Discovering orreries with Cassie Herschel-Shorland

Cassie carefully lays out objects from the box.

It’s inevitable that, by having so many different projects going on, one will simmer on the back burner for a long time while I focus on others. This has happened with my historical novel, Double the Stars, which is in a fourth draft, and under consideration by three parties – but, having had a bit of time to learn the world of agents and publishers – may not get beyond that stage in this round (though I hope, of course, that it does). However, life is breathed into the project thanks to Cassie Herschel-Shorland.

Cassie and I met because I co-planned/hosted a ‘Herschel Evening’ at the Whipple Museum in 2010, where I read far too much of a far too early draft of the novel (a good learning experience; a long-suffering audience of about 50 people)! Cassie wasn’t at the Herschel Evening, but her father, John Herschel, and her brother, William, and sister, Amanda, were. They are a delightful family: generous and enthusiastic; all one could want in a subject of research – and in a neighbour.

It turned out that Cassie lived only a short walk down the road from me in the Greenwich area of London. She opened her doors to me and shared a great deal of material for which she’s responsible – mostly, textiles, including a dress that used to belong to Caroline Herschel, the heroine of my novel and Cassie’s great (great great) Aunt.

Wax seal of the Herschel family, in a carved wooden box that was so well-turned the seam didn’t show when it was sealed (perhaps Alexander made it?) – the box was tucked inside a beautifully crocheted green bag: all very small and delicate.

Along with being a Museum Access & Design Consultant, with a fine knowledge of conservation, preservation, and reconstruction, Cassie is completing an MA. Because of our growing friendship and her generosity in sharing her family (and family history) with me (a trip to visit her parents and see many Herschel objects first-hand, and a day trip to Bath with her and her father being some of the highlights,) Cassie was inspired to use Caroline Herschel as the subject for her MA Thesis – to work up an historical reconstruction, an image that is as accurate as it can be, of what Caroline might have looked like around the age at which she appears in my novel. It would be ideal, we agreed, if this could be incorporated into the novel.

As an artist and painter, Cassie has also talked with me about my modelling, and she asked me some time ago if I’d be interested in sitting in period dress. I hadn’t made the connection that she was interested in having me ‘sit’ as Caroline! This past Saturday, I did sit as Cassie made some preliminary sketches. We both know I’m not the right ‘model’ for Caroline, who was absolutely tiny, not curvy at all, and in fact, slightly disfigured by smallpox and typhus. But it’s good exercise for Cassie to think of poses: seated, holding a teacup, holding a book, holding nothing? Turned towards the window, turned towards the viewer?

The charming paper orrery.

We also got to go through a treasure-box of miscellaneous items from one of Cassie’s ancestors (also, I think, a great-aunt,) which was full of bobbins, thread, bits and pieces; tiny sketch-books half-full of intricate drawings, gorgeous fluid handwriting copying extracts of poetry, calling-card cases and crumbling fans made of ivory.

By far my favourite object was a tiny paper globe with two pull-tabs (which Cassie gingerly moved around) – the globe lifts the lid and there are a few layers underneath. The writing is in German, so I’ll have to nudge one friend or another to translate (Meghan!) but I was tickled, because it is precisely the kind of thing we’ve got at the Whipple Museum, and this is precisely where the Whipple obtains wonderful objects like this. Cassie’s partner David discerned ‘the heavens and Earth’ from part of the script, and it is definitely a paper orrery of some kind.

So, the Herschel project continues, but it’s become a part of life, of friendship, of discovery, and I’m so grateful. I would, of course, like Double the Stars to be published eventually, but it’s got to find the right home, and the right set of circumstances, to support this evolving endeavour. It isn’t just a book, and whatever book comes of it must be sensitive to that.

A lock of John Frederick William Herschel’s hair.

Pastels and ukulele sing-alongs

pastel portrait demo by Rob Wareing, 2012

Saturday was a full day. I was collected at 9am to head over to the Chislehurst Arts group, where Rob Wareing was hosting his annual visit from South Africa portrait painting workshop. Rob focused on pastels, and spent about an hour doing a demo: me up on a high stool, sitting in my 1940s pink dress, with an intensely bright, hot light in my face.

