From: http://blog.zap2it.com:

For the second year in a row, “Sex and the City” star Kim Cattrall bared it all to keep a classic Renaissance painting on display in the U.K.
For the second year in a row, “Sex and the City” star Kim Cattrallbared it all to keep a classic Renaissance painting on display in the U.K.
Cattrall will again pose nude as the goddess Diana for a reenactment of Titian’s famous painting “Diana and Callisto,” according to Contact Music.

he reenactment will hopefully raise awareness (and money) to keep the real painting in an Ediburgh gallery, after the Scottish government has refused to pay for the work to stay there.

This is the second time Cattrall has posed as the goddess Diana for this purpose. The first time was a year ago, when she sat beside many nude twenty-something art students and actors to recreate Titian’s “Diana and Actaeon” (above) to raise money to keep the painting in the National Gallery in London.

The Duke of Sutherland, who owned the painting, told the gallery that it would have to buy the painting from him for £50 million or he would sell it on the open market. The fundraising effort was successful, however, and kept the painting in the National Gallery.

The reenactment will hopefully raise awareness (and money) to keep the real painting in an Ediburgh gallery, after the Scottish government has refused to pay for the work to stay there.

Cattrall was born in England to British parents and has visited the National Gallery many times. She told the Daily Mail, “Viewing this painting is like being in the presence of genius, it would be a tragedy if it were not on public view.”

Cattrall is no stranger to shedding her clothing on “Sex and the City,” but still… well done, Ms. Cattrall. You make a beautiful Diana.

“Sex and the City 2″ is in theaters May 28, 2010.

Le week-end du 14 novembre, nous sommes donc partis trois jours en Angleterre faire le plein de thé, de bières et d’anglais dans les rues! Nous avions pris un petit hôtel pour le jeudi soir près de la gare de King’s Cross, qui s’est révélé plutôt agréable malgré l’étroitesse des couloirs et la chaleur d’enfer dans l’entrée. Comme tous les hôtels londoniens de cette gamme, c’est un immeuble transformé et les chambres sont situées le long de couloirs un peu sineux. Le restaurant pour le petit déjeuner est plutôt petit, mais les toasts et le thé sont bons! Seul défaut selon Fabien: pas d’oeufs au bacon!

 Le vendredi matin, bon pied bon oeil, nous partons à 10h de l’hôtel pour déambuler dans les rues de London. Le matin, je voulais absolument retourner à Covent Garden. Je n’ai pas été déçue! J’ai retrouvé cette atmosphère de fête, d’art et de petits magasins bizarres que j’avais en tête. La période de Noël étant là, les décorations ajoutaient encore à cette ambiance particulière de cet endroit un peu hors du temps. Nous sommes rentrés dans un petit magasin vendant des articles “navals” au milieu des mugs pirates et des maquettes de bateaux. J’y ai trouvé une affiche que je cherchais depuis longtemps: “Why a ship is called a She?”

Après avoir visité un magasin de jeux pour enfants complètement hors du temps, et après avoir craqué pour une horloge originale et du thé (of course…), nous sommes partis déjeuner dans Chinatown. De mes souvenirs, j’ai retrouvé le restaurant où je m’étais déjà régalé. Tenu par des chinois, fréquenté par des chinois, ce petit restaurant ne paye pas de mine, et lorsque nous sommes entrés, je pense que nous étions les seuls “occidentaux”! Mais ce que c’était bon…

Ensuite, partant de la rue principale de Chinatown (qui s’appelle logiquement Gerrard street…), délimitée par des portes rouges au thème asiatique, nous avons longé les rues jusqu’à Picadilly Circus, toujours bondé. De là, nous avons tenté un raccourci qui nous a prolongé, mais nous a permis de découvrir de petites rues, et une jolie place tranquille et abritant la maison de la première femme au parlement anglais.

En arrivant sur Trafalgar Square, Nelson nous attendait campé en haut de sa colonne, gardée par ses lions majestueux et imposants. Les musées londoniens ayant la bonne idée d’être gratuits, nous sommes entrés à la National Gallery pour contempler les Turner, Monet, Manet, Picasso et autres Cézanne pour nous en mettre plein les yeux! J’aime vraiment beaucoup les tableaux de Turner, ils ont l’air tellement vivants que l’on a l’impression que la scène peinte va se mettre à bouger.

Les yeux repus, nous avons franchi ensuite la porte d’un pub à proximité pour déguster un thé accompagné d’un apple crumble pour moi et d’un chocolate pudding pour Fabien, arrosé bien sûr de Custard cream. Aaah les pubs anglais..et leur moquette à tous les étages, la lumière tamisée, les tables en bois foncé, les canapés profonds et confortables… Il est bien difficile de s’en sortir! Nous avons vu la nuit tomber sur Londres, les rues mouillées et pleines de parapluies, la colonne de Nelson se détachant devant la lune et les lumières de la ville, les cabines rouges dégoulinantes. Le tout combiné à la chaleur du thé et le confort douillet du pub, ce petit tea-time était bien agréable.

Ensuite, après avoir récupéré nos bagages à la consigne de King’s Cross (qui a plus de sécurité qu’un aéroport), nous avons pris le train pour Gatwick, où Arthur le Modus nous attendait pour nous emmener à Crawley. La conduite à gauche, étrangement, me semble toujours plus facile à reprendre, que lors du retour en France. Entrés dans une résidence nouvelle, nous avons découvert la nouvelle maison de ma “belle-soeur” et son ami. Je suis jalouse!! Elle est grande, lumineuse et bien agencée, et a une cuisine démente!

Le vendredi soir, nous avons dégusté un ragoût de poireaux au chorizo et aux patates douces délicieux. Dans la nuit, le vent s’est levé et c’est une vraie tempête qui a soufflé, durant jusqu’au matin. Lorsque nous nous sommes levés, le temps était très…british! Malgré tout, et comme prévu, nous sommes sortis et avons pris la route pour Down House, située à Downe, dans la région de Bromley, au sud-est de Londres.

Cette ancienne ferme agrandie et transformée en maison, était la demeure familiale de Charles Darwin. Aujourd’hui musée en son honneur, cette maison a connu ses études et recherches sur sa théorie de l’évolution naturelle. C’est là qu’il rédigea son fameux “The Origin of Species”, paru en 1859. Le musée retrace son enfance, son penchant pour la science naturelle, le voyage décisif sur le “Beagle” qui lui fera faire le tour du monde, ses influences diverses et variées, ses nombreuses recherches et écritures sur le monde qui nous entoure. Si le musée n’apporte pas de grandes nouveautés par rapport à ce qui est connu en général, les manuscrits originaux et la reconstitution de la cabine de Darwin à bord du Beagle sont très intéressants. Mais ce qui est particulier, c’est de se trouver dans les endroits où Darwin a vécu, pensé, rédigé, tout en s’occupant de ses enfants dont il était très proche, et où il est mort le 19 avril 1882, à l’âge avancé de 73 ans. Seul regret: en raison des conditions climatiques, nous n’avons pas pu visiter les jardins…Ce n’est que partie remise!

