainly having fun and we the audience were almost superfluous!

There was a harpsichord solo, Frescobaldi’s Aria detta la Frescobalda in which Bagan explained that it provided later composers with what really is an ancient custom called “sampling”. The first part it would seem was later borrowed by Bach for his famous violin chaconne and the second part was a version of Greensleeves. In Biagio Marini’s Passacalio we were able (and this is indeed rare) listen to the great theorbo very nicely played by Bozhinov. At one point his nose was over the edge of the huge instrument in sort of a baroque version of WWII’s Kilroy Was Here. The base notes of a theorbo have a resonance that no other instrument, be it a guitar or a cello can possibly match. I would say that these notes, this sound is something like vibrating a tuning fork and placing it close to another of a similar frequency. It, too will vibrate in sympathy. As I did.

I was intrigued by Biagio Marini’s Sonata sopra la Monica (I have it played by Monica Huggett) since I had never noted its name. Neel told me that Monica was a popular tune of the time. I used my imagination and the soothing Sonata for me represented the long suffering Monica waiting for her terrible son,  (St. Augustine) to abandon his wicked ways.

The concert ended like the Wedding at Cana, the best was saved for last. Stile Moderno played Marco Uccellini’s Aria Sopra la Bergmesca. This was a wonderful ground with that repeating bass line in which the violins played a melody and everybody smiled including this transfixed concert goer listening with the excitement music I had never heard before.