A Twopeny Portfolio: A Cumbrian Connection

This article continues the examination of a portfolio of twenty-five drawings bought at Anderson & Garland, Newcastle upon Tyne, 21 March 2017, lot 46 as ‘Various Artists (British 19th Century) Sundry drawings and watercolours, mainly topographical and floral studies, including a grisaille “South Gate, Lynn, Norfolk”, bearing the signature of J.S.Cotman, various sizes, all unframed in a folio.’

Here we interrupt the discussion of individual drawings to consider a portfolio within the portfolio, which makes a connection to a prominent family associated with Penrith and the northern part of the Lake District.

Continue reading “A Twopeny Portfolio: A Cumbrian Connection”

A Twopeny Portfolio: #22 Red and White Striped Carnation, 1818.

This article considers the twenty-second work of twenty-five bought at Anderson & Garland, Newcastle upon Tyne, 21 March 2017, lot 46 as ‘Various Artists (British 19th Century) Sundry drawings and watercolours, mainly topographical and floral studies, including a grisaille “South Gate, Lynn, Norfolk”, bearing the signature of J.S.Cotman, various sizes, all unframed in a folio.’

Here we look at the first of three flower drawings from a portfolio within the portfolio that once belonged to a Miss Parkin of Skirsgill, Cumbria. This example turns out to have some relevance for the situation in which it was written.

Continue reading “A Twopeny Portfolio: #22 Red and White Striped Carnation, 1818.”

Kirkby Lonsdale: What Ruskin really said.

This article visits the famous ‘Ruskin’s View’ at Kirkby Lonsdale in Cumbria. It is so christened after a particularly purple description of the scenery by Ruskin. Hardly anyone, however, has ever considered his commentary in full. In what follows we will retrace Ruskin’s footsteps and discover that he said rather more than is generally admitted.

The Lune Valley from Church Brow, Kirkby Lonsdale – ‘Ruskin’s View’ Photograph by David Hill, taken 12 May 2009, 11.48 GMT
The Lune Valley from Church Brow, Kirkby Lonsdale – ‘Ruskin’s View’
Photograph by David Hill, taken 12 May 2009, 11.48 GMT

On a sunny and frosty winter’s morning on 22 January 1875, the famous art critic John Ruskin walked through the churchyard at Kirkby Lonsdale to enjoy the wonderful view over the Lune valley. The site had been sketched by the great artist J.M.W.Turner in 1816, and popularised through an engraved watercolour, but had been celebrated in prose several times before that.

J.M.W.Turner The Lune Valley from Kirkby Lonsdale Churchyard, c.1818 Watercolour, 286 x 415 mm Private Collection ex Bonhams London 26 January 2012, lot 12 (sold for £217,250) Image, David Hill. To see the image in Bonhams online catalogue click on the following link, then use your browser’s ‘back’ button to return to this page: https://www.bonhams.com/auctions/19571/lot/12/ Ruskin knew of the view from the engraving of this watercolour that was published in Turner’s ‘History of Richmondshire’ in 1822, but the view was already feted by others, including William Wordsworth in his Guide to the Lakes published in 1810. It is not clear when it was decided to call it ‘Ruskin’s View’, but it was still known as Turner’s view well into the twentieth century.
J.M.W.Turner
The Lune Valley from Kirkby Lonsdale Churchyard, c.1818
Watercolour, 286 x 415 mm
Private Collection ex Bonhams London 26 January 2012, lot 12 (sold for £217,250)
Image, David Hill. To see the image in Bonhams online catalogue click on the following link, then use your browser’s ‘back’ button to return to this page:
https://www.bonhams.com/auctions/19571/lot/12/
Ruskin knew of the view from the engraving of this watercolour that was published in Turner’s ‘History of Richmondshire’ in 1822, but the view was already feted by others, including William Wordsworth in his Guide to the Lakes published in 1810. It is not clear when it was decided to call it ‘Ruskin’s View’, but it was still known as Turner’s view well into the twentieth century.