Nous avons ensuite déjeuné d’un sandwich dans la voiture, ce qui n’a pas manqué de nous faire rire…Cela dit, ce pique-nique dans un véhicule embué, sous la pluie, m’a rappelé les déjeuners dans le camping-car de mes parents que j’aimais tant, et j’en ai donc un joyeux souvenir ^^

Lorsque nous sommes rentrés à Crawley vers 16h, ce fut pour découvrir que le quartier entier de la résidence  faisait l’objet d’une coupure de courant… Nous avons profité des dernières lumières du jour pour installer le plateau du jeu du Seigneur des Anneaux…et avons terminé la partie aux bougies, qui heureusement étaient nombreuses! L’électricité est revenue à temps pour le dîner, vers 21h (c’est long, mais les anglais ne sont pas habitués au mauvais temps, à la pluie, au vent…..hem.), et avons donc pu manger les pies chaudes, suivies d’une soupe au curry savoureuse et d’un gâteau…aux betteraves et aux bananes. Si, si, ce gâteau est délicieux et je vais même tenter la recette.

Le lendemain midi, nous sommes allé bruncher dans un restaurant indien. En fait, il s’agit d’un buffet à volonté pendant lequel les serveurs sont très disponibles, toujours prêts à glisser une serviette ou demander si tout va bien. Parmi les entrées, je retiens leur très bon poulet tikka (il faut que je trouve une recette), pour les plats je retiens le curry, et le dessert unique dont le nom ne me revient pas était sucré sans être lourd. Bref, un bon brunch, que nous avons fait suivre d’une petite promenade dans les environs. Ma cheville me faisant un peu mal, nous sommes rentrés faire nos bagages, et avons eu le temps de prendre un dernier thé avant de partir pour la gare.

Porte à porte, de Crawley à Bois-Colombes, nous avons pris 5 trains et mis 6 heures! Et nous avons rapporté du thé, deux livres de Darwin, et … quelques pintes de bonnes ales!

Pour les photos commentées, vous pouvez aller sur la page dédiée dans Photographies

Yesterday I went to see Ed Kienholz’s Hoerengracht at the National Gallery. It’s great fun.

Kienholz was one of only a few artists who understood the true function of art – that is, it should be accessible to everyone, and for the enjoyment of everyone. We’ve all been there, looking at some cube in a room, pretending we get what the explanation on the wall means. The simple fact of the matter is, no-one knows what it means, and therefore no-one cares. It’s irrelvent to our lives.

Hoerengrach at the National Gallery

Hoerengracht invites passers by to explore a life-size reconstruction of Amsterdam’s red light district. It’s reminiscent of those Victorian villages in theme parks, and just as intriguing – except of course a little sadder. In true Kienholz style, everything is thrown together in a brash, painterly way, with grotesque mannequins touting for business in doorways and windows.

Kienholz and his wife Nancy were strangely fixated on this underworld, but also sought to make a social comment on the legalisation of prostitution. The pair, who worked together since the 70s, ignored the art world and instead made the art they wanted the public to see. 

I love their boldness and their sheer lack of pretension. Why can’t more artists of my generation take after them?

Part of Amsterdam’s red light district has been recreated at the National Gallery, London, in an installation by American artists Ed Kienholz and Nancy Reddin Kienholz. In The Hoerengracht, visitors to the gallery are invited to walk around two blocks of Amsterdam brothels, while mannequins peer out of the windows looking for customers.

The Hoerengracht was created during the 1980s and preserves many day-to-day details of life at the time. At first, the piece reminded me of an exhibit at the Geffrye Museum, which specialises in recreating domestic interiors from earlier eras. My eye was caught by period details such as the old radios, a Joni Mitchell cassette and a plastic hanger in the shape of spread legs. While these items were interesting in themselves, the way Hoerengracht has aged now distracts from the serious subject of prostitution and even makes it appear slightly quaint.

The absence of men in Hoerengracht is very noticeable. In part, the intention seems to be to unsettle visitors by implicating them in the scene. However, there is also something dignified about showing the women separate from the men who define their lives. Standing alone in shop windows, the women look like religious icons –with glowing red lights and cigarettes instead of candles and rosary beads.

Trapped like animals

To start with, the piece felt weaker because of the absence of any direct reference to the women’s relationships with their male customers and pimps. When I looked closely, however, I became more affected by the loneliness and isolation of the women, trapped like animals in the windows of pet shops.

Photos in the introduction to the exhibition show the artists making casts of prostitutes in Amsterdam, which they used to create the bodies of the women in the installation. To emphasise the idea that the prostitutes in Hoerengracht are commodities, however, the artists put mannequins’ heads on top of the bodies. The blank faces of the mannequins staring out at us from the windows are surprisingly strong; they convey the tedium and numbness which must come from selling your body for sex on a daily basis.

Dripping with glue

The most striking feature of the installation is the transparent glue which has been dripped all over it. Coming down the sides of the buildings, the glue looks like rain and contributes to the cold and depressing atmosphere of the scene. On the inside of the windows, it might be interpreted as steam -a reference to what is happening in the bedroom, as well as emphasising how trapped the women are.

On the bodies of the prostitutes, however, the presence of this sticky glue can only be interpreted as sexual. Running down their faces and all over their clothes, it is the most powerful evocation of the misery, indignity and abuse of life as a sexual worker. The message is very powerful, but I am not sure that it affects viewers in the way which the artists really want.

The Kienholzs obviously felt sympathy for the prostitutes they met during their trips to Amsterdam in the 1980s. In the introduction to the installation, Nancy is quoted as saying: “I would only hope that The Hoerengracht is a kind portrait of the profession and that eventually the profession will be legal and the girls can get police protection rather than prosecution.”

Hoerengracht effectively evokes the misery of life as a prostitute and would discourage anybody from participating in it. But the Kienholzs have made the women in their installation look repellent by covering them in icky, sexually suggestive glue. Their intention seems to have been to improve the lot of prostitutes by rousing sympathy for them. In fact, the Kienholzs have further stigmatised and marginalised prostitutes, by putting so much emphasis on the idea that they are diseased and unclean.

Ed and Nancy Kienholz’s installation, The Hoerengracht, brings Amsterdam’s Red Light District to Sunley Room at London’s National Gallery.

The installation represents the district’s notorious “whore’s canal” and is not a particularly attractive sight.  Dutch alleyways are filled with plain-faced female life-size figures posing in  Brothel windows.