I’d brought along my ukulele because after the day of modelling, I was heading over to my friend Rachael Black’s daughter’s 3rd birthday party, and I’d offered to do a little sing-along. (A fun side note: I met Rachael modelling for this portrait class two years ago, and we’ve been close friends ever since.)

The uke case (which people frequently mistake for a small violin) drew some amused attention, so Rob suggested I hold the instrument while he drew me. Much like my pose at the Atelier in Bruges, he actually ended up only sketching my face, so it didn’t matter what I was doing with my hands. (In Bruges, I started off carefully clasping my pink silk robe; two weeks in and my hands were in my lap, where I could move and stretch, because no one was painting them.)

When Ilaria del Turco painted me last autumn in Chelsea, and later heard that I played ukulele, she excitedly suggested we do a portrait of me with it – conjuring, for me, 1920s ‘Boardwalk Empire’ style nude/uke louche yet elegant poses. We’ve yet to do that, but it would be fun – and I’d love for gibson to be immortalised.

Holding gibson while Rob gave the demo was fascinating: usually my mind wanders in all kinds of directions when I pose, but because I only ever hold the uke to play it, holding it then meant all of the songs I know (about 20) floated up in my mind, and I was effectively playing without playing. Also, as Rob spoke, when his voice hit certain low notes, they thrummed through gibson, and it was a great challenge not to give her a strum.

pastel portrait by Joel Wareing, 2012

Rob’s son Joel, who teaches art classes as well, and is currently doing a Masters in painting, joined us for the day, and he was very pleased to get to work in pastels – he explained to me that his course is very technical and research-based, so he hasn’t had the chance to paint for awhile.

The room was comfortably full, with 16 people: 8 painted me, and 8 worked with Peter, a very cheerful fellow with an excellent tan, a bald head, and a prominent nose – offering a lovely contrast, for people to choose between me and him.

Later, at the birthday party, we sang ‘Wimoweh,’ ‘Puff the Magic Dragon,’ ‘With a Little Help from my Friends,’ and ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’. I must say that I had brilliant vocal back-up; there was some real harmonising going on! (Despite the fact that I have the worst timing one could have with a musical instrument and still function.) So all in all, a great success.

The only tricky bit was that some of the sweet 3-year-olds at the party (including the birthday girl,) understandably wanted to have a go on the child-sized instrument, so I had to pack gibson quickly away and explain that next time, when I’ve got it back from France, they can bash on my Mahalo uke all they want.

Week one at the Atelier

Gate to the Flemish Classical Atelier.

Last Friday, I took my first journey on the Eurostar to Brussels, and made the short connection to Bruges. I’ve settled in to my somewhat quirky guest house (described as ‘bohemian’ by a friend,) and I’ve worked for one week so far as a model for the Flemish Classical Atelier down the road. The gig is for the month of June.

We’ve fixed on a pose that may last the entire month: I’m seated, with a robe just off of my shoulders, my hands holding it closed in front of me, my back supported by the chair. It is comfortable but not so comfortable that I’m struggling to stay awake (except for that time about half an hour after I eat lunch…)

Building which is home to the Atelier.

There are six students in the class, one of whom organises the Atelier. There is a guest artist who is teaching the class, William Whitaker – Bill. He’s an absolutely lovely guy, and sets the tone for the rest of us; I must say this is an exceptionally pleasant group – polite, mostly laid-back, fairly quiet. Diverse enough to be interesting but also comfortable hanging out together or doing what we’d like on our own. It’s quite peaceful so far.

Over the first few days – half of Saturday and all of Sunday – everyone was settling in, setting things up, running back and forth to the art shop down the road, and discussing poses with me.

I spent Sunday modelling nude, but the studio was (is) freezing and the space heaters simply weren’t enough of a heat source in the huge, dark room. I was exhausted.

The pose.

We scrapped that idea and set me up with an electric blanket! Thank goodness. Bill emphasised right away that I had to be comfortable and warm, for my own sake, and also because they can’t have their model catching pneumonia.

I feel cared for in a way that a precious commodity might be handled. ‘Get some rest’ is a phrase I hear quite a bit. ‘Bill wouldn’t want you to be tired.’

Bill discussing natural light: the key to painting like the Old Masters.