Turner’s View, Kirkby Lonsdale Photograph by David Hill taken 12 May 2009, 12.25 GMT
Turner’s View, Kirkby Lonsdale
Photograph by David Hill taken 12 May 2009, 12.25 GMT

None, however, extolled it quite so effectively as did Ruskin:

“The valley of the Lune at Kirkby is one of the loveliest scenes in England—therefore, in the world. Whatever moorland hill, and sweet river, and English forest foliage can be at their best, is gathered there; and chiefly seen from the steep bank which falls to the stream side from the upper part of the town itself. There, a path leads from the churchyard out of which Turner made his drawing of the valley, along the brow of the wooded bank, to open downs beyond; a little bye footpath on the right descending steeply through the woods to a spring among the rocks of the shore. I do not know in all my own country, still less in France or Italy, a place more naturally divine, or a more priceless possession of true “Holy Land.”

Signpost to Ruskin’s View Photograph by David Hill taken 21 March 2016, 15.36 GMT
Signpost to Ruskin’s View
Photograph by David Hill taken 21 March 2016, 15.36 GMT

The passage has been feted by promoters of Kirkby Lonsdale. Despite the fact that the view was thought of by Ruskin as Turner’s, and indeed was known by locals as Turner’s view almost within living memory, the view is now resolutely associated with Ruskin. It is iterated on every signboard in the area. Signposts guide you from all quarters to ‘Ruskin’s View’ and signboards at regular intervals repeat his glowing endorsement. The sentiment is ubiquitous in the tourist promotion of Kirkby Lonsdale, and the following from ‘Explore South Lakeland’ might be taken as representative:

‘Approach the beautiful Norman Church of St Mary the Virgin by a pretty alleyway beside the Sun Inn and linger for a while in its lovely churchyard, especially if the sun is shining – there are plenty of seats. From the far corner of the churchyard, follow the signs to Ruskin’s View where the path opens into Church Brow, a promenade high above the River Lune. There you can feast your eyes on a breathtaking panorama of the Lune Valley and Underley Hall – the famous, heavenly Ruskin’s View.

http://www.exploresouthlakeland.co.uk/hidden-gems/item/14/Ruskin-s-View–Kirkby-Lonsdale/

[Click on image to enlarge]

Signboard at Ruskin’s View Photograph by David Hill, taken 25 March 2016, 11.05 GMT
Signboard at Ruskin’s View Photograph by David Hill, taken 25 March 2016, 11.05 GMT

Ruskin’s View Photograph by David Hill, taken 25 March 2016, 11.05 GMT
Ruskin’s View
Photograph by David Hill, taken 25 March 2016, 11.05 GMT

Ruskin made his comment in the fifty-second of a series of monthly ‘Letters to the Workmen of England’ published in April 1875 and collected in the fifth annual volume of ‘Fors Clavigera’ [FORS CLAVIGERA: VOL. V, LETTER 52 (APRIL 1875), ‘Vale of Lune’, pp. 92-99; Works XXVIII, 298-304]. As a whole, the complete eight volumes are not an easy read, but they do contain a thorough critique of the political and spiritual state of British society in the later nineteenth century. Much of what he has to say seems as topical today as it did then, and before Christmas I got round to a retirement project to read it in its entirety. Arriving at the familiar passage on Kirkby Lonsdale, I was more than a little surprised to see the full context in which it was set.

Ruskin’s comment was made to emphasise the beauty endowed to the site by nature, but as a pointed contrast to the folly, filth, and impoverishment of spirit of the contemporary works. At the risk of my being barred entry to Kirkby Lonsdale for evermore, I think we need to hear what Ruskin really said about that view.

[Click on any image to enlarge]

“I have been driving by the old road from Coniston here, through Kirkby Lonsdale, and have seen more ghastly signs of modern temper than I yet had believed possible.

“The valley of the Lune at Kirkby is one of the loveliest scenes in England—therefore, in the world. Whatever moorland hill, and sweet river, and English forest foliage can be at their best, is gathered there; and chiefly seen from the steep bank which falls to the stream side from the upper part of the town itself. There, a path leads from the churchyard out of which Turner made his drawing of the valley, along the brow of the wooded bank, to open downs beyond; a little bye footpath on the right descending steeply through the woods to a spring among the rocks of the shore. I do not know in all my own country, still less in France or Italy, a place more naturally divine, or a more priceless possession of true “Holy Land.”

