Return of the wild

In celebration of World Wildlife Day – also for my husband’s upcoming birthday, as he requested this post – I am sharing a pictorial review of near-extinct UK species now returning to the wild, as well as those species particularly under threat by HS2. (Note: All images, unless otherwise noted, are from Shutterstock.)

Brits have long struck me as a nation of obsessive animal lovers – and we’re not talking about domestic pets like cats and dogs here, but the adorable and seemingly unique creatures such as hedgehogs and badgers, among others, that have long inhabited favourite TV programmes, children’s stories, coastlines, woodlands, and even back gardens or sheds, for those lucky enough to glimpse live creatures instead of roadkill.

Yet although Britain has lost hundreds of species – some 413 flora and fauna went extinct in the past 200 years, most within the past century, according to Rewilding Britain – the good news is that many species have been successfully reintroduced to the wild, and some are even flourishing. This includes golden eagles (pictured above), and the droves of red kites (below, top right) that daily circle the woods behind my Buckinghamshire home, their outstretched wings gracefully swooping above me as they hunt for prey or carrion.

Some previously extinct or seriously declining species began to be reintroduced as far back as the late 1700s or early 1800s. These include Scotland’s capercaillie bird (above, main pic)*, the Great Bustard (or Otis tarda, top left, reintroduced in 1832, as per the capercaillie) and red squirrels (top middle, reintroduced in 1793).

Apparently, the late Victorians, appalled at the rate of extinction, attempted other reintroductions of former native British species. These include reindeer, elk, wolves, lynx (pic 2 below), wild boar, Eurasian bison (pic 3) and beavers (pic 1), with the latter finally – only 120 years later – successfully reintroduced in a formal Scottish trial in 2009 (in addition, they have recently been reintroduced to Loch Lomond for the first time in over 400 years). The first four bison – three females and a bull – were delivered from Germany last year to a 210-hectare rewilding site, Wilder Blean Woods in north Kent, managed by Kent Wildlife Trust and the Wildwood Trust.

Such keystone species are an essential part of our native ecosystem, and in fact help shape, create and nurture the land, even helping to shift the course of rivers.

So while the Victorians might have a lot to answer for in terms of their love and endless pushing for progress (among other things), at least they began to smell the extinction coffee long before some of their present ecological emergency and climate change-denying ‘Luddite’ descendants (here’s looking at you, Steve Baker MP)**.

But thank God such resistance, despite a clear climate and ecological emergency, hasn’t stopped other British nature- and wildlife lovers from pressing on with species reintroduction programmes across the British Isles, most notably in Scotland.

“While the Victorians have a lot to answer for in terms of their endless pushing for progress (among other things), at least they began to smell the extinction coffee long before their present ecological emergency and climate change-denying ‘Luddite’ descendants”

Since the mid-to-late 20th century, many other successful reintroductions have been made. Among these are Britain’s largest bird of prey, the white-tailed eagle or sea eagle (below). Sea eagles, brought to the UK from Norway, were first re-established on the Scotland’s west coast in 1975. They bred in 1983 for the first time in over 70 years, and there are now over 152 pairs. They have even been spotted along the South Coast of England after 240 years.

More recent reintroductions of extinct or dramatically declined species include (clockwise, from top left, as shown below) 1) the chequered skipper butterfly (Caterocephalus palaemon – not to be confused with the large chequered skipper); 2) the northern pool frog (Pelophylax lessonae); 3) the large marsh grasshopper (Stethophyma grossum); 4) the little bittern (Ixobrychus minutus); 5) the sand lizard (Lacerta agilis); 6) the orange tip butterfly (Anthocharis cardamines); 7) the natterjack toad (Epidalea calamita); 8) the strikingly coloured ladybird spider (Eresus sandaliatus); 9) the pine marten (Martes martes); 10) the sea hawk or osprey (Pandion haliaetus); 11) the corncrake (Crex crex); 12) the large blue (Maculinea aurion) butterfly; 13) the northern lapwing (Vanellus vanellus); and (14) the smooth snake (Coronella austriaca).***

In addition, other extinct or disappeared species of flora that enable these species to thrive again are also being restored through various habitat restoration projects. Seagrasses, which support native oyster populations – a long overexploited and near-decimated mollusc – are once again beginning to flourish again in Loch Craignish following careful and dedicated work by Scottish charity Seawilding, as reported by the Guardian. This is essential, says reporter Phoebe Weston, because “Native oysters create nursery habitats for fish, improve water quality, remove nitrogen from the water and sequester carbon.”

“Native oysters create nursery habitats for fish, improve water quality, remove nitrogen from the water and sequester carbon”

Phoebe weston (@phoeb0), the Guardian, 31.12.21

In the same way, mosses, such as Sphagnum moss (below), while perhaps seemingly less urgent in terms of reintroduction or restoration projects than some of the other species above, nevertheless play a crucial part in creating the conditions for other bog-loving species – sundews, invertebrates and fungi – to survive. They are also part of nature’s very own ‘carbon capture and sequestration’ (CCS) system (see graph below, from ‘How Nature Helps Fights Climate Change’ [from DW Global Media Forum]).

Two species of sphagnum moss, papillose bog moss and red bog moss, were reintroduced in late 2021 to Astley Moss, a UK peatland site in Greater Manchester; likewise, lesser bladderwort was reintroduced nearby after it had become extinct over 100 years ago. Both are part of the Greater Manchester Wetland Species Reintroduction Project, which is currently working to reintroduce several rare plant peatland moss and species, such as common and hares-tail cotton grass, cross-leaved heath moss, the carnivorous great sundew, the oblong-leaved sundew, the lesser bladderwort, and other rare wetlands specialists including white-beaked sedge and bog asphodel.

Restoring these native plant species will also encourage other native wetland species to return. For example, the charity is also currently working to reintroduce the formerly extinct (last seen 100 years ago) large heath butterfly (Coenonympha tullia, left****), the locally extinct bog bush cricket and one of the UK’s rarest dragonflies, the white-faced darter.

HS2’s threat to native species

While supporting charities and local wildlife reintroduction projects like the Manchester project is clearly essential, what else can we do to help our land and restore our once gloriously diverse wildlife – even to see these once-extinct species brought back to life and flourishing once again in Britain’s ‘green and pleasant land’?

“While supporting local wildlife reintroduction projects is clearly essential, what else can we do to help heal our land and restore our once gloriously diverse wildlife? … Well, for a start, we could stop any more unnecessary deforestation or habitat destruction such as is currently being done by HS2.”

Well, for a start, we could do our best to stop any more unnecessary deforestation or habitat destruction, such as is currently being done by HS2 – the high-speed railway project currently carving up huge swathes of British countryside, destroying many habitats in its wake, and threatening to drive to extinction many already rare, endangered and protected species that were supposedly protected under various UK, European and international environmental protection laws, as I previously reported.

Specific British animals under threat from HS2, as shown in my own hand-drawn poster above, carried by fellow HS2 protestor Sylvia Baronin von Hahn, include (clockwise from top left): 1) the great crested newt (Triturus cristatus); 2) Brandt’s bat (Myotis brandti); 3) Serotine’s bat (Eptesicus serotinus); 4) the hazel dormouse (Muscardinus avellanarius); 5) the barn owl (Tyto alba); 6) the European water vole (Arvicola amphibius); 7) the tawny owl (Strix aluco); 8) Reeve’s muntjac (Muntiacus reevesi – while not a native species, they were introduced to the UK from China in 1838); 9) the European or Eurasian badger (Meles meles); 10) the polecat (Mustela putorius); and 11) the lesser spotted woodpecker (Dryobates minor), in addition to other species currently being reintroduced, as mentioned above (eg lapwings and orange-tipped butterflies).

It does grieve my heart no end to see what was once such an ecologically diverse, rich and life-sustaining countryside being so callously destroyed. Where are Britain’s supposed animal lovers when you really need them? Why aren’t they standing in front of Westminster, like me and my friends, or encamped in trees in various ancient woodlands at risk from HS2, risking prison to try to save them?

“Where are Britain’s supposed animal lovers when you really need them? Why aren’t they standing in front of Westminster, like me and my friends, or encamped in trees in various ancient woodlands at risk from HS2, risking prison to try to save them?”

I’m truly grateful for the heroes I’ve known who spent long months in jail because they cared enough about these “least of these” to try to protect them; to me, they truly are “the best of British” (meaning of course the people – not the animals!).

Okay, that’s my little anti-HS2 rant over – for now. Meanwhile, I’ll leave you with a final pic of everyone’s favourite – and now also highly endangered – British animal species: the hedgehog (Erinaceinae). Plus a stamp from Britain’s very long-ago past (eg 1963 – 60 years ago, during a ‘National Nature Week’ – what happened to that? And note the use of shillings!). This shows that, once upon a time, Brits did care about their flora and fauna. Thank God for those who still do, and are working hard to bring them back to life.

*Capercaillie numbers have since declined by 40% in the past 15years, due mostly to habitat loss and climate change. There are now only around 1,000 left.
**Several of us in my local environmental activist group, XR Chilterns, attempted to meet with Steve Baker ahead of the Climate and Ecological Emergency (CEE) Bill being signed into Parliament; he pretended to listen politely (as politicians do so well), then promptly joined an anti-global warming ‘think tank’. It’s clear that while he claims to be against HS2, he believes material prosperity and ‘progress’ is more important than nature.
** From Wikipedia, under Creative Commons Licence
***As above

Reflections on my writing journey: from journalist to aspiring novelist

When I first began this blog in late 2019/early 2020, I was coming from a place of some 25+ years as a professional freelance/full-time journalist. Being wired as a journalist means I have an in-built sense of urgency and nose for news, well as a plethora of ideas for feature-length articles and interviews, etc, such as those listed in my recent blog post (Questions for my readers).

However, I also began this blog with a desire to find my true direction and voice as a writer; I knowingly called it “a journey through the bigger picture” for that reason. I initially carried on in my journalist vein writing about many of the big issues – eg climate change, sustainability, the devastation of nature through ill-conceived projects like HS2, etc – in addition to writing about my other passions, eg art, travel, salsa.

