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Dores' Aldourie Pottery, donated by Mary Seton Watts, 'Of Earth and Fire' ceramics goes on display at Inverness Museum and Art Gallery

Watts gallery: weekend outings don't come better than this

Letters: Good riddance to masks, bossy signs and excuses for disruption 'due to Covid'

Pedestrians on Oxford Street in central London Credit: Niklas HALLE N/AFP/getty SIR – From July 19, I hope to see an end to masks, plastic screens and one-way systems, as well as all the signs littering floors and pavements. And, of course, I’d like to see the end of those three depressing words “Due to Covid”. Tony Manning   SIR – If the architects of the Covid project fear had been used on Brexit we would still be in the European Union. What a job they have done. John Northfield   SIR – Your columnist Sherelle Jacobs is right. The scientists involved in the management of Covid have become intoxicated with their own sense of power. It is time for them to be put back in their box.

The smell of art | Apollo Magazine

Apollo. Preview and subscribe here. At first glance Jacob van Ruisdael’s View of Haarlem with Bleaching Grounds ( c. 1670–75) depicts a pleasant pastoral scene. Half of the painting – one of a series of popular Haerlempjes, or ‘Haarlem views’, for which Ruisdael was well known – is filled with sky, the billowing clouds emphasising the stark flatness of the Dutch landscape beneath. On the horizon lies the busy market town of Haarlem, dominated by the solid 15th-century Grote Kerk, which looms over the surrounding houses like a ship. In the foreground are a lake, trees and fields, on one of which bolts of linen have been laid out to bleach in the sun. It’s a beautiful detail. The bright white sheets cutting across the green and brown of the field give the painting an almost abstract geometry. Yet this formal beauty obscures one of the things that many contemporary viewers would have most associated with the bleaching fields: their overpowering, unavoidable stench.

The Madman as Painter: An artist of genius and a murderer, Richard Dadd spent 42 years in psychiatric institutions.

Arts and Culture Hidden in the beautiful, undulating countryside of Surrey, south of London much of it ruined, though, by the hideousness of post–Great War suburbia is the Watts Gallery, a museum devoted to the work of the Victorian painter George Frederic Watts, once known (it is impossible to suppress a smile) as England’s Michelangelo. Watts (1817–1904) was the son of an impoverished but ambitious piano tuner, and he owed his rapid ascent up the social scale to the swift recognition of his talents by people in the upper reaches of society. Though somewhat lacking in humor, he was charming and good company. When, as a very young man, he went to Italy to study at the font of Western art, the British ambassador to the Duchy of Florence, Lord Holland, and his wife were so taken with him that they asked him to stay. “We have plenty of room,” said Lady Holland, which was no more than the truth: their residence had 100 rooms. He stayed for years.