It would have been a perfect plot for a 1960s Hammer horror film: on the death of his wife, a poet places a treasured manuscript of his poems in her casket. Years later he has a new muse and love, a woman who had been a friend to them both. So he ghoulishly engineers his late wife’s exhumation so as…
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Finding Fireflies Amidst the Fireworks
When Waterhouse’s exquisite Hylas and the Nymphs was controversially removed from exhibition at the Manchester Art Gallery recently, I wrote that it would be far more beneficial to promote images that empower women instead of removing a masterpiece to provoke a reaction. The painting has since been returned to display at the Gallery, and it was later revealed that its removal…
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“The best thing for being sad is to learn something.”
I’ve spent my entire adult life pursuing Pre-Raphaelite art and in doing so, I find that what I actually discover is myself. Art and literature are crucial to my well-being, it provides a framework to draw upon when I need to process heavy emotion. If daily life intervenes and I allow my pursuit of art to fall to the wayside,…
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Exploring The Portrait
The Portrait is a poem I’ve wanted to write about for a while now, because writing about things is how I unpack and explore them. One thing I love about poetry, though, is its prismatic quality. The facets I see may not be what you see, but if we compare notes then new colors emerge. That’s where the fun is.…
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Happy Birthday, Elizabeth Siddal!
The hills grow darker to my sight And thoughts begin to swim. (from Elizabeth Siddal’s poem At Last) Lizzie was discovered in millinery shop, a simple girl who was tall for the time and had a mass of red-gold hair. Her first sitting was for Walter Deverell’s Twelfth Night. On this day in 1829, Elizabeth Eleanor Siddall was born (she dropped…