During this time, I’ve been gradually evolving from a full-time freelance journalist to a full-time, aspiring novelist (more on that below). I may well continue to take freelance commissions as and when they come, as well as add other articles, etc to this blog, but because my work in progress (WIP) is increasingly taking the majority of my writing time, I wish to inform my readers (whether new to this blog or a long-term subscriber) about this direction, as it will likely affect the content I post here.*  

An exciting journey

It is interesting and exciting to see where this particular journey is leading me. Although I have been writing creatively all of my life – my first loves were poetry (some published) and short stories; I also wrote a full-length fantasy novella for my English Literature and Creative Writing degree from Bard College, New York as an additional Narnia chronicle, since I took CS Lewis’s Narnia characters and transplanted them to Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, as well as a children’s story; and there’s probably at least 200 notebooks and scraps of paper filled with multiple scribbled ‘Ideas for Novels’ during the course of my life – it was thanks to Covid that I finally decided to take one of those ideas and sit down daily to bash it out.

As I always do, I’ll shout the praises of the London Writers’ Salon, as well as its Weekend Writers’ offshoot, for not only providing a daily set writing space(s)/time(s) for writing and a tremendous global writing community, but for the many fantastic interviews with other writers across different genres and styles. I am still feeling deeply inspired by a recent interview with ‘brave new writing voice’ Jonathan Escoffery, author of stellar debut breakthrough If I Survive You, particularly his comments about the different types of “propulsive energy” (eg the energy and dynamic that propels a story) of short stories versus novels, as well as a stirring interview with Pulitzer Prize-nominated playwright Sarah Ruhl.

Escoffery’s comments have also made me reflect on how the requirements for a journalist in conveying news differs from those a novelist uses in telling a story, whichever length or form that may take.

While a journalist’s job in reporting the news is to ensure the main questions (who? what? when? where? how? why?) are answered in the first few paragraphs, a novelist or storyteller must ensure the key elements that make for satisfying and dynamic story-telling are all there: interesting, well-rounded yet humanly flawed (and therefore relatable) characters; gripping plot twists, filled with high-stakes drama; an authentic, credible voice for each character/point of view (POV), which is also linguistically true to its geographic and temporal locations; lively dialogue; evocative, painterly settings and details; rich, sensorial and occasionally startling language, littered with literary devices such as simile, metaphor and allusion, etc; and lastly a very well-defined story arc and compelling conclusion that neatly ties up every plot line while delivering that all-important punch.

The business of writing

In addition to making these mental transitions, I’ve also been learning loads (specifically about historical fiction, as that is the genre I am currently writing in), through the recent Historical Fiction 2023 convention run by History Quill. This has been not only about the actual craft of writing – for example, where and how to research effectively; polishing your dialogue so that it is both relevant to the period and yet comprehensible to a contemporary audience, yet without any anachronistic ‘wokeness’; or perhaps by analysing the prose styles of other masters of this genre, such as prize-winning Wolf Hall trilogy author Hilary Mantel – but also the (at times even more daunting) business side of writing.

While it is true I was not taught some of this business stuff at university, even if I had been, the publishing landscape – like the journalism landscape of the past 15–20 years, particularly – has changed dramatically, and will only continue to do so. The advent of new technologies and practices such as artificial intelligence (AI), non-fungible tokens (NFTs) and self-publishing (now generally referred to as the ‘indie’ or independent route, as opposed to the traditional or ‘trad’ publishing route) has shaken up the publishing industry as least as much as the work from home (WFH) revolution is shaking up the world of work.

Where will it all end up? And which route will I end up taking? That’s very hard to say at this point – for the moment, I am just focusing on getting the actual writing of the first draft done. What started out as one book has now migrated to being a three-part story (tentatively titled ‘Netsuke: A Novel in Three Parts’), and may well end up as a three-book trilogy. Who knows where this journey will ultimately lead?

I’ve already completed Part I (working title: ‘The Journey Out’), with 12 chapters at just under 70,000 words; I am 2.5 chapters away from the end of Part II (working title: ‘In Japan’), which is already 15 chapters at around 95,000 words; and I have yet to write Part III (‘The Return’), which will likely be another 10–12 chapters/80,000 words. It’s a lot of work, and specifically – since it is historical fiction, a new genre for me – an endless amount of research.

After I’ve finished writing the basic story in first-draft form, I’ll then have to go back to cut and revise mercilessly; polish and sharpen my characters (specifically, intensifying their internal conflicts and honing their POV voice); and add nuance, subtlety and refinement to the language. Then I’ll need to have it fact-, language- and regional sensitivity-checked, and likely passed to an external editor (developmental and/or structural, as even editors need editors) while searching for a literary agent who can hopefully land me a book (+ potential film and/or Netflix series) deal.

Since it has already been just over two years in the works, I’m sure this process will take me at least another full year, possibly more – so, watch this space!! (For further information on my WIP and processes, see also the next two blog posts.)

Jane, aka Small Writer at Large

*Note: As I have also been recovering from total knee replacement (TKR) surgery in recent months, this has affected my ability to dance and/or travel (sustainably or not), however I am looking forward to resuming both in the not-too-distant future (for example, I am travelling soon to Dublin to see Christian, artist and fellow writer friends). Also, there is quite a lot happening with HS2 currently, and I do plan to join Extinction Rebellion’s (XR’s) ‘Big One’ event in London in April, so will likely write about these.

Questions for my readers: I need your help!

Dear readers:

Having hit my three-year anniversary of writing this blog, I’d like to ask for your feedback in terms of its further/future development. Whether you have only recently subscribed or subscribed a while ago, I am very grateful for your readership, comments, likes and shares.

Those who have been reading for a while will note I have focused, as per the descriptor at the top of the blog, on my main activities and passions as a writer/journalist, traveller, eco warrior, dancer, artist and believer. While each of these is a vital to my life, the true nature of life is change – it is never static. Life is an ongoing journey of discovery and development, which was why I subtitled the blog “a journey through the bigger picture”, as I meant to chronicle my own journey(s), as well as (hopefully) to encourage your own.

So, as this post-new year time of coming out of winter and heading into spring is usually a process of reflection and refining, I’d love some feedback from you on which topic(s) interest you most. Please see the list below and utilise the interactive tools and kindly add any comments/feedback at the end.

In terms of my own writing journey, I’ve been gradually transitioning from being a full-time/freelance journalist, copy/content writer and editor to a creative writer/novelist – specifically, of historical fiction – as I have dreamed of being all my life. I always intended to travel and live a lot, and then it down and write about it all; it seems that ‘eventually’ is finally here! So, after years of filling multiple journals – probably at least 150 (and God knows how many envelopes and scraps of scribbled-on paper) – with ideas for novels and paintings during my 50+ years on the planet, I am finally beginning to do just that.

Thanks to our inability to travel anywhere during Covid, or for me to go running off into London or abroad endlessly for work, art and salsa events, etc, I decided to pick just one idea for a novel and commit myself to it. Thus far, I have written over 150,000 words of the first draft of an ambitious epic three-part historical fiction novel (WIP title: Netsuke, A Novel in Three Parts), set in 17th century Amsterdam and early Edo-era/Tokugawa Japan. It is a mix of action and adventure (pirates! shipwreck! sea battles! samurai swordfights!), romance (spoiler alert: not exactly the happy-ever-after kind) and worldview – and, of course, art (Dutch Golden Age and Japanese). I am loosely describing it as “Shogun meets Memoirs of a Geisha meets Girl with a Pearl Earring”.

While this is an ongoing and time-consuming project (and is likely to be so for at least another year or more), the main reason I have failed to publish a blog post recently (apart from the fact I am recovering from major knee surgry) is that I’ve had such an array of topics on my mind, I could not decide which to write about, as below. Some of these may be more suitable to pitch out to other publications/publishers* – hopefully for pay! – but, as the title of my blog indicates, I am always a journalist and writer “at large” (in the free-roaming rather than the criminal fugitive sense, of course!).

Meanwhile, these are the topics I’ve considered writing about; please let me know if you are really interested in any of them. It is always far easier for me to bash out an article then to write a Shogun-length novel as I am doing, but I do get ideas for both all the time, so possibly by the time I’m ready to upload this, I will have had several more!

  • Artificial intelligence (AI) and creativity – I’ve been having lots of interesting conversations on this theme with fellow journalists and creatives; since it is widely expected to be the next big thing shaping our world, how will it affect us all?
  • Women and anger – Recent conversations have sparked thoughts about women’s anger – while usually characterised as a negative attribute by men, it has often catalysed much-needed change, and is therefore of inestimable value.
  • Japonisme: The West’s enduring fascination with all things Japanese – Being that I am writing a novel in part inspired by Japanese art and Japan’s historical connection with the West (via the Portuguese and the Dutch East India Company – and later the British East India Company – through trade), I’m very interested in exploring the lasting richness of cultural exchange.
  • Growthism’s impact on the UK’s biodiversity and tree loss – Not just HS2, but virtually all of the infrastructure projects currently planned or in development will have devastating impacts on our environment. Is it time to rethink this concept?
  • Where would we be without nature? – Our natural world is increasingly under threat. Yet encounters with nature are vital to our mental and spiritual wellbeing.
  • Salsa: Then and Now – Recent conversations with fellow salsa veterans have prompted thoughts about how – and why – the salsa scene is constantly reinventing itself, and where this is leading to. I’m considering relevant interviewees, but please get in touch with suggestions!
  • Sustainable travel alternatives in Europe – I am very encouraged by recent developments in this area and wish to inform and urge fellow travel afficionados to consider travel options with less harmful impacts on our threatened environment.
  • Soldiering on – The daily battles for our mind, emotions and faith are increasing. How can we be better equipped to fight these?

As I move forward with my novel, I have also realised I will need to begin to grow a prospective audience for this, perhaps by writing/blogging about it here – or perhaps even serialise it, chapter by chapter, by self-publishing here on this blog. Therefore, please also let me know if this interests you.

