Task 50: Read all 37 of Shakespeare's plays, apart from the 10 I read years ago

Task 50:  Read all 37 of Shakespeare’s plays, except for the 10 I read years ago

The question everyone seems to ask is "Why?".  Do I enjoy reading Shakespeare plays (seems a bit weird) or is it some sort of penance?  Well, my reason for choosing this was that I happened to be listening to Desert Island Discs and the section where the guest has to decide which book he or she will take to the island, in addition to the Bible and the complete works of Shakespeare.  I realised that although these are regarded as fundamental to much of British culture, I’d never fully read either.  At school, particularly doing A and S level English, I had read a number of Shakespeare’s plays, along with numerous others by fellow Elizabethan and Jacobean dramatists, and I’d also seen films of a few more.  However when I counted the ones I had actually read, it was only 10 of the 37 in the Oxford edition of his complete works.  So, this seemed a natural choice for my list of challenges.

In prospect, I thought the comedies would be reasonably entertaining, the tragedies full of wonderful imagery and the histories a bit tedious.  Reading History at university, it was perhaps surprising that the only Shakespeare play I’d read as a student was Richard III.  I had thoroughly enjoyed it but the others were not tempting – and surely Henry VI couldn’t possibly need three whole Parts?  There was a large wodge of them and I anticipated a hard grind ahead.  This was going to be compounded by my decision not to look at summaries of any of the plays, so I would have to grapple with the language if I wanted to understand what was going on.

The reality was rather different.  The comedies tended to rely heavily on the use of disguises and scenes with rustic clowns, and some – particularly The Merry Wives of Windsor, The Comedy of Errors and Love’s Labour’s Lost – were little more than farces.  There were clearly a lot of “in” jokes which were lost on me.  The Taming of the Shrew was rather a disappointment, as it contained no striking language or imagery, and was redeemed mainly by the sheer vivacity of Petruchio.  I found Measure for Measure interesting, though, especially in the context of Shakespeare having married a woman quite a bit older than himself.  The two I most enjoyed were Much Ado About Nothing, set in Messina, and The Merchant of Venice.  The latter was an absolute gem – a well-balanced plot with beautiful language and penetrating observations of human behaviour.  These are the phrases and passages that particularly struck me, either because they have passed into common usage today and/or because they are so wonderfully written:

"it is a wise father that knows his own child ".

"in the end, truth will out ".

"in the twinkling of an eye ".

"All things that are, are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd."

"All that glisters is not gold".

"Hath not a Jew eyes?  hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?  fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is?  If you prick us, do we not bleed?  if you tickle us, do we not laugh?  if you poison us, do we not die?  and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?  If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that."

"green-ey'd jealousy "

"Do all men kill the things they do not love?" [Bassanio]

"Hates any man the thing he would not kill?" [Shylock]

"How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?" [Duke]

"What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?" [Shylock]

"The quality of mercy is not strain'd,

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 

Upon the place beneath; it is twice bless'd;

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes" [Portia, posing as a doctor of laws]

"A Daniel come to judgment!" [Shylock].

The histories were a pleasant surprise as they were nothing like as hard-going as I’d expected.  King John was the first and he was unlikely to get a good press but even so, his command that the young and entirely innocent Prince Arthur (arguably the true heir to the throne) should be killed by having his eyes burned out with a hot poker was rather a shock.  The sad tale of the weak and indecisive Richard II made much of the divine right of kings, which was poignant given that the English Civil War was to break out only about 50 years after it was written.

Henry IV Parts One and Two were lively as they portrayed at some length the dissolute youth of the future iconic Henry V – not just wine, women and song but theft and GBH too.  Part One has some genuinely laugh-out-loud moments, particularly when Hotspur is needling the Welsh arrogant windbag Owen Glendower (who fails to turn up for the fighting because he's had an unfavourable prophecy). Over the course of the two plays, Prince Henry matures into a wise, valiant and loyal young man, clearly destined for great things.
 
Part Two contains several well-known lines, including:

"He hath eaten me out of house and home."

"Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."

