Christmas en Famille

Christmas staff in the kitchen 

Another pause in the blogs due to late-onset panic over Christmas fast approaching. In the event, all was serenely ready chez moi with absolutely no evidence of feet paddling furiously below water! Lights, tree, greenery, berries, tinsel; all was in place. The Suffolk branch of the family arrived safely on Friday the 22 Dec while the Californian contingent appeared on Saturday 23. They had vowed to bring Christmas to me and they kept their promise handsomely. Cait and Olivia had done a mega Waitrose shop of food and drink to cover the four days of celebration; Sian and Rob arrived with copious quantities of alcohol bought in England between their UK arrival on Friday and departure for Brugge on Saturday. My own generous quantities of beer and wine were hardly touched though the sheer number of empty bottles by D for Departure Day on Wednesday 27 was awesome. My terrace, windswept and far from its lovely autumn-hued best, served nonetheless as a capacious outdoor repository for the alcohol, the turkey the ham, etc. ‘Repository’ seems an appropriate word for the wealth of food and drink on display.

 View from our breakfast table

in Blackbird on Christmas Eve.

Outside, almost deserted;

inside, candle-lit and humming.

‘The Family’ was marvellous in doing everything and not permitting me to do anything. Any number of times as I slunk away from the kitchen area [kitchenette is a more accurate word] in the face of a barrage of ‘Go and sit down; we’re doing it all,’ which was marvellous in lots of ways, not least

letting others face the challenge of a single oven and a tiny kitchen area in which to prepare, cook and serve Christmas dinner for seven. I pondered other nuances not dreamt of by ‘Those In Charge’ but felt subliminally by me. And not always subliminally! Irritation, resentment, the immediate consequences of ageing, of slowing down, of Not Being In Charge as usual. AND the reluctant acknowledgement that, in fact, I just couldn’t have managed to cook the super Christmas meal [and other meals] that the lovely others produced. I sometimes congratulate myself silently on being well-balanced in letting go of things I can no longer manage, like running or the complex organisation of an event, for instance. I tell myself that that is mature ageing; embrace the many things I can do and relinquish those I can’t without a fuss. But somehow, with Christmas and family meals, there was an inner discord which jangled; an unintended undermining of the Essential Mother, the Inner Matriarch, which I hadn’t expected or perhaps didn’t know existed. On some level, I minded and unreasonably felt displaced, while being incredibly grateful for all that my daughters, grand-daughters and son-in-law [the lone brave male present!] so cheerfully did, so well.

It was lovely to spend so long a period with grand-daughters too; mine are aged between almost 7 and 24, I rarely spend an extended time with any of them. The uninhibited dance routines, boisterous singing including rap, hugely cheerful and loving presence of the six year old proved to be irresistible to all of us. The quiet beauty and elegance, plus the interesting depths of the sixteen year old were a delight to observe. While the incredible amount of work, planning, list-making, organisation while remaining so willing and cheerful, by the oldest was an astonishing and impressive performance.

In the New York Times of Friday 29 December, I read an interesting article, Can Kindness Be Taught? A number of American pre-schools are trying to do just that, thanks to a challenge from the Dalai Lama. The Centre for Healthy Minds at the University of Wisconsin has developed a Kindness Curriculum through which very young children are helped to pay attention to their emotions. This is interesting particularly because I noticed this Christmas how transformed in many ways is my youngest grand-daughter. When I was in California in April, she could best be described as ‘tricky’; sometimes co-operative and charming but often surly and unco-operative. This time, a much more mature girl was present; not only helpful, funny and entertaining but also with an underlying concern to be kind and thoughtful towards others. Any number of times she quoted how important it is to be kind and sensitive to others’ needs. Her parents said that the Roman Catholic school she attends sets great store by sensitive behaviour towards others and it also encourages its pupils to look into their own emotions; how they feel, etc. I have no idea if this is simply far-sighted school policy or perhaps

adherence to the Kindness Curriculum but the result was impressive; hugely so.
.

This is not a kindness!

One example of regal Festive rest.