[Click on any image to enlarge in a gallery, and to see captions]

“Well, the population of Kirkby cannot, it appears, in consequence of their recent civilization, any more walk, in summer afternoons, along the brow of this bank, without a fence. I at first fancied this was because they were usually unable to take care of themselves at that period of the day: but saw presently I must be mistaken in that conjecture, because the fence they have put up requires far more sober minds for safe dealing with it than ever the bank did; being of thin, strong, and finely sharpened skewers, on which if a drunken man rolled heavily, he would assuredly be impaled at the armpit. They have carried this lovely decoration down on both sides of the woodpath to the spring, with warning notice on ticket,—“This path leads only to the Ladies’ well—all trespassers will be prosecuted”—and the iron rails leave so narrow footing that I myself scarcely ventured to go down,—the morning being frosty, and the path slippery,—lest I should fall on the spikes. The well at the bottom was choked up and defaced, though ironed all round, so as to look like the “pound” of old days for strayed cattle: they had been felling the trees too; and the old wood had protested against the fence in its own way, with its last root and branch,—for the falling trunks had crashed through the iron grating in all directions, and left it in already rusty and unseemly rags, like the last refuse of a railroad accident, beaten down among the dead leaves.

[Click on any image to enlarge in a gallery, and to see captions]

“Just at the dividing of the two paths, the improving mob [* I include in my general term “mob,” lords, squires, clergy, parish beadles, and all other states and conditions of men concerned in the proceedings described] of Kirkby had got two seats put for themselves—to admire the prospect from, forsooth. And these seats were to be artistic, if Minerva were propitious,—in the style of Kensington. So they are supported on iron legs, representing each, as far as any rational conjecture can extend—the Devil’s tail pulled off, with a goose’s head stuck on the wrong end of it. Thus: and what is more—two of the geese-heads are without eyes (I stooped down under the seat and rubbed the frost off them to make sure), and the whole symbol is perfect, therefore,—as typical of our English populace, fashionable and other, which seats itself to admire prospects, in the present day.

[Click on any image to enlarge in a gallery, and to see captions]

“Now, not a hundred paces from these seats there is a fine old church, with Norman door, and lancet east windows, and so on; and this, of course, has been duly patched, botched, plastered, and primmed up; and is kept as tidy as a new pin. For your English clergyman keeps his own stage properties, nowadays, as carefully as a poor actress her silk stockings. Well, all that, of course, is very fine; but, actually, the people go through the churchyard to the path on the hill-brow, making the new iron railing an excuse to pitch their dust-heaps, and whatever of worse they have to get rid of, crockery and the rest,—down over the fence among the primroses and violets to the river,—and the whole blessed shore underneath, rough sandstone rock throwing the deep water off into eddies among shingle, is one waste of filth, town-drainage, broken saucepans, tannin, and mill-refuse.

[Click on any image to open in gallery, and see captions]

[…some comment on Clapham and Bolton Abbey omitted here]

“Very certainly, nevertheless, the young ladies of Luneside and Wharfedale don’t pant in the least after their waterbrooks; and this is the saddest part of the business to me. Pollution of rivers!—yes, that is to be considered also;—but pollution of young ladies’ minds to the point of never caring to scramble by a riverside, so long as they can have their church-curate and his altar-cloths to their fancy—this is the horrible thing, in my own wild way of thinking. That shingle of the Lune, under Kirkby, reminded me, as if it had been yesterday, of a summer evening by a sweeter shore still: the edge of the North Inch of Perth, where the Tay is wide, just below Scone; and the snowy quartz pebbles decline in long banks under the ripples of the dark clear stream.