I thank you in advance for your feedback – please either post in the comments at the end of this blog, or alternatively use the interactive poll below (once I have figured out how to insert this).

Jane

*Note: I do usually – or at least often, or when there are no pre-publication clauses in effect – co- or republish to/from this blog.

PS. For those of you who are new to this blog or wish to read on, the next articles describe my writerly journey since I first began this blog in December/January 2019/2020 as a journalist and activist to where I am now on my journey as a newbit historical fiction writer.

Happy Twixmas! – or ‘Twelfth Night, Or What You Will’

What can you do with the in-between Christmas and New Year ‘Twixmas’ period – or the traditional extended Twelfth Night period, as per Shakespeare’s play? Dedicated to anyone still waiting for a true Epiphany (and all fellow history nerds).

I’m writing today out of a need to make sense of what has felt like a particularly difficult, amorphous and inchoate in-between period – the week-long wintry gap some clever spark has christened ‘Twixmas’ – the period twixt Christmas and New Year.

Being that I’ve been stuck at home while recovering from a total knee replacement (TKR) op in late November, this year’s Twixmas has been a particularly challenging time. Not being able to go out and socialise – particularly dancing salsa – as a bit of ‘comic relief’ from my daily, occasionally isolated grind as a writer / journalist / editor / artist-in-progress has been tough. Although I am beginning to see improvement in my mobility and flexion angles, it will be at least another 6.5 weeks or more before I can resume ‘normal’ activities, eg full-time work (I can only do two hours max at a computer at the moment) and hopefully dancing – but even so, I may have to put up with on-off pain, swelling and stiffness for a while longer.

I initially embraced this, recalling how good the previous Covid lockdowns had been for me – I’d finally begun writing that novel, and even not dancing brought a whole new group of online friends via the Facebook Co-Beat party, as well as engaging with other online groups such as my regular online portrait sessions, which I believe have helped my art skills grow.

But perhaps after so many strained Covid Christmases, this particular Twixmas has suddenly sucked the life out of me, as even my creative muses seem to have abandoned me. As writer’s block has forced me to take a break from novel-writing, I have shifted to this blog.

Twixmas blues, New Year worries

Apparently, it’s not uncommon for many to feel a kind of post-Christmas blues as the frenzy of present-buying, card-sending and festive feasting/gathering starts to fade, leaving only a tawdry taste of tattered tinsel (or, in our case, loads of prickly pine needles from a dead-too-early Christmas tree seemingly in every nook and cranny of our house), and the relentless grey skies and inclement weather conspire to keep us stuck indoors, trapped in endless television and social media repeats or facing piles of increasingly tasteless leftovers.    

Coupled with that, many are beset with fresh anxieties at the thought of making yet another set of new year resolutions, particularly when these are all-too-familiar repeats of last year’s. Looking within to consider how to be a better, fuller you, you can easily get discouraged at your many failings – that gym membership you took out and barely used; those still-not-lost pounds; that noxious habit still ruling your life; that promotion you’re too afraid to ask for; that career or relationship rut that still feels impossible to exit.

Or perhaps all the key relationships in your immediate horizon are either non-existent or fraught with toxic tensions you feel helpless to resolve. And God help the more vulnerable in our society, particularly the old and infirm faced with choices of eating or heating, or struggling to get a hospital bed in the face of NHS strikes!  

Meanwhile, the war in the Ukraine rattles on; Trump remains unincarcerated, though perhaps that might end soon; despite endless PM changes, the Tories are still in charge, choking key workers in transport, health and postal sectors while deliberately sabotaging democratic rights to protest; and even Covid is still affecting many, most notably in China.

Climate change continues to get worse: 60+ and rising are dead from a killer deep-freeze in the US. Yet still, all we get is greenwash and vague pledges towards renewables investment while keeping hold of ‘convenient’ fossil fuels, or worse, committing to fresh coal mines or even fracking. Despite scientists continually warning us that we’re already approaching dangerous tipping points for total climate catastrophe, most people would rather stop their ears than forgo that long-awaited long-haul holiday flight or buy in an ‘unaffordable’ electric vehicle. Even the most ardent eco activist could be forgiven for feeling like giving up!  

When silence truly is golden

So, how can we break out of this stagnant-seeming period when grey skies dull our spirits and any hopes of a new year or a new us still seem so far away, or even completely unattainable? What can we do to help us snap out of this particular slough of despond?

Perhaps the answer lies in actually doing nothing. Instead of rushing to find a ‘cure’ for whatever ails us, we could try taking time out to give our relentless drive for productivity and progression a real rest. Be a human being rather than a human doing. Allow a period of dormancy, inactivity, hibernation – or even simply lots of sleep – to reframe our energies. Even when it comes to the dreaded writers’ block, sometimes the best approach is simply to take a complete break so you can come back to it afresh, with new eyes.  

This is, after all, is the pattern and example of nature; many animals sleep through the entire winter. The soil and its varied life forms lie still, deep in the hush below the surface. The trees have shaken off their leaves and the ground lies fallow; snow falls and blankets the landscape, like a giant white duvet beckoning us to curl up inside and stay in a warm and cosy dreamland, coiled in foetal positions as if recalling a time unborn. All the riotous colour, vibrant, noisy, lively activity of summer is a distant memory; it will be some months before we see the first snowdrops or hear the robin heralding spring.

If nature needs an annual period of dormancy, stillness, silence and seeming deadness in order to revive and flourish once again, surely we as human creatures also need times of inactivity before our souls, minds, bodies and creativity can be reinvigorated?

Anyone who knows me will tell you I can talk for Britain (and likely Ireland and the US as well), and am always busy running around trying to cram 50 things in a day. So for someone like me, having to stay home, rest, be still and quiet – even hushing my usually hyperactive brain and restless tongue – is never an easy or painless task. In fact, it’s bl**** difficult!

Yet I do know from past experience then whenever I’ve spent a long time fighting, striving, working hard, and relentlessly pushing myself to achieve or produce without taking proper rest breaks, I can very easily burn out or ‘lose the plot’ as things get out of balance, both internally and externally. Eventually, either my body breaks down or I enter into some amorphous, inchoate head space, where everything feels out of balance, as if nothing is tangible or I’m losing my grip on everything – even the ability to string words together into coherent sentences and give voice to what I’m feeling. When even a wordy wordsmith like me loses the clarity or ability to speak or write, there is nothing for it but total, complete absence of sound. A complete whiteout of words, maybe even music. Just…. silence.

“The word ‘hovering’ describes exactly what we are doing in this in-between, Twixmas period: waiting for new life to emerge. It offers a valuable time to embrace the silence before words; the darkness before light; the formlessness before shape.”

But in taking time out to embrace this, I see how golden silence and stillness truly are. My soul actually cries out for times where all sound is suspended in a deep, luscious, duvet-warm hush. For how can we understand music without the breaks or pauses hidden inside the flow of sounds? And how can we understand poetry without the breaks that frame it? Or art, without the blank spaces that surround the images? Indeed, how does form even exist without an adjacent formlessness?

“In the beginning… the Earth was without form and empty, and darkness was over the face of the face of the deep” the book of Genesis tells us. Yet in the midst of this formless, empty space, “the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters” (Genesis 1:2). Suddenly God says, “let there be light”, and immediately within that golden light, which stood out so brilliantly against the inchoate, amorphous, endless night, all of creation came into being. But first there was an empty space before new life could emerge. Yet before this, what’s happening is hovering (meaning “staying in the same position in the air” or “remaining in or near one place”).

The word ‘hovering’ describes exactly what we are doing in this in-between, Twixmas period: waiting for new life to emerge. It offers a valuable time to embrace the silence before words; the darkness before light; the formlessness before shape.

Roll on Epiphany (or Twelfth Night)!                                   

Some people have commented that this ‘hovering’ between Christmas and the new year seems particularly prolonged this year because both Christmas and New Year’s Day have fallen on a Sunday, meaning (at least in the UK) that the festive period is extended another few days as bank holidays.

While perhaps most will welcome the extra time off, for others it may feel a bit like prolonging the agony. Yet historically – or at least since the Council of Tours decided to make it so in 567 AD – this in-between period officially ended with the feast of the Epiphany, usually celebrated on 6 January (or 5 January, in reference to Twelfth Night [aka Epiphany Eve, similar to our own calendar-based New Year’s Eve]).

Most of us will be familiar with the idea of the traditional Twelfth Night feast and celebrations (as shown in the image below, replete with fools or jesters, lovers and people wearing crowns) through the title of Shakespeare’s play of the same name, or the classic Christmas carol “The 12 days of Christmas”), traditionally, the 12 days between Jesus’ birth (day 1) and the appearance of the Magi (day 12).*

The festival of Epiphany first originated in the Eastern or Orthodox church, which split from Rome during the Great Schism of 1054, however even before that, and as early as 354 AD, Christ’s birth began to be celebrated on 25 December, with the Roman church also celebrating Epiphany on 6 January.

Epiphany was created in honour of the Magi (the three wise men – Caspar, Melchior and Balthazzar), who came from the East bearing gifts for the infant Jesus, predominantly because the presence of non-Jewish foreigners at Jesus’ crib signifed that the Jewish Messiah also came for the Gentiles. The Magi’s gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh is also the origin of Christmas gift-giving. The gold was particularly in honour of Christ’s – the everlasting king’s – kingship; frankincense, which was traditionally burned in the Jewish temple as an offering to God, represented Jesus’s deity, an affirmation that he is both God and man; while myrrh – traditionally used to embalm bodies – foreshadowed Jesus’s death.

The tradition of gift-giving later became associated with the 4th century Saint Nikolaos, bishop of Myra (Asia Minor), who was famed for his fondness for giving gifts. In the German version of this story, St Nikolaos would go out on his rounds of gift-giving to children on the eve of Epiphany (5 January), carrying a book with records of their behaviour. He was usually accompanied by ‘Knecht’ (or servant) Ruprecht, a sinister figure who carried a big sack on his back in which he would put all the naughty children.