Interestingly the Epilogue sounds as though it's to be read by Shakespeare himself.  It refers to his having had to appear before the audience at the end of a recent play which they were unhappy with, and having promised to come up with a better one.  He hopes this one meets with their - and his creditors' - approval and also says they will soon be able to see Henry V, in which Sir John Falstaff will feature again.

Henry V centres on how he defeated the French at Agincourt, despite his army being outnumbered five to one and his men and horses being tired and sick after the earlier battles in France.  He explains how sorry he is about the way his father, Henry IV, seized the English throne from Richard II and how he continues to do penance for it.  At the time the play was written, in about 1599, the issue of the succession was very much in people’s minds as Elizabeth clearly could not live too much longer and she had no children. It has some wonderfully stirring lines, particularly on the eve of battle, including:

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more"

"Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood"

"The game's afoot!"

"Cry, "God for Harry!  England and Saint George!""

"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers."

Unusually there is an epilogue which specifically looks ahead to the reign of his son, Henry VI, who lost much of what Henry V had achieved.

Henry VI Part One depicts a country plunging towards what will become the Wars of the Roses (although the phrase is never used in the play).  Henry has inherited the throne from his glorious father, Henry V, while only a child and reigns under the Protectorship of his uncle the Duke of Gloucester.  England is therefore vulnerable and although it eventually manages to defeat the French - who were aided by Joan of Arc, portrayed very unfavourably - internal dissensions between the major English factions are becoming all too clear.

In Part Two, Henry VI has developed into a pious and worthy man who would make a good priest but is unsuited to be a king, especially when civil unrest is brewing and finally flares up across the country.  The key women don’t come across well, especially the Protector’s wife, who ends up having to do three days’ public penance for her sins, walking barefoot on the sharp flints and filth of London’s streets, before being banished to the Isle of Man.  The focus of the play is on the widespread fighting and intrigue, emphasising the need for a strong and resolute monarch – a message that would have been very favourably received by Queen Elizabeth I.  The only quote which stuck in my mind was the memorable:

"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers."

Part Three zips along, with further civil strife between the houses of York and Lancaster.  This, coupled with the weak kingship of Henry VI, leads to Edward Duke of York - an opportunist and generally bad egg - seizing the throne and proclaiming himself King Edward IV.  He causes instant uproar by marrying a relative commoner, who has come to him as a widow and a petitioner for her late husband’s lands.  At first Edward says she can only have the lands if she'll sleep with him, but when she refuses, he is so determined to satisfy his lust that he marries her instead - even though he has just sent the Earl of Warwick (who helped him get the throne) as an ambassador to secure a marriage to the King of France's sister.  Not surprisingly Warwick is furious, as is King Louis, and they launch an attack on England. 

The fortunes of each side vary, and we see Richard Duke of Gloucester - brother to King Edward IV, and the future Richard III - start his scheming to become King in due course.  He seizes the opportunity of Edward's eventual triumph to go to the Tower where Henry VI has been imprisoned and murder him, having already killed Henry's son.  Edward has a son, so Richard knows he'll have to get rid of Edward and his son, and his own older brother the Duke of Clarence if he wants to become King, but he's starting to lay his plans.

The last of the histories is Henry VIII, which Shakespeare wrote in collaboration with John Fletcher, probably in about 1613.  It is rather lacklustre and is pretty much a hymn of praise to the glory of the Elizabeth I and her parents, Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn (spelled Bullen in the play).  Anne is shown as virtuous and pious, and Henry as being genuinely troubled about whether his marriage to Katherine was legitimate - although it's also clear he is smitten with Anne.  This paeon of praise to them is not, however, at the expense of Katherine, who is greatly praised and portrayed as a virtuous woman and loyal wife who has been wholly wronged.  It is Cardinal Wolsey who is the villain, although interestingly he is portrayed as being a much happier and better man once he is cast aside and in disgrace.  Relieved of the burden of office, he can lead a far simpler and more spiritual life.  It makes one wonder whether Shakespeare was wishing he could spend more time in Stratford, enjoying the last few years of his life in relative peace and comfort.