“My Scotch cousin Jessie, eight years old, and I, ten years old, and my Croydon cousin, Bridget, a slim girl of fourteen, were all wading together, here and there; and of course getting into deep water as far as we could,—my father and mother and aunt watching us,—till at last, Bridget, having the longest legs, and, taking after her mother, the shortest conscience,—got in so far and with her petticoats so high, that the old people were obliged to call to her, though hardly able to call, for laughing; and I recollect staring at them, and wondering what they were laughing at. But alas, by Lune shore, now, there are no pretty girls to be seen holding their petticoats up. Nothing but old saucepans and tannin—or worse—as signs of modern civilization.

On the shingle at Kirkby Lonsdale Photograph by David Hill, taken 12 May 2009, 14.40 GMT
On the shingle at Kirkby Lonsdale
Photograph by David Hill, taken 12 May 2009, 14.40 GMT

“But how fine it is to have iron skewers for our fences; and no trespassing (except by lords of the manor on poor men’s ground), and pretty legs exhibited where they can be so without impropriety, and with due advertisement to the public beforehand; and iron legs to our chairs, also, in the style of Kensington!” Doubtless; but considering that Kensington is a school of natural Science as well as Art, it seems to me that these Kirkby representations of the Ophidia are slightly vague. Perhaps, however, in conveying that tenderly sagacious expression into his serpent’s head, and burnishing so acutely the brandished sting in his tail, the Kirkby artist has been under the theological instructions of the careful Minister who has had his church restored so prettily;—only then the Minister himself must have been, without knowing it, under the directions of another person, who had an intimate interest in the matter. For there is more than failure of natural history in this clumsy hardware. It is indeed a matter of course that it should be clumsy, for the English have always been a dull nation in decorative art: and I find, on looking at things here afresh after long work in Italy, that our most elaborate English sepulchral work, as the Cokayne tombs at Ashbourne and the Dudley tombs at Warwick (not to speak of Queen Elizabeth’s in Westminister!) are yet, compared to Italian sculpture of the same date, no less barbarous than these goose heads of Kirkby would appear beside an asp head of Milan. But the tombs of Ashbourne or Warwick are honest, though blundering, efforts to imitate what was really felt to be beautiful; whereas the serpents of Kirkby are ordered and shaped by the “least erected spirit that fell,” in the very likeness of himself!

“For observe the method and circumstance of their manufacture. You dig a pit for ironstone, and heap a mass of refuse on fruitful land; you blacken your God-given sky, and consume your God-given fuel, to melt the iron; you bind your labourer to the Egyptian toil of its castings and forgings; then, to refine his mind you send him to study Raphael at Kensington; and with all this cost, filth, time, and misery, you at last produce—the devil’s tail for your sustenance, instead of an honest three-legged stool.

“You do all this that men may live—think you? Alas—no; the real motive of it all is that the fashionable manufacturer may live in a palace, getting his fifty per cent. commission on the work which he has taken out of the hands of the old village carpenter, who would have cut two stumps of oak in two minutes out of the copse, which would have carried your bench and you triumphantly,—to the end of both your times.”

Serpent bench at Kirkby Lonsdale Photograph by David Hill, taken 25 March 2016, 10.48 GMT “..with a goose’s head stuck on the wrong end of it..”
Serpent bench at Kirkby Lonsdale
Photograph by David Hill, taken 25 March 2016, 10.48 GMT
“..with a goose’s head stuck on the wrong end of it..”

POSTSCRIPT
This article started out as a bit of a wild goose chase. I quickly discovered from photographs taken on previous visits that Ruskin’s benches had disappeared from their original setting. However it was clear that the railings survived in serried spears and so thought it worth the risk to trace Ruskin’s footsteps nonetheless. And it was pleasant enough this March to wander in the churchyard, test one’s fingers on the railings, pick one’s way down the path to the Ladies’ Well, fail to find the old spring, search municipal gardens and spaces for Ruskin’s benches; wonder whether they might be secreted in some private garden, and come away disappointed thinking that they must have been melted down for scrap.

So driving away up the A65 it was a shock to suddenly see them sitting forlorn at the side of the main road. And I doubt anyone has been so gladdened to see them. Few since Ruskin can have been seen kneeling on the floor to see whether the heads do indeed lack eyes. Ruskin would probably have thought it grimly appropriate that what eyes there are look out now only upon wheels scuttering by, and are covered not in frost but in road grit.

