Eric and James Ravilious

A superb exhibition opened last Friday at the Towner Gallery, Eastbourne. The Towner, long a repository of some fine work by that most English of watercolourists, Eric Ravilious, has a show featuring not only his paintings but also a photographic collection of the work of his son James. Sadly the two never knew each other as Eric lost his life in a flying accident during the war whilst employed as an official war artist. James grew up with his father's eye for truth and observation though, and his recording of scenes of village life and landcsape around his home in Devon never lapse into either chocolate box or have so much 'verité' that they become inaccessible - simply, it is as if the photographer is not there, his presence never trespassing upon the scene - a rare gift and proof positive that James was completely accepted by his subjects with an ability to blend into the background. Never asked to pose, the characters peopling his work are consequently full of life and vigour. Eric's work has always been amongst that of my favourite artists...watercolours and yet not in the conventional style, a dry brush, cross hatching, muted colours, extreme detail but also expanses of landscape and sky with hard edges to the clouds. Of course I'm no Bernard Berenson so my analysis is a bit thin and it sounds like it shouldn't work, but it does, triumphantly! There's a lot about his chosen subject matter that pleases a Sussex person and indeed much of the exhibition contains work from my area, but again not always the obvious...of course The Downs, but also Newhaven Harbour and the long-gone Cement works only a couple of miles from the highly decorated Charleston 'set'.

On show too are Ravilious' wood engraving (his engravings are stunning works in miniature by the way) tools wrapped in a velvet cloth and James' beloved Leica camera with its customised lenses. Thinking I might finally avail myself of the reproduction Ravilious 'Alphabet' mug by Wedgwood at the gallery shop I was told that they are no longer available and the manufacturer's future is far from rosy...sad but there were two lovely books to be had featuring the work of father and son to which I can turn whenever I need a Ravilious fix.

Without a safety net.

As life grinds inexorably towards its dusty conclusion (you're particularly cheerful today - ed.) one wonders at what possibly could excite and stimulate more than the things one has already indulged (or in some cases, over-indulged) in. Yesterday's 'first ever' was a Gliding experience. A present from my wife for the significant birthday, a mixture of apprehension and procrastination pushed the event right to the wire and Sunday was the final opportunity before the voucher ran out. Providence provided the most glorious weather and an amiable and experienced instructor. Our local gliding club at Ringmer near Lewes was the location and we opted for an aerial tow whereby an aged Piper aircraft drags the glider by what looks like not much more than a piece of washing line, up to 2,500 feet. A parachute is helpfully provided accompanied by the words "bend your legs when you land"...which makes the EasyJet lifebelt instructions sound rather wimpish in comparison. After a thorough briefing we we were cocooned in our two seater tandem cockpit and airborne almost as soon as we were moving. Cast off somewhere over Firle Beacon, the flying tug veered sharply away towards Brighton whilst we banked towards Eastbourne. Silence! except for the rushing of the air around us, this was more akin to sailing...wonderfully graceful movements and changes of direction make one feel a part of the whole plane. The flat lands of Sussex lay spread out below us whilst the high Downs in their magnificence rise up against the channel beyond, a living Ordnance Survey map with all the features beautifully defined and laid out for me to spot. I felt as if I was the first person ever to have flown, so different was the sensation from that of package travel, and imagined what life must have been like for the young men stationed at the tiny Battle of Britain airfield beneath us at Ripe. Their view was much like mine but overlaid with a terrible purpose in what could at any time have become a life or death struggle. I counted my blessings. Through lack of thermal activity we swooped low over the trees and made a most dignified landing - total time in the air, just 18 minutes, and I luxuriated in every one of them. I'd definitely repeat the experience although being caught in a turbulent storm doesn't appeal much; apparently it requires a five hour solo flight before you get your 'wings' as a glider pilot - up there, alone with just your thoughts - it has an appeal...

The sepia picture is of Herr Fokker who gave several demonstrations of gliding in Sussex in the early 1920's. The Daily Mail also ran an international gliding competition at Itford Hill, close to Lewes, in 1922. Sussex can rightly be said to be the birthplace of gliding in England - hooray!