There are two men I would like to write about now if I have enough patience to do so on the phone... Both of the men I met in Folkestone today. Chronologically, the first one is a renowned artist, the second is my friend's neighbour whom I have known for a few years. It is an elderly Polish gentleman who fought in WWII and has lived in the UK ever since.
You may need to know, Dear Reader, that there is a reason why this blog is called as it's called... And if you follow this blog, you may already be aware of that. Whether you do or you don't, do read on.
Actually, I will begin by bringing the third man on stage as it is because of his sudden disappearance before the clock even struck 11 am brought about the opportunity for the two other men to enter. The first man had to brush his business-unrelated life aside and dash back to work as the company he works for needed him badly. I stayed in Folkestone, performed my tasks of the day and went for a stroll taking occasional pictures as I do.
Not that many as I have masses of Folkestone snaps. I was pleased to see the town library open. Going upstairs on the way to a current exhibition i was not at all impressed by Yoko Ono artistic do-it-yourself instruction supposedly addressed to the members of the public.
The exhibition presented selected works of two contemporary local artist: portraits and different versions of old alarm clocks with little stories attached to them. Tomorrow the exhibition ends.
A huge disappointment at the library was finding out that it does not have a very important public facility where even the royals have to pay occasional visits, espwcially on very cold days. They were closed down due to frequent acts of vandalism they were subjected to. That is what I heard at the library desk anyway. Lyckily, this is England and it is usually fine to go into a pub if you need to spend a penny. Right, unless you are in a very touristy zone. Then you have to pay a few pennies.
Well, well, well I'm getting evidently sidetracked! I was to tell you about my enconters with the two man on the after-Xmas Sunday, wasn't I? But hang on a moment, I am quite sure you would dearly like to see the general view and pretty details of The Baptist's Church. When I was taking pictures a not that young Folkestonian came up and muttered something which my ears covered in a thick wooly cap could not recognise until he repeated his utterance for the third time... I won't qoute his very words, but the general sense was that with only six people attending the church services it would be better to convert it into flats!
Heading back I stopped to document the current state of the decorative tiles on the frontage of the long disused, but apparently receiving some attention these days hotel named after Prince albert, Queen Victoria's beloved husband. I think the notice trom Victorian times may also be of your I
interest, Dear Reader. And the view through the railway arch into a little street parallel to the harbour!
It was definitely time for my seaside lunch of fish and chips, and mushy peas so I headed towards the harbour down the ever so pretty and interesting Old High Street. I stopped by a poster advertising an exhibition that should have ended long ago if the dates on it were right. I looked around and so the gallery right across the street. It looked inviting. Well, it was with a big note on the door saying something like 'Come in for a browse. ' I did, putting my hunger on hold. Soon I was greeted by the gallery owner and the most interesting part of my afternoon began. The man turned out to be the artist and most of the works on display (although very different) were his. I could listen to him for ages when he discussedthe sources of his inspiration: the ancient temple in India, Kuban eclectic spirituality, Mayan art, prehistoric art, general public pleasing 'ship-scapes' and limerick illustrations, and so much more, also about the works of his colleagues and professors. We exchanged business cards and when I looked at his, the name definitely rang the bell. And then I asked him about the White Horse, chalk slabs attached to the hills near Folkestone. I wanted to know how far it is to get to the sculpture, if it is a walkable distance for my delicate lower limbs. He didn't recommend walking there, not only because of the distance but also for the fact that it's not easy to find it. And do you think this was it? Of course not! My host revealed to me that he was the one who actually made The White Horse and now is working on several other projects like that along the coast! And how do you like that? Can you believe that? He allowed me to take pictutes and agreed to pose for me as well:
I'm quite aware that it's a risky thing to put on display such poorly pictures of the works of art...
Meeting Charles Newington was definitely something to write home about! But will they read? Even if they do, will they reply?;-)
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Unfortunately, the two fish&chippers at the harbour were closed and I got myself a bowl of crab soup from this establishment:
