Saturday 21st December - Witness My Act and Deed

 Well, here we are on the shortest day of the year (or longest, if you are my Australian friends) and it always feels a bit like a turning point in the year. I am cooking a Christmas dinner for Grampy Stonell today and so this will be a busy dark day for us, then the days will start stretching out towards the Spring.

The Fluffle Triplets were just saying what everyone else was thinking...

I am filled with glee by today's offering as it is a cat being a proper little sod. This isn't messing with your wool, this is wholescale vandalism...

Witness My Act and Deed (1881) Frank Paton

Look at the little ratbag! He regrets nothing! In some sort of legal office (I can see the top of a conveyancing document, and I think the unfortunate document having ink splashed all over it might be a will or deed to some property) the office cat has decided to get involved.  The double meaning of the title - to witness a document by signing it, or we are witnessing the little cat's act and deed in toppling an ink pot - is typical of Paton's work. He seems to have used comic situations and cute cats, and it made his fortune.

The Fairest One of All

Like some of the other artists we've met this month, Frank Paton appears to have used his own pets as models.  The family of tabby cats that crop up repeatedly in his work can be seen in both allegorical and literal pieces, such as A Proud Mother which is arguably the wellspring for all the kittens that are up to japes in his other works.

A Proud Mother
(Or Kittens of Destruction: The Origin Story)

So, we can see the little kitten being washed by her mother is probably the same one as in The Fairest One of All.  Either of the all-tabby kittens behind her could be the wrecker of legal documents.

Kittens Playing Around a Saddle

What I am finding very interesting is that Paton's work isn't in the newspapers as much as I was expecting, given its commercial, charming nature.  There are quite a few recent articles on him (by recent I mean from 1960 onwards, it's all relative) including a mention of The Fairest One of All when it was up for auction in 1996.  It was included in an art section of the Whiskas stand at the Centenary National Cat Show with a piece by Louis Wain (for those who don't know Whiskas is a leading brand of cat food in the UK) (It is said to sound like 'Whiskers' but I've never thought about the way it is spelt) (I digress). Even more interestingly, when The Fairest One of All sold at auction in 1988 it reached £28,000 (which astonished Country Life who wrote a short piece about how unexpectedly popular he suddenly was) but by the 1996 cat show, the auction price expected was only £10-15K which indicates to me that maybe the Frank Paton bubble had popped by that point.  However, Mr Paton was a commercial genius and didn't need the applause of the art critic press...

A Frank Paton Christmas Card

As Paton was so good at humorous sketches of animals, he teamed up with art dealer Edward Ernest Leggatt to produce etched Christmas Cards, beginning in 1880 and continuing until his death in 1909. Each one contained a central scene of animals doing funny, usually seasonally appropriate things, and the border would be little, rougher sketches on the same theme. When Paton fell out with the organisers of the annual Royal Academy exhibition, he quit the establishment path because he didn't need it anymore.  His fame was such that people flocked to buy his accessible pieces for half a guinea each.  There were so many produced that you can easily buy them still on places like eBay.

I was pleased to find Paton's image of a cat being actively naughty in such a destructive way.  We are lucky that our cat is not a smasher/pusher/spiller and merely a menacer of wool. I think TikTok is built on videos of cats breaking things in a careless and arguably malicious manner to comic effect and so Paton's little legal saboteur would fit right in.  I wonder if the image was inspired by a true event? It reminds me of this...

Somewhere, in the 15th century, a cat was waiting to mess things up for a monk.  It is proof enough that cats think everything we do is less important than feeding them. To be honest, half the time they are probably not wrong.

See you tomorrow.

Friday 20th December - The End of the Story

Now look, we've reached the 20th, that means Catvent is almost over! This has actually been less stressful than normal blogvents and thank you to everyone who has sent messages and left comments, they are all truly appreciated.  Onwards with today's offering!

Well, that's one way of looking at it.

Today's picture is by an artist that I like but don't talk about very much...

The End of the Story (1900) Marcus Stone

I obviously went for Marcus Stone's 1900 painting The End of the Story because the cat looks like Chairman Meow.  A bit like Blair Leighton, I really like the fact that Marcus Stone found his groove and never looked back, and his thing was frilly dressed ladies thinking about love. The Queen newspaper reported its exhibition like this - '"The End of the Story" by Marcus Stone is one of those sweet studies of a young lady seated in a garden with her just finished romance in her hand, with which this artist has familiarised us.' Now, by 'familiarised us' is The Queen saying that Mr Stone is a bit repetitious?

Two's Company, Three's None (1862-90)

Well, yes, there's that one...

In Love (1888)

..and that one, yes...

Welcome Footsteps (1898)

Okay, yes, he was very good at white frocks in gardens, but then he also did this one...

On the Road from Waterloo to Paris (1863)

On the whole, he was better at white frocks in gardens. I think my favourite has to be this one....

Reverie (1899)

I think it is something about the combination of her expression and the weird summer sun/moon in the sky behind her that makes it a magical piece.  When it was exhibited at the Royal Academy, Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper described it as 'a graceful presentment of a young lady' but I find the piece, especially the face, quite haunting.  Back to the cat...

That is a lovely cat and he is perfectly happy with tickles even if she isn't paying attention.  The girl is on the last page of her book.  I wonder why the newspaper assumed it was a romance? Is that a safe bet as his paintings were mostly to do with romantic interludes? We think she's reading 'And reader, I married him!' and actually she's reading 'I dismembered him so well, they were finding bits for weeks.' Either way, her cat loves her.

Marcus Stone, who grew a moustache and never looked back

Marcus Stone is an interesting chap - son of Frank Stone, also a famous painter, he was trained as an artist by his father until he started exhibiting at the Royal Academy aged 18, which is extremely impressive. Sadly, Frank Stone then dropped dead a year later, prompting many tributes and obituaries in the newspapers.  I must add that when Marcus Stone died in 1921, he also got glowing tributes including a very impressive one that stated he never missed an RA exhibition, was never rejected and each painting he sent was already sold before it hit the wall.

I find the scenery in today's painting interesting.  Yes, she's in a garden (as they always are), but if you look at the trees, it looks like summer.  However, around her, the leaves have fallen and are filling the courtyard.  Has so much time passed since she opened the book? Was it that gripping a tale that she missed the seasons changing, so entranced with the story? What I notice from a lot of Stone's women is that they are preoccupied.  I would hazard a guess that, to badly quote Charli XCX, she is busy thinkin' 'bout boys, but there is sometimes a man in the picture with her. Is the problem that he isn't the man she's thinking about? Maybe the painting is trying to tell us to be careful at getting distracted as it is later than you think and your life is passing without you noticing.  

Actually, maybe Marcus Stone is saying that there are worse ways to spend your life than with a good book and a nice cat.  I can't argue with that.

See you tomorrow.

Thursday 19th December - Marigolds

Argh! Where is my time going?! It is currently 4am and I'm baking a loaf of potato and leek bread to go with a friend's present while answering emails and generally trying to remember everything I have to do before next Tuesday. And I have a food shop to do! However, I'm awake and functioning (sort of) so let's crack on!

Mr Fluffles wasn't in the mood to embrace stardom...

Okay, I'm calmer now.  It's Day 19 of Catvent and so I'm down to my last (and probably favourite) cats in paintings which I have been saving.  Here is today's offering...

Marigolds (1873) Dante Gabriel Rossetti

How many times have I looked at this gorgeous painting and not seen the cat? When I was looking through different paintings with cat content I was surprised to see this come up as I had never noticed his little face behind the girl and her flowers, but there he is, being a malevolent little ratbag...

Okay, yes, he is very cute but I've told you how I feel about cats attacking my wool. To his shame, Mr Walker has been known to encourage the Chairman's pillaging of my wool basket while I should 'Not the blue! The pink one is acrylic, he can have that!'

Marigolds is what I think of as a 'Kelmscott Painting' - it comes out of Rossetti's time at Kelmscott Manor with the Morris family (without William, obviously). It goes by many different names -'Marigolds', 'The Bower Maiden', 'The Gardener's Daughter', 'Fleur-de-Marie' and is what you would expect from a Rossetti painting, especially of this time.  Here we have a golden haired lovely in a green frock, looking beautiful while doing something feminine. A bit like this one...

Oh la! I'm hanging some mistletoe (1860)

And this one...

Look at me! I can't play a violin! (1872)

So, yes, the man had a type. and excuse me, but they all look quite similar even when it is apparently not the same woman.  To be fair, the 1860 painting Hanging the Mistletoe isn't going to be Alexa Wilding who didn't become Rossetti's model until after 1865, but come on, he knew what he liked. So let's talk about the girl in Marigolds...