Having finished the histories, I took a break for a few days before starting on the tragedies.  Coriolanus, Titus Andronicus, Timon of Athens and Troilus and Cressida were frankly all rather tedious, although Titus had the dubious distinction of being an absolute bloodbath from start to finish – rape, beheadings, entrails and tongue ripped out, cannibalism, hands being chopped off, etc.  Unlike Shakespeare's other Roman plays, Titus is fictional and may have been written to be in the same vein as the popular revenge tragedies of the period.  Although it was apparently popular at the time, its graphic violence was considered distasteful in later periods and it fell out of favour.  During a recent revival at the Globe, five members of the audience fainted as they watched one especially gory scene and first aiders had to be on hand throughout.

Luckily the next play was Othello – a superb portrayal of insidious jealousy and the destruction it can wreak, both on the person who is the object of the jealousy and on the person who is jealous.  Iago appears as almost pure evil, but he does at least have a motive of sorts: he has been passed over for promotion by Othello, who has appointed Cassio as his Lieutenant (who has no practical knowledge or experience of warfare, unlike Iago); and he suspects - probably wrongly - that Othello has at some point slept with his wife, Emilia. 

Othello too is not as gullible and unreasonable as he might seem.  He is susceptible to believing that Desdemona is unfaithful and lying to him because she did keep secret from her father her growing love for and then elopement with Othello; and also because despite her innocence and apparent naivety, she did behave with some cunning during their early days and gave him all the encouragement he needed to propose to her.  That's obviously no excuse for killing her, but it does help to explain why Othello is so quick to believe Iago's blackening of her character.

The language and imagery are outstanding: 

"Trifles light as air 

Are to the jealous confirmations strong 

As proofs of holy writ"

"I will wear my heart upon my sleeve."

"thereby hangs a tale"

"...  he that filches from me my good name 

Robs me of that which not enriches him

And makes me poor indeed."

[of jealousy] "It is the green-ey'd monster"

"...then must you speak 

Of one that loved not wisely, but too well".

After that, almost any play would suffer by comparison but Anthony and Cleopatra also contains some striking passages, especially Enobarbus’ speech describing Cleopatra seated in her royal barge, which burned on the water “like a burnish’d throne”. Other memorable lines include:

"My salad days"

"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale

Her infinite variety"

"Be a child o' the time."

Finally I came to Cymbeline, the last on my list.  It was quite a challenging read, as it's written in a sort of Middle English which reminded me of wrestling with Chaucer; there are very few stage directions so you don't realise at first that the scene has switched to a completely different country; "Enter" can mean either enter or exit, which makes it hard to fathom what’s going on; there aren't always full stops so you have to work out whether the language has become even more obscure or whether in fact a new sentence has started; and the spelling of names isn't consistent, which makes it harder to keep track of the numerous characters.

Set against the backdrop of a battle between the British and the Romans, in the reign of Augustus Caesar, it includes a wicked stepmother, banishments, disguises, troubled love and a beheading – but a happy ending.  I don’t think anyone will complain that this is a spoiler, as I’d be surprised if anyone wants to read it.  I was certainly happy to finish it:

Overall I enjoyed this challenge and definitely feel enriched by the experience.  Some of the social history aspects were interesting, for example the fact that it was considered unacceptable for a gentleman to hit his wife unless she had done something pretty extreme.  I was surprised by the very wide range of countries the plays are set in, and by the use of different languages, particularly Latin.  Most of all what struck me was the variation in quality between the plays, from the workaday to the absolutely sublime. 

Task 41: Make a nightdress

Ideally I would have used my own sewing machine for this, once I’d learned how to use it (Task 40), but it’s in the UK and I’m in Cape Town for quite a while.  Also, most importantly, my friend Rowena - aka the Domestic Goddess - is here too and as soon as she saw my list of tasks, she immediately bagged these two to help with.  Amongst her many talents, she is extremely skilled at sewing and makes nearly all her own clothes, as well as doing commissions for other people.  It’s such an important part of her life that she has a sewing machine and overlocker in her apartment in Cape Town, in addition to all her equipment at her house near Carlisle.