Ruskin’s Benches: Kirkby Lonsdale Photograph by David Hill, 25 March 2016, 10.51 GMT They stand today by the side of the A65 near its junction with Main Street. It’s not quite the view to which they had grown accustomed.
Ruskin’s Benches: Kirkby Lonsdale
Photograph by David Hill, 25 March 2016, 10.51 GMT
They stand today by the side of the A65 near its junction with Main Street. It’s not quite the view to which they had grown accustomed.

Google Earth Aerial view of Kirkby Lonsdale Placemarks indicate the principal sites discussed in the article.
Google Earth Aerial view of Kirkby Lonsdale
Placemarks indicate the principal sites discussed in the article.

[Best viewed full size; click on image to enlarge]

Still it seems against all odds that they do survive; albeit rather battered and bruised. Three of the four castings have lost their tails, and the quality (although Ruskin might have harrumped at the word) of the detail has degraded through rust and successive repaintings.

So what to do? Maybe put them back? Certainly Ruskin’s description and illustration seems to qualify them as museum-quality objects. And it does seem a shame that they have been removed from what is otherwise a high-grade survival of the environment that he described. They aren’t perhaps as sturdy as they once were, but there might well be a case for restoring them to the Church Brow, somewhere. The entrance to the new graveyard is very near their original situation. Ruskin would certainly oppose any notion of restoration; but preservation he might not oppose. After all his meditation on the site was intended to render urgent the capacity to fully appreciate its beauty and to provoke constant struggle against the erosion of that appreciation. That threat is as relevant today as it was then. Kirkby Lonsdale is truly a great place to have one’s eyes open.

Ruskin’s railings. Photograph by David Hill, taken 25 March 2016, 11.30 GMT
Ruskin’s railings.
Photograph by David Hill, taken 25 March 2016, 11.30 GMT

 

PPS.
I cannot close this without referring the reader to the work of Paul Dobraszczyk. He is a photographer, artist and cultural commentator specialising in the built environment. He has a wonderful website at

http://ragpickinghistory.co.uk/

His recent book, Iron, Ornament and Architecture in Victorian Britain: Myth and Modernity, Excess and Enchantment (Ashgate, 2014), begins by thinking about Ruskin’s benches at Kirkby Lonsdale, though he does not seem to have known that they survived. He points out that this style of bench is very widespread, and they can be found the length and breadth of Britain. Dobraszczyk makes the point that it was probably their very municipal proliferation that galled Ruskin so much. Indeed companies still manufacture to the pattern. It is the officially adopted style of park bench in Harrogate and Knaresborough. Still, none received quite such a critical sandblasting as the two at Kirkby Lonsdale.

Truanting with Turner: Dallam Tower and the Kent Estuary at Milnthorpe, Cumbria

My friends tell me that it’s not real work, not proper research; all this trotting off to places Turner might have been. It’s a bit like Richard Long expecting to make a living out of walking and camping holidays. My unappreciative chums may have a point, but I want to argue here that ‘real’ work is constituted in acquiescence to a system most often blinded to everything but what it thinks it wants. In receiving service contrary to its demands then it  might it be given a glimpse of a less predetermined destination.

In his book, The Truth in Painting, Jacques Derrida develops the idea of the parergon (note 1). His discussion spreads across one hundred and twenty eight pages of extremely demanding reading. In a nutshell [if that’s at all possible] ‘Parergon’ means ‘by-work’ (Greek: ‘Ergon’ = work; ‘Para’ = besides; by). Derrida develops a conceptual model in which meanings (= the work)  are constantly renegotiated by their context. In philosophical terms he shows that any meaning is always constructed in historical social circumstances, but cannot remain stable since such systems are de facto always in process of dynamic change. The work belongs to the system, and the parergon belongs to the process of change. Derrida is reading the work of the philosopher Immanuel Kant,  and finding that his mindset is constructed by a particular 18th century system. Derrida discovers a succession of cases in which Kant’s concepts come under pressure from the context (note 2). Another, more literal sense of ‘by-work’, not Derrida’s subject, and now not in general use, is that of a work that is subsidiary to one’s ordinary employment. In this case, I think, the two senses might be productively related.