Rossetti described his intentions for the painting like this - 'It represents a young girl (fair) in a tapestried chamber, with a jar containing marybuds...which she is arranging on a shelf. Near her a cat is playing with a ball of worsted.' He also likened it to Veronica Veronese, above with the violin. That answered one question I had about the alternate title 'Fleur de Marie' as a name for marsh marigolds are marybuds, so 'Flowers of Mary.' Who is the girl?  Rossetti referred to her as 'Little Annie' and that she was a gardener's daughter. Theodore Watts-Dunton later identified her as a maid who worked at Kelmscott.  You know me, none of that is good enough for me. So, off to the records I go!

Sketch for Marigolds

The problem in tracking people with a fairly normal name is that there are normally far too many candidates.  Also, I'm tracking a girl who is a maid in a village, and they notoriously move around.  I'm left looking for 'Annie' who was a maid and, I'm guessing, a teenager in 1873.  That narrows it down. Similar to Mrs Donkin's Cook (who I wrote about here) this is not an easy pursuit, but I had a look at the 1871 census.  Luckily, if our lass was in Kelmscott in 1871 then it isn't a large place and I should be able to spot her.  Or anyone called Annie.  Or anyone aged around 15-20ish.  No, no luck there as there were no likely candidates, no gardener's daughters of that age.  If you are after an agricultural labourer, you're in luck and of course, that could be what was recorded, but none with daughters of an appropriate age.  Obviously, a family could have magically moved in to Kelmscott in 1872, with a gardener and his titian-haired daughter Annie and I would have no way of knowing. How frustrating!  There is one suggestion and I'm relying on a little supposition and the word 'possibly' but it's Christmas so humour me.

Anne Luker Allen was born in about 1860 in Little Faringdon, just over the meadows from Kelmscott Manor (as Burne-Jones found out as he travelled to and fro to Buscot Park). In 1871, she was living with her uncle Philip Comley, an agricultural labourer.  The reason Miss Allen caught my eye was that by 1881, Anne had come to Kelmscott to work as a domestic servant and was now known as Annie. Annie Allen had somewhat of a complicated life - she was the illegitimate daughter of Jane Looke (or Looker or Luker or any different versions of the above).  Until 1864, Annie actual went by the elaborate name of Anne Gosling Brooks Looker, possibly to counteract the shame of being illegitimate, as noted on her baptism record.  I wondered if her out-of-wedlock status was part of the reason she was handed over to her uncle and aunt to raise, moving to another aunt, Harriet, who lived in Kelmscott. After 1864, Annie adopted the surname of her father/stepfather/who knows, James Allen.  James was from Coleshill in Oxfordshire/Berkshire and was listed as a agricultural labourer, sadly not a gardener.  However, and here's where I got excited, in 1861, the Allen family had a lodger, Stephen Obadiah Oborne, aged 20, who was a gardener. Now, I'm not saying Mr Oborne (who went on to be a head gardener in Somerset) knocked up Jane Looker and went off to tend his garden leaving James Allen to marry her four years later, after which their other children were born, but it is a mighty coincidence.  It might be as simple as Oborne taught James Allen how to be a gardener and that is what Annie liked to think her father (who she doesn't seem to have lived with, unlike her siblings) did. It might be as simple as Rossetti thinking all agricultural labourers were gardeners. Either way, I think there is a good chance that Annie Allen is our lass.

She still looks like Alexa Wilding if you ask me.

As for the cat, I think it is there to indicate playfulness, a little naughtiness and domestic disruption. I doubt that is any reflection on Annie, only possibly in Rossetti's mind for the character he was portraying.  You know how much I love the Language of Flowers and marigolds are meant to symbolise grief and sorrow, but marsh marigolds are actually kingcups or buttercups, which represent childishness. I don't think that is the point (no matter how mournful and young she looks). Rossetti called the marsh marigold 'the earliest of spring flowers' and if I was feeling fanciful, I would say that represented Annie herself, the little girl who came out too early in her mother's life. 

Annie went on to marry Thomas Wheeler, a farmer and had four children, three boys and lastly a daughter, Lily Annie. Sadly, she died in 1905, aged only 45 years old.

