Arts feature

Jane Feaver goes behind the scenes with Kneehigh, a theatre company with an international reach that remains resolutely close to its Cornish roots These days, when Mike Shepherd appears on stage in Cornwall he is greeted as a local hero, the boy in the playground everyone most wants to play with. Some 30 years ago he founded the theatre company Kneehigh, where he remains associate artistic director.

With the passing of Cy Twombly — who has died of cancer aged 83 — a beacon light of rare civilisation has gone out in the Western world. With the passing of Cy Twombly — who has died of cancer aged 83 — a beacon light of rare civilisation has gone out in the Western world. An elusive artist, with a highly developed faculty of challenge and response, he developed a pattern of investigation into the visual which was part philosophical inquiry and part sensual celebration. Despite close association with Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns, recognition came late. He remained something of an outsider: an esoteric American artist who settled in Italy in 1957 and grew obsessed with Classical antiquity.

William Cook discovers that the clue to Nicholas Parsons’s enduring success lies in his ability to laugh at himself When I was a kid, watching Sale of the Century on my grandma’s colour telly, Nicholas Parsons used to seem like the smartest man in show business. Meeting him half a lifetime later, in a rooftop restaurant in Kensington, I’m pleased to find that he still looks just as dapper. His blue blazer is neatly pressed, his white shirt is crisply ironed and his bright eyes sparkle like a schoolboy’s. You’d never guess he was in his eighties, with more than 60 years in showbiz behind him. He’s worked with Tony Hancock, Kenneth Williams — all the greats, and he’s outlived the lot of them. He’s a living marvel.

Niru Ratnam tackles the thorny question of what constitutes British — or should that be English? — art In the past few months there have been two large-scale exhibitions showcasing British art. The first was the British Art Show at the Hayward Gallery; the second Modern British Sculpture at the Royal Academy. On show at the former were an elegant suite of works by Wolfgang Tillmans (born in Germany), a tapestry by David Noonan (Australia), the much-lauded film ‘Clock’ by Christian Marclay (America) and the delicate paintings of Maaike Schoorel (Netherlands).

I met a Distinguished Old Rock Critic at a party recently, and was delighted to find that the obvious acronym didn’t apply. I met a Distinguished Old Rock Critic at a party recently, and was delighted to find that the obvious acronym didn’t apply. We chewed on this and that: CDs vs downloads, the blackboard-scraping quality of Chris Martin’s voice, and the unending need to hear the wonderful new music we know is out there somewhere but can’t seem to find. He is my senior by some years but the bug is still in his system, which I found encouraging. I met a Distinguished Old Rock Star recently, too, and he admitted he couldn’t give a monkey’s about any of it, and listened to as little as he could get away with.

From high in the sky over Cappadocia Susan Moore looks down at part of the largest contemporary land art project in the world There are few artists whose work is best seen by hot-air balloon. There are even fewer whose works can only be photographed in their entirety by satellite. To describe the Australian Andrew Rogers as a land artist on an epic scale seems something of an understatement. Over the past 13 years he has masterminded the construction of 47 monumental structures in 13 countries spanning seven continents and involving some 6,700 people. The more remote a site, the better it suits his purpose. Rogers has a penchant for wilderness, desert and plateau, favouring culturally resonant sites that are often barely accessible, and not flinching from challenging extremes of climate.

Michael Henderson considers the perennial appeal of Bob Dylan Bob Dylan turns 70 next week, and from Duluth to Derby they will blow out the candles. The Minnesotan troubadour, who rolled into New York the year Kennedy became president, will pay no attention. As he wrote in one of his better songs, ‘Me, I’m still on the road, heading for another joint.’ Like Ken Dodd, a different kind of minstrel, he will stop performing only when they put him in a box. It would not be unkind to say he has been crooning like a 70-year-old for some while. His voice, which was never an instrument of beauty, lost whatever shape it may have had at least a decade ago.

Michael Henderson talks to Alfred Brendel about his favourite films ‘I belong to no tribe,’ says Alfred Brendel, taking tea at his home in Hampstead, surrounded by some of the books that constitute his vast library. ‘I follow no creed, subscribe to no ideology, and I despise nationalism. I have lived in many places but wherever I go I am a paying guest.’ If you wanted a single statement to do justice to this extraordinary man, that would do pretty well. It is the expression of a well-travelled, well-read, well-versed man in language that is by turns serious and playful. With his immense learning, worn lightly, and a highly developed sense of irony and absurdity, Brendel is every inch a central European.

John Major is half way through a book about the rise and fall of the music hall. His father, Tom, was a song-and-dance man who formed a double act with his wife, Kitty. John’s brother Terry was a trapeze artist, and the former prime minister must have come close to going into the family trade. Parliament’s gain was, in John Major-speak, showbiz’s not inconsiderable loss. Oh, yes.   Tom Major was a name in his day, although the fag-end of the music hall he knew is deader now than even the madrigal. The generation of halls that emerged in 1850 were very rapidly gone. Only one survives, in the East End of London, off Cable Street in Stepney.

Perhaps to contradict the shocking fade-out of sculpture post-1970 in the Royal Academy’s Modern British Sculpture exhibition, just ended, there are a number of good sculpture shows in the commercial galleries. Perhaps to contradict the shocking fade-out of sculpture post-1970 in the Royal Academy’s Modern British Sculpture exhibition, just ended, there are a number of good sculpture shows in the commercial galleries. A survey at Waddington’s of Bill Woodrow’s witty recycled works from the 1980s ends on 16 April, but over the road is a fine display of recent prints and sculpture by Ivor Abrahams (born 1935), entitled Suburban Encounters (Mayor Gallery, 22a Cork Street, W1, until 28 April).