At the end of September I took a short trip to Arnside in southern Cumbria. I’d never been there before, but Turner had. He visited the area in 1816 on his tour of the north of England.

Milnthorpe NOE #600
Milnthorpe OS #602I published most of his sketches and watercolours in my 1984 book  In Turner’s Footsteps, and visited every site that he visited, with one exception. Passing from Kendal towards the northern shore of Morecambe Bay, Turner made a southerly detour to Dallam Tower, the early 18th century seat of the Wilson family near the town of Milnthorpe. I discussed the site in the book (note 3), but on my tour, for reasons that now elude me, I managed to by-pass it.  So now, between departmental meetings and setting up modules for the new semester, I found a couple of days, booked myself into Arnside Youth Hostel, and resolved to fill in the missing section.

Arnside Youth Hostel is a real treasure (note 4): A big old stone school house covered in red Virginia creeper; more than slightly tatty; full of creaky bunk-beds and extraordinary people. A cyclist who had come from Skipton that day, and the next morning was heading for the high Lakeland passes. Remarkable enough, but especially so in that this was accomplished with one arm. A retired school teacher who was drawn to Arnside several times a year over more than sixty years as a YHA member. Arnside itself with its dainty Edwardian verandas facing the Kent sands, and trains periodically rattling across the viaduct to Grange. The Arnside and Silverdale area of outstanding natural beauty, criss-crossed by paths, including the ‘Fairy Steps’ on the walk from Arnside to Dallam. A steep cleft up a limestone crag. It is lucky, apparently, to ascend without touching the sides, but as I discovered, this is only possible for fairies and four-year olds. Art historians may become wedged. But I digress…

JMWTurner, Dallam Tower and the Kent Estuary, 1816, Turner Bequest, Tate Britain, by courtesy.
JMWTurner, Dallam Tower and the Kent Estuary, 1816, Turner Bequest TB CXLVIII 42-6 (Tate D.11595), Tate Britain, by courtesy.

To view this image in the online catalogue of the Turner Bequest at Tate Britain (note 5). Follow the link below and the click on your browser’s ‘back’ button to return to this page: http://www.tate.org.uk/search/D11595

Dallam Tower, near Milnthorpe, Cumbria, looking out over the estuary of the river Kent. September 2013. Photo: David Hill
Dallam Tower, near Milnthorpe, Cumbria, looking out over the estuary of the river Kent. September 2013. Photo: David Hill

Dallam Tower was Turner’s proper work in 1816. The purpose of the tour was to fulfil a commission to make two hundred watercolours of subjects in the north of England. These had been selected by a committee of gentlemen to illustrate a multi-volume ‘General History of the County of York’ (note 6). Perhaps one of these gentlemen was Rear Admiral George Wilson of Dallam. It is the kind of country-house subject that was well established as a type of art and during the previous twenty years Turner had made many examples of this kind. He generally always liked to get an overview of his subject so he found the most elevated point of the deer-park from where he could survey the house in relation to the estuary with the limestone crag of Whitbarrow Scar on the far side and the high Lakeland fells towards Coniston Old Man in the far distance. It is surprising just how unchanged is the scene: At the top of the slope to the right are the stumps of Scots Pines that Turner saw there, and the park is dotted with large oaks, many of which must be the same specimens as were growing there then. He made one of his most careful and expansive sketches, and obviously laid down the basis for what would have been a splendid picture. The proposed finished work was a casualty of the curtailment of the project. He did manage to complete a few watercolours that were published later, but here is no record of any picture of Dallam. But then, unrecorded Turners still surface quite regularly…

In Turner’s Footsteps fixes the time of day as afternoon: Low tide was at about 3.30 p.m. and the Kent can be seen snaking across the sands. Having taken care of the required work he wandered down to the shore. The path leads out of Dallam Park to a bridge over the river Bela where a view of the estuary opens out. Turner followed a path northwards to the right. The modern path follows the top of a large dyke to reclaim land from the marshes, and it offers superb views all around. There is nothing here but space, sky, air, gulls, dog-walkers, and encompassing light. Turner found himself in a space undefined, exploring on his own account, outside of the demands of the task and in a type of landscape that figuration had not yet recognised, let alone knew how to require.