Eventually, this figure (Knecht Rupert) became associated with the Christ child and was rolled into the idea of St Nikolas to create a new figure, the Weihnachtsmann, or Father Christmas – aka Santa Claus – with the time frame moving to Christmas Eve.

So now you know where all that Santa stuff came from, and why we now exchange gifts at Christmas rather than Epiphany! (I hope this encourages anyone whose Christmas parcels got lost or delayed in the post due to the postal strikes – or perhaps is still delivering them in person – you’re still effectively in the Christmastide period!)

New Year resolutions – from then to now

So, how did we move from the traditional reflective soul-searching marked in most Christian liturgical calendars as Advent – eg the period from 27 November to Christmas Eve (24 December), a time of fasting ending with a celebratory feast – to this current Twixmas tradition of soul-searching and reflection before making a list of New Year resolutions?

Apparently, the idea of new year resolutions predates the Christian church, as the ancient Babylonians were the first to do this some 4,000 years ago. For them, the new year began in mid-March when the crops were planted (for Jews it doesn’t happen until mid-September; Chinese New Year 2023 starts on 22 January; and no doubt other cultures acknowledge different dates). The Babylonians had a 12-day celebration (Akitu) to mark the occasion, where they promised the gods they would pay off their debts and return any objects they’d borrowed, believing the gods would favour them if they kept their promises.

We actually have Julius Caesar, circa 46 BC, to thank for establishing the first of January as the official beginning of the new year. The month of January is so named in honour of the two-faced god Janus, who symbolically looked backwards to the old year and forward to the new. Like the Babylonians before them, the Romans believed if they sacrificed to Janus and kept their promises of good conduct in the new year, they would be blessed with good fortune.

As with other pagan traditions, early Christians later appropriated this, using the beginning of the new year to reflect on the mistakes of the previous year and resolve to do better in the new year. John Wesley set up a new tradition of a New Year’s Eve ‘Watch Night’ in 1740, and now many denominations use New Year’s Eve as a time to pray and make resolutions for the new year.

But with an increasingly secularised society, most of these traditions of making promises to God or gods – Christian or pagan – have been replaced by a time of reflection and making resolutions to ourselves. This is now often a series of vows we make to be better, do better, than we did in the previous year, based on our personal reflection and evaluations of the year just gone.

Remarkably, even if only 8% of new year resolutions are actually kept, we still persist with this ritual – which goes to show that, whether our approach is spiritual or secular, some part of our soul recognises a need to use some time out for reflection as a springboard for personal growth and development, which has only become increasingly associated with the new year ever since the early 19th century (or some would argue even the 17th century).  

So how will you mark the new year?

Perhaps the best approach to this reflective Advent/new year/Twelfth Night/Epiphany period is to ask ourselves questions: What are my core values? How well did what I actually did or achieved in the previous year align with my values? Is there anything I could or should change so that my daily life actually matches the things I believe in or hold most dear?

Perhaps, as our London Writers’ Salon end-of-year workshop suggested, we could start by making a list of all the things we are grateful for from the previous year. We can then make another list of what we’d like or know we need to leave behind, and perhaps identify five key words to characterise what we desire to be or do in the new year. (You can also see here for a downloadable PDF of further tools and tips for new year reflections, as suggested by a fellow LWS writer).

As for me, having slogged through/still slogging through a challenging Twixmas and choosing to accept this period of rest and quietude, I am looking forward to a Twelfth Night ‘epiphany’ – eg “a moment of sudden insight or understanding” – that will help me break my current writer’s block and suddenly see how I can tie up a few confusing plot issues so as to (hopefully) finally finish Part II, which was my original goal for the end of the year. I’m grateful that not only are there a range of alternative ends and starts of new years to choose from, but that as of the end of 2022, I’ve so far written 82,860 words of Part II.

I give thanks to God and to all those who have supported me in both my writing and knee op recovery period – and I look forward not only to completing Part II, but starting the final Part III of the first draft of my historical fiction novel, as well as finally (hopefully!) being able to dance again! I am personally ending this year with God’s promise that “They that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles. They shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint” (Isaiah 40: 31). Thank you, Lord, for being the Yes and Amen to that!

Meanwhile, I wish you all a very happy new year full of good things – whenever and however you choose to celebrate it.  

Jane

*Note: There is some discrepancy regarding the actual dates, based on whether you count the day of Christ’s birth as celebrated on 25 December, as day one of the 12 days of Christmas – sometimes called ‘Christmastide’, as the English christened it – or the day after, eg the 26th; this accounts for occasionally fuzzy overlap between the 5th and 6th of January.

To confuse or prolong this period even further, yet another Christian tradition sees Candlemas, or the ‘Feast of the Presentation of Christ’ in the temple (according to Jewish tradition, the circumcision and purification ceremony would have been done 33 days after Jesus’ birth), as the final consummation of the entire Christmas cycle. Candlemas is typically celebrated with many lit candles to signify Jesus as the Light of the World. Candlemas is traditionally held on the 2nd of February, marking a total 40 days around the birth of Jesus.

‘Blessed are they that mourn’: A very real calling in a time of climate crisis

I’ve been asking the Lord recently about what He has called me to do and be in this time of climate and ecological emergency, where so many species are threatened with extinction, and the climate is warming at a frighteningly accelerated rate.

While some of us as believers may be aware of our calling to be stewards of His creation (Genesis 1:28 and 2:15, Jeremiah 2:7, Deuternomony 11:12), it’s hard to think of what we as individuals can really achieve when governments (such as the UK’s) and corporations are the ‘powers that be’ currently reversing net-zero goals and continuing to promote Earth- and nature-destroying fossil fuels while supposedly prioritising growthism and the economy. Do we just pray, or do we get involved as activists in local or national and global campaigns, such as petitioning for the UK government to pass the Climate and Ecology Bill? Are we to allow fear of what is coming to affect us, or do we remain hopeful, trusting God to deliver us from such a time of intense tribulation forecast to come to the Earth, both by most scientists and the Book of Revelation?

I’ve believed all my life that we are living in the last days, which Jesus describes as a time of great difficulty on the Earth, with the roaring and tossing seas perplexing many (Luke 21:25) and bringing great distress to its peoples, particularly those who are more vulnerable such as nursing mothers with small children (Luke 21:23). The latter is one reason I have never sought to have children of my own, though of course I care deeply about my stepgrandchildren and their futures, and about the futures of all children currently being brought into the world (global population has now reached 8 billion, according to Worldometer stats).

During a small-group discussion at a local ‘Community and Climate Cafe’ in High Wycombe on Thursday 27 October, where I was reflecting on articles I had just read about how the climate crisis is impacting Svalbard’s Longyearben population – the Earth’s northernmost region; here, scientists say, the Earth is currently warming six times faster than anywhere on the planet, greatly affecting local residents – and the current threat of what other scientists have warned is a coming insect apocalypse, I began feeling a deep sense of grief and loss about the impacts on this beautiful planet God created with the intent of supplying all we need to survive, as well as endless unique wonders to marvel at and praise Him for.

As I meditated on this, I was reminded that God once told me many years ago when I worked as a missionary-in training with Youth With A Mission (YWAM) that I was appointed to be a “mourner in His courts”, to serve as an intercessor. I sensed He was telling me that mourning and intercession are what I am called to do now in response to the climate and ecological emergency.

But what does this really mean, and how can I – or any other Christian or climate-concerned person who also feels called to respond in this way – apply it?

Why mourning – and what does it mean at this time?

Perhaps the reason Jesus said those who mourn are “blessed” – or happy – means that even when we are expressing or sharing a sense of grief and loss, of pouring out our hearts before God, we can know the joy of being close to His heart and concerns. Or perhaps there is some other kind of ‘reward’ involved in the act of mourning?

In the days of kings David, Solomon and other kings of ancient Israel, as reflected in Amos 5:16, there was such a thing as professional mourners, as distinct from actual family members or relatives, whose job it was to share the king’s griefs by weeping together with him. They were actually paid to go to a burial and cry and wail loudly, ripping their clothes, tearing their hair and scratching their faces. The greater the significance of the deceased, the more professional mourners were employed; this number helped establish the status of the person(s) being mourned, according to Psychology Today.

Apparently, this same custom has existed in other ancient cultures, eg China, Egypt, Rome and across the Middle East for over 2,000 years; even today, you can still use a service called ‘Rent-a-Mourner’ in Essex, UK  and other locations across the world. Traditionally, such a role did not involve men, largely as not only were women better at expressing emotions, but also because of various stigmas associated with men weeping; today, of course, many of these sexual barriers no longer exist.

Yet the idea behind paying for a mourning service is that it provides a vehicle for expressing deep emotions – seen as truly appropriate – which perhaps others are either fundamentally unable or unwilling to express. But why is it important to do this?

According to US wellbeing site griefrecoveryhouston.com, “Grieving is a process that requires acknowledging our feelings. It is going to hurt. There’s no way to avoid that pain, and ignoring it will just make it worse. The way we feel has a direct impact on our mental and physical health, so it’s important to acknowledge our feelings instead of burying them away.” With the amount of outright climate denialism around, and so many not wishing to acknowledge or deal with the kinds of bleak scenarios presented in report findings from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) and others, it seems clear someone needs to process and express grief and concern about what is happening to our planet.    

Jesus said very plainly that not a single sparrow falls to the ground without His Father knowing (and presumably caring deeply) about it (Matthew 10:29). Considering some 49% of bird species are declining, with one in eight threatened with extinction, and at least 187 specied are confirmed or expected to have become extinct, according to The State of the World’s Birds report by BirdLifeInternational and highlighted in a recent Guardian article, report, surely that’s a LOT of birds God both knows and cares about. Shouldn’t we care too, then, as His followers? And how can be best respond – particularly if we don’t agree with the more radical tactics used by climate activist groups such as Extinction Rebellion?

The primacy of prayer

Well, apart from feeling and expressing grief at the rapid loss of birds and other species God created, the best avenue for positively channelling grief is prayer and intercession. Whether we believe we are actually in or nearing the last days, there are many prophecies in God’s word that describe the destruction of the Earth, of a third of it being utterly destroyed and / or burned up.

