Annotations of Annabel

Radio Record, Volume II, Issue 12, 5 October 1928, Page 12

Annotations of Annabel

DEAREST: Dunedin, ever to the fore in matters musical, with enthusiasm and pleasant camaraderie welcomed home Miss Vera Moore. This delightful artist is touring her native land, and it is hoped the different centres of the Dominion will have opportunity of appreciating her fascinating interpretation and technique. IXTY women musicians of the Scottish City entertained the accomplished pianiste at the Somerset Lounge in an uncommonly successful party, where gay cinerarias bloomed against panelled walls and leaping log fires added cheer. A _ happy speech of welcome was spoken by the president, and Miss Yorston added graceful tribute, attired in gold that gleamed and much befringed shawl. Delightfully gowned in pale-toned georgette, Miss Moore spoke in beautifully-modulated tones of study in London with the late Leonard Borwick; and of later days in Leipzig, she being accepted in that great centre of art in happiest fashion by inner circle of musicians, and her talent acclaimed by invitation to play at the Sehubert Centenary Festival. ONGS were charmingly sung by Miss Meda Paine, who contributed also reminiscences of Competitions in past years, when two glad girls, the guest of the evening and herself, took part in those educative and exciting jousts. HACUN a son gout. Why not? Some like apples, some like onions, and again there are a few to whom bread and cheese and kisses come not amiss. If only people would let us alone to follow the moon of our delight that knows no wane. UT it appears that condemnation is the chief recreation of the mediocre mind. Even in the minor matter of meals. This very day, as I struggled with luncheon pielet, a heavy-faced damsel at my table thus, with vain repetition, addressed her friend "If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s breakfast. I simply can’t stand it. Now, there’s Bill at our place. He makes me sick, Bill does. Every morning buttered toast and eges and bacon. Quite sick, he makes me. Can’t stand people who eat breakfast. Never could." Poor Bill! One could not avoid the reflection that those Olympians who dine at seven might feel equally repulsed by the sight of this plump and pasty young female "wiring in" at twelve noon upon hefty conglomerate of sodden cabbage and underdone mutton. To those who love to condemn, find fault, point out the flaw in the pattern, the fly in the amber, I commend the following from "Epigrams":

The human species you condemn ? Go see the creatures at the Zoo. At least, if you are bored by them. They may be entertained by you. JESHAWLED to the eyebrows was the gay crowd of femininity that flocked, with its attendant swain, to the Opening Night of the Wellington Art Society. Delightful gowns were worn, and wraps were noticeably lovely. Gold and silver of subtle weave were utilised in the latter; brocaded georgette embcssed in rose and purple and scarlet burgeoning around the slender gracefulness of the moment’s mode. Irom the walls, Eyes of Youth, as portrayed by Elizabeth Wallwork, dispassionately surveyed the shifting and colourful kaleidoscope; while some portraits of well-known people were so indistinct with life that they seemed part of the human throng. Quite lovely is Mrs. M. E. R. Tripe’s "1928," which displays in fullest measure the artist’s remarkable flair for imprisoning personality, allied to graceful composition and admirable draughtsmanship. A brilliant study is the painting of Wm. Hamilton, Esq., while others of Mr. A. F. Nicoll’s portraits would add distinction to any art exhibition in the world. HE work of women artists is arresting. No. 140, by Miss Lynch, in truth of portraiture of a beautiful, dark-eyed girl, held always a knot of admirers; Elizabeth Kelly’s nude study, in suave gradations of flesh tints, shows brilliant technique; while the work of a youthful painter, Miss Cecil Macgregor, in ‘"‘The White House," attracted interest and admiration. "THE Private View at Wellington was more than usually crowded this year. It would seem as though, at this long last, New Zealand awakes to the paramount importance of things strictly non-utilitarian, and with repertory societies, play-reading coteries, art galleries, actual or in the air, seeks the hyacinths to feed its soul that the poet commends. Your

ANNABEL

LEE