Taking 5 years to complete, The Hoerengracht is a dark and compelling piece that reveals the realities of prostitution as it was in the 1980’s. Nancy Kienholz described the work as a catalyst which “opened up discussion” about the issue of selling sex in the Western World.  She claims that, “it’s certainly something that is there in every major city in the western world,” and that, “any taxi driver in any city can tell you where it is.”

It is very rare for the National Gallery to display such a contemporary installation.  However, the curator Colin Wiggins describes the method in this madness.  The Hoerengracht can cast a significant light on the other works present at London’s prestigous gallery.  Many of the works displayed (dated from the 17th century) reflect on prostitution, but most of them look “safe and pretty”.  Godfried Schiecken’s A Man Offering Gold shows a woman sitting on a bed while being given money by a man as Cupid overlooks them.  The purpose of The Hoerengracht is to force upon the spectator a three dimensional representation of the 1980’s Red Light District, provocative and dominated by the sex industry.

The Hoerengracht installation can be  seen from 18 Nov 2009 – 21 Feb 2010 at the Sunley Room, National Gallery.

For more information: http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/whats-on/exhibitions/kienholz-the-hoerengracht

No, no, tranquilli.

Questo potrebbe ma non vuole essere un pappone pseudo intellettuale sull’arte o cose varie. Non sarei capace di farlo  e finirei per inventare  buttando lì parole a caso, un po’ come facevo con la santissima prof di storia dell’arte quando mi interrogava e chi ha avuto modo di vedere i miei immacolati e nuovissimi 6 libri di storia dell’arte del liceo sa che non mento quando dico che inventavo.

Il titolo di questo post indica quest’opera:

Ieri sono stato alla National Gallery. Beh inutile stare a dire quanto fosse bello e interessante camminare per quelle stanze fantastiche. Quello di cui voglio parlarvi è di come questo quadro è stato spiegato a dei ragazzini di massimo 10 anni in visita al museo.

Entro in questa stanza e vedo circa 20-30 ragazzini tutti col maglioncino granata, uniforme della scuola, intenti a rappresentare dal vero il quadro. Tranquilli, a nessun ragazzo era stata mozzata la testa per rappresentare più realisticamente la scena.Quindi c’era qualcuno col braccio alzato come a tenere la lancia altri a terra uno che simulava di tenere dai capelli una testa. Ecco sono rimasto circa 30-40 minuti in quella sala a guardare e ad ammirare questo. Mamma mia che spettacolo.  Una cosa fantastica vedere quei bimbi così intenti e appassionati. Non so sinceramente se in Italia le visite ai musei per i ragazzini sono così, ai miei tempi sicuramente no, ma vi dico una cosa…in questo modo, secondo me, si riesce a far crescere persone decisamente migliori. Trovo che questo sia una forma di apprendimento dell’arte entusiasmante ed appassionante e la cosa speciale di tutto era che i ragazzini  si divertivano un mondo a fare ste cose. Ecco tutto questo per dirvi che se andate a Londra e avete tempo andate alla national gallery vi troverete gratis uno spettacolo che vi riempirà il cuore. Ah poi potrete anche vedere favolose opere di Van Gogh, Monet, Cezanne, Courbert, Piero della Francesca, Tiziano, Caravaggio, Leonardo e tanti ma tanti altri.

Uhm ho detto Leonardo? Azz…vi racconto quest’altra… stavo finendo tutto il giro e mi rendo conto pian piano di non aver visto uno dei quadri più attesi: “La Vergine delle Rocce” (sì sì quella di Dan Brown) versione londinese…da non confondersi con quella parigina. Eppure mi aspetto di trovarmi davanti una tavola di quasi 2 metri d’altezza e allora devo sacrificarmi e fare di nuovo tutto il giro con “sommo dispiacere” beh per chi si trovasse a passare di qui e la cerca…ad un certo punto si troverà di fronte ad una piccola etichetta in un muro vuoto. Al momento l’opera è in manutenzione… evidentemente ci sarà qualche lucetta fulminata che ne so!

Image by Flickr User "Ajay77"

Each year, hundreds of long-time residents and tourists alike flock to the National Gallery to enjoy the outdoor Sculpture Garden turned skating rink.  It’s a great way to view the garden during the off-peak winter season and also take in some exercise on your visit to the Gallery and Archives exhibits.

But this season’s unusually warm temperatures are starting to have an effect on holiday activities around town, including the delayed opening of the skating rink.

Originally scheduled for Nov. 14-15th, the Gallery has announced that the opening has been pushed back to Nov. 20-21st.  But with temperatures expected to stay near 60 degrees for the next week, it seems probable that the rink won’t open until the Thanksgiving holiday or after.  Updates will be posted on the gallery’s site – or interested groups can contact the staff at (202) 216-9397 or by e-mail at ngaicerink@guestservices.com.

Gli inserti di Repubblica regalano sempre qualche spunto interessante: oggi vi segnalo due articoli apparsi su “Donna di Repubblica” e su “Affari e Finanza”, inserto del lunedì. Entrambi, temporaneamente, li trovate online io comunque ho fatto gli screenshot per facilitarvi la vita.

Il primo si intitola “La vita organizzata in preferiti” ed è un piccolo approfondimento all’interno  di un articolo più grande intitolato Londra è Istant, pubblicato alle pagine 124-125. (vi consiglio di scaricare il pdf piuttosto che leggerlo in “streaming”).  All’interno del pezzo si citano le esperienze “new media” di Tate e National Gallery.

Londra è istant, pp. 124-125

Il secondo articolo si intitola “Archeoweb, ricostruzioni virtuali quasi perfette con i nuovi software”.

Questo merita una lettura approfondita perché porta in primo piano la questione dell’utilizzo delle nuovissime tecnologie per riproporre ambientazioni storiche virtuali: solita domanda, in quali casi è reale contributo informativo e in quali semplice lezione di stile?

The Telegraph reports:

David Landau, 59, who made his fortune from the free advertising newspaper Loot, said he had left because Alistair Darling’s tax raid on non-domiciled individuals had “broken” their trust.

Mr Landau has returned to Italy because of the tax change, which came into force in April.

Under the new legislation, non-domiciles face a fixed annual levy of £30,000, regardless of income.

As news of Mr Landau’s departure came, a leading tax accountant provoked fresh fears of a tax-induced ‘brain drain’.

George Bull, head of tax at accountants Baker Tilly, warned that half of his US clients were considering leaving Britain because of the “double whammy” of the non-domicile levy and the new 50 per cent tax rate.

Mr Landau, who has served as a trustee of the National Gallery, a governor of the Courtauld Institute and on the board of the Art Fund since coming to Britain to be an Oxford don in 1983, said of the levy: “It really broke the trust of non-domiciles.