The Scars of Catalonia

16th Midwinter Market in Balstraat, Brugge

From the beginning of November, I have started Dutch class which I enjoy though the journey, carrying heavy books, is not to my taste!! Ivo, the school, is in St Kruis so it involves walking, waiting for the bus, then walking some more after the bus. Would be fine were it not for my little mobile library hoisted on my shoulder. I go twice a week to the Writing half of Level Three; the other kids in the group all do four times three hours a week for which I sincerely admire them. However, it is too much for me as I also need energy for fun and socialising!! I have decided not to do the Speaking half of the week’s lessons though I need it. If allowed will continue, if I reach the grade, to Niveau Vier and beyond!! Reading, writing, but hardly speaking!

The Homeless Jesus by Timothy Schmalz

My first day home, Saturday 9th December, I joined a large crowd of people in the Heilige Magdalena Church near Astridpark for the dedication and unveiling of a new statue called The Homeless Jesus. The ceremony was in the church, fortunately because the weather was sub-Arctic, and though I could understand nothing, I did enjoy three pieces played by a young man, on different cornets, I think. Amazing Grace sounded particularly plaintive. Various men spoke; the priest in charge; someone in charge of Church Fabric; the OCMW voorzitter, Dirk de Fauw; a lovely man

 who works with refugees here, and the Bishop, Lode Aerts. Predictably, the Bishop’s homily seemed endless. Perhaps my non-comprehension of Flemish exacerbated the undue length of the speeches but one hour did seem over-long! Outside, a huge wooden crate was magically opened to reveal the recumbent, anonymous figure lying on a bench and it is life-size and impressive. It will remain in front of the church I believe. I will go back tomorrow to find space and peace to look at this modern sculpture properly. However with the help of the indomitable, omniscient and frequently annoying Google, I discover that, since 2013, this statue, by a Canadian, Timothy Schmalz, has been installed in major cities a round the world. Glasgow was the first to be honoured in the U.K. The whole enterprise, speaking as it does to the insidious homelessness problem which has grown, is backed by Churches and homeless charities.

En route home I was impressed by the tourist throng, assuming it to be more crowded because of the Christmas Market which is dazzling this year. But not so. I learned from a Flemish friend that the frequent flags and drapes in red and yellow 

Catalan demonstration in Brussels 9th December

seen around Brugge, signalled the invasion of the Catalans. Apparently, the local head of the NVR, a right-wing party seeking Flemish independence, [and therefore, one might add, fellow travellers] had invited the Catalans to visit Brugge after the enormous demonstration they had mounted in Brussels last Saturday, in support of Carlos Puigdemont, the fugitive Catalan Prime Minister who fled to Brussels recently rather than face arrest in Spain with his fellow politicians. As readers will recall, the Catalan ‘problem’ boiled over into quasi-rebellion this Autumn and the Prime Minister of Spain, Rajoy, withdrew Article 155 of the Spanish constitution to suspend the regional autonomy of the Catalans. I read a recent article by Paul Preston in the New Statesman, [December 1-7] which described in detail the history of the Catalan situation over the last hundred troubled years. The scars of Catalonia were revealed but also the widespread Spanish distrust of the Catalans.

Lea Stein's artistry

As friends had a stall at the 16^th Midwinter Festival on and around Balstraat in the St Anna district of the city, off I valiantly trudged through the snow Saturday late afternoon. It was delightful but a little less successful than normal I suspect because of the slush and rain and cold which deterred some, understandably. This particular market is notable for the number of craft stalls present and it is altogether rather more upmarket than many Rommelmarkts here. I spent ages admiring some marvellous brooches by Lea Stein, a Parisian jewellery designer of impeccable taste and style, practising in the 1930s. I have had one of hers and loved it for several years. Dismayingly, I discover that they have grown in popularity which means ‘have become more expensive’. Damn! Eventually I bought a wooden jewellery tree for my six year old grand-daughter due here for Christmas and a sort of pale wooden Christmas tree about ten inches tall, which magically folds flat for transport home……

A Catalan visitor in Brugge,

waving to a boat load of friends below.

I stopped off at ‘Terrastje’ on Genthof nearby on my way home for a chat with Ian and a Brugse Zot. There I learned that I had missed ‘the Catalans’ who had been in, and further, that there were reputed to be 50,000 of them in Brugge this weekend. I had seen a number around the streets plus two boatloads on the canals and all were looking remarkably content. They didn’t seem to represent a secession crisis which is threatening to rip Spain apart.