Blimey, maybe this is Trag-vent after all...

Wednesday 18th December - The Favourite

Today is going to be a very busy day as I'm out with Lily and it will take all day so I best get on with things...

The most stylish girl in town in that hat

 I have a confession. Originally, I was going to make this Trag-vent, with 24 days of tragedy-laden stories of artists coming to a sticky and sorry end.  That seemed like a good idea until I typed up the first one and felt so terrible that I couldn't face doing 24 days of them.  Seriously, it would have ended me as I was sobbing during the editing.  Hurrah for cats as I am less inclined to weep! Anyway, the person who put me off the whole idea was John William Godward...

The Favourite (1901) J W Godward

In the light and airy world of Godward's classicism, nothing could make you sob so hard stuff comes down your nose, right? Before we come to the tragedy, let's start with this slice of golden glory.  It must be one of the few ginger cats we have this Catvent...

I thought I knew things about ginger cats but it is so much more complex than I imagined.  For starters, I thought all gingers were boys but that is not true, although 80% of them are. Ginger female cats tend to end up as tortoiseshells, although boy tortoiseshells exist but have fertility issues which is something we all have to know now because I know it.  For simplicity's sake, I think it's most likely our cat today is a boy.  He is being teased by a pretty girl (possibly Ethel Warwick again) with a peacock feather.  All is fairly standard stuff for Godward, what with the marble, the draped woman and unspecified ancient Roman/Greek-ish landscape and all that's good, but it makes me wonder about the Ginger Tom. Isn't he a little...well...out of place?  

Now, I felt a bit cat-racists by thinking that ginger cats can't be Classical - oh, God, I've become the sort of person that gets angry that the new Astrid in the live action How to Train Your Dragon is black, rather than concentrate on the fact that THERE ARE DRAGONS, pull yourselves together - but actually, I'm not too far wrong that ginger short-haired cats aren't traditionally Mediterranean, although the Vikings might have brought them up from Turkey to everywhere they stomped all over. Mind you, I'm falling into the How to Train Your Dragon trap because Godward's classicism has absolutely nothing to do with Ancient Greece, it's a fantasy world.

Classical chap, possibly Hermes? 

The thing I love about Godward's world is that all is golden and peaceful.  The reason he chose that Ginger is that the little golden boy suits the colour scheme of golden and russet, reflected in the girl's drapes and the rusty edges of the marble. The green feather is a welcome pop of contrasting colour, picked up in the lush landscape. I wonder if there is also a comment on the girl favouring the small Ginger-y boy and the elevation of boys in Victorian society?  Probably not, but it might hint at how even the smallest could be the favourite of someone.  That is a small kitten, but the girl adores him because he is adorable.

Believed to be a self portrait, detail from Waiting for an Answer (1889)

Okay, don't say I didn't warn you, here is the tragedy.  Godward was a popular artist in the nineteenth century, but as modernism crept onwards, he felt he was falling from favour.  For context, Godward's family weren't overly keen on him being an artist, preferring him to become something more secure like his father, who was an investment clerk.  Godward went off to Italy around 1912, but returned to England around 1920 to live with his youngest sibling Charles, who had just been married to Gertrude and lived in Fulham in a house with a studio living space behind.  Godward continued to paint and hired model Marietta Avico (1906-1983) for his work. However, he was not a happy man, and on their last appointment, Godward said to Marietta "sixty is old enough for a man to live."

Contemplation (1922)

Yes, I know, that's not good and coupled with the many health complaints that Godward was suffering, things came to a head.  He wasn't sleeping, wandering the garden throughout the night. and had refused to see their mother.  In contrast, his previous painting, Contemplation, had just sold for £125 and he was doing well commercially. None of that matters if you can't feel it and so on the 13th December 1922, the grocery delivery chap couldn't make anyone hear when he knocked.  This was reported to Charles when he came home from the office and so, in the dark, Charles knocked on his brother's door.  Lighting a candle, he let himself into the back rooms, only to find an envelope stuck to the door, on which was written 'Gas'.  John William Godward was found next to the gas fire with his coat wrapped around his head and the fire, having died from coal-gas poisoning, aged 61.

You can appreciate why 24 days of such tragedies might not be good for any of us, but it is so easy at this time of year to feel that everything is too much and the world is a dark place.  In four days' time we reach the shortest day of the year, then the days start getting longer and lighter.  Hang in there, the sun will come again.