A nightdress may seem a slightly curious choice but at school I made several dresses and the obligatory apron, whereas I’ve never made a nightie before.  Also it seems almost impossible to find the type I like in the shops or online.  Surely there must be a market for ones which are full length with long sleeves and a mandarin collar, in an attractive light-weight cotton that doesn’t need ironing?  Doesn’t anyone else find they like a collar that sticks up, to keep their neck warm, and long sleeves so that they don’t wake themselves up by breathing on their arms?  (This latter point may sound strange, but I can’t believe I’m the only person who sleeps lightly enough for it to be an issue.)

For years I’ve been looking for just the right garment and eventually I found it - on a boat on the Nile.  We were on a river cruise and the night of the Egyptian fancy dress party was looming.  By a happy coincidence the boat stocked the appropriate gear and I bought a cotton robe in a lovely vibrant turquoise, complete with outer vestment and matching little scarf, all for the princely sum of £4.  Afterwards I was wondering what to do with it and realised the robe would make a perfect nightie.  Well, almost perfect as I discovered - too late - that it leached colour every time it was washed.

Anyway, it provided an excellent template and some years ago I asked Rowena if she would make me a stockpile, based on it (I insisted on paying a decent amount for this precious acquisition).  Now I had the challenge of making one myself, with Rowena on hand to provide expert advice and support - and the use of her machine.

The first step was to buy the fabric, which proved surprisingly difficult.  Cape Town has a wealth of fabric shops but they principally cater to the Indian and Cape Malay market, which favours highly coloured sequinned brocade and brushed nylon tartan.  Luckily Rowena had earlier spotted a light cotton in a deep shade of coral and in the end I opted for that, having reluctantly decided that I really couldn’t expect Peter to put up with sharing a bed with a full length version of Winnie the Pooh in technicolour glory.

It took about three sessions of a couple of hours each to cut out and sew the nightie, not helped by my accidentally pinning the incorrect sides of the shoulder and sleeve together.  Here is Rowena, still smiling despite the substantial demands on her patience and good nature:

She had decided I should stretch myself by adding three more sophisticated elements to the existing template: a yoke, a curved rather than a squared-off front piece, and top stitching over the curve, the collar, the yoke and some of the other seams.  The most difficult part by far was the collar, followed by trying to wrestle the front piece between the two sections of the yoke, together with the interfacing, so that all the seams matched up and were facing the right way.  I was taking detailed notes and realising why most nighties don’t have mandarin collars - it’s far too much work.  Once that stage was over, it became more straightforward and I enjoyed doing the long seams and the top stitching:

Things have moved on a lot since I last used a sewing machine - at university, to make a tennis dress - and Rowena introduced me to the options available if you don’t have an overlocker: a flat felled seam, a French seam or an ordinary seam but with zigzag stitching.  Interestingly she virtually never tacks anything, relying instead on finger pressing, ironing, and using long pins which you can safely machine over.

Finally we were there and I was able to don the completed garment, which was further customised to provide extra-long sleeves, to allow for the fabric riding up when the arms aren’t straight:

And here is the detail of the front piece and collar, which required so much concentration:

I learned a lot, including tips from Rowena that only come with experience and flair.  In the process I realised just what skill goes into producing even quite simple garments.  Most importantly, perhaps, I have become smitten with the idea of taking this further and learning how to make more things for myself.  Already I’ve started looking at make up bags, tote bags, tea towels etc and thinking “I could do that”.  I’m really looking forward to getting to grips with my sewing machine at home and pursuing this new interest.

Task 51: Visit 5 museums I've never been to before - 4th post

The idea for this particular visit came from my friend Morag, whose work includes liaising with the Irma Stern Museum, which is governed by the University of Cape Town and the Irma Stern Trust. She very kindly offered to ask the Director, Christopher Peter, whether he might be willing to give me a private guided tour of the Museum and he equally kindly agreed - and said he would also provide coffee and cake.  Bliss!