Terrasstje, Genthof, Brugge

Return to Blogeroo!!

WHAT a pleasure to be back on my blog, unvisited since November 6. There has been a chapter of electronic accidents, the first of which was my inability to access my computer. Now, after having been sent back to England for a respite, the computer seems well-behaved and obedient!! I now have a computer with a new hard drive, thanks to the Wye genius of Bernard; a new, ultra modern Ipad which seems somehow in charge of me instead of the reverse! A mouse which I am rapidly learning to click, nonchalantly, instead of the dear, familiar pad/pulse familiar for over twenty years! Beloved grandson Dan has restored me to Tunnel Bear, awol for about a month, which enables me to illegally access BBC I player and its goodies. If only the BBC would organise itself and charge illicit users overseas for using the Iplayer, all would be harmony. I would gladly pay for my nightly hour fix of Good Drama and documentaries.

The Park, Minderbroederstraat, Brugge

We just had a super weekend here with two thirds of my son’s family here to celebrate his 55^th birthday. We had a superb meal out on Saturday at the The Park, Minderbroederstraat, adjacent to Astridpark. Gorgeous décor and great service too. Then on Sunday, a delicious lunch courtesy of Crista at Trium, delivered to my table, and for once, a little in-house entertainment of guitar, keyboard and song by Alexander Makay and Simon de Kuyper. Great way to spend the weekend and celebrate my son’s birthday.

I am not sure what I have done during my blog-silence; Mah Jong, coffee mornings, friend from Wye to stay for several happy days; three visits to the Pieter Pourbus exhibition; breakfast at Blackbird in Jan Van Eyckplein made even more decadent with the addition of a glass of Bellini for Rosemary and me. The excuse was that it reminded us of Venice, her favourite city.

St Michael and St James,

Linby-cum-Papplewick

During this time, however, an unexpected event indeed. My sister, whom I have featured before on this blog, died unexpectedly. Such a shock for her children and grandchildren, and indeed, for her two sisters and the extended family also and her many friends. SO, although this post was begun, it has been halted by my journey to England this last week. I returned on Friday evening [Dec 8] after Esme’s funeral on Thursday. My few days in Nottinghamshire were marked by much family emotion and disbelief but the service itself was wonderful. The little Linby church, charming and intimate, was full to standing and so many people had travelled far to be there. One young man, a long-time friend of my youngest nephew, had changed his travel plans around and flown in from Denver on Thursday morning to catch the funeral service, and was then to resume his journey to his original destination of Australia on Friday morning. My sister had mothered him when he was a fellow-student and friend of her son, many years ago and he had remained a devotee though he hadn’t seen her in years, living, as he does, in Colorado. I gave the funeral address, but my other sister and half of her family missed the service after a journey from Suffolk took twice the expected time. Hence, she couldn’t read the poem she intended. But the wake, afterwards, in the village pub was crowded with family and my sister’s admirers, and life-affirming, a celebration in fact of my sister’s life. So that gave a warm and loving feeling to the whole day that lingers still.

My tribute to Esme came as a result of much remembering of our childhood and in some ways, it was a pleasure to recall and compose, in spite of our unexpected loss. I finished by sending a message to her which went:

I hope your onward journey was good. I am pretty sure that right now, you are wandering the Elysian Fields with Derrick and the dogs. You left the party too soon and we didn't see you slip away, but Heather and I are right behind you and we'll see you down the road, quite soon ...'

Eighteen months ago, enjoying her 80th.

A Good Life

 By David Fitzsimmons of the Arizona Daily Star

In an article which I recently read was the sentence: “A dignified death completes a good life”. I thought how well that expressed a thinking person’s attitude to Life! It is one I share and accordingly, I am getting my act together, through a glass darkly it must be admitted, to put in place the necessary formalities here, for euthanasia, should I need it. I am fumbling somewhat only because of the language difficulty which is serious though not terminally so! It will be accomplished and though one hopes that the instructions for Nil by Mouth, and for Euthanasia won’t be necessary, the fact that all is legally in place in the event of necessity, then that is very reassuring to a person in her eighties. It is most interesting that, with age, comes the complete comfort to talk about, consider, envisage, one’s own death, not a comfortable topic for younger people normally. When life is no longer a joy; conversation no longer a possibility; walks in the sun or the rain no longer viable; reading, an irrelevance, then a dignified end, decided autonomously by the sufferer in earlier, happier, healthier times, rounds off a life lived as fully as possible, in a satisfying way.