It feels odd to need to look after myself for my looks; to some extent, my brains probably don’t matter very much in this situation. That said, I’ve been able to have some excellent conversations with Bill and some of the students about their thoughts on art. My own knowledge (not about art, but about other things – like how theories of child development might have influenced 18th c paintings of baby Jesus) – is something I can keep to myself or share as I wish.

I’m writing many notes about this experience, and hope to shape it into a more formal non-fiction piece; hence my brevity here.

Work-in-progress by Laura Post.
http://laurapostart.com/

Today was my first day off, and I went to the Groening Museum, meeting Bill and his wife and a few of the students. It was excellent to go around and hear Bill’s thoughts on the paintings, especially his appreciation for Jan Van Eyck.

Afterwards, I went to lunch with a few of the students who’d joined us – there are six students of all ages; the youngest is 27, exactly my age, and the oldest are just about 50; we think Bill’s in his 70s. Oddly, everyone, from the woman who lives here and runs the Atelier, all but one student, Bill, and myself, is American. How did we end up in Bruges? One student is from Manchester, England. So, not a particularly exotic bunch, but friendly.

Work-in-progress by Leslie Duke.
http://www.lesliedukeart.com/

Bruges is a pocket-sized city, and fantastically walk-able, but tricky, too. I got completely lost this morning trying to find the Groening Museum, even though I’d walked there a few days before. I’ve spent my evenings going for wonderful long rambles, to stretch my legs and move, after sitting from 9 -12:30 in the morning and 2 – 5 in the afternoons. I sit in 20-minute blocks with 5-minute breaks.

It’s going well so far, and I think it’s important that I do yoga stretches between poses, and go for walks in the evenings. It stays light here until 10 or 11pm, so it feels like the afternoons are extraordinarily long.

Work-in-progress by Meghan Sours.
http://meghansours.com/

I’m hoping to learn Bruges well, and I’d been navigating confidently. I must look like a local because people keep asking me for directions if they’re tourists & speaking to me in Dutch if they’re locals.

The city must have felt I’d become overly confident, because I was about a block away from the museum this morning, walking all around it but not finding it, for nearly half an hour, with two different maps, ready to burst into tears. I think the city is a trickster like that, because I’ve noticed many lost-looking tourists and overheard not a few tense spats about directions. My evening walks are wonderful and stress-free, because Bruges works if you don’t need to strictly navigate it. Just walk, and you’ll end up where you’re going eventually. But if you try to navigate & need to be there at a certain time? Forget it. Thank goodness the Atelier is five minutes from my house!

Once I finally found the museum, I had a lovely day.

I’ve taken some photos of a few of the works-in-progress by some of the students/painters in the workshop. It’s amazing to see the variety of styles and the progress they’re making in even one week.

The Extraordinary Unpredictability (Part II)

The naked muse is back...

Yesterday I had a phone call from the person running the Flemish Classical Atelier. Let us call this person ‘Sam’. Throughout our correspondence, I’d assumed that Sam was a man, so I was quite surprised that the voice on the other end of the line was very definitely female, with American traces to boot! Sam is a woman who was born and raised Stateside, and now lives in the countryside outside of Bruges.

She explained that because they had not been certain whether they would run the July course, she had wanted me to feel free to make other plans. Now, though, they were certainly running the course, and she really wanted to work with me if I was still interested and available (because of my ‘classical body type’ and my experience modelling).

An additional caveat to this proposal was that Sam was having trouble arranging a place for me to stay in Bruges, so how would I feel about living with her & her husband in one of their spare bedrooms in the countryside outside of Bruges, and she and I could drive in together to the Atelier each day for work?

Oh, why not.

So, I am in fact going to be paid to model for the month of June in Bruges. I am taking the Eurostar for the first time ever to Brussels, and then on to Bruges, where Sam will meet me. She goes in to the Atelier every single day, and I have two days off per week (Friday & Saturday) so I can go into town with her as I wish to play tourist on my days off.

I’ve asked her to look into borrowing a bicycle for me if that’s an option. And crucially, Sam and her husband do have internet out in the sticks.

So, that’s what I’ll be doing in July. This again pushes back me collecting Vespa from France, but I hadn’t booked any tickets for that trip, so that’s good. I’ll figure it out, and Verity is wonderful; Vespa is safely in her garage and not in her way.

I think it’s going to be an interesting summer…