See you tomorrow.

Tuesday 17th December - The Love Potion

I think today is the last fairly peaceful day I have now before Christmas so I'm making the most of it. I'm currently under a hot blanket with a hot dog (Blossom), living my best life.  The Chairman is perched atop the hen house in the garden, which is very important work.

Sandra knew their love would last forever. Mr Fluffles wondered where his lunch was.

Today is another instance of a famous picture where I didn't notice the cat really before, although it makes perfect sense.  After all, this lady is a sorceress...

The Love Potion (1903) Evelyn De Morgan

Yes, a black cat is often the familiar of a witch, excuse me, sorceress.  What is the difference?  Is it a rural/urban thing? Does a witch forage for her ingredients in the woods, while a sorceress gets them from Waitrose? Apologies, back to The Love Potion, and we have a woman who does chemical magic (let's not be defined by labels), mixing a potion while out of the window we see a knight and lady embrace.  We are therefore concluding that our sorceress is really good, and the potion isn't even bottled up before the effects are kicking in.  So, everyone is happy and the good old sorceress and her cheery kitten have done good once more.  The end. I'll see you tomorrow.

The Happy Couple (for now)

Alright, I know, I don't get off that easily because I am struck by the fact that our lass is still mixing her potion, so that can't be responsible for what is going on out of the window but as we can see it all happening right above her cup, we know the potion is something to do with them. I think the potion is for the chap but that our sorceress is not making it for the girl to give to him, she has no need.  I think our sorceress is going to magic that knight away (a bit like 'dance the knight away'). That will get you put on Father Christmas's naughty list for certain.

That is a smashing little cat.  I was also struck how the round green eyes of the cat looked awfully like the round glass of the window...

...as if all eyes are on the happy (for now) couple, watching what will happen to them once the potion is put in play.  It reminds me of how the Chairman watches the birds through the window, just keeping an eye before he rains down bloody murder upon them (in his mind only, as he is, in truth, quite comfy just looking at them these days, then going off and eating a bit more food). I love how the sorceress's sleeves look like nets and her belt like a jewelled sword hilt.  This is definitely not a woman to be trifled with as she is a fighter.  She is also a reader...

Look out, she's done her homework! These are not spell books, but works of great philosophy such as Iamblichus (245-325) and Paracelsus (1493-1541), so she's not just musing on eye of newt, but neoplatonic philosophy. Blimey.

The Hour Glass (1904-5)

I saw some people linking The Love Potion and The Hour Glass and I can see why - both are images of slightly older women who are discontent and were both done around the same time.  The Queen newspaper, reviewing Evelyn's 1906 exhibition at the Bruton Galleries declared both paintings to be her best works, and even on Wikipedia it is claimed they share the same model, Jane Morris.  I don't personally agree with that last bit - I think The Love Potion's model is the same as many of her others, such as The Prisoner from 1907...

The Prisoner (1907)

It's the nose that gives it away.

Back to the sorceress and her love potion - I was wondering about the position of the couple in the garden directly above the cup.  It is easy to assume that she is intent on doing something to them, but what if they don't exist? The hair of the girl in the garden and the sorceress looks almost identical, but the girl outside wears it long and free, as if she is younger.  So, I was wondering - is the witch casting a spell so that she, herself, can fall in love with a handsome knight? Is she conjuring so that vision in the garden will come true?  Alternatively, what if that is a vision of the past when our lass was in love with a brave knight.  I wondered if the love potion was a way of bringing back the memory of being young, happy and free, rather than closed in a room with our books and our cat.  Don't get me wrong, the second doesn't sound so shabby but what if the knight went off and died (as knights in art tend to do) and so our lass dedicated herself to philosophy and a single, academic life. Now and then she uses her power to look at the past and remember a time when she was in love. Compared with depictions of Medea or other witches, this woman looks calm, a bit sad, thoughtful and generally not murderous.  Is it because she is older that we suspect she is up to no good?  Is it the cat?  I read that black cats can be harder to rehome from shelters because of certain superstitions (I tend to believe they are good luck, especially if you can get them to come over for a tickle) and so can the same be true of middle-aged women? We are definitely harder to rehome, it's true...