JMWTurner, The Kent Estuary from near Milnthorpe, 1816, Turner Bequest TB CXLVII 36 (Tate D11500), Tate Britain, London. Photo: David Hill
JMWTurner, The Kent Estuary from near Milnthorpe, 1816, Turner Bequest TB CXLVII 36 (Tate D11500), Tate Britain, London. Photo: David Hill

To view this image in the online catalogue of the Turner Bequest at Tate Britain follow the link below. Click on your browser’s ‘back’ button to return to this page: http://www.tate.org.uk/search/d11500

The Kent Estuary near Milnthorpe. Photo: David Hill, September 2013
The Kent Estuary near Milnthorpe. Photo: David Hill, September 2013

Half a mile or so beyond the bridge towards Levens he stopped and took stock of the panorama. He had no particular requirement to draw the subject, and certainly not in his best manner, but still felt impelled to set down some memorandum of the situation. He had used his largest and best sketchbook for recording Dallam Tower but here he chose a smaller sketchbook. Its 5 x 8 ins (12.5 x 20.6 cm) pages offered a panoramic format appropriate to the space. He started with the main sketch in the centre looking north-west to Whitbarrow Scar marked by a ‘W’, no doubt to indicate its conspicuous exposure of white limestone. To the left are the high peaks of the Coniston Old Man group and to the right (from left to right) the peaks of Fairfield, Kirkstone Fell and the High Street group, all approaching 20 miles distant. To the right is a squat tower, possibly a lighthouse, and on the sands in the foreground are figures, possibly gathering cockles – still an important activity. That done, he continued with a second sketch on the same page, above, to pan round to the south-west and record the view across Milnthorpe Sands towards the mouth of the Kent, with Arnside Knott in the distance to the left, and the fells above Grange and Lindale towards the right. In the far distance a couple of ships can be seen moored off Sandside. Surprising as it may seem today, Sandside was once an important quay. It had the honour of being the only significant port in the county of Westmorland, and served Kendal and the southern Lakes. Coal and manufactured goods came in and cloth, stone and other produce shipped out. The estuary was also a significant site of shipbuilding, and vessels from here plied around the shores of the Atlantic and all across the northern seas (note 7)

It is a wonderful situation, more notable now for seeming bypassed by the events of the world, and its principal characteristics are those of emptiness and space. Even in 1816 there was nothing in this as a subject that would have provided any interest to the viewer. Yet it is a place into which the imagination can learn to expand without limit or constraint, unconcerned by the exigencies of business. The qualities of such a space might began to register with an alert imagination such as Turner’s, but there was no frame in wider consciousness in which it could be construed. Even Turner had not yet the recognition of it to make it a subject in itself. Yet in the space between the prescribed tasks, his by-work was engaging with emergent possibility. It was to be fourteen years before this kind of subject sufficiently coalesced in Turner’s practice for him to be able to bring a major statement of it before the public. Then it was a different country, but a similar environment, that provided the subject for the painting Calais Sands, exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1830.

JMWTurner, Calais Sands at Low Water: Poissards Collecting Bait, 1830, Oil on canvas, 68.5 x 105.5 cm. Bury Art Gallery, by courtesy.
JMWTurner, Calais Sands at Low Water: Poissards Collecting Bait, 1830, Oil on canvas, 68.5 x 105.5 cm. Bury Art Gallery, by courtesy.