 By Wasserman in The Wall Street Journal

It is salutary to note that Desmond Tutu has managed to reconcile his belief in the sanctity of life with his call for assisted dying; in his case, with his expressed desire for his own assisted death should it be necessary. Lord Carey too, a previous Archbishop of Canterbury, has publicly supported euthanasia. Both eminent church men demonstrate compassion and understanding for those in pain, or worse, at the end of their lives and both live in countries where their publicly-stated positions are outside the law. When I moved to Brugge I had no idea that euthanasia had been legalised in Belgium since 2002 and it is an aspect of living here which seems to enjoy huge support in spite of this being a Roman Catholic country. It is surely the mark of a civilised nation to have high ideals and the necessary sophisticated State machinery to enable those ideals to be translated smoothly into practice. However, Belgium is in small minority of countries permitting euthanasia. One thinks of Hamlet and his ‘Oh that this too too solid flesh would melt, / Thaw and resolve itself into a dew/ Or that th’ Everlasting had not fixed/ His canon ‘gainst self-slaughter. Oh God, oh God.’ Five hundred years after Shakespeare wrote those words, the same immutable laws, though now man-made, obtain almost everywhere.

By an amazing coincidence, my sixteen year old grand-daughter is doing a school assignment on Euthanasia at present. Brownie points for the school I reckon; early consideration of difficult topics
is an important aspect of education and offers hope and enlightenment for society; so shines a good deed in a naughty world!

Not exactly on the same topic but close; I noticed a sweet notice in the window of the Gulliver Tree, a tea room not far from the Markt a couple of weeks ago. The English owner who had founded the place about twenty years ago and nurtured it into a real popularity, had passed away and her grand-children had left a quote from Winnie the Pooh, her absolutely favourite story, with an illustration, in the café window with Oma written below.

The good life now, was further embellished last evening when a large group of friends in various amazing fashions [the women, that is; the men wore DJs] assembled by invitation to play Roulette and Blackjack, all for no real money, which was comforting. Inexperience notwithstanding, it was all great fun and I now know that for me, Roulette is boring [never did get the scoring system!] but Blackjack is such fun. However, an evening at the casino in Knokke is not a priority!

Sunday afternoon, a brief exposure to youthful idealism when I joined the first beat of the Pulse of Europe, in the Burg. Organised by students from the College of Europe situated in Brugge, it is described as a citizens’ initiative to demonstrate for a united Europe, and it was replicated simultaneously in 120 other cities, giving many Europeans the opportunity to express their opinions and publicly share their values. There was an open mike for members of the public to express their support for the European values of peace, individual freedom, justice and human rights. Our Brugge effort was quite sparsely attended, perhaps by thirty people, but it was a heart-warming first public demonstration of the importance of visible support for the concept of a united Europe. The next meeting, on the first Sunday in December I shall have to miss so must wait for February for the next available. I do look forward to it and will make use of the open mike as I missed my chance today.


Great to see so many young people in the
modest group of Euro-devotees.This
was about half of the supporting cast!
 

Happiness

Wednesday, early to the market in the Grote Markt as usual, pulling the old-lady-bag-on-wheels which may or may not be called a caddy. Three young teenage boys, importantly engaged in Doing A Survey, stopped me and finding me unresponsive in Dutch, one asked in English, ‘What makes you happy?’ ‘Living in Bruges makes me happy,’ I responded immediately after which a brief but interesting conversation ensued. We finished agreeing that friends and family, active social connections, formed the basis of happiness. I spoke to their teacher, hovering in the background, saying what a great idea it was to ask teenagers to survey others’ opinions. On anything really.