That's a chilling thought, especially as I am one, but the older I get, the more I see how the world works (as reflected in this post). Looking at it, EDM was around my age when she was painting these turn-of-the-century women so must have started to feel what we all feel in our late 40s and 50s. Freedom and imprisonment, power and invisibility, and an awful lot of joint pain. That little black kitten at our sorceress's feet looks at us as if to say 'what you bring to this picture is about you' and I can't help but agree.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Monday 16th December - Catnap

 Goodness, look at the date! We really are on the downhill slope now, and barely time to watch The Box of Delights on iPlayer before it's the big day!

Moira and Mr Fluffles looked artistically to the future...

I know a few people who would have my guts for garters if I didn't include today's painting in Catvent.  It is a particularly beloved image for many, and one of the sweetest we will have this month. When I was making the preliminary Catvent list, this was definitely one of the first I wrote down and also, thinking about it, one of the few paintings I can name by this artist, which is shocking as she is a member of the Girl Gang...

Catnap (1858) Rosa Brett

Catnap, also known as The Hay Loft is a little Pre-Raphaelite-adjacent gem. It is luminous, detailed and intimate, all winning qualities of the Pre-Raphs in the 1850s.  Just to drive everyone nuts, even as late as The Oxford Dictionary of Art (2017, possibly even later) Rosa was just a footnote in her brother's entry - 'His sister Rosa Brett (1829-82) was also an artist.' Come on now, there are better ways of saying that, and we are back to 'his wife, also an artist' territory. So, what's the problem with Rosa Brett?

Snipe at Evening (1869)

Rosa was the sister of John Brett (or, to give him his full name 'No Thank You, John Brett' as Christina Rossetti said).  A bit like Joanna Boyce and Emma Sandys, the connection to the Pre-Raphaelite Bros roped them in, but unlike Joanna (who outshone her brother artistically, in my humble opinion, as I'm not that wild about barns) Rosa and Emma were (and are) always seen as the B-team in the family. It has been written that Rosa assisted her brother with his paintings but didn't take credit. This is an interesting variation on Emma Sandys problem, where some of her paintings were (and possibly still are) credited to her brother.

Thistles (1860)

Back to the cat, Rosa exhibited it under her pseudonym 'Rosaius' - this isn't a male pseudonym, more an androgenous one.  After all, she's not Kevin Rosarius is she?  It was exhibited at the 1858 Royal Academy alongside brother John's The Stonebreaker and reported in The London Press - 'let us draw attention to two pictures in the north room around which no crowds assemble - "The Stonebreaker" by J Brett and "The Hayloft" by Rosarius.  Both are perfect and marvels of accuracy and finish.' I've always wondered if it was an open secret, or if people really didn't know that Rosa was Rosarius.  It does seem a bit of a coincidence that the pair were exhibited together, or at least mentioned in the same breath in that exhibition.  However, in the Art Journal's description of Rosa's 1861 Thistles they commented 'it might be difficult to get more interesting thistles than those...painted by Rosarius, whoever he may be' inferring that some critics at least might not have guessed, but as with Fanny Bunn, who took the pseudonym Peacock, why would a man need such an elaborate disguise?  Also, as the critic who admired the thistles went on to ponder, why is a man spending time on thistles, no matter how perfect?  Doesn't he know there are nude women available?!

Rosa Brett exhibited and there are mentions of her work throughout her life but they are few and far between. This reminds us that not all lady artists got to fulfil their potential, which is a awful thing to say, but why was the painter of The Hayloft not given all the paint and canvas she needed because it's amazing and she was obviously very talented. I saw that even in a 1912 exhibition at the Tate, a small painting possibly by Rosa had been attributed to Millais, which is telling indeed and I bet it got that attribution to raise its price to its owner and lender, Sir Sigismund Neumann. Rosa ended up teaching young ladies to paint and draw, as advertised in the Athenaeum in 1876, which I don't remember seeing many men reduced to, but maybe that was a woman's excellent survival tactic. Am I just being cynical in thinking that women are more likely to be advised to have a fallback position when following their dreams? The pressure on men to succeed must be greater yet the expectation of failure for women in also greater.  Hurrah, everyone leaves disappointed!  Happy Christmas!  