Accordingly, there are two responses we should make to such imminent prophesied disasters: 1) prophetic intercession, or praying as led and prompted by the Holy Spirit; and 2) fulfilling the Great Commission. But what actually is intercession?

The verb ‘intercede’ literally means “to come between parties or act as a mediator or advocate”, according to the Collins dictionary. It is also described as:

“Waiting before God to hear or receive His burden, His word, His concern, His vision or HIs promises, then responding back to the Lord and/or to the people with appropriate actions or instructions. When operating in prophetic intercession, there may be times of weeping or travailing. Sometimes one may experience pain in his/her body. There are burdens given for an immediate response and there are others you’ll carry with you over a period of time. When you have the heart of God, you’ll begin to experience brokenness, and your heart [will] begin to connect to the purposes of God’s heart (Luke 2:36).” — “Prophetic Intercession”, a 2016 article by Ora Holloway on ignitingthefireprayer.com.

According to this, the work of an intercessor can be quite challenging – even physically demanding. While we may not all feel or be practically up to such prolonged intercessory prayer and/or fasting, however, we can certainly pray regularly – indeed, even praying the Lord’s prayer (“Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, in Earth as it is in Heaven”) is a kind of prophetic intercession.

In my case, I am grateful to join an online prayer group on Facebook three times a week, which often remembers to pray for our planet and the world’s leaders as they make decisions that will impact it. As a writer, I also frequently express my grief and prayer in writing poetry and messages like this (I have a plaque in my garden that reminds me daily that “All poetry is prayer”). So such prayer and intercession need not be lengthy, merely consistent; all we need to do is to transmit what we read or hear in the news on a daily basis to God in prayer – that is infinitely more effective and more of a truly faith-full response than allowing yourself to wallow in despair, fear, anxiety or negativity!

“Doing our bit”

After a few failed efforts to persuade various individuals in my main church (I attend two; one is a small local Anglican church, the other a very large, non-denominational charismatic New Frontiers church in the centre of High Wycombe – but this only applies to the latter), I realise my perspective and response to climate change may not be shared by all Christians.

However, ultimately, it is God to whom I will answer about how I have responded to His word, His calling on my life and whether I have fulfilled it – not human church leaders who may or may not be supportive of or agree with my sense of urgency about this. If God Himself has called me to mourn and intercede for His precious creation, who am I to argue?

There was another point in time during my 20s, not long after I had embraced the gospel and been born again quite dramatically, where I believed that the Great Commission (to “go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation” [Mark 16:15]) applied to every single person in church, and therefore everyone should be actively involved in missions – whether to Jerusalem (your immediate environs), Judea (your neighbouring areas) or the uttermost ends of the Earth (the still-unreached peoples – or some 6,825 ethnic or people groups who have yet to hear the gospel – organisations such as Wycliffe Bible Translators prioritise).

Of course, most Christians are faithful in sharing the gospel with their immediate friends, families and work colleagues, etc, but very few seem to be aware of the above statistics about the unreached – nor are many aware of the current alarming statistics re climate change impacts and biodiversity loss, which I cannot help being aware of as a journalist. While I now agree that perhaps not all are called to “go into all the world and preach the gospel”, as in further-flung, unreached nations, we are surely all called to “do our bit” by “being ready to give an account of the hope that is within” us (1 Peter 3:15).

And so, I believe, as Christians we should all also “do our bit” by being faithful to pray for His creation in this time of the Earth’s great suffering and loss. We do not really know how much time we all have left as individuals, or even as a species on a planet some believe may soon become uninhabitable if present global warming thresholds continue; surely, at this time of climate and ecological emergency, the first place we as Christians should be is on our knees.

Porto-ohohoh!: Reflections on my recent salsa travels #2

Having had so much fun with my interesting adventure of travelling sustainably to the CoBeatParty Live (15–17 September 2022), I next decided to try my luck with attending the Porto Salsa Weekend (7–9 October 2022) travelling sustainably as well – though I was determined to do this shorter weekend trip only if it was possible to keep my total travel costs (travel, hotel, restaurants, the event and clubs, etc) within or under a £500 budget.

Did I manage that? Well, yes, though not without a few hiccups – but in retrospect, these worked out for the best, all things (including my present knee issues) considered. Despite the fact I only ended up having two full days in Porto, I still managed to pack in quite a bit of sightseeing, enjoy superb fresh seafood, etc with friends and of course do as much of the event venue and external dancing as I could manage, so it was definitely worth it. 

Travel and booking/rebooking hassles

Alas, when I went to look at my sustainable travel options, there were no trains from London to Porto on the Trainline website; the only travel options were by coach, either with Flixbus – aka the Ryanair of coaches – or BlaBlaCar.

With stops and the Eurotunnel crossing included in the fares, each way would include an overnight journey of roughly 37.5 hours in total, at £159 in total. On the plus side, this was roughly the same or cheaper than a return airline ticket (once you add in baggage fees and seat bookings with EasyJet), and I did have a hefty book (Hilary Mantel’s Man Booker Prize winner Wolf Hall) to get through – so I persuaded myself it would work and booked.

I also booked for all three nights of the event, which was being partially held (for the evening dance socials) at the intentionally quirky, minimalist-concept Zero Box Lodge Hotel in Porto (part of the Zero Hotel group). However, due to some confusion in my booking, the only nights available were the Saturday and Sunday. So I then had to go back to update my coach journey booking with Flixbus, which was where the hassles began. 

Though I’d originally booked to leave London Victoria Coach Station on the Wednesday night (or 00:35am Thursday morning, arriving in Porto midday Friday), I then tried to update it for Saturday – but this wasn’t on the ticket PDFs they sent, which confusingly still said Thursday.

So despite spending a whole day kitting myself out with gluten-free meals and snacks for the long coach journey, and making it to the station early for the post-midnight coach, the very rude coach drivers made me queue for ages until everyone had got on the still only half-full coach, then flatly refused to let me board, telling my husband in French that my ticket date was wrong, and I was therefore not insured for travel.

I then had no option but to go back home and see if I could get a cheap flight to Porto and use my still-valid return coach tickets to keep my costs down. Luckily, there was an EasyJet flight leaving Luton at 6am for £59.99 (no luggage or extras), though this meant streamlining all my dance, etc stuff into a single carry-on.

But in truth, despite my intention of travelling sustainably because of my intention to write an article on it, I at least arrived earlier than I would have done by coach, which gave me a full day of sightseeing in beautifully sunny, warm Porto!

Porto-oooohhhh!

When the enthusiastically Spanish-speaking cab driver dropped me off at the hotel, it felt a like I was entering a dead zone – as presumably everyone was still recovering from what I later heard was an excellent opening party at the vaulted port wine cellar space inside traditional restaurant and entertainment venue Herança Magna in Villa Nova de Gaia (below), about a 20-minute drive from Porto city centre. Most of the event attendees described it as their favourite night/venue of the weekend.

As it was too early to check in at the Zero Box Lodge Hotel, I checked my carry-on into a locker and then went to check out the hotel’s upstairs bar/lounge, site of the evening social dance parties.

This was a decidedly different rooftop terrace, with a low-level pool occupied by ancient Greek-style statues, canopied sunbeds and blue-and-yellow boat (actually, yes!), as below. If I hadn’t been keen to make the most of my sightseeing time, I might have enjoyed relaxing here – but if I ever stayed in the hotel again, I would.

I then headed off to explore Porto, taking the cabbie’s advice to use the narrow cobbled lane nearby to reach the buzzing Rua de Santa Catarina.

Here, I enjoyed my first pastéis de nata (below) – Portugal’s traditional custard tart, encased in flaky pastry – and watched a lively all-male street orchestra performing traditional music embellished with zany acrobatics (gifted photographer Olu Kongi was also watching and filming simultaneously, but I somehow missed him in the crowds).

Next I wandered into the stunning 18th century, blue-and-white-tiled Capela das Almas (Chapel of Souls) de Santa Cantarina (below and above) – one of Portugal’s most beautiful churches, near the Bolhão Station on the Porto line. While the inside is not nearly as striking as its exterior, it’s still worth a visit.

I initially thought the blue-and-white azulejos tiles covering the church exterior and were unique, but later observed that many other of the city’s most famous churches and buildings – including the Baroque-style Igreja de Santo Ildefonso church (below, centre) located at the junction of Rua de Santa Catarina, Rua de 31 de Janeiro and Rua de Santo Ildefonso, and Porto’s achingly beautiful late-19th São Bento railway station (bottom row) – also featured this signature style.

Though most of the church azulejos depict religious and Biblical scenes, such as St Francis of Assisi receiving the stigmata, the train station’s whopping 20,000 tiles depict scenes from Portugal’s history, including its colonial conquests in the New World and elsewhere.

While trying to make my way through the occasionally quite steep streets to the River Douro, I entered the large square overlooking it, which contains the impressive 12th century Sé Catedral de Porto (top three rows below).

Billed as Porto’s most important religious building, this national monument is sited at the highest point of the city with excellent views over the city, and its architecture features successive Romanesque, Gothic and Baroque styles. Its cloister, the Casa do Cabildo, contains the Cathedral Treasure – a collection of important artefacts, including silk vestments from the period of its exclusive trade with China and some of the world’s first printed Bibles. The cloister and terrace leading to it contains azulejo tiles depicting Ovid’s Metamorphoses, a Baroque granite staircase and a sumptuous Chapter Room ceiling depicting 14 allegories of moral virtues.

After a brief linger here, I ended up following a lane that took me via the Casa-Museu de Guerra Junqueiro (lower two rows below) – house museum of 19th century Portuguese poet Guerra Junqueiro – which I decided to investigate. Having become curious about the Portuguese azulejos, I wondered whether these blue-and-white tiles were, like the equally famous Dutch Delftblau pottery of the 17th century, a result of its trade monopoly with China, but I subsequently learned their origin dates back to the Moorish occupation of the 13th century.