 My former home

But that all caused me to ponder about happiness. My immediate answer had been true; I am quite extraordinarily happy living here, having uprooted willingly and without much forethought, from over thirty years of contented living in a much-loved house in Wye, a beautiful village in Kent. As I came here alone, knowing virtually no one, that was quite a risky venture though that fact did not occur to me at the time. I didn’t consider the possible downside; just felt I was engaging in a little, elderly adventure which would be fun to do. Which makes me think that achieving happiness is at least, in part, down to genetic make-up. When I moved to Brugge, I expected to enjoy living here and if that had not happened, I was quite confident in my ability to deal well with NOT being happy here. Money is needed in sufficient, though not prodigal, amounts; one needs enough to buy freedom from worry about the basics in life like housing, food, living expenses but no more. But an optimistic nature is invaluable and that is chiefly gifted at birth. Certainly I don't think my early life experiences were particularly awash with optimism; anxiety was often paramount.

 Cafune in Academiestraat

Researchers estimate that much of happiness is under personal control. Regularly indulging in small pleasures seems to maintain the happy state so, in my case, the weekly coffee morning for English ex-pat women in Hotel Martin’s; the Saturday morning coffee with English newspaper at Cafune; the weekly sessions of Mah Jong which I love, all help me to keep happy. Writing my weekly blog is a continuing interest as I struggle to take or find photographs to illustrate it and indeed, to decide what to write about. It is a little weekly challenge, self-imposed and gratefully met.

Maintaining close social ties like my much-loved Thursday evening group of Bruggelingen who meet to chat in English but who have become dear friends to me en route, is important. My regular emails and occasional Facetime sessions with members of my family, and their various intermittent visits, plus the visits of friends, all are important to my continuing feeling of positive belonging. My relatively sporadic attempts to begin to learn Dutch, about to be stepped up, help me to tackle absorbing and challenging activities, providing intellectual challenge and goal-setting, leading to some satisfaction, are all helpful in maintaining a happy state and a healthy mind.

 

 In my first year here, I had to make myself STOP
taking photographs of the skies, from my apartment windows.

I have always appreciated too, the importance of really loving where you live and my apartment is, sans pareil, a constant source of delight each day. And the town of Brugge itself, its architectural beauty, its unparalleled history, its narrative of mediaeval glory, descent into poverty and irrelevance, and eventual emergence as one of the most visited tourist sites in the world, provides a theatre of life which is a constant joy.

 Yanis Varoufakis

In last week’s New Statesman, Yanis Varoufakis, the economist and sometime Greek Minister of Finance, claimed that he was most happy NOW. He asserted there was in his life a general coalescence of different harmonies, his private life; his writing career and his political involvement, which combined to give him ‘an incredible satisfaction.’ I felt an immediate resonance when I read that because, with similar but different harmonies, I too find that general coalescence and satisfaction. I also watched on my Ipad this week, a BBC programme with Joan Bakewell interviewing centenarians. She talked to perhaps five people between 100 and 105 and they were all remarkable but the one who most impressed was a little lady of 105 who was bright, confident, cheerful, positive, inventive, independent. But I noticed, in the various clips, the real love and admiration for her from her quite large family. She took all the loving attention as her right and expectation, and indeed her position as the focus of family gatherings. She was clearly accustomed to the love and I could see how incredibly important that was to her self-concept and feeling of contentment in her world.



 Voila! The very lady of 105 demonstrating the power
of positivity in old age.
Happiness personified.

Art and concerts

 The divine Claudio Monteverdi
1567-1643

Julian and Christoph Pregardien

Plunge in temperatures after our lovely late Indian summer accompanied by rain. BUT much to cheer about! Friday evening to the Concertgebouw, still somewhat besieged by the endless ‘t Zand 'improvements’, but functioning well inside in its usual austere fashion. To celebrate the 450th anniversary of the birth of Claudio Monteverdi, almost a week of celebrations here, including the Anima Eterna concert with the improbable title of Monterverdi’s Greatest Hits! Title notwithstanding, a marvellous concert indeed, with music from Il Ritorno d’Ulisse, Tancredi e Clorinda and Lamento d’Arianna plus madrigals. The singers were outstanding; tenor father and son Pregardien and mezzo Marianne Beate Kielland. Anima Eterna were, as ever, peerless.