Bunny (1873)

Apologies, back to the lovely cat we began with because it is a very interesting picture.  It is hard to tell if the cat having a little nap is Bunny, Rosa's cat drawn in 1873 (if so, Bunny would have been very old at that point), but she obviously was very good at fur as even in black and white, that cat is fluffy.  One thing I'm always struck by when looking at Catnap is that I concentrate on the cat and miss the very obvious question - whose clothes are those? And why is someone undressed in a hayloft...? We could go with the innocent answer and say that the cat represents a girl who works on the farm and is taking a moment in the middle of the day to remove a few items of clothing (it's a hot day) and have a sneaky snooze.  In that way, the girl becomes the cat, which is a symbol of womanhood as we have discussed.  A less innocent reason is that a young lady farmworker is up in the hayloft decidedly not napping at all, possibly with a farm labourer. Outrageous!

On that note, I'll see you tomorrow...

Sunday 15th December - A Girl Knitting

Is it Sunday? I've had to check, which isn't a good sign as it means I've already lost track of what day we are on.  I need to pull myself together as I have a trip to the tip to look forward to - an exciting British pastime - and I need to do a cooking/baking schedule for this week or else things won't get done. Yes, I am the woman with a schedule. I also need to make marzipan.  I have an odd life, I admit.  Onwards!

Alma Harlon got her parts in Hollywood through her unique and noisy headwear...

As it is Sunday and I'm exhausted, plus I have my bits and bobs to do, I'll see if I can find a nice soothing picture before I start the run down of our last paintings, for which I have some corkers.  How about something a bit continental...?

A Girl Knitting (1874) 

Théodore Gérard

I didn't believe that cats and wool were really a thing until the Chairman came to stay. I understand if a ball of wool is rolling then they chase, but I remember I was knitting with the wool next to me and all of a sudden this little paw appeared and grabbed it.  I told him he was an absolute cliché. I knit a lot and am now extremely mindful of where my wool is in comparison to cat paws, and my basket of wool at the end of the sofa is always being appraised.  It is just a matter of time before he throws himself in and chaos will ensue.

The Collector's Studio (undated)

Gérard was born in Ghent in Belgium in 1829 and studied there, setting himself up as an artist before moving to Brussels when he was 29. He was a prolific painter and exhibited not only widely but, for want of a better word, heavily, having multiple works in single exhibitions and walking away with numerous medals, including Philadelphia in 1876, where he exhibited 8 paintings. He was best known for images of home life, seen more in the German style then French, as commented in Art and Artists of Our Time by Clarence Cook, from 1888, although two of his paintings from Philadelphia had been fashionable scenes of antiquity. Interestingly, Cook argues in his book that the American audience found Gérard's scene to be like stage sets, as for them 'utilitarian ruled rich and poor alike' and the State-side audience were charmed and puzzled by a way of life where customs and pleasure still had a place, which sounds so modern and sad. 

Two Hungry Companions (1878)

There is a gentleness in these pictures, a quiet, home-made way of life which defies our current fast-paced existence. I was horrified to hear that already in 1888, it was felt American had left that behind in favour of money, modernism and merchandise.  Yes, it can be argued that we are looking at gilded poverty, with hunger haunting the doorway and handcrafts being your only option, but there is a feel of appreciation through creation, of having the small skills that are yours.  Looking at the home in Two Hungry Companions, I love the bowl on the floor with its glorious colour and pattern. Both the girls in the above paintings are well dressed and their houses are filled with pretty things, just not as many as the collector whose studio is absolutely filled to the brim.  Possibly we are often in danger of losing the ability to appreciate what we have in this era of aspiration, especially at this time of year it can be tempting to think on what you can't buy, rather than what we have.  If I ever feel a little discontent, a glance at the number of food bank boxes and collection points for Christmas toys for kids that are seemingly everywhere just now, sobers me up.  I've had the sort of year that has brutally emphasised the saying 'Enough is Great Riches' but more to the point, being angry because you think everyone else has more dinner than you won't fill your plate. 

Mr Walker is making his Christmas fudge this afternoon so I have that to look forward to, which is happiness indeed.  I'll catch you tomorrow.

Saturday 14th December - A Cat Standing on Its Hind Legs

 Blimey, only 10 days left of Catvent! I'd best crack on, although to be honest I have a fairly quiet day planned.  I need to sort out my front garden after the storm, which gives you an idea of how rock and roll my lifestyle is...