This painting is online as part of the Public Catalogue Foundation hosted by the BBC ‘Your Paintings’. The site offers an extended commentary and an enlargable image. Follow the link below and click your browser’s b’back’ button to return to this site:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/yourpaintings/paintings/calais-sands-at-low-water-poissards-collecting-bait-164495

The parergon now began to emerge as a work in itself, albeit falteringly. The picture was not much noticed, but one critic, although troubled by its emptiness, did acknowledge a strange aesthetic power: ‘it is literally nothing in labour, but extraordinary in art’ (note 8). Perhaps consciousness was not yet able to see it as unproblematic. The picture did not find a buyer for another fourteen years, and even then the purchaser formed no great attachment to it and moved it on through a few collections without it finding a long-tem home (note 9). Its last private owner was Bury paper-maker Thomas Wrigley who enjoyed it for only eight years up to his death in 1880 after which in 1897 his children made a founding gift of his collection to Bury Art Gallery. Time has steadily clarified its importance. It is now one the star of Bury’s collections and one of Turner’s most internationally admired compositions.

When Turner entered that kind of space on the banks of the river Kent in 1816 it was non-descript. His engagement with the place was superfluous and unrequired, but Turner always allowed the by-work to occupy him as much as the work, and therein found material with which to challenge and refocus the pre-required. Truancy turns out to be work after all, at least when done so attentively.

Kent Sands from near Arnside. Photo: David Hill, September 2013
Kent Sands from near Arnside. Photo: David Hill, September 2013

There is always something to be listened for in the by-work. Walking to Dallam amply justified a visit to the Arnside Chip Shop and afterwards ‘The Albion’. Sitting by the old coastguard station on the way back to the hostel, it fell dark. The lights of Grange came out one by one, reflected in pockets of water. About twenty minutes later quiet turned to commotion, as if a storm had suddenly blown in. It was too dark to see the cause as the reflections turned to black. Only eventually did we begin to connect this with the phenomenon known as the Arnside bore. When the tide turns on Morecambe Bay, it gathers into a wave that pours into the creek. In this instance it was all the more striking for sweeping by so unexpectedly in the dark. When it passed we were left with stunned silence, and early autumn leaves shaken from the trees.

Morecambe Bay towards Lancaster #600
Morecambe Bay from Jenny Brown’s Point, looking towards Lancaster. Photo: David Hill, September 2013

  1.  Jacques Derrida, The Truth in Painting, translated by Geoff Bennington and Ian McLeod. Published Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987.
  2. This is an extremely quick sketch of a vast object. If you are interested in a more extended overview of Derrida’s ‘Parergon’ then you might find the following link useful: http://www.thecounterimage.com/www.thecounterimage.com/BLOG/Entries/2011/6/6_Theres_No_There_There__Derridas_Parergon.html
  3. David Hill, In Turner’s Footsteps, 1984, pp.79-80. I describe the sketches but do not reproduce them. That deficiency is remedied here.
  4. Such a shame that it’s closing. The ‘For Sale’ board hung tolling at the gate. Think again, YHA! Arnside wants money spending on it but it is surely the perfect enactment of YHA’s charitable purpose.
  5. I have catalogued all these sketches for the new online catalogue of the Turner Bequest on the Tate’s website. This is possibly one of the largest catalogue projects ever undertaken in British Art History, comprising something like 40,000 individual sketches, drawings and paintings. The catalogue can be accessed by following the link below, click on your browser’s back button to return to this page: http://www.tate.org.uk/art/research-publications/jmw-turner. I completed about 2000 entries comprising of Yorkshire and north of England sketches (including those of 1816) and a large group belonging to a tour of the Alps in 1836. I was told in August that they were about to by published on the website, but I have waited in vain anticipation. I hope to live long enough..
  6. Never mind that many of these subjects were in Lancashire, Cumberland and Westmorland The grand project was curtailed in 1821 by the death of its author, Thomas Dunham Whitaker. Only two volumes comprising An History of Richmondshire were properly published in 1823.
  7. I enjoyed Leonard Smith’s book, Kendal’s Port: A Maritime History of the Creek of Milnthorpe, Kendal, 2009.
  8. The Morning Chronicle, 3 May 1830 quoted in M Butlin and E Joll, The Paintings of J.M.W.Turner, 2 vols, 2nd edition, Yale University Press, London, 1984, no.334
  9. It was eventually sold in 1844 by Turner’s dealer Thomas Griffith for £500. Over the next few years, the buyer, Joseph Gillott, shuffled it on through various hands, before ending up with it on his hands again.