My own sort of Northernness

If you are at all familiar with C.S. Lewis, you know about his concept of 'Northernness' - the wistful, heart-breaking longing that he would feel as a young child when he looked out of his Belfast bedroom; or as a young man when he first encountered Wagner's Ring Trilogy; when he read the Norse mythologies.

Here are some pictures that create my own sense of 'Northernness'...

This is an enduring image from my childhood... I think it appears in a book called 'The Private World of Tasha Tudor' which my mom had at one time (I think most of her TT books disappeared in our last move). Growing up in Oklahoma, the concept of lush flower gardens was a little distant to me. At best, I remember my Papa growing rose bushes in his back yard... but they never really lasted more than a few years at a time. So to see this tiny old woman holding the large, lush blooms was enticing. There really were places in the world where the flora and fauna was abundant and beautiful. I wanted to live there.

One of Tasha Tudor's illustrations... who wouldn't want to have that kind of a kitchen, copper pots and delicious smells simmering on the stove, fogging up the windows on a cool autumnal evening? One of the many reasons I love TT's illustrations is that she captures the beauty in the mundane. I believe that the life we live, each and every day, is filled with creative opportunities, with moments of the Creator's intended beauty, poking it's head through the weeds of sin and evil.

Does this Beatrix Potter illustration make anyone else think of Lucy and Tumnus? Hmm... Beatrix Potter is another illustrator who early in my life captured this feeling of Northernness (for me, it might be better to speak truthfully, it is the love of an Celto/Anglophile). Her illustrations are more complex in detail, though simpler in scope, than Tudor's, though I find her to gravitate more towards the humorous side of life. Each of her little characters is flawed in their pride, greed, and naivety, and her illustrations equally capture the humor in watching someone stumble through their pride... lesson learned. I used to pour over the little green hardcover copies of these stories, the heavy paper and bright illustrations were just food for the fodder to a little brain that loved books, and words, and stories.

My mother used to tell me that she really wanted to name me Jemima. I don't think I would have liked the name as a child (and given that my brother's name is Jeremy, it would have created a funny little 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang' reference... if anyone knew about that movie/book at all). But as an adult, I see the appeal. It's not old fashioned necessarily. And it would certainly be unique. But I probably would have been most identified with Jemima Puddleduck. Not that I would have minded this misty, hazy little world.

Tasha Tudor's signature Corgi's. I'm not a huge fan of animals, but a Corgi always makes me think of TT and her world... though I imagine that for most of the world, they inspire thoughts of Queen Elizabeth II at Balmoral Castle. I've only seen a Corgi in real life once. Just once. I can't even say that I really want one (If I were to choose a dog, I'd be more likely to choose a Collie of some form). But that one moment sent my brain spinning as I thought about Tudor's illustrated world, full of color and delicious smells, yummy things to eat, and happy people.

Tasha with her Corgi... personally, Tudor's life was one that has struck me as cold. Upon her death, three of her four children were disinherited in her will. She was married and divorced twice. And beyond that, she seemed fairly reserved - which is not necessarily something to be chastised in a world full of tell-all biographies and twenty-four hour cable gossip, I mean, news networks. Still. What I loved about Tudor's world was the color and the possibility of life, the warmth and cheer that seemed to come off of the steam in her kitchen. I hope that existed for her in some way.

Beatrix Potter outside of her home. The idea of Potter's world, both illustrated and real, makes me a little happier, though I know about as much of her as I do of Tudor. But her home was in the British Countryside, and her heart was in the preservation of what was beautiful and good in that land. She married once, at the more 'advanced' age of 47, though she had lost love earlier in life. The countryside was what inspired her art... and stirred her heart.