It’s shaping up to be quite an autumn for French drawing exhibitions in the United States. In addition to the shows at the Getty, the Frick, and the Morgan, the National Gallery presents a sampling from its permanent collection. As noted in a press release from the museum’s website:

Renaissance to Revolution: French Drawings from the National Gallery of Art, 1500–1800
National Gallery, Washington D.C., 1 October 2009 — 31 January 2010

Margaret Grasselli, ISBN 978-1848220430

Some 135 of the most significant and beautiful drawings made over a period of three centuries by the best French artists working at home and abroad and by foreign artists working in France will be on view in Renaissance to Revolution: French Drawings from the National Gallery of Art, 1500–1800 in the Gallery’s West Building from October 1, 2009, through January 31, 2010. This is the first comprehensive exhibition and catalogue to focus on the Gallery’s permanent collection of French old master drawings, which is remarkable for its breadth, depth, and individual masterpieces. “One of the true glories of the National Gallery of Art’s holdings of graphic art is its outstanding collection of French old master drawings,” said Earl Powell, director, National Gallery of Art. “The exhibition Renaissance to Revolution and the accompanying catalogue celebrate the singular originality, elegance, and spirit of French draftsmanship.”

Antoine Coypel, "Seated Faun," 1700/1705, red and black chalk heightened with white chalk on blue paper, 16 x 11 inches (DC: NGA)

Among the National Gallery of Art’s extensive holdings of approximately 100,000 works on paper, the collection of 6,000 European drawings includes more than 900 French old master drawings which stand out as a particular treasure. The French group has deep roots in the earliest days of the museum’s existence, with the first of these works arriving in 1942, just a year after the Gallery opened its doors to the public. Over the next 67 years, thanks to the generosity of innumerable donors, the collection has evolved into one the Gallery’s strongest and most comprehensive, and one of the finest in the Western Hemisphere.

Organized chronologically, Renaissance to Revolution presents a visual journey through the development of drawing in France, from its first flowering during the Renaissance through its neoclassical incarnation during the political and social upheavals of the French Revolution at the end of the eighteenth century. Lorrain, and Antoine Watteau, as well as many less well-known artists. All major stylistic trends and many of the greatest and best-known artists from these centuries are represented by a rich array of works executed in a variety of styles and media and covering a wide range of functions, subjects, and genres. . . .

François-André Vincent, "The Drawing Lesson," 1777, brush and brown wash over graphite, 13 x 15 inches (DC: NGA)

Within the exceptionally rich collection of eighteenth-century drawings, the major artists—Boucher, Fragonard, Jean-Baptiste Greuze, Gabriel de Saint-Aubin, Hubert Robert, and Watteau, among others—are each represented by several works of outstanding quality. Some magnificent pieces by less familiar masters are featured as well, including François-André Vincent’s Drawing Lesson (1777), arguably the most perfect representation of eighteenth-century French elegance, taste, and gallantry; Étienne-Louis Boullée’s monumental neoclassical design for a metropolitan church from 1780/1781; and a large and beautiful pastoral scene executed in pastel and gouache, Shepherds Resting by a Stream (1779) by Jean-Baptiste Pillement. Also noteworthy is a striking group of portraits by several of the leading pastellists of the period, including outstanding examples by Maurice-Quentin de La Tour and Jean-Baptiste Perronneau, as well as a particularly dashing portrait of a young woman by Adélaïde Labille-Guiard from 1787. One of the youngest drawings in the exhibition is the neoclassical portrait Thirius de Pautrizel (1795) by David, an active participant in the revolution, made when he was imprisoned for his radical politics.

A particular strength within the Gallery’s collection of French drawings is the genre of book illustration. This is represented throughout the exhibition beginning with the work by Poyet and includes distinctive pieces by such famous masters as Boucher, Fragonard, Jean-Michel Moreau the Younger, and Saint-Aubin, as well as outstanding examples by other supremely gifted but less widely known artists, such as Hubert-François Gravelot and Charles Eisen.

Margaret Morgan Grasselli, curator of old master drawings, National Gallery of Art, is curator of the exhibition. Published by the National Gallery of Art in association with Lund Humphries, Renaissance to Revolution: French Drawings from the National Gallery of Art, 1500-1800 features an introductory essay and comprehensive entries on the exhibited drawings with 260 full-color illustrations.

On Sunday, 13 December 2009, at 2pm, Grasselli will deliver the lecture Playing Favorites: A Personal Selection of French Drawings from the National Gallery of Art and sign copies of the catalogue.

Back to work this week but its always good to see some shows to get the ol motivation going. We headed for The Sacred Made Real show at the National Gallery on Monday, an exhibition of 17th century Spanish paintings and sculpture. Savage stuff. Especially the polychrome sculptures, really reminded me of all those Sundays at mass as a young-fella bored out of my brains staring at all the Catholic imagery on the walls and behind the alter. I’ve never really considered these sculptures as high art before, maybe because I’ve never seen them in a museum or because I just associate them with boring Sundays in the 80s but  they are quite real and arresting.

And then across the river to Tate Modern, to see ‘Pop Life, Art in a Material World’. Such a shame they didn’t go with the provisional ‘Sell Out’ title. Anyway, it included much of the expected – Warhol, Koons, Hirst, Murakami blah blah blah but a few interesting pieces from the equally brash but a little less known Martin Kippenberger.

Its a bit of a visual shock to go from looking at Velasquez at the National Gallery to Koons’ larger than life porn photos at Tate Modern but I think the contrast heightened each show, bringing out both the best and the worst of their respective genres with both shows highlighting what people worshiped then and what people worship now. The National Gallery was dark and solemn, the Tate was as busy as Tesco’s with blaring 80’s music. I reckon I spent about 5 times more time in front of each piece at the Sacred show, whereas the energy in the Tate kept us shuffling along to the next piece and the next piece and the next.. 

The most striking similarity was between Gregorio Fernandez’s Dead Christ (1630) and Jeff Koons’ Dirty – Jeff On Top (1991). Both are relatively real, of similar size and depict quite shocking imagery with strong religious symbolism. Fernandez’s Christ died for our sins, Koon’s shagging self-portrait represent Adam and Eve after she’s eaten the apple but feel anything but guilty. Bring on the sin, hell yeah, high 5’s all round!

I returned home last night from a great weekend. We explored part of the Jurassic coast, walking along coastal paths and recovering afterwards in a beach cafe with cups of tea watching the ocean, visiting small art galleries and eating lovely food. Yesterday, as a complete contrast, I headed into the squash and roar of London to visit the National Gallery for the first time. Getting within a few inches of some of the paintings I’d only seen in books before was amazing.

I woke up this morning with a head full to the brim with ideas for writing, painting and coaching. Those four days have proved inspiring. A real (extended) ’artist’s date’, as creativity writer Julia Cameron puts it. The brief holiday reminded me that I need to put more of these dates in my diary, and it doesn’t need to be a four day stint. A visit to a local market, an art gallery, a concert, a park can spark off new ideas in an hour or so.