Today's entry is one of the first I thought of when assembling the list of cats in art, but it is also one of the hardest to talk about because it is so unusual. Whilst Louis Wain did loads of images of cats, the one I think of (and gives me a certain amount of nightmares) has to be this one...

A Cat Standing on Its Hind Legs (c.1925) Louis Wain

The complete title of this trip is A Cat Standing on Its Hind Legs, Formed by Patterns Supposed to be in the 'Early Greek' Style, which is catchy. I remember seeing this in the exhibition at the Museum of the Mind in 2021 and it dazzles and puzzles in equal measure.  In comparison to some of his cuter output, it is hard to know where to start with this psychedelic feline.

Three Cats Performing a Song and Dance Act (c.1920s)

Okay, so even the cuter stuff is somewhat disturbing but there is nothing about these anthropomorphic moggies that hints they are connected to the Paisley explosion above. And A Cat Standing on Its Hind Legs wasn't the only one, as there was an entire series of what Wain called Kaleidoscope Cats...

Kaleidoscope Cat IV (1920s)

These are undoubtedly some of the most extreme cats you will see this Catvent, and since the exhibition and film in 2021, Louis Wain and his cats are now well known as more than just Victorian oddities. His work marks the progress of cats from working creatures to fancy pieces in a way that can be difficult to mark, as we have discussed before. His art moved the discussion of cats from 'hearth and home' to obsession, which I think can be seen reflected in pet ownership today. I heard on the news yesterday that we are spending a titanic amount on presents for our pets this Christmas, more than ever by a massive percentage. How you feel about that is beside the point (honestly, yes, people are starving and charities are on their knees, but it is people's own money and I bet the people spending big on Mr Fluffles are also donating to food banks) but it tells you that our pets are members of the family and we include them in a major way.

Still from The Electric World of Louis Wain (2021)

I don't think anyone is surprised that the biggest collection of Louis Wain pictures in public hands is owned by the Wellcome Collection, a museum that looks at the history of health.  Further to that, the exhibition was at the Museum of the Mind at St Bethlehem's hospital or 'Bedlam', where Wain spent some time. If you search for Wain on Google, the suggested additions to 'Louis Wain' include both 'cats' and 'schizophrenia' only one of which he had in his lifetime.   Wain has become a member of the 'mental health artists' club, with Van Gogh and Richard Dadd, where their art and lives are very much entangled and up for constant debate.  Now, you know me, I love a bit of biography in work, but problems arise when all we have to work with are outdated terms, the accounts of their peers and the biases of the modern art historian.  Given the information I can find, I would say that it was possible Wain was autistic, what with the utter absorption in cats and inability to deal with the pace of modern living, but obviously that term did not exist in the early 20th century and those writing about him, let alone diagnose him did not have that framework to apply so it is absolutely impossible to say.  He also sustained a head injury later in life, before he was committed, and his sister Marie spent a considerable amount of time in an asylum too. He was widowed within three years of marriage to his sister's nanny, and his constant and beloved companion during thie time was the couple's kitten Peter.  

I Am Happy Because Everyone Loves Me (1920s-30s)

Just reading a brief summary of Wain's life is exhausting as he had so much energy and talent but it was all hyperfocused on cats which made him unique and, to the modern eye, mentally ill. He was beset by familial deaths and dependence and all the time he is drawing cats in clothes.  He made a living and a legacy, not just for himself but for cats.  He became the president of the National Cat Club, elevating cats forever from being mousers to being objects of pride and competition.  Let's be honest, the Cat Standing on Its Hind Legs isn't off catching mice, it is art, presence and electric power. It is the 1960s psychodelia in the 1920s. 

My Beautiful Hairy Son...

There is a bit in the film of Wain's life where he says the lines in a tabby cat's fur are made by the lightening that struck their mother. I could draw the connection to genetic mental health conditions but I won't because I think Louis Wain, Van Gogh and all the other artists that ever had differences that made them and their lives different possibly deserve to also be appreciated simply as amazing artists. Hannah Gadsby's Nanette discusses mental health and art in far more eloquent ways than I can, so I'll just leave you with this - thanks to the work and passion of Louis Wain, Chairman Meow is treated like an absolute king in our household because he is beautiful, not because he is useful. I'm sure the Chairman would like to thank him especially because he is a happy cat because everyone loves him.

I'll see you tomorrow.