 Bram Nolf, oboist

A second concert, the first of the season’s Negen Muzen programme, on Sunday mornings at the Crowne Plaza Hotel, proved to be much more of a lecture than a recital. Bram Nolf and Filip Neyens, both members of the National Orkest van Belgie, spoke on the ways the oboe, the alt-[oboe], the fagot and contra fagot work and are played. The Dutch was undecipherable for this listener but in fact, the talk was clearly entertaining and instructive; the illustrative music-making was delightful.

 

I also took advantage of the 14^th edition of Buren Bij Kunstenaars, the annual Open Studios scheme when artists of all stripes open their work spaces to the public. One studio on the Langerei, for two artists showing decorative paper work and stone calligraphy, also reminded me of the often stunning Bruggean interiors hidden behind a conventional large garage door opening from the street. That particular one led to a splendid interior room with others beyond and views of a swimming pool [covered] and lovely clipped hedges and box trees in a garden further away. The receiving room buzzed with interested people around the paper work artist who was demonstrating at a terrific rate, but I was captivated by the harmonious lettering on stone by the calligrapher. He was delightfully disinterested in material reward; when I asked how much his creations might be, he replied that he hated to sell them. 'They are like my children,' he added. Oh delight, in a Trump-infested world, innocence and beauty linked almost effortlessly alongside the artistic excellence of his creations. Good deeds in a naughty world indeed.

Hidden behind a garage entrance along the Langerei
Unsuspected beauty.

Then today, Monday, I returned to another display visited too hurriedly at the weekend. I was entertained to coffee and chocolate and discovered a couple in a lovely home; both retired, she now a passionate painter and both so interesting and enlivening to talk to. A happy half hour passed before thoughts of scrutinising the watercolour portraits again; eventually home thinking that perhaps I had found a portrait to buy and two new friends to meet again!

Great Bruges Marathon October 14th

Temperatures of around 23 degrees greeted the day of the Marathon and the sun shone throughout. As I wandered among the good-natured crowds thronging the streets around the Burg and Markt, I

mused on the stroke of genius that had initiated this latest idea to bring in even more tourists, that life blood of the city. I have never seen so many tourists in Brugge before; the place was heaving, terraces on cafes and restaurants were full and those shops open were much-visited. I noticed that there seemed quite a number of bags marked De Witte Pelikaan, the Christmas shop open all year round. Perhaps, some had more than one purpose during the day!

  

 Jan Van Eyckplein during the early afternoon

The happy expectation of the morning's spectators and tourists gave way to unashamed self-indulgence by the afternoon though that remark may not have applied necessarily to the Marathon runners! Diners sitting on the terraces in Jan Van Eyckplein contentedly sipping their beers, applauded as runners, walkers and even the exhausted limpers, passed slowly up Academiestraat from the Spiegelrei. On Vlamingstraat, spectators and shoppers mingled in care-free manner on the road, parting in response to the frantic ‘Red Sea’ waving of the organisers as yet more runners appeared. One tiny girl on a bike with stabilisers took advantage of a momentary space in the road to pedal adventurously off alone. It was some little time before the parents noticed and went into frantic action. She just kept pedalling with all the unconcern of a 2/3 year old suddenly let off the leash and given space to explore. She never looked back and only her bonnet ribbons waved towards the parents.

Here's the Golden Boy, Alexander Diaz Rodriguez,
in an earlier triumph

But a Great Day Out was not the absolutely prime point of the inaugural Great Bruges Marathon; that was to initiate and promote an internationally-acclaimed race, possibly more successful than the Brussels and Antwerp marathons. Locals would claim that Sunday’s event did exactly that. Over 6,000 runners and hikers from 43 countries entered and local hero, Alexander Diaz Rodriguez, won as expected in 2 hours 25 minutes. In fact 2,500 took part in the full marathon and the rest in the half marathon which encircled the historic centre while the full marathon, dauntingly to the observer, added the long trip to the coast and back. Another local boy, Koen Naert, won the half marathon in 1 hour and five minutes while the women winners were Soetkin Demey in the full race, in 3 hours five minutes and Hilda Poelaert in the half marathon in 1 hour 33 minutes. Astonishingly there were 800 runners from Brugge itself. So the title of the GREAT Bruges Marathon seems to have been accurate after all! A coup for the organisers too. 



 Soetkin Demery from Brussels: another favourite who won

I never cease to wonder at, and applaud, the almost seamless cavalcade of events in Brugge. It seems astonishing to this quiet observer, that such a wide variety of happenings occur, often free for the fortunate residents and casual visitors, and add great variety and interest to life.