Looking at some artists’ sketchbooks at an exhibition over the weekend has prompted me to stop procrastinating and create a page each day. In one book, someone quoted a couple of lines from a poem by Walt Whitman (Song of Myself) which was new to me and might be to you:

“Long have you timidly waded, holding a plank by the shore,/Now I will you to be a bold swimmer,/To jump off in the midst of the sea, and rise again and nod to me and shout, and laughingly dash with your hair.”

Here’s to some bold swimming.

Dirijo mis pasos hacia la National Gallery, me han recomendado con insistencia visitar la exposición de grabados de Edward Munch; y desde luego, no puedo perderme el Caravaggio, el Velázquez, y el Goya (aunque no son sólo uno de cada pintor los cuadros que están expuestos, pero de cada uno hay en total de tres que no debo perderme). Intenso placer entrar en el silencio y la soledad de los museos:

El Caravaggio, La detención de Cristo:

El Velázquez, Milagro en la cocina, Velázquez es un pintor sumamente fino y al que todos van a beber, Francis Bacon lo adoraba.

May 22-30, 2009

Finally satisfied my dim sum craving at Chinatown. Gladys and I met up with her friend Michelle and her German friend at Harbor City (I think that was what the restaurant was called) and had lunch there. Pretty decent and in my opinion, comparable to dim sum you get from Crystal Jade in Singapore. Three cheers for Cantonese chefs!

After lunch, we walked along Shaftesbury Ave towards Piccadilly and then I honestly cannot remember what we did for the rest of that day. I think we had dinner at Belgo’s, a German/Belgian pub near Covent Garden where you can pay according to the time you entered (5-6.30pm) and the food is really good there. Either that or we had fish and chips at Endell Street. My memory of dinners from six months ago fails me.

The next day however was pretty eventful. We made our way to Leicester Square and bought tickets for Les Miserables. It was a chilly morning and we took refuge at Pret and had breakfast there. I prefer the hot chocolate there to Paul’s because it is not too thick. And the jalapeno chicken wrap from Pret is fantastic. Eventually Dylan and Nat made it to Leicester Square and they were in the TKTS queue when we met up with them.

Next up was a walk to Trafalgar Square and into the National Gallery. I am now officially immune to art galleries, museums and such.

Nat, Dylan, Gladys and I at Trafalgar Square

Lunch was at St Martin's Cafe in the Crypt

And dinner was at Belgo's again.

Excellent excellent excellent musical.

Gladys’ last day

The next morning, Gladys and I were having breakfast at Paul’s while waiting for Yuanting and Kenny to arrive from San Francisco. They arrived at Gloucester just as we ordered our brekkie so I went to get them and walked with them to the hostel.

Gladys had the afternoon to walk around before getting to the airport in the evening. And it was her birthday on the 29th May so she chose to celebrate it over duck rice at Four Season’s in Chinatown. That done, the afternoon included braving the drizzle and winds at Trafalgar Square and the Westminster area.

We contemplated checking out 10 Downing Street and also perhaps getting to Oxford/Bond for a bit of shopping. Eventually though we headed back to the hostel so Gladys could get ready to leave for the airport. I accompanied her to the airport and said our goodbyes while she was at the tax rebate queue and went back to Gloucester for dinner with Yuanting and Kenny at Nando’s.

Borough Market

After hearing the rave reviews I had given to Borough Market, Yuanting and Kenny decided to pay it a visit and of course, I was going to join them. I was mildly disappointed though because there were less shops on a weekday and the atmosphere just wasn’t the same as Saturday but the main shops were there nonetheless.

Considerably less people on a weekday

Yuanting and Kenny had a wheat grass drink but no way was I going to have that

I opted for apple cider instead.

it didn't smell that bad really

freshly made sangria and pimms and fresh paella!

Now, I’ve been reading about the decline of the the wet market in Singapore. If the wet markets in Singapore were anything like Borough Market, I’m pretty sure they will do better than supermarket chains.

The three of us then made our way along the south bank of the river towards Tower Bridge and the Tower of London but by the time we got to the Tower of London, it was not far from the last entrance so we thought why rush it and decided to come back the next day and not go to Buckingham Palace as originally planned.

Yuanting and Kenny’s last day

May 29th, the day Yuanting and Kenny were flying back to Singapore and I would be alone again, for one night before leaving for Madrid the following day. We had originally decided to do Buckingham Palace but had to choose between that or Tower of London and it was the latter that won out.

There were little tents set up in the lawn and guides dressed in medieval costumes like there was a fair going on. It was pretty fun to hear them talk about the olden days but we were really there to join the tour given by the yeomen who protect the tower.

Tower of London

helmut looks ridiculous, i hope it works

totally in character now

our yeoman guide

The White Tower

So the funny thing is everyone on the little tour seemed more interested in Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn than anything else. I guess people always love a little scandal. Plus their story is currently making the rounds in movies and TV shows (The Other Boleyn Sister and The Tudors, etc).

I was more fascinated by the prospect of getting to see the crown jewels. Before that though, was an explanation of the ravens that live in the courtyard and how legend has it that if the ravens leave, the monarchy will tumble. I wonder what Queen E II really feels about that. Well, if I was a raven and I was getting fed chunks of red raw meat from the royal kitchen, of course I wouldn’t leave.

Tudor architecture and the ravens

Inside the White Tower, we got to see an exhibition about Henry VIII and his costumes, battle gear and all that, and even the royal latrine. And in the tower that houses the crown jewels, we were treated to footage of the jewels being used during ceremonies. Oh, of course we got to see the jewels too. And we were truly awestruck by the splendor and beauty of those jewels. No photos were allowed though. But the size of some of those diamonds… Wow.

OK, so for me, the Tower of London was one of the city’s top highlights. Incredible and definitely a must-do in London. That afternoon, we squeezed in a spot of shopping at Oxford Circus before Kenny and Yuanting packed up and left for the airport. I had been worrying about my suitcase all week because I wanted to leave it in London while I brought my backpack with me to Madrid. It finally worked out – I left it in the hostel and by God’s blessing, managed to find a kind couple (cousin’s friend’s in-laws) to pick it up and store it in their house for three months. More on that later.

So, I left London to spend the night at a hotel by London Gatwick airport, from where I would catch my early flight to Madrid…..

Yesterday (Tuesday) night I went to a political meeting.

It was a meeting of a campaign group to get stand-up and sketch comedy recognised by Arts Council as proper (ie fundable) art, and it’s gaining momentum…more on that later.

Anyway. On the way to that meeting – to get in the mood – I stopped in at the National Gallery to see some ‘real’ art. And I fucking love it there – I still find it amazing that you – anyone – can just walk in off the street and for no money at all be looking at some of the greatest paintings in history. You just walk in, you go up a few steps to the right, and you’re looking at Van Gogh’s Sunflowers.