After this brief sojourn in the museum, I finally made it to the stunning, double-decker, wrought-iron arched Dom Luís I Bridge (below) with its spectacular views over the busy Douro – Porto’s answer to the Seine – and of the equally impressive, modern arched-concrete Arrábida Bridge in the distance. Porto, known as “the city of bridges”, has six bridges – the most of any European city.

Both bridges join the busy historic Porto city centre with the newer Villa de Nova Gaia municipality, but the Dom Luís I bridge, designed and created by the school of Paris’s Gustave Eiffel, was clearly a firm tourist favourite, with buskers – even a couple posing for wedding pics – galore!

While I could have happily stood on this bridge watching the numerous boats and barges sail the alternately sun-glittered and fog-shrouded Douro as it bisects the city and heads out to the Atlantic forever, its 45m height did make me a tad nervous (as did the fact the Porto Metro also traverses the bridge amid its largely pedestrian traffic).

While my original intention was to get on the famed Telerifico de Gaia cable cars for an even more spectacular view of the Douro, one look at the scarily steep, Batalha Cliff-hugging Funicular dos Guindais railway was enough to put me off.

Also, as I was also beginning to feel in need of a late lunch, I carried on over the bridge to the Villa Nova de Gaia side, which features the sprawling, circular, clifftop-set 17th century monastery and UNESCO heritage site Mosteiro da Serra de Pilar and the palm-shaded Jardim do Morro (Moorish gardens), with breath-taking views of the Douro, which I would have loved to visit.

There were loads of other people sunning themselves in the park, and I also ran into fellow salsa tourists Arnaud Badem and co, which reminded me I would need to get back in time for the evening social at 5pm.

With that in mind, I grabbed a seat at open-air terrace bar Esplanada do Teleférico – Jardim do Morro and enjoyed fabulous views of the Douro while quaffing an Aperol spritz and some seafood tapas. The hungry/pesky seagulls made it very entertaining, though!

Now on to the salsa parties – and more amazing meals

Thus suitably chilled and fortified, I returned to the hotel to register and move my stuff into its funky minimalist wood cabin-style rooms and get ready to join the afternoon social, which was already in full swing by the time I arrived.

With great live sets by DJs Dmitri Matalka, Karlus, Vincent Amiche, Anael McManus, Ricardo Silva and Shems, and a large-enough, sofa-filled space to accommodate the eager dancers and those resting between dances, it was a great start for the rest of my weekend dancing. 

After this invigorating social, I joined fellow salseros Melanie from the Netherlands and Crystal from Singapore – both of whom had also been at the CoBeatParty Live in Barcelona – on a quest to eat some of the city’s famed fresh seafood. Melanie led us to the Ostras e Coisas restaurant in the city centre, where we also overheard some beautiful open-air singing from an outdoor choir on the way back.

As soon as we entered the restaurant and spied its large spread of fresh-caught seafood (below), it was clear we were in for a treat, which was certainly proven with our shared first-course starter of Zamberini scallops – truly some of the best I have ever had. I was also grateful to Crystal for suggesting I sample white port.

Considering Porto is the home of port and I had never even heard of the white version, it was the perfect aperitif for seafood, being sweeter and less heavy than the traditional ruby-coloured variety. Clearly, if you had a longer visit in Porto, you could enjoy savouring its many varieties with port wine-tasting excursions.

We then returned to the hotel for a rest and got ready to go out to the Saturday salsa party at Muxima Bar, a popular Afro-Latin bar in Vila Gaia de Nova (shown below before it got packed out).

I have to say that while this venue would normally be a fantastic dance space – apparently, it’s a favourite regular dance haunt of co-organiser Rui Jorge Nascimento (he agreed to help host the Porto Salsa Weekend event after DJ Sérgio Riberio suggested it) – but with a significant proportion of the 250–300 people who attended the weekend event swelling the venue, it was really too crowded for most of us to really enjoy ourselves dancing until the last hour or so.

However, the cocktails were truly amazing (despite having to queue for ages to get them), and I enjoyed dancing al fresco in the small patio area in front. There was also an upstairs gallery area, but I never made it up there as the stairs were also crowded, so I can’t comment on what that was like as a dance space.

After a decent lie-in following our return in the wee hours, I woke on Sunday morning to a fairly cloudy, heavily overcast and somewhat drizzly/rainy day.

While my friends and I had intended to meet for lunch at the famed Belle Epoque-/Art Nouveau-style Majestic Café (below) on the Rua Catarina – one of the places Harry Potter author JK Rowling was inspired by when she lived in Porto in 1991 – it was sadly closed on Sunday, so we opted instead for a very healthy (and exceedingly tasty) lunch at Honest Greens (below).

While they went off sightseeing in the Ribeira, I did a bit of shopping and resting ahead of the afternoon social at 5pm.

This late afternoon/early evening’s social dance session was one of the highlights of my brief time in Porto, with some truly excellent live sets from DJs Karlus, Shems, Patrick El Clasico and Portugal’s own finest DJ, Nuno Melo.

As it was hot inside – in every sense of the word! – I also passed some time cooling off outside under the awnings, where I had some very interesting exchanges with fellow salsera and Portuguese native Daniela Martin, who explained how the reams of US and other expatriates eagerly buying up places in Portugal had made the costs of living soar beyond reason for many Portuguese, ultimately forcing many to move to cheaper locations further out of the city centres and coastal areas. This conversation in part inspired the poem below on Porto.

I would have gladly stayed and enjoyed several more hours of exuberant dancing to these awesome DJs’ sets, but they finished at 7pm before to leave a break before the evening party at Portugal’s longest-running salsa club, Salsando (below).

Considering the number of steep streets and staircases I’d traversed the previous day, with the weather change making my knee ache, I decided to bypass this one as I also had an early morning coach to catch (it was also the only coach from Porto, so I could not afford to miss it). But from all I have since heard and can about it (as can also be seen in the club’s YouTube video), it was a great night – I’d definitely plan not to miss it in future.

I then decided to just got get something to eat and chill out, but though I considered eating at the downstairs O Carnicieiro restaurant in the Zero Box Lodge Hotel, it seemed way too busy to grab a seat – though it was amusing to sit in the lobby and watch people jumping on its dollar-filled bed in the ‘Big Bad Bank’ (see pic bottom right pic below, with one of their signature box-style beds loaded with dollar bills and fronted with a window – obviously a popular choice for photo ops!).

So, instead I just went to grab dinner nearby – but as many places were closed (it being Sunday), I simply went into the nearest open bar-restaurant, which provided an ample veal steak frites dinner and some excellent ruby port.

I was very sorry to have to leave such a buzzy salsa party and beautiful city, but I was nevertheless very grateful for even such a short experience of it.

Something about this arty, intriguing and deeply romantic city, with its air of failed colonial grandeur, has well and truly got into my veins – so I’m certain I’ll be back.

There aren’t any details available yet about Porto Salsa Weekend 2023, but do look out for what’s sure to remain a popular event – and hopefully it won’t be too long (God willing) before I see you on a dance floor again!

Barcelona-ahhh: Reflections from my recent salsa travels #1

As I’m due to have a major surgical operation soon – a total knee replacement (TKR) (sadly unavoidable at this stage as steroid injections are no longer working), after which both travelling and dancing will be on hold for several months – I want to celebrate my recent joyous experiences of visiting the blissfully sunny and charming cities of Barcelona and Porto, and recap the dancing fun of the CoBeatParty Live (15–17 September 2022) and the Porto Salsa Weekend (7–9 October 2022) (see separate article here – in line with plans to write shorter posts).

I chose to travel to both events sustainably – to Barcelona by train, with a return stopover in Paris and ferry journey back from Dieppe, and a return coach journey from Porto–London (also with a brief stop in sunny Paris) – which I have described elsewhere; this made both trips more ethically/ecologically viable, as well as greater adventures.

With so many competing European salsa events on every weekend, it’s impossible to attend all of them, but I chose these two because for one thing, the warmer locations would make dancing easier on my knee, and because both are vibrant cities with much to offer culture-wise beyond the dancing fun.

I’ll start with Barcelona: city of Gaudi, Modernista (Catalan-style Art Nouveau) architecture and Frank Gehry, the famed Gothic Quarter, long sandy beaches at Barceloneta – and exquisite food!  

Barcelona-ahh, ahh, ahh!

I travelled to Barcelona to attend the CoBeatParty Live event – a live celebration with many of the online DJs and people familiar from the online CoBeat chat. After nearly two years of sharing and chatting online during the Covid lockdowns, it was a great opportunity to meet many of those only known online from the chat section, as well as to honour those DJs whose amazing free sets kept us all going during an otherwise bleak and salsa-free period who were there to celebrate with us and/or play for us (Dimitri Matalka, Ieva Minis Dadurkaite, Hong Kwon, Ricardo Linnell, Kamiel Piek, Xander Cage, Emilio Penaloza, Amos de Roover, Michael Gyapong, Oseyeman Edeko, Jeremy Castex, Muustafa Omar, Oswaldo Hernandez and others).

I chose to travel there entirely by train from London, spending 5 days in the city before meeting my husband for a brief stopover in Paris before heading to Dieppe for the ferry; considering the event hotel (Barcelona Expo Hotel) was only a 3-minute walk from Barcelona Sants train station, this was a very sensible choice. It was also very near to the Barcelona City Tour hop-on, hop-off tourist bus stop, which made sightseeing in the city much more doable.

Pics from the Barcelona Expo Hotel rooftop terrace and pool, with DJ Minis looking glam and nearby Barcelona Sants station in the background

The hotel closest to the venue, which most of those attending booked at, not only supplied an ample buffet breakfast, but also had a sizeable rooftop terrace bar, cafe and pool, which was where many of us – particularly DJ Minis from Lithuania and her pal Renata – chose to hang out, drink and chat. It was great to get to know these fun-loving women better, as well as to discover from Minis that she’d also had the TKR op and was back to dancing only three weeks post-surgery, which sounds amazing and possibly unusual, but at least gave me some hope and encouragement of what to aim for!