Before the excitement of the Marathon I went to the opening of an exhibition by Jacqy duVal in the wonderful Jerusalemkerk, my favourite church in Brugge about which I have written before. The place offers a rare and atmospheric arena for any display but the geometrically abstract paintings seemed, unexpectedly, to feel at home, resembling beacons in the historical ambience. Jacqy duVal is the joint pseudonym for Jacqueline Dehond and Koenraad Uttendaele, both graduates of the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Antwerp and with long experience in architectural, design and art projects. Their special paint, high precision and vibrant colours enhance the geometric intensity in their work, contributing to an harmonious whole. I particularly loved one example of their art, displayed in the semi-darkness of the crypt. It is a simple, luminous almost-round, nearly oval, shape which, in some mysterious way, touches the sub-conscious.
 

 

Pieter Pourbus et al

Sibylla Sambetha
Hans Memling
1480

To underline my credentials as a Culture Vulture, to the Groeninge Museum on Friday 13^th October [ouch!] to see Pieter Pourbus en de Vergeten Meesters on its first day. Proved to be an incredibly interesting exhibition and one with a grand ambition; to change the perception of the world towards Bruggean art in the sixteenth century. Following the previous century of internationally-acclaimed Flemish Primitives like beloved Hans Memling, Jan Van Eyck and Gerard David, when Flemish art was at the cultural peak in Western Europe in terms of reputation and achievement,  there was little art of note in Flanders, and in Brugge in particular, during the 16^th century to see.

There are several reasons for the virtual omission of Flemish art from international note and the subsequent contemporary re-discovery of Pourbus and the other forgotten masters. The sixteenth century witnessed the economic decline of Bruges and the fading of its long Golden Age. The degradation of Brugean access to the sea, its consequent decline in trade with the attendant loss of banking supremacy and the inevitable shift of economic supremacy to Antwerp, all set in the 

 The Money Changer and His Wife
by Marinus van Reymerswaele, 1541

turbulent context of religious iconoclasm and political upheaval in the Netherlands, hugely reduced the status and importance of Bruges in the sixteenth century. In fact, real poverty among the many, existed alongside continuing wealth among aristocrats and merchants; the overall cultural and economic decline was slow and artists still prospered from commissions for at least half a century longer. Art production continued; artists grew and prospered; those who had geld, still bought art. Humanism was the predominant philosophy among the well-to-do and helped to consolidate the perceived social and emotional value of producing and owning, art in living The Good Life.

Self-portrait by Pieter 1 Claeissens 1560
pictured, not as an artist, but as a good,
solid citizen of Brugge

It was in this climate that Pieter Pourbus and the family Claeissens prospered but it has taken art scholarship during the last twenty years to discover the extent and quality of the work produced, particularly by the Claeissens family. In fact, Lancelot Blondeel, father-in-law of Pourbus and his mentor, first embraced the innovations of Renaissance art, fitting  them into the Bruges’ tradition together with Pourbus. After Pourbus’s death, Pieter 11,[son of the original Pieter Claeissens] and Antonius Claeissens became the pre-eminent painters in Brugge while brother Gillis was famous for his superb portraits.

This exhibition contains an extensive display of sixteenth century Flemish art and a thrilling narrative identifying the Pourbus and Claeissens families as exceptional artistic dynasties. Definitely worth a second visit for me!  



Detail, showing the lovely face
the Madonna from the triptych below









 Van Belle-Triptych: Madonna of the Seven Sorrows
Pieter Pourbus 1556

 

I was particularly moved by this triptych; the donors had lost their five

year old son who is pictured behind his father, Joos Van Belle, in the left panel. But, especially thrilling to anyone interested in historical continuity, the preparatory drawing and two draft designs for the medallions have survived. The preparatory drawing is a vidimus, a contract signed by both patron and artist and is contained in an

endearingly scruffy little notebook included in the exhibition.