Or if you’re me, you’re looking at Renoir’s Umbrellas.

I hadn’t seen it in a few years and as soon as I saw the young woman in it I cursed myself for not visiting more recently. I’m totally in love with her. I think perhaps I always have been; she’s just so calm, so assured, so stylish, relaxed, beautiful – so brunette. It’s either been raining or it’s just about to: everyone else, in their out-of-date clothes (because Renoir painted them four years earlier) has umbrellas. But they’re wrong – they must be wrong because the brunette has no umbrella, not even in that empty basket. And she is too beautiful to be wrong.

She’s so different from that little blonde girl on the right with her petulant blonde face. I know that face - it was still there in grown-up petulant blonde women I’ve known (and occasionally fallen for); I know what that face looks like when it gets older…but I still want it in the painting so I can watch how far above and beyond it my brunette is; that soft, clear, rounded face just sails away from all of them…

I also saw a Picasso painting – I think it’s just called ‘Child’.

It always looked somehow familiar to me, but I didn’t know why until recently when my mother told me she had a copy of that picture with her when she gave birth to me. Someone had suggested she should take the most beautiful thing she could find and look at it while giving birth. I don’t know if my mother was hoping that by doing that, I might be as beautiful as the boy in the picture; I think she’d be disappointed if she was. I mean, there are similarities I guess: he has blue eyes, and I have blue eyes; he has a ball at his feet and I do quite like football; for a short while in my teens I was into cross-dressing. And biting the heads off small birds…

Anyway, so after that I went to this campaign meeting. The vibe was pretty good, and people were coming up with lots of suggestions for ways in which we could get the Arts Council to recognise comedic artforms as art. There were a few brief moments of tension, when (as I understood it) there was disagreement over whether this could be done straightforwardly through letter/petition/civil society-style campaigning or whether the whole artistic establishment needs to be taken apart and put back together again with a different mindset and a different kind of aesthetic language. (It’s pretty normal, I think, for progressive campaigns to face tensions between revolutionaries and practical gradualists. As usual, I fell on the side of cautious gradualism because, as discussed before, I am an anarchist but I’m a pretty conservative one…)

Anyway, any tensions gave way in the end to some really good practical things we can do to get Arts Council England to have another look at their position, which is pretty exciting. I got the job of drafting the initial letter to the chair of Arts Council England, asking for a full explanation of why nothing funny ever gets funding. Which I’ve done. You can see it here.

And if you’ve got nothing else to do and you agree with the cause, join the facebook group. It’s got 800-odd members now – and I can sense (r)evolution in the air…

I’m strewn across the towel rail, starkers. Arms outstretched, one knee arched and tummy sucked in for maximum ribbage. Sodden hair turned from Blonde to dark and suitably rattailed. Eyes closed, head lolled onto chest, profoundly piteous expression of transcendent pain.

Footsteps. Door. Laden pause. Faintest of sighs. Electric toothbrush whirr.

One eye opens. One hand creeps sideways and lobs damp hand towel.

Tootbrush stops.

‘OK, OK. Yes, very good. Juan Martínez Montañés, I presume?’

Juan Martinez Montañés: Christ on the Cross (“Cristo de los Desamparados”), 1617; polychromed wood; 185 x 160 cm x 46 cm (72 13/16 x 63 x 18 1/8 in.); Iglesia Conventual del Santo Ángel Carmelitas Descalzos, Sevilla

Are semi-erotic auto-crucifixion tableaux really that wrong? Why do the iconic poses of suffering so dramatically brought to life in The Sacred Made Real, the National Gallery’s new exhibition of Spanish religious painting and sculpture from 1600-1700, just demand to be emulated? As I paced the eerily lit, lifesize lineup of Biblical A-listers (Jesus, Mary, Francis, St John the Baptist, Loyola and co) so meticulously crafted from wood, glass, ivory, hair, cloth rope and bone, so precisely painted in sweaty matt tones, my fingers itched to stretch into pinioned position, and my back longed to bow in a simalcrum of delirious agony.

What is it, deep in our cosseted twenty-first century bones, that recognises these gestures and yearns to participate in the pantomime of cruelty, guilt, grief and overwhelming love?

It is remarkable how genuinely moving these works from another race, another time, an utterly other mindset are. In a culture where a hyperreal crucified monkey in a Marylebone church barely warrants a raised eyebrow, these four hundred-year-old religious sculptures are surprisingly powerful. Their every ivory tooth, hair eyelash and wooden welt glows with an irony-free sincerity which feels bracingly fresh in our post-meaning world.

They’re simply beautiful; many of the glowing, glistening, contorted bodies may have been modelled on classical kouroi. And, my attention-seeking one-woman passion play aside, the graphic violence done by these sculptors to saints and martyrs resists any pat accusations of titillating masochism. The ardency of the craftsmanship, the careful symbolism of each detail, silences any sensational snigger. Pedro de Mena’s Christ as the Man of Sorrows, his slender torso and sensitive face streaming with blood, with each droplet individually described and differentiated and felt, made me feel genuine pity and shock. Bear in mind this is a Blonde who can happily snack on a Pepperami in front of von Trier’s Antichrist. Who sees church as a place to get free oranges and sweets at Christingle. Who didn’t even cry at UP.

Pedro de Mena: Christ as the Man of Sorrows (Ecce Homo), 1673; polychromed wood, human hair, ivory, and glass; 98 x 50 x 41 cm (38 9/16 x 19 11/16 x 16 1/8 in.); Real Monasterio de las Descalzas Reales, Patrimonio Nacional, Madrid; © 2009 Photo Gonzalo de la Serna

The only contemporary artist who comes close is Ron Mueck; his distrubingly real yet otherworldly human figures such as Dead Dad give a comparable glimpse of our human potential and limitation, and prompt a similar squeeze of recognition that tightens the spine. But part of the power of the Spanish figures lies in their collectivity, the fact that they are characters in a cohesive and inter-influential canon of earnest intent and belief; the exhibition is curated with serious flair.

Ron Mueck: Dead Dad (1996-1997)

It is however inexplicable that the shop doesn’t sell Stephen Hough’s haunting string sextet based on Tomas Luis de Victoria’s Requiem (1605), specially commissioned to accompany the works. But I suppose that provides even more excuse to linger longer, letting Hough’s lush soundscapes of grief and hope and worship stream through the scratchy, communally grubby headphones of the audioguide as you tour these chambers of torture and tenderness.

Go.

On Thursday, a friend and I took a trip up to Edinburgh. The four and a half hour train ride was FUN,  the train was packed full and it helped us get used to to the strong beautiful accent of Scotland. After spending lots in M&S, we were set to go, attempting homework and reading on the way. Once there, we walked, and walked, and walked around the city of Edinburgh.

