Day in St. Ives - Tourist Mob Scene
I think I had an antiquated and idealistic image of St. Ives before I arrived there today - that somehow the light over the water would be spellbinding, there would be bohemian artists strolling the streets, elegant galleries would be on every corner…I did find some galleries and artists in their studios and I did see beautiful colors in the ocean, but the sky was overcast, then blue and sunny, and then overcast again, and the light wasn’t much different from in St. Just or Penzance. The train ride, though, was so beautiful along the shore. Yet the train was filled with families with young kids and so many dogs. It was definitely school vacation time with lots of kids holding pails and shovels, bags of ball games for the beach, picnic baskets, etc. It was fun to be there as part of what felt like an intimate journey of strangers all expectant for a beautiful fun day ahead. When we got of the train, everyone seemed to know exactly where to go and I had to ask a woman where the main street was and how to get there since I wasn’t immediately going to the sand and surf.
Only now, after returning from St. Ives, did I discover this fantastic link to all the decent galleries (not corny beach scenes and painted pebbles etc.) https://www.stivesbythesea.co.uk/blogs/st-ives/st-ives-art-galleries-cornwall
Happily I found at least three of the places in the list just by wandering around.
I sat on the beachfront to get my bearings and watch the enormous crowds of people pass by with dogs interacting with seagulls and other dogs and kids being reined in from falling of the edge of the beach wall and loads of people on the flats at low tide looking for shells and other things…
I decided it was time to mobilize and I heaved my backpack with the large water bottle onto my back and trudged up the cobblestone street to find art and artists. My first discovery was a series of art studios, all quite small but clearly a community of artists, and I did a quick overview but ran quickly down the stairs to escape the tremendous turpentine fumes coming from the second floor. I had a brief conversation with a woman who did paintings using her hands and sometimes a brush and mounted the canvas with nails onto wood. She says it is because nature cannot be contained in a frame. Sure. I like it.
Then I wandered down another incredibly picturesque street and found the Penwith Gallery full of different media - ceramics, sculpture, jewelry, painting. I spent about a half hour there, bought a few cards, then ambled out and discovered the St. Ives School of Painting which I have been following on instagram and as an email subscriber. I went in and nobody was there, but I found some brochures to take and took a photo through the window of a door into a teaching room that has the most extraordinary view of the ocean (see below). I headed out and talked briefly with a man who was clearly an artist sitting out on a stoop drinking something from a mug and I asked him about the studios there and if they were ever open. I also asked how to get to the Tate and he pointed in the direction of the ocean and I wandered there and saw the huge building which looked totally out of place in St. Ives, a bit like the Guggenheim Museum placed on a quaint cobblestone street. My energy was low and I didn’t feel like going in, even though I had a sense that I absolutely should. Instead I sat on a bench facing the beach next to a man who was making a gesture of looking for his wallet, patting his pockets. I asked him if he was looking for his wallet and he said he didn’t need one because he son took care of everything but he was looking for his cap. He then said he was 86 and it was his last time in St. Ives but that it was his grandson’s first time at the ocean and at St. Ives (they live in Switzerland) and that his grandson had fallen in love with it. It felt like he was passing the torch and it was poignant. He told me he had lived in Newton Highlands for a couple of years and in Philadelphia as CEO’s of a couple of companies before living in Switzerland. He got his pilot’s license in the states. He said he didn’t feel like coming back to the U.S. because of what is happening there and then luckily his daughter-in law and grandson appeared speaking french and I told his grandson whom he introduced as Mattieu that he had an amazing grandfather. Of all the conversations I had today, that was the most moving.
I meandered down looking for some toast to eat since my stomach had felt off for 24 hours and had the most delicious sourdough toast with butter and honey sitting on a bench on a side street before going down to the main drag and ordering some tea and doing a bit of sketching. From there I wandered up the hill to discover more of the city and found a gallery that was selling the work of the artists from the area going as far back as the 1800’s. I had a wonderful exchange with the woman there who knew so much about the artists. We were the only ones there so she was able to take time to explain some of the background of the painters to me. Then I discovered the library which was an oasis of calm. Unfortunately it was closing in 15 minutes but it was enough to reset my equilibrium.
From there I headed back towards the train but not until I had photographed a family overlooking St. Ives and discovered a beautiful restaurant to have some potatoes and sketch in. My seat was right overlooking the crashing waves and the turquoise water and gulls kept flying past. I noticed a man with a snorkle and thought it could make an intersting subject for a painting.
I took the train then the bus back to my little cabin in the middle of the moors and am eager to get to Falmouth tomorrow and hopefully more rested with my appetite back tomorrow.