So down the lovely staircase I went. The sight was stunning as I looked down on the relatively small space visible; there was fan vaulting, four tiny lights around the base of each pillar with the lights on the columns highlighting the beauty of the vaulting above. A beautiful chiaroscuro. To the left was the beginning of the restored walls which are extensive and invite the observer to walk on, round curves and sweeps, corners and turnings, to discover more:
Charles the Good, Count of Flanders, was assassinated here on March 2nd 1127 and Sint Donaaskathedral was the final resting place for Jan van Eyck in 1441. Van Eyck's painting, Madonna and Child with Canon van der Paele was commissioned as the altarpiece for the Cathedral by the Canon in 1436. It is now to be seen in the Groeningemuseum in Bruges. The sacred building was eventually destroyed in 1799 by revolutionary French forces which were occupying the city.
The fragment to the right, above, is taken from Marcus Gerards' 1652 map and shows Sint Donaas in the left foreground .
The extensive, restored stone walls bear silent witness to the 1000 years plus of history and devotion; one showcase is filled with sentry-like row of venerable planks of grainy wood:
Another peak experience followed Sint Donaas and that was the exhibition in the Jan Garemijnzaal in the Belfort in the Grote Markt as I have only now noticed is the official name for the market place. It was a superb show with works by five artists local to West Flanders. I particularly loved the sculptures by Annie Vanlerberghe, and the paintings of Moche Kohen and Nadine Callebaut. As anything by these three artists was in the region of 6000 euros I hesitated to buy though would have loved to find any one of their works of art in my apartment! Here is a commanding portrait by Moche Kohen:
And so the week passed, with my activities curtailed somewhat by the hours on four days necessary for the Dutch klas which do leave me with less energy and certainly less time for other activities. But the free weekly Wednesday is a godsend; to the Hotel Martin for the informal get-together of English-speaking [mainly English] ex-pats which is fun and noisy [as Michele observed! According to her Belgian groups behave in a more sedate and orderly fashion] and then quite a long walk to the Kardinal Mercierstraat to Sofie who does my nails. An innovation here in response to despair at the constant broken-down state of my nails. They are now gelled to perfection every four weeks and the expense is put down under the heading of Successful Ageing Attempts [emphasis on Attempts]. But I pass a splendid plant shop en route and this week ventured inside, the emptiness of my little terrace being at the top of my To Do list. It looks quite forlorn in the sun while I never noticed more than its comforting existence in the wind and rain. Left my card [have I mentioned that little act of pretentiousness? I have had cards printed to help solve the frequency with which I need to give my address and details] and the husband will call me. It will take time to reach me on my landline which I asked to be used, the mobile going chiefly unheard, buried as it is, in the depths of my handbag. But there is no 1471 or 1571 here and I am not going to buy an answer phone which was too techie for me the last time I tried in the UK about twelve years ago. But eventually he will come over to take a look and advise me.
In the meantime, en route home on Friday, stopped as usual at the lovely florist and plant shop near here, which specialises in orchids. Outside stood a super specimen of plant-hood; a white clematis, name undisclosed, with, I later discovered, a dwarf wisteria in the same pot. These two-in-one now reside on the formerly forlorn terrace complete with one small table and one lovely chair, emblems of my blessedly single state! In fact I found the table on the way home from a previous visit to Sofie the nail wizard a few weeks ago. Just need a little less wind to be comfortable out there, preferably before the mosquitoes arrive.
After a busy, busy weekend, this blog is late; already Tuesday and today am tired after Dutch test this morning and difficult tooth extraction this afternoon; details mercifully suppressed! But Friday last, to the Concertgebouw with a friend, to hear Grigory Sokalov. the great Russian pianist of whom I knew nothing. I was unprepared for the wonder of his performance; his sheer artistry was compelling and the emotion he both put into his playing and with which he enveloped the entire audience, was unforgettable. I now understand why he only allows CDs to be made when they are recordings of concerts. He calls them 'pure, live recordings' and his idea is to capture a moment in his life with his interpretation of the music in the time and place where he performed it. He no longer gives concerts with orchestras; only solo recitals where his writ runs supreme!
His first concert was given when he was 12 in Leningrad, his birthplace and at only 16 he won the International Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow. Unlike many successful contemporaries, he chose to remain in Soviet Russia and forfeited, to a large extent, international fame until, that is, the fall of the Iron Curtain. He is now internationally feted but chooses now not to play in the UK in protest at their fingerprint requirements with visa applications. What a loss to the UK! Sokalov is uncompromising; he says 'I only play what I want to play at the current moment. I never play to order,' so that precludes programme planning a year ahead, for instance. On stage, apart from a brief bow, he seems to ignore the audience altogether, immersed in the music he is creating though at the end of the concert, his repeated encores are generous and illuminating. As written in Le Figaro once,
" There is Sokalov, and then there are mere pianists."
And then on Saturday evening to the Kamermuziekzaal in the Concertgebouw to hear Mark Padmore and Roger Vignoles. I have heard and admired Mark Padmore singing from an Early Music repertoire, but never Schubert and Britten lieder and again, I know little about these and went to hear him only to support a UK singer whom I admired. I have heard Schubert lieder on CDs but never wanted more until I heard Mark and he was wonderful. Again, controlled emotion as well as technical expertise with an expressive voice and splendid piano accompaniment from Roger Vignoles, made for a memorable evening, with, once more, standing ovations!
A really busy and satisfying week was finished by a visit to Sluis with a friend on Sunday. Theoretically it was to visit and support two new friends who sell at brocantes occasionally, as a hobby really; there was an all-day, street Brocante in Sluis on Sunday. Enthusiasm was high as we set off for the station to catch the bus, despite quite a long wait. We had a super day; Sluis is beautiful and has the added advantage of being in Holland and therefore is cheaper than Brugge. However, the little town was really full of tourists and by early afternoon, weary from the effort of strolling along with the cohort, we retired to sample mussels at one of the many restaurants and take a rest. After which, we did not return to what had become a relentless slog along the stalls lining the streets; we dipped in and out of a variety of shops, enjoying and occasionally buying, and then decided to head for home. Alas, the one bus a day on Sunday meant we had to stand for fifty minutes waiting for the bus which was so full, we then had to stand for the journey as the vehicle slalomed, veered, braked and accelerated, swung into grass verges shuddering to a halt, and then swept back into the middle of the road to continue. The final fifteen minute walk home was surprisingly balm to the soul and to the feet. Loved Sluis but even the fab array of gleaming, polished and proud motor cycles in lines in the centre, for a 'meet', was not quite enough to persuade me to go again on a Sunday unless a car owner can be found. Even the monster-sized Harley Davidson, complete with driver and passenger in matching HD gear, could not tempt me back.