We found our way to the Old College, and other buildings of the university. Its so beautiful! By this time it was raining and all the students were running inside to their lectures. It felt very traditional but not ’stuck in the past’, and there was a strong sense of hardwork and focus.

The calm and peaceful feeling of Edinburgh is amazing, the quietness and hushed bustle of the people running around Princes Street is refreshing but also strange for me, as London is so busy and lively. We were walking around, hoping to find a place that sold traditional or in any case real Scottish food. We passed the KFC, Pizza Hut’s and Subway, and came across the restaurant just after Scott Monument, that quoted themselves as ‘real scottish food’, we went inside and had lovely soup, and even lovelier desert. The restaurant is in the National Gallery. The waiter was great, giving our trip a very brilliant beginning.

Afterwards, we went shopping (!), walked around more and more- the fact that transport was not necessary was wonderful- we then walked up the many steps to the castle! A wonderful, haunting, exciting, and thrilling place. Unfortunately it was closing, so we just admired the view, which was as amazing.

The evening was great, and the next day we visited the castle again, and then went to the National Gallery, which was amazing. There was a wide range of work, from El Greco to Poussin to and Raeburn, the gallery holds a Scottish collection, Italian and many other collections.

The tartan, and the bagpipes and the cashmere were brilliant yet simple visual factors that showed the strong feeling of Scottish Identity, even if they are just the surface of this amazing identity.

It was wonderful trip and we had an ace time.

The greatest achievement of the new exhibition at the National Gallery, The Sacred Made Real, is its presentation of the 17^th century Spanish attitude to religion as more than just gory, sordid and self-lacerating. Instead, Christ’s death becomes full of both sorrow and hope. Retribution and redemption. The overstated ennui symbolic of Spanish Catholicism becomes instead a sustained and deeply felt meditation on the subjects of death, suffering, and injustice. The Christian fables become metaphoric and worthy, the emotions worth feeling and remembering. Anyone and everyone will be moved by this exhibition’s startling presentations of distress and anguish, and Christ’s narrative might be seen as the lesson it was originally intended as.

It is the success of these super-realistic works that they inspire emotion in their audience in and of themselves, and looking around this exhibition, even as an atheist, I found myself relating to the works, responding to the storylines delivered in canvas, wood, and paint, not to mention human hair and ivory, even where they were their most brazenly and shockingly sacrificial and Christian.

Pedro de Mena – Christ as the Man of Sorrows (Ecce Homo), 1673

 

In the above work, for instance, the brutality depicted – blood running down Christ’s back from the lacerations and from the crown of thorns – provokes heartfelt compassion. For me, the presented allegory oscillated within my anguished attempt to place my sincere reaction to it with recourse to my deepest problems with the Christian faith and the inherent cruelty of so many of its parables. 

Similarly, Francisco de Zurbarán’s Crucifixion inspired from me an empathetic and tangible response, but as the wonderful accompanying film illustrated at the end of the exhibition, the artistic genius behind it advances the cause enigmatically. Shown in the image below in a mock up of its original setting, the work was originally positioned in a portico of an office, viewable from a window to the right and above… painted with a light source matching its intended light source, the painting looks not only sculptural but life like as the body hangs in its niche privately and forlorn.

Francisco de Zurbarán – Christ on the Cross, 1627

Marcel Duchamp – Étant Donnés, 1946-1966

The attestions of reality reminded me awkwardly of Marcel Duchamp’s great final work Étant Donnés,a work enshrined similarly in privacy, pain, suffering and the unknown. Comparing them feels tantamount to something worse than blasphemy, and yet the comparison seems to hold. It imbues the work with a physicality beyond parable. 

Indeed, just as other works in this exhibition remind of either Ron Mueck’s hyper-realist works, or the self-congratulatory airs of trompe-l’oeil, the whole exhibition became for me again and again an inroad into ways of thinking about non-Christian art, modern art, modern life. Comparative art history with me at the centre enabled me to understand and appreciate the message. The brutality of Christ’s passion became no more enigmatic of suffering than the young woman’s in Duchamp’s masterpiece.

And so, beyond the un-missable and emotionally wrenching manifesto of the exhibition itself, here are a few of my own personal reflections on particular work to be found therein.

***

As one might expect, it was the Velázquez works which truly stood out in the exhibition, and one particularly gave in to my internalised art historical dialogue.

Diego Velázquez, Immaculate Conception, 1618-19

Salvador Dali – Christ of Saint John of the Cross, 1951

In this painting of the immaculate conception, I was struck first and foremost by the surrounds. I remember visiting the Prado in Madrid with my cousin Judith and her Madrileño husband Pablo many years ago. Pablo shared with me some of his and his artist father’s insights into the collection. I particularly remember him drawing my attention to Velázquez’s skies and asking me to keep them in mind, as we walked back out into the Madrid sun and gazed upwards. I was astonished to find one of Madrid’s proudest secrets, and further proof of Velázquez’s talent. Indeed, the skies of the Castillian countryside are oft-referred to as Velasqueños in the master’s honour.

The comparison of the idealised classical world at Mary’s feet and the earthly grounding of the Velasqueño sky makes me for an interesting juxtaposition. Similarly, I thought of Dali’s Christ from the Scottish national collection and wondered about the roots of its details; whether the lake and mountains, or the clouds were Catalunyan. I have long been fascinated by the sheer detailing of Dali’s greatest works, and his declarations of their origins in dreams. I wonder where reality takes hold in this work, and where it took hold in the dreams of this surreal master.

***

Another work in the exhibition, Alonso Cano’s The Vision of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, also caught my eye. It was unavoidably reminiscent of the Murakami work I had seen a week earlier in the Tate’s Pop Life exhibition, Milk,

Alonson Cano - The Vision of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, also known as ‘The Miracle of the Lactation’, 1657-1660

Takashi Murakami – Milk, 2009

 

and this comparison helped me think about the importantly maternal elements of Mary’s character in the bible, and what this stands for more broadly, alongside the improbably maternal elements of this vulgar take on Japanese and contemporary culture. The distinction is startling, and apparently a shocking indictment on both parental and maternal respect in a society ravaged by pop culture.

What they and all the works mentioned above have in common is a distillation of the exhibition at hand’s title. The sacred made real. As I approached the works and my thought processes as they arose from it, it appeared to me that, similarly, and maybe more particularly for an atheist, what the exhibition, and the works viewed out of context achieved was an attestation of the sacred nature of reality. The maternal, the paternal, our brethren, humanity, all of these things are absolute in our lives. Such artistic accomplishments as are on view here only serve to heighten the importance of life, and the recording of it. The talents on offer testify to the need for glorification of the every day, and one one’s trials and tribulations are no more important than another. We are all in this together.

