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                       An artist's life involves great swathes of attention. Attention is our way of connecting and surviving. Paying attention to the minute details in our lives makes our lives extraordinarily large. Henry Miller championed this attention and his artistic and literary career stand as a legacy to his vast vision and scrutiny. 'The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself.'   'The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware.'  'Develop interest in life as you see it; people, things, literature, music- the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls, and interesting people. Forget yourself.'   Henry Miller was born in 1891 and died in 1980.  Shortly after his eightieth birthday he authored a beautiful essay about ageing and the key to living a full life. For

  Coco Chanel. Photographed by Cecil Beaton 1937 In 1918, when Coco Chanel presented her first collection of gowns, she heralded a new type of glamour that became instantly classic. Her vision was modern, streamlined, and elegant. Like Chanel, who broke every rule, classic glamour doesn't adhere to strictures. Yet you know it the instant you see it. And what might be trashy on someone else (marabou feathers, sequins, an asymmetric dress) is pure perfection on those who, thanks to their confidence and inherent style, personify glamour. For further instruction, take a tip from Chanel herself, and her immortal line: " A girl should be two things- classy and fabulous," A perfect definition of classic glamour. " Nature gives you the face you have at twenty; it is up to you to merit the face you have at fifty." Coco Chanel. "I am not young, but I feel young. The day I feel old, I will go to bed and stay there. Jaime la vie! I feel that to live is a wonderful thin

  I take myself for a long walk every day and every day is a unique experience. Today I noticed a lot of Jays flying about. I love Jays.  I am always delighted to see such a magnificent blue flash appearing overhead. But there is another reason that I am always pleased to see a Jay. About fifteen years ago I was working in a dental studio. The man who ran the studio fancied himself as a bit of a ladies' man, but I wasn't interested in him at all. It was the old man who did the technical work who held me in thrall. His name was Heinz, and he was in his early seventies. He was short and round, his cropped hair was grey, and he had made his own teeth! He was Polish. We became great friends. We made a very unlikely couple. Me, tall and slim and quite a bit younger than him. I suppose people presumed him to be my dad, but he came to mean much more to me than a surrogate parent. He was so kind even though he had lived through terrible times. He described being poverty stricken while

   The American realist painter, Edward Hopper died over half a century ago, he lived in a different era and yet his art resonates beautifully to the strange times we are all living through. His lonely vision of interwar and post war America has been 'liked' and 'shared' thousands of times by Twitter and Instagram users. His psychological paintings, created between the 1920's and 1950's, embody the artist's view that "a nation's art is greatest when it most reflects the character of its people."                                                            Hotel Window. 1955                                                       There certainly seems to be a 'stillness' that has descended here in the London suburb where I live. The sun is shining, (thank goodness, for small mercies) and there is a feeling of eerie calm. The streets are empty except for other dog walkers, like me, and we respectfully give each other maximum distance. There i

  Having been brought up in the sixties and seventies I think the hippie outlook on life served me well. I can still make great Daisy Chains, Pom Poms and Cats' Cradles. I was always encouraged to read and constantly had my nose in a book. Enid Blyton taught me not to be afraid of spiders with her stories of Aaron the spider who was really a prince. I have infuriated my daughters over the years by my insistence that that huge hairy eight-legged specimen in the bath was a prince trapped in a spider's body. They learned from an early age how to use a pint glass and a piece of card to let the arachnid out of the window. Same with bees and wasps,' Buzz, buzz, buzz busy bee, busy bee, buzz if you like but don't sting me.' (I made that one up) Walking around the park would have me singing 'There once was an ugly duckling....' although I certainly didn't read that book to my own children repeatedly, like my mum did to me (I still bear a grudge) As a child I pla