Above, Portrait of a 56 Year Old Man
by Frans 11 Pourbus [grandson of Pieter]
1591
 

As a footnote really, I must record my amazement at the real 'forgotten' nature of some of the Claeissens family. No body of work was attributed to Pieter 1 before 2000. His highly gifted son, Gillis, despite being a painter of renown in his day, remained in comparative obscurity until 2007 when The Triptych of Claeys van de Kerehove in Budapest was attributed to him.  In 2015 research definitively showed that the anonymous Monogrammist G/EC was Gillis leading to his identification as the artist of  Portrait of Joris van Brakele . Subsequent to that discovery, there is now an oeuvre of fine portraits attributed to Gillis Egidius Claeissens.[1536-1605] Below his

 Portrait of an Unknown Nobleman in Armour      

 

and a tiny view [far below owing to the unstable nature of the technical aspect of this blog!] of Joris van Brakele, the 2015 definitive portrait attribution to Gillis Claeissens which has been pivotal in enabling
the identification of a large oeuvre of his work.









The Elegance of Swans

 

Having somehow lost this week’s blog which may indeed be lurking somewhere, unacknowledged, in an anonymous file but beyond present recall, I have decided that I won’t re-write it. Too onerous so, apart from mentioning that I attended two concerts on Saturday and Sunday, each totally unlike the other, one of Celtic and Sephardic folk music; the second, for piano and oboe of music by Schumann, Brahms and Poulenc, I shall write no more save to say how differently marvellous each was; how gifted the performers were; and how gratified the audience.

Swanning around at the Beguinage. 

I have instead decided to write about the swans on Brugge’s canals, something I have intended to do for ages. They are one of the impossible-to-miss sights of the town and add greatly to its beauty and appeal. They are irresistibly photogenic and superficially friendly; that is to say, one might assume they are friendly but the best advice is to steer clear of contact and indulge in aesthetic appreciation only! Swans-on-water supply one of the most stereotypical views of Brugge but never fail to charm and delight. I know that I derive an enormous amount of pleasure from just seeing them, sometimes unexpectedly; mostly in the usual places: on the canal at the Ezelpoort and at the Beguinage which is probably the Swan HQ here.

The beheading of Pieter Lanchals in the Markt, Brugge
in 1488.
Copper engraving in 1736 by N.Heylbrouck

I  have tried to find the definitive explanation for their presence here, but the legend has small variations. It is certainly connected to the Emperor Maximilian of Austria who had suzerainty over Brugge in the fifteenth century. His adored wife, Mary of Burgundy, was here in March 1482, to ride and to indulge in her passion for falconry when she fell from her horse, broke her neck, and died. Maximilian did not feel the same about Brugge after that trauma and at some later point, decided to raise the taxes in the town; there may have been a connection between the two events. The townspeople were somewhat intransigent about his demands which were considered excessive, and when they resisted he sent his bailiff and minister, Sir Pieter Lanchals to enforce the new regime; Lanchals and the other noblemen with him were promptly imprisoned and when Maximilian himself came to Brugge, the rebellious citizens imprisoned him too in the Craenenburg in the Markt, [now the site of the Grand Cafe Craenenburg] Maximilian was no doubt permitted to watch the torture and decapitation of Lanchals and his fellow nobles, in the Markt. With ultimate disrespect, Lanchals’ head was put on a spike and displayed at the Gentpoort for communal abuse. Maximilian was forced to restore various privileges and reduce the taxes for the aggrieved citizenry, before fleeing back to Austria, quietly plotting his revenge.


 Mary of Burgundy, remembered in Bruggge

Maximilian returned with a large army which proceeded to plunder the city, and he ordered that swans must be kept on the canals of Brugge in perpetuity, in memory of his good friend and tax collector, Pieter Lanchals, who had had swans pictured on his escutcheon to commemorate his name, Lanchals, which meant Long Neck. The threat from Maximilian for non-compliance was that he would flood the town, letting in the North Sea to drown the place. And so, five hundred plus years later, the swans’ descendants swim serenely on, delighting all who live here and those who visit. Pieter did not die in vain; indeed, his legacy lives on, both on the canals and in commerce.

For the swan theme remains popular in Brugge as in the Bistro 't Zwaantje on Gentpoortvest and the Hotel die Swaene,
Steenhouwersdijk, as well as in motifs on private buildings such as the stately procession of swans swimming across the façade of the house [above] , in Carmersstraat.


Hotel die Swaene