And when everyone's gone to work, peace—and a promise to treat ourselves to a meal in this restaurant. It promised 'Damascene' food, but the cuisine was that and more and very reasonably priced. Advert over.
As faces streamed past, I caught glimpses of the ancient Sumerian, an ‘Immortal’ from the army of the emperor Darius, faces from the New Testament, all of them overlaid with London stress. The vibe was very much family and work, a thousand and one eateries and green grocers bursting with every kind of exotic fruit. Not the culture of the ‘old Bull and Bush’ but cities change and so do we.
We were there for a Raphael exhibition at the National Gallery and to see our daughter. In fairness, I opted out of the Raphael Exhibition in favour of meeting up with an old university friend. I’m a mean old soul and begrudged the price, and old friends are cheaper, better value all round. A good friendship transcends politics, perhaps even a Titian.
The National gallery, looking very photogenic this day. My wife's excellent photo
Speaking of better value, don’t be seduced or ‘guilted out’ by the ‘card-readers’ in the Gallery's foyer. These have replaced the large glass bowls where you were formerly invited dropped in coins or notes. In my view, the National Gallery make sufficient money from their captive audience in need of a drink or refreshments. By the time I reached the till, I was trapped by the queue behind and paid with a smile that gave me toothache. For what was on my tray: two small pecan cakes, a tea and two coffees I could have bought a small Botticelli.
Unless you are there to see something in particular, the secret of walking around an art gallery is not making the mistake of seeing too much and end up with a blur that means nothing. I was more than happy to see one or two pictures—an exaggeration—probably fourteen or fifteen—and then sit in a corner with my kindle. Occasionally, I peopled watched, and people watched me and cast judgement. A thin, middle-aged lady in a deerstalker paused and looked down at m. I might have imagined the sniff. A kindle in the National Gallery. Not even a book.
No reason for choosing this painting other than that one of the monks bears a startling resemblance to Boris Johnson. Well, he is a catholic now, and the Renaissance church would have suited him down to the ground.
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Okay, call me Mr Trivial, but I couldn't get over these two horses grinning at each other as if they've just met at a cocktail party rather than participating in the battle of San Romano in 1432. Lorenzo de Medici loved the painting so much, he stole it from its original owner and installed it in his palace. He clearly had a thing about grinning horses too.  I've grown so used to medieval artists painting the baby Jesus as a weird little middle-aged man. I appreciate that they were making a theological point ie God is immutable and therefore Christ as the Son of God must be equally immutable hence his features remain unchanging from childhood to death. Got it? Still weird and not a little unsettling. So, after all that you can imagine the startled reaction on turning a corner and seeng this Titian. I't's not just the colour. The baby looks real! |
The Holy Family with a Shepherd 1510
My, these look a well fed pair. Even the parrot looks morbidly obese.
Portrait of Cornelius van Diest and wife wife Lucretia Courtois by Jacob Jordaens. For those who can't be without their symbolism, the dog, parrot and vine symbolise fidelity. Adultery presumably making you thin.
On first seeing this from a distance, I thought it was a woman exploring her military side, an eighteenth century dominatrix. Disappointment was bitter. It's a Joshua Reynolds of Colonel Tarleton - more familiar to patriotic Americans perhaps. Banastre Tarleton, wearing the cavalry uniform of his 'Tartleton's Green Horse,' fought in the American War of Independence and later became a Liverpool MP where he argued against the abolition of the slave trade. Not only was he on the wrong side twice, he also lost two fingers
Lord Ribblesdale by Singer. 1902. Riveting for two reasons, Lean and tall, hand on hip and top hat at a rakish angle, he's screaming 'Me! Me! Put me in your next book. Anti-hero, I don't care.' And of course, Ribblesdale Avenue is where I was born.
A Bellini—the artist, not the cocktail. I was standing at the back of a guided tour, listening in as it were. The sitter is the Doge Leonardo Loredan. All very good. But it was when the guide pointed out that he had two faces, seen if you separate his face with a raised hand. On the one side a distinctly dour expression, on the other a Mona Lisa smile. I waited until everyone had gone and tentatively raised my hand. It was true. You can try it from the privacy of your own living room with no risk of appearing stupid.
And finally the Victoria and Albert. By this time I was almost losing the will to live. It wasn't just a surfeit of art, it was also a very hot day. But the V and A was at least cool.
I was particularly struck by the vivid complexity of this C14th tapestry released to the Treasury by the Duke of Devonshire in lieu of taxes. The tapestry illustrates a bear and a boar hunt. Specially bred hounds were used for both. It was also a very upper class sport where the participants dressed for the occasion. One of the women shown is wearing a miniver lined cloak, which would horrify the anti fur lobby of today. Miniver is fur derivedfrom the belly of the Baltic squirrel, in this case hundreds of them. I think there was a film called Mrs Miniver but she wasn't a Baltic sqirrell.
If you look closely into the foliage you will see an intricate battle between monsters and men illustrating the eternal conflict between darkness and light. It was likely an altar piece and commissioned by the Benedictine Monastery of St Peter Gloucester in 1107. And in case you were ever in doubt that the Resurrected Christ was an Englishman
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