The actual event venue was a bar/restaurant around the corner, which had a covered outdoor cafe that made a convenient meeting place for many of our CoBeat familia in between/during the afternoon dance socials, a lively daily discussion and sharing spot where we could get to know each other better over food (the venue’s food service wasn’t always the fastest or best, but at least was inexpensive; thankfully, Barcelona is known for its exquisite tapas restaurants, which I was pleased to experience many of [see TripAdvisor and Forbes for recommendations of some of the best current restaurants]).

Some of the very familiar – and now met in person, finally – CoBeat salsa familia with who helped brighten the dreariness of Covid lockdowns with their daily chats and enthusiasm for salsa

Since I didn’t know how well my knee would cope – and also because I do really enjoy sketching people’s portraits – I had brought my sketching materials with me and made it known I was available to draw anyone who would be willing to sit and hold a pose for me for 15 minutes or so; sitting outside in this cafe meant I did manage to do a few portrait sketches, including of DJs Hong Kwon (Philadelphia) and Amos de Roover (Manchester – pictured with my drawing of him).

We soon discovered that not only were the daily and nightly parties at this venue – as well as the nightly afterparties at other salsa clubs nearby, such as Antilla – attended by many of our loyal and familiar online CoBeatParty faces, but also by several other salseros/as from all across Europe, the US and further afield, including many promoters and regular attendees of similar salsa events elsewhere.

This gave the event a somewhat bigger ‘congress’/marathon vibe (I put congress in brackets as there were no workshops or performances, just dancing 2–3 times a day/night at the afternoon socials, evening parties and afterparties, with the ‘chill’ socialising and party vibe often carrying on before/after on the hotel’s pool terrace) while still managing to retain the more ‘intimate’ feel of a being a true social meet-up of close friends – and indeed we did feel like that after Covid, despite only meeting for the first time here!

At times, this ‘mixed’ nature felt a little strange – almost as if the event wasn’t quite sure what it wanted to be, either a bigger event or an intimate one – but ultimately, it was fun, friendly and exciting; whether it will be held at the same venue and with the same crew next year remains to be seen, so we’ll see what the main organisers DJ Xander Cage, Adamski London and DJ Dmitri come up with.

As I didn’t quite manage to see and do everything on my tourist list (see below) – and Barcelona is always a draw for its splendid art, architecture, sandy beaches and fab food – I would certainly be interested in returning for a future event or visit here. For anyone who is an artist or a culture buff, the city is surely a must-visit!

Tourist delights

Fortunately for me, having taken a longer trip by train with plans to extend in Paris and France on my return, I’d booked to stay in the hotel for five nights, which gave me little extra time to get some proper sightseeing in before my three-night-only room-sharer Liana arrived and the event proper started.

I decided to go off on my own sightseeing using the hop-on/hop-off bus, which was about €30 for a day’s sightseeing, and included different loops/route variations taking in most of the city’s most famous sights with a map + headphones detailing each stop destination.

Despite my plan to sightsee on my lonesome, I soon met Kuki (above), a friendly solo female traveller from Thailand, and we decided to explore the city together, stopping for a leisurely (and very tasty!) lunch during a brief rain shower at the Gaudí site La Perdrera (aka Casa Mila).

Although we didn’t go in to check out the beautiful, Gaudí-esque Art Nouveau interior, we enjoyed viewing its uniquely designed exterior over lunch, then taking in views of his famous church, Sagrada Familia, shown below (I had visited it in a previous art trip to Barcelona, so regrettably didn’t choose to revisit it on this trip – but at least it was no longer covered in scaffolding as it had been on that trip, only a noticeable crane on top).  

We then carried on to Parc Güell – a high, large (17-hectare) green space sited on Carmel Hill in the mountain range of Colisera, with unbeatable views over the sea and the Plain of Barcelona – which is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The park is a significant landmark showcasing the work of Catalan nationalist and architect Antonio Gaudí, the foremost proponent of the Catalan Modernist school. While providing an ample home for its biodiverse wildlife, the Gaudí-designed park also features abundant lively sculptures and buildings created by Gaudí. These make this a premier tourist attraction for any visit to the city – along with other famous Gaudí landmarks – the Sagrada Familia, Casa Batlló, Casa Mila/La Perdrera and Casa Vicens.

As you can see from the wealth of pics below, visiting the park in late afternoon/early evening affords stunning natural lighting effects, with pink-tinged sunset clouds amplifying the subdued yet vibrantly eclectic, multi-hued mosaics in the buildings, walls and gates – not to omit the famous fountain lizard that guards the entrance to the park. It may be quite a schlepp from where the tourist bus drops you, but it is indeed worth it!

Clockwise from top: (1–3) The external entrance to the park is fronted by two almost gingerbread house-looking buildings; (4–6) Views of the park, gardens and large reception area; (7–9) Views of the sea and surrounding mountains; (10–12) Along the floral-enhanced walkways; (13–15) Below and aside a unique arched structure; (16–18) Rest areas below the arched structure and in the main reception area, and Gaudi’s impressive sculptural meditation on Calvary; (19–21) Multi-hued sunset views complement the multicolour mosaic benches in the main reception area; (22–27) The park entrance with its signature mosaic lizard fountain, a treasured symbol of Barcelona

Alas, I didn’t have time for the many other additional architectural, etc attractions also accessible via the hop-on/hop-off bus, such as the stunning Palau de la Musica Catlana, Barcelona Cathedral and the famous nearby Gothic quarter (Barri Gòtic), FC Barcelona football HQ Camp Nou, Barcelona Zoo with its 4,000+ animals/400+ species, the World of Banksy museum featuring 100+ of the celebrated agent provocateur’s works and the Poble Español museum, which showcases works by some of Spain’s finest artists – Picasso, Miro, Dali and others – and celebrates traditional Spanish culture.

However, I did enjoy stop off briefly at the exquisite Casa Batlló to visit its tourist shop, and viewed Frank Gehry’s amazing golden fish sculpture, El Peix, while en route to Barceloneta Beach and the harbour (you can also use a cable car here for an excellent view of the city, which I regret I did not do). There, while perusing this long stretch of coast, I also enjoyed some excellent seafood tapas and cocktails after a relaxing swim and chill time on the sandy beach, and a further stroll along its scenic promenade.

Clockwise from top: the beach at Barceloneta; the beautiful Gaudi-designed Casa Battlo; Barcelona Harbour; funky artwork in the city; and Frank Gehry’s impressive golden fish sculpture

Ah, Barcelona! Such a colourful mix of fantastic architecture, food, fun and scenery! The perfect place for a longer-weekend salsa party, or an even longer trip

Further afield/slightly out of city centre (but still reachable via one of the hop-on/hop-off buses, and definitely on my list for my next trip to Barcelona) are scenic Montjuic (Jewish Mountain – a former home of the city’s Jewish population) with its castle and extensive grounds 173m above sea level providing great views over the city, also visible by cable car. I’d also love to take a day trip out to the stunning holy monastery of Montserrat, embedded in cliffs and rock spires, with its Benedictine Abbey and collection of paintings by Caravaggio, Picasso and Dali.  

So clearly, there’s loads more to see and do in Barcelona, and ample reasons for a return trip for another future edition of the Barcelona CoBeatParty Live – watch this space!

Un-Earthing meaning: Colin Caffell’s ‘Reflections on the Feminine – a visual essay’ at Penwith Gallery, Cornwall

It seems strangely fitting that artist Colin Caffell, who typically works with earthy materials (clay, bronze, wax, resin, wood) as a potter and sculptor (see his beautifully multi-hued seascape-theme ceramics below), should have chosen to highlight the very fragility of Mother Earth in his solo exhibition, ‘Reflections on the Feminine – a visual essay’ at Penwith Gallery in St Ives, Cornwall, from 14 May–12 June 2022.

A few of Colin Caffell’s sea-themed ceramic works, also on display at Penwith Gallery (and typically available from the Roundhouse and Capstan Gallery he and wife Sally
run in Sennen Cove, West Cornwall)

Along with other bronze and ceramic sculptures representing aspects of the feminine experience and psyche – from pregnancy and motherhood to mythic and anthropomorphic themes (Cupid and Psyche, Aphrodite, Virgin Mary, sea and tree nymphs, and a chrysalid symbolising the soul’s emergence from a caterpillar) – the exhibition featured a dramatic black canvas with a single central plaster female face cast and an array of plaster face casts at the bottom, all with closed eyes (above).

This work, entitled Closed eyes tell no stories, began as a meditation on the ravages of the Ukraine war, and featured casts of Bosnian youngsters traumatised by the earlier war in Yugoslavia with whom he had worked as a therapist.

Yet Caffell later saw it as a metaphor for “humanity’s general disregard for our beautiful planet”. Here, the central face representing Mother Earth remains serenely focused on her creation, imploring us to turn our attention towards her before it is too late.

The positioning and funerary black of the canvas form a counterpoint to his bronze sculpture Salome – a young African woman leans back in a reflective pose, as if pondering the beginnings of human existence.

The sculptures on plinths and walls in between, both abstract and naturalistic, showcase the totality of human life, from its embryonic, foetal beginnings to the mythic, archetypal acts of love between men and women.

Together, these pieces – erotic, vulnerable, nurturing – celebrate all that is divinely and psychically feminine while urging us to ponder the fragility of existence via the earthy media of clay and bronze.

Considering lifetime ceramicist Caffell moved into sculpture after the tragic loss of his former wife and two children, his development is a striking metaphor of the power of art to aid renewal, offering hope in dark times.

Colin with second wife Sally Petersen, herself a talented artist, at an outdoor restaurant near the gallery they own and run in Sennen Cove

Colin Caffell is a member of the Penwith Society of Arts. He and his wife Sally, also an artist, run the Roundhouse and Capstan Gallery in Sennen Cove, West Cornwall.

Taking a Pulse on Climate: The Royal Academy Summer Exhibition 2022

I and fellow environmental activist Val Saunders attended the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition to see whether its theme – climate – had conveyed the climate and ecological emergency and to engage other visitors.