Here few places that you should visit when you traveling to London. It is top Attractions list in London

Westminster Abbey
Steeped in history, the pillars of this great vaulted hall stand on the final resting place of the men and women who built Britain. Its great Gothic hall continues to play a part in the formation of the kingdom, having hosted nearly every coronation since 1308.

Buckingham Palace
Not the prettiest royal residence, but a must-see for the glimpse it affords of the modern life of the monarchy. The opulence of the state rooms open to the public provides plenty of wow factor, and don’t forget the collection of china and carriages at the Queen’s Gallery and Royal Mews next door.

St. Paul’s Cathedral
No matter how many times you have been before, the scale and elegance of Sir Christopher Wren’s masterpiece never fail to take the breath away. Climb the enormous dome, third largest in the world, to experience the freaky acoustics of the Whispering Gallery, and higher still for fantastic views across London.

Tower of London
The Tower is London at its majestic, idiosyncratic best. This is truly the heart of the kingdom—with foundations dating back nine centuries, every brick tells a story, and the ax-blows and fortunes that have risen and fallen within this turreted mini-city provide an inexhaustible supply of intrigue.

British Museum
If you want to journey through time and space without leaving the confines of Bloomsbury, a visit to the British Museum holds hours of eye-catching artifacts from the world’s greatest civilizations, including the Elgin Marbles, the Rosetta Stone, and the Sutton Hoo treasure.

Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre
You can catch a Shakespeare play almost every night of the year in London. But standing on a floor of leaves and sawdust in a painstakingly re-created version of the galleried Tudor theater for which he wrote is a special thrill.

Hampton Court Palace
This collection of buildings and gardens so captivated Henry VIII that it became his favorite royal residence. Its Tudor charm, augmented by Wren’s touch, and a picturesque upstream Thames location make it a great day out—not even dour Oliver Cromwell, who moved here in 1653, could resist its charms.

Tate Modern
More of an event than the average museum visit, Tate Modern, housed inside a striking 1930s power station, is a hip, immensely successful addition to the London gallery landscape. Passing judgment on the latest controversial temporary exhibit inside the giant turbine hall has become almost a civic duty among art-loving Londoners.

National Gallery
Whatever the collective noun is for a set of old masters—a palette? a canvas?—there are enough here to have the most casual art enthusiast cooing with admiration. When you’ve finished, enjoy pedestrianized Trafalgar Square on the doorstep of this collection.

London’s Central Parks
With London’s green spaces so broken up, it seems churlish to pick out only one. The four central parks are all within walking distance: pick St. James’s Park for fairy-tale views; Green Park for hillocks and wide boulevards; Regent’s Park for its open-air theater and the London Zoo; and Hyde Park for rowing on the Serpentine Lido. (Fodors)

Entrar un sábado a las 17.30 a la National Gallery de Londres no es muy buena idea. Seleccionar un pequeño grupo de salas que visitar en la media hora restante hasta el cierre es una obligación. Pero al atravesar las habitaciones que conducen hasta las elegidas es inevitable sentir un dolor extraño, como al pasar de largo ante viejos amigos sin detenerte a saludarlos afectuosamente o al perder sin remedio la posibilidad de conocer a otros nuevos.

Esto pensaba al iniciar mi última visita cuando de repente sentí cierto desasosiego y nerviosismo y sin querer me precipité de una habitación a otra. Canaletto, retratos ingleses, Guido Reni y Caravaggio, Constable y Turner. Todo merecía más atención de la que podía y conseguía prestarle. Sin embargo, al acceder al espacio dedicado a Van Gogh y Cézanne un óleo atrajo mi mirada y, golpeando mis sentidos, detuvo al fin mi alocada carrera.

Hay una fuerza misteriosa en las pinceladas de apariencia brusca del maestro holandés, en su dramatismo sinuoso, en el marcado contraste entre lo definido y lo difuso. Hay algo mágico en el colorido dinamismo expresivo y en la forma sorprendente de crear texturas. Me fijé una vez más en la composición, en el tratamiento de cada uno de los elementos y lo asombrosa que resulta la diferencia entre el aspecto local de cada zona del cuadro y el resultado global.
Al autor también debió de gustarle este paisaje porque es copia de otra que él mismo había pintado un poco antes ese año y que se conserva en el Metropolitan de Nueva York.

Menos de un año después de plasmar este “Campo de trigo con cipreses” cercano a Saint-Rémy, Van Gogh se adentraba en otro no muy lejos de París que le resultaría mucho más letal: en él se pegaría el tiro que acabaría con su vida.
Y es que los genios también son hombres.

Look again slightly to the right…a bit further…to the menu. Can you see that further pages have been added?

Yeps! FINALLY! I found time to finish typing up my notes from the Styles in Painting lecture I attended last Saturday on Mannerism. I divided the notes into 2 parts as I found it was getting a bit toooo long…yes I know! I write too much

National Gallery de Londreds, originalmente cargada por PROSA.59.

Se eligio Trafalgar Square debido a su situación en el centro de Londres, accesible tanto para la población rica del oeste de la ciudad como para las comunidades más pobres del East End.
Las obras de la National Gallery pertenecen al público y entrar a verlas es gratuito.
Horario
De 10:00 a 18:00 a diario, viernes hasta las 21:00.

I know I haven’t finished uploading the notes yet, but I thought I’d write a bit about my impression of the course.

So, a bit of background: In the middle of summer I was looking for courses on history of art, as, especially after my visit to Pisa when I got to visit Florence and the rest, I realised that I really needed to brush up on this subject, which I have not touched a lot though it always interested me. So in my search I found a set of courses at the National Gallery on styles in painting. I was interested in attending, but couldn’t find it in me to justify buying them for myself, so I put them on my wish list (yes…Michael’s family function with one, so I have started keeping one).

The part of the course I was mainly interested in originally was the first part, on Medieval and Renaissance art. Michael got me something else for my birthday (which I had been whining about for ages, so I am happy he followed my whining ) so the first part of the course came and went. However, when Michael’s parents came to visit in October they gave me a birthday gift: registration for part 2 of the course, on Northern Art, Mannerism and the Baroque.

I personally know nothing on Northern art or mannerism, so I wasn’t particularly drawn towards this part of the course. I was more drawn to the first part which I already knew quite a bit about and knew I liked and appreciated. However, oh well, it was the second part I was going to, so I might as well make the best of it! And I wasn’t disappointed! In a way I was wanting to remain in my ‘comfort zone’ of that which I knew. However, learning about Northern art and Mannerism allowed me to start appreciating a different style of art which I didn’t understand. And in hindsight I am so glad that it turned out like this! In fact, when we got to the Baroque, talking about Caravaggio and the like I started getting slightly disappointed that I already knew much of the stuff from art classes and some history of art I have done. The result was therefore good…a very much appreciated gift from my in-laws …thanks again!