Tony Meeuwissen

It's easy to overlook the exhibition space in our small town museum. In a modest room tucked around the back of the museum gift shop, I found a small exhibition by local artist and illustrator, Tony Meeuwissen. I say local because I see he lives in the county, but as an artist he's certainly global. His portfolio includes book covers for Penguin paperbacks, record covers, and postage stamps. It was really delightful work; deep, rich and colourful.

I could have bought a framed limited edition print, one of a series of illustrated playing cards, but every one I picked had a tiny red dot underneath - I presumed this meant he'd sold the lot. I could have asked, I think he was there, at least there was a man being pressed to sign a book for a customer, I didn't know what he looked like and, anyway, when I next looked the man was no where to be seen.

On a table were three books of original sketches for sale, real doodle stuff but nicely done. In the front was a few words describing his way of coming up with an idea, basically throwing doodles down, all the time thinking outside the box and letting his imagination run riot until a germ of an idea presented itself. It's consoling news for compulsive doodlers like myself; all I need now is to give up the day job. Or first find the courage to do so.

uphill, downhill

Bicycles and art seem to be going hand in glove at the moment, me having to cycle to this morning's art class owing to a lapsed MOT certificate. At the last moment I managed to fashion a backpack from two luggage straps, a heavy-duty supermarket bag, and a short length of rope given to me to practice sailing knots a long time ago, so I could take along my own drawing board. A rather Heath-Robinson construction but no one I passed gave it a second glance, so there.

The college is on another corner of town, if you imagine the town to be roughly an equilateral triangle, the middle of which is taken up by Cirencester Park. You can ride a horse through Ciren. Park and if you're one of the ''privileged'' classes, you may even drive your car through it but, for some unexplained reason, not a bicycle. So, the ride means going down into town and back up to the college. Going down, I was aware of being tail-gated by man on a racer who sped past at the earliest opportunity. Further along, going uphill, I managed to catch up despite my load, despite his nose on the handlebars and bum in the air, and overtook with relative ease. I never saw hide nor hair of him after that.

So, the question is; is it better to have a bike that gets you downhill faster or one that gets you uphill easier? I'll leave that philosophical conundrum with you.

antibarbarianism

Hot on the heels of Paxo's advice, I took to my bicycle to see Kate Lynch's touring Sheep exhibition at the New Brewery Arts. Okay, before you say it, that's the nearest thing we have to a gallery. Contemporary, you won't find anything Victorian though you might see something made with pre-Victorian technology such is the way of arty rural folk - rather like the subjects of Lynch's paintings and drawings. I like it like that; each in its proper place.

It was a fabulously warm morning, the air passed by with wonderful smells. The lemony scent of freshly sawn pine from a loft conversion, the heady perfume of a rose garden, and the incredibly nostalgic coconut-ice waft of a flowering gorse hedge. I chained the bike to a fire escape, there are no provisions for bicycles at the new gallery. A criminal oversight.

I really liked Lynch's charcoals. The oils were charming, they brought to mind Beryl Cook in the style of late Claude Monet, but that's the first time I've seen charcoals used with that style of figurative work. Big giants of people and beasts, wool and brawn. My favourite piece had no red dot but, alas, they were all (eek!) out of my price range.

There was a soundscape accompanying the exhibit but I couldn't hear it above the din of class 2K from Much Maisey-in-the-Leaze, (C of E) - I think it might have been switched off anyway. A shame: I love a bit of contrived ambiance. Still, good to watch the kiddliwinks scattered around the floor, rendering their paper with fluffy charcoal sheeps. Picasso's famous words came to mind.

(i got the) home town blues

James Lovelock's informative and thought provoking Revenge of Gaia ends with a sober vision of desperate human survival in a hot, post climate change planet. Reading the book it's hard to get a handle on whether he's optimistic or pessimistic about the outcome of this crisis. In a newspaper interview he remarks he's an optimist; he knows climate change is going to happen. Enjoy life while you can is his advice. We may have as little as two decades left.

Enjoying life while you can means to me appreciating our world more. Not just nature, or what passes as the natural world in a man-made environment, but civilization; art, science, literature, and history, especially. I was looking for a site on Cirencester 21 - which I think is a local movement involved in transition, peak oil, energy etc. - and ended up on a BBC film archive watching 28 minutes of A Day Out in Cirencester, part of a series made in 1979. I don't know if there ever was a ''Golden Age of Television'' but programmes certainly looked gentler and more quaint in those days. But less superficial maybe. I can't imagine even the Beeb making a series like this today. It's all ''reality'' now, only it isn't really that real. Whereas A Day Out is.

Anyway, this has been my adopted town for the last eighteen years. Recently, I've been feeling an urge to move on to new pastures - maybe further west, or Wales. This little film has made me feel I belong here. I shall have to give it a little think.