Most were surprised to hear the theme; they simply relished the diverse swirls of colour, with many attracted to the cover image – a vibrant yellow lemon studded with beads and costume jewellery depicting spreading mould (Bad Lemon (Josh) by Kathleen Ryan). As only a quarter referenced climate change specifically, perhaps Grayson Perry’s flippant intro sums it up: “Oh, and there are several works about climate change too.”

Kathleen Ryan’s ‘Bad Lemon (Josh)’ – kinda makes you wonder if she was consciously or unconsciously suggesting we are all bad eggs/lemons

I later posted 80 photos, inviting friends to guess the theme. Most suggested death, decay or consumerism, despite ‘obvious’ inclusions – Sheila Rodge’s painting of a forest fire (Inferno); a print showing cracked, dry earth (Waiting for Rain by Linda Britt); Anna Heringer’s textile evoking drowned habitations, Rivers of Bangladesh; a still life of dead sunflowers with an exotic parrot (Watershed Moment by Emma Bass); Adam Dant’s London streets overlaying an antique map of the Mediterranean (Argonautica Londinensi); Phil Shaw’s weather-themed books (Climate Change); Scott Brooker’s Thanks, Man! painting of a polar bear flipping the bird; three black-and-white photographs of a disappearing stream (Impermanence Triptych by Annalisa Burrello); and Robin Smart’s retro TV collage of an imploding Earth overlaid with Disney’s cartoon logo, “That’s all folks!” (Fin).

  1. (Clockwise, L–R): Sheila Rodge, Inferno; 2. Linda Britt, Waiting for Rain; 3. Anna Heringer, Rivers of Bangladesh; 4. Emma Bass, Watershed Moment; 5. Adam Dant, Argonautica Londonensi; 6. Phil Shaw, Climate Change; 7. Scott Brooker, Thanks, Man!; 8. Annalisa Burrello, Impermanence Triptych; 9. Robin Smart, Fin; 10.–12. Val and other visitors taking in the exhibition, some critically, some less so – the young African-American I spoke with (pictured) commented that as a snapshot of contemporary society, it did connect our self-obsessed consumer lifestyles with the existential threats we now face; she recommended I review the Plastic in Pots installation as a reference; 13. Stephen Chambers, Midas Tree; 14. Val protesting in front of Gary Hume’s Swans; 15. (top) Ying Tang, Untitled; (sadly no info available on artist for bottom photo)*

Eco activists called it a “wasted opportunity”. Yet as a snapshot of contemporary society, it did connect our self-obssessed consumer lifestyles with the existential threats we now face – for example, Alexandra Gribaudi and Theodore Plytas’s installation Plastic in Pots: Self glass jars filled with plastics on a wire rack recorded personal consumption, while Yoree Ko’s witty cartoon map of hell, Devil’s Heaven, served a final warning.

Witty but true: Yoree Ko’s ‘Devil’s Heaven’

But in view of imminent annihilation if we continue our current trajectory towards 3°C of warming, what can art say? Considering 18th century romantic artists were already mourning the loss of an innocent, agrarian lifestyle by invoking classical pastoralism in their landscapes, is any time left for discussion as the Earth burns and everything in it dies?

Perhaps the final takeaway echoes Marie Antoinette’s famous last words: when an exhausted Earth hands you mouldy lemons, just stud them with exquisite beadwork.

*I have only featured a few of the 1,500+ artworks featured in this exhibition, based mostly on my own photographs; for a more comprehensive list + images of many of the works on view, see: https://se.royalacademy.org.uk/2022/artworks.

The Long and Short of It

Dear friends and readers,

Since I began this blog in January 2020, I’ve tended to publish mostly long-form articles on topics of interest or concern to me, as well as interviews with various salsa personalities, etc. As most of you probably don’t have time to read longer pieces, however ‘worthy’ they may be, I have decided that in future, I’ll write shorter pieces, and hopefully more regularly, as I begin a new journey / phase in my writing life.

Apart from the above, my main reasons for this sea-change in approach are as below – I invite you all to comment on these points at the end of this blog if you will!

Yes, I can blah blah blog with the best of ’em – but I’m going to try a different approach (Credit: Shutterstock)

1. Longer articles also take quite a lot of time to write, edit, illustrate, polish and upload, and I have less time available for this now, because…

2. I need to use most of my available writing time to work on my historical fiction novel Netsuke – A Novel in Three Parts (working title), and need to keep my current momentum going to reach my goal of completing the entire first draft by next spring. I am writing chapter 8 of part 2, so a little way past the halfway mark.

For those who don’t know, I began writing this novel in December 2020 – one of those rare gifts of Covid – after being inspired by a netsuke collection at the Kyoto to Catwalk exhibition at the V&A. These prompted a journalist’s ‘what if’ questions about forgotten personal histories, as two items in particular (a netsuke of a Dutch merchant and a beautiful, very erotic woman) made me wonder what a relationship between a Dutchman with the Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie [VOC or Dutch East India Company] and a Japanese woman could have been like.

As I began researching life in the VOC, etc, I realised it would not only involve plenty of adventures at sea, pirates, fight scenes, etc and other fantastically cinematic elements, but would also reveal how the exchanges between these two completely different cultures – each at the height or beginning of their their golden eras in the early 17th century – would radically transform each, planting the seeds for some of the most exciting works of art the world has ever seen.

A pair of elegant Japanese netsuke figurines carved from ivory (Credit: Shutterstock)

I’m still working on my ‘elevator pitch’ as I write and shape the story, but it’s essentially a cross-cultural/star-crossed love story with lots of action and adventure – a romance as much about exoticism, the journey of self-discovery and art as between two physical lovers.

As it also features several real-life historical characters – Rembrandt, François Caron, Philips and Petronella Lucasz, Pieter Nuyts, Joost Schouten, Shogun Iemitsu Tokugawa, Okuni (founder of kabuki), etc – it requires infinite research, including lot of research rabbit holes and ultimately imaginative exercises in filling in the gaps historians fail to agree on!

3. Despite the fact I always meant to be a creative writer (a poet, novelist and/or short story writer), I have spent most of my professional life working as a B2B journalist / production journalist covering major financial risks and other threats.

It was while I was editor-in-chief of The Investigative Journal in 2018–2019 that I developed a long-form journalism approach to writing about bigger topics as I have mostly done here.

Through this work, I became deeply alarmed at the mounting scientific evidence of an imminent environmental apocalypse, which subsequently propelled me into over two years of ardent, dedicated activism with Extinction Rebellion, Stop HS2 and other environment-focused groups, with much of my writing, both personal and professional, focused on this.

Yet as we are already experiencing the runaway effects of climate change through increasingly severe fires, heat waves, droughts, floods and extreme weather events – which will only escalate rapidly in coming years, since the people in power refuse to change their fossil fuel-married ways – I am not sure how much I can achieve by protesting, signing petitions, writing articles and letters, or banging on about it endlessly on social media.

Not only is the time window for making the needed changes rapidly closing, but it seems any professional doors for me as a journalist seeking to write about this have also closed, as many articles I’ve painstakingly researched, fact-checked and crafted remain unpublished, and related jobs I’d applied for have not worked out.  

Guardian journalist George Monbiot outside the National Gallery, Trafalgar Square, during the Extinction Rebellion protest in October 2019 (Credit: Shutterstock)

As my efforts to wake people up through publishing alarming statistics, etc only seem to be reaching those who are already aware and active (please do correct me if I am wrong, however!), I wonder how much I can really achieve through continuing in this vein. There are many articulate and better-resourced writers, such as prolific Guardian journalist George Monbiot, who have ready platforms and are using them as best as they can.

Perhaps I am just feeling temporarily dismayed and cynical about this now, but between recent vaguely restless, uncomfortable feelings in activist activities and the closing of professional doors, I take this as confirmation I need to do something different, perhaps a little more lighthearted, for the sake of mine and my readers’ mental health*… as my mum said last night, every creative effort made with love and joy sends that much more love and joy into the universe, which God knows we urgently need at such a dire time!

If I think of what really gives me the most joy in life, it is simply having fun messing around with paints and developing other talents God gave me – art, creative writing, dancing – as well as taking time out to worship my Creator and enjoy the wonders of his presence and the beauty of his creation, while it still lasts. So – here’s to choosing joy!

While I am still a novice painter, nothing gives me more joy at the moment than messing about with paints in my new studio/‘she shed’, Casa Azul (Credit: Shutterstock)

4. I should also add that as of Monday, I am also commencing a new job as senior projects editor with a start-up called StoryTerrace, which creates, crafts and publishes memoirs utilising teams of gifted ghostwriters, designers and printers for clients who have the urge to tell their stories, but need external assistance to bring them to life. I feel this new appointment is more in line with my general direction in life at the moment; as well as returning me to my earlier book publishing career, it will enhance my present connections with other writers and memoirists via the London Writers’ Salon.

I began this blog as “a journey through the bigger picture” – and for me at this time, that bigger picture is evolving towards the fulfilment that comes via creative expression. I hope therefore that my ongoing journey in developing as an artist and writer (I am already fairly well developed as a dancer, but who knows – I may yet take up flamenco!) as reflected in my future blog posts will inspire and encourage you in your own journeys. Please feel free to add an ‘Amen’ or disagree as you feel inclined at the end of this post!

But before I move on to writing shorter blogs on the above themes, I will post a few reviews of art exhibitions, both with an environmental theme – one is a review of a friend’s (Cornwall-based potter and sculptor Colin Caffell) recent exhibition, and the other is a review of the recent Royal Academy Summer Show, which was supposed to be on the theme of ‘climate’. Both were written for the Frieze New Writers competition, though alas I was only allowed to submit one, and was not one of the five out of 1,500 competitors chosen. Both had to be written to a strict word count, so are already shorter than most of my blog posts, but I feel they do the job of acknowledging the climate crisis while celebrating artists who are articulating this through their work.

Jane – aka Small Writer at Large

*I’m sorry I didn’t end up adding more on my Mental Health series as planned (I’d intended to add longer articles on ‘Mental Health and Creativity’ and ‘Mental Health and Faith’), but let’s just say my journeys in relation to both should be evident from the above. I may return to these at a later time, but hopefully both will be much shorter!