The Museum was established in 1971 and aims to promote an understanding and appreciation of the life, work and travels of Irma Stern, a major South African artist, by displaying a collection of her art and artefacts in her home in Rosebank just outside the centre of Cape Town, where she lived for almost 40 years until her death in 1966.

Irma was born in 1894 to German Jewish parents in what was then the Transvaal (now the North West Province of South Africa).  Her father was interned during the Anglo Boer War (1899-1902) because of his pro-Boer sympathies.  Her mother took her and her younger brother to Cape Town and after her father was released, the family went to Germany, where they stayed until returning to settle in Cape Town in 1920.  During this period they travelled regularly between the two countries and in parts of Europe.  This pattern of frequent and extensive travel characterised the rest of Irma's life.

In 1912 she started formal art studies in Berlin and - through the support of the Expressionist, Max Pechstein - held her first solo exhibition there four years later.  Although successful in Europe, her work was initially derided as ugly when she returned to live in Cape Town and it wasn’t until the 1940s that she achieved success in South Africa too.  Much of her work was portraiture, with paintings generally completed in only one sitting.  Examples can be seen in the photo below, behind Christopher and me, in the dining room:

Irma was a very versatile artist, working in a wide range of media and producing ceramics and sculpture as well as paintings.  Some of her sculpture can be seen in the garden as well as inside the house:

She also, rather like the Bloomsbury artists, decorated many of her cupboards and other furniture:

Her studio includes a number of her ceramics and paintings, as well as artefacts in wood and fabric that she collected on her travels, particularly in the Congo, Zanzibar and southern Africa during the Second World War, when travel to Europe was difficult.  Some of these, including the striped plate which you can see on the second shelf of the cupboard on the left in the photo below, feature as props in her paintings:

Like most of the house, the studio gives the impression that Irma has only just left the room and there is an almost palpable feeling of her presence.  She had a powerful and vibrant personality, which is reflected throughout her home.  Everywhere, from floor to ceiling - not just in the rooms but in the passageways too - there are her vividly coloured paintings and African wooden carved objects collected by her.  Even her front door was picked up on one of her trips to Zanzibar:

Inevitably not all her work can be displayed and it was a particular pleasure to be shown some of the paintings that Kathy, a consultant working at the Museum for the Irma Stern Trust, is busy researching and listing.  Irma was a prolific artist, who held more than a hundred solo exhibitions, and it must feel at times like an almost endless challenge but it's clear that Kathy is undaunted.

Irma had a complex personality, which for me adds to the interest of seeing her work, particularly the portraits.  She was physically very large and seems to have expanded steadily over the years, assisted by copious quantities of sachertorte and regular entertaining.  She was unsparing in her comments on others, which perhaps accounts - as well as her skill - for the preponderance of single-sitting portraits.  Sadly her marriage in 1926 (ironically, on 1 April) to her former tutor was a disaster - not of her making - and ended in divorce a few years later.  She never married again. Fortunately, however, her zest for life remained undimmed.

After a wonderful time exploring the Museum, enjoying the extensive knowledge and expertise of Christopher and Kathy, we - Morag, my husband Peter and me - repaired with them to the dining room for coffee.  Christopher had excelled himself and provided not only the promised cake (caramel - yum!) but also egg sandwiches with the crusts removed and scones with delicious apricot jam.  Also with us, though not in the photo below, was the cat Clarissa.  She has recently decided to move in during the daytime and reclines on the settee, looking rather splendid.  

A little later, and before we had started tucking in, we were joined by Lucinda (the Administrator) and Mary (the Curator).  In  the photo below, Kathy is at the head of the table, with Lucinda next to her, then Morag and Mary.  It was a very jolly gathering and I felt so lucky to be part of it.

The Museum is a real gem and I would urge anyone who has the opportunity, to visit it - even if cake is not an option.

Task 44: Go on a glass-making course

The idea for this came from a day at a bead fair with my friend Pauline, when we both spent ages choosing some hand-made glass beads and picked up a leaflet about glass-making courses offered by the artist.  I love glass and enjoy making beaded jewellery, so a short course that combined the two seemed perfect.

It occurred to me that it might be possible to do a similar course in Cape Town and if so, it was likely to be cheaper than in the UK.  After some googling, I found one that sounded exactly what I was after - a one-day course by Nicky Hayden in the Cape Town area. When I rang her, she was friendly and helpful, and suggested that rather than go to her studio in Durbanville, it might be more convenient for me to go to her other studio at the Biscuit Mill in the heart of Cape Town, where she works on Saturdays.  That suited me fine, as it's only about three miles from where we are renting an apartment, and is a really interesting location.  It's a lively food and high quality craft market which is open every Saturday, on the site of an old biscuit mill.

We agreed a date and Nicky very kindly offered to gear the course to my particular interests and (lack of) abilities.  It would be one-to-one and she would provide hot drinks - courtesy of her obliging husband Terry - and a sandwich lunch.

I arrived at 9.30am and after a safety briefing Nicky started by explaining about the properties of different types of glass and what they are used for.  The type most often used for bead making is Effetre glass, which is one of the softest and available in a wide range of colours.  It comes in long thin rods, which are heated to about 520 degrees until the glass begins to melt and can be moulded.  Safety glasses are needed to protect the eyes from the sodium flare.  They have the effect of making the flame appear a soft mauve, rather than a harsh white/orange.

My first task, following a demonstration by Nicky, was to make a simple round bead. Having heated a thin steel rod called a mandrel, which you hold horizontally in your left hand (if you are right-handed), you select a coloured glass rod and heat the tip in the flame, holding it like a pencil in your right hand, until it starts to melt.  You then slowly and evenly rotate the mandrel so that the molten glass forms a smooth circle around it.  If the edges start to get uneven, you use a metal paddle to firm and straighten them, while continuing to rotate the mandrel.

My first attempt was a complete failure.  It wasn't remotely round and it fractured:

After three more tries I improved, though you can see the huge gulf between my efforts - the blue glass blobs - and Nicky's.

Next came the making of a barrel bead, by forming two circles of molten glass on the mandrel and then in-filling the space between with more circles and finally fattening up this base layer, to create one smooth barrel-shaped bead.  My second attempt in turquoise opaque glass was an improvement on my first in clear blue glass, but neither bears comparison with Nicky's in dark green:

After a cup of tea we moved on to making stringers, which are extremely thin rods of glass used for adding little raised dots onto beads.  You heat the tip of a normal rod until it starts to form a molten ball.  Using tweezers, you then grasp that ball and quickly pull it out to form a long thin rod, or stringer, which you snip off with pliers:

That was relatively simple but I had problems using my stringers to make beads with raised dots.  In theory all I had to do was make a simple round bead and while it was still soft, heat the tip of the stringer and - out of the flame - place a tiny blob of it onto the surface of the bead, and then bring the bead up to the outer edge of the flame to cut the stringer.  This has to be repeated for each dot, which should be evenly sized and spaced around the bead.  I managed one reasonable dot, but the rest were a mess.  Nicky's, as you can see, were perfect:

After lunch, things improved as we moved on to creating beads with pressed-in dots.  The technique is the same as for raised dots, except that you keep the bead in the flame and gently press the molten stringer glass into the bead, so that the dot is absorbed flush into it. I enjoyed the process and my green and black bead at least bore some comparison to Nicky's blue and white one:

Finally, I had a go at making a similar style of bead but using tiny millefiori ("thousand flower") beads instead of a stringer.  The technique is similar except that you hold the millefiori bead with tweezers in the flame and push it into the round bead, using just enough heat and pressure without distorting the flower image.  I found it difficult not to overheat and/or squash the millefiori bead so that it entirely lost its flower image, and in trying to avoid this I forgot to keep the round "host" bead at a constant temperature, which meant it started to lose its shape.  Here is the end result, with my effort on the left and Nicky's on the right, with a collection of millefiori beads below which Nicky generously gave me:

I thoroughly enjoyed the whole experience and was delighted to receive a certificate at the end, which at least proves I was there!