Dickinson College Humanities Program in Norwich

I won’t beat around the bush, Westminster Abbey is gorgeous. Stunning. Spectacular. The fact that it was built by mere human hands and some scaffolding is astounding. While the architecture and decor are breathtaking, it is the symbolism represented on the walls outside the church as well as the shrines within that truly captivated me throughout my visit.

Amongst the first aspects of the cathedral discussed by our cheerful, humorous, and incredibly informative tour guide, John, was the sculptures adorning the front exterior wall. There are statues standing imposingly on the ledge above and around the entrance. The sculptures are martyrs of contemporary times, both Christian and secular. The Christian figures represent those who died in the name of their faith from places such as Nazi Germany and Apartheid-era South Africa.

What really stunned me were the representations of what I’ve always believed the church would find oxymoronic: secular martyrs. Saint Elizabeth of Russia was killed by the Bolsheviks for helping the poor. German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer was murdered by the Nazis in a concentration camp for his prolific works of poetry and music. Most famously, Dr. Martin Luther King was the voice of the American civil rights movement in the 60s. He was assassinated as well. These people are not known for their contributions to the church or for their faith in Jesus. They were faithful to their noble causes, and they died for them. For Westminster to honor these heroes by placing their visages on the entryway to one of the most famous and important churches in the world is marvelous.

Luwum, Elizabeth, King, Romero, Bonhoeffer

Once we got inside, the cavernous space was overwhelming. Unfortunately, photography was strictly verboten, so I will post whatever pictures of the interior the Internet has to offer.

After the initial shock from being in the structure wore off, I listened carefully to what John had to say. The tomb of the Unknown Warrior really stirred me. After World War I, parliament was considering placing a memorial dedicated to the memory of British lives lost during the war inside the abbey.  There was major debate as to how to accomplish this, however. In 1920, Rev. David Railton, chaplain on the western front suggested that a few bodies be disinterred from battlefront graves and placed in a tomb dedicated to the “unknown warrior,” the common British soldier not commemorated for his service to the Queen. After much debate, this idea was decided on and action began. Four to six bodies were exhumed and brought to France where they were covered with a Union Jack. Brigadier General LJ Wyatt was blindfolded and picked one soldier. The body was placed in a coffin and transferred back to England where it was buried in Westminster and covered with a commemorative slate. The other bodies were placed back in their original resting places. The tomb is an emotional reminder of the value of life, regardless of social class or heroism. Every life is sacred. War destroys lives and throws families into despair. Overall, my experience in Westminster was extremely powerful, especially because of this memorial.

Of all the hundreds of graves in Westminster, this is the only one not allowed to be stepped upon

St. James’ Park is incredibly beautiful. This shouldn’t come as a surprise as absolutely every park if not every tourist attraction in London could be classified in this way. Entering right across from the Cabinet Warrooms, I instantly spotted my next home. The most picturesque cottage sits on the edge of the park- one for which I instantly began planning wallpaper schemes. That’s the feeling you get at St. James’ Park though; that is, a feeling of being at home (or at least wanting it to be your home). Past the cottage, a garden of perfection leads you towards a pond that is as lovely as everything else surrounding it. Parks like these always make me grateful of those that decide to give the people of a busy city a place to go to escape the hustle, bustle, and overpriced world that engulfs them everyday to a place of peace and tranquility. Truly, St. James’ Park accomplishes that in a spot on fashion.

St. James' Park

Still, something doesn’t quite feel right in saying that all Londoners enjoy peace at St. James’ Park or in saying that the park succeeds in offering peace to everyone in the city. A quick glance around seems to show a wide range of people enjoying the tranquility. A more observant look though shows that tourists and businessmen and women are the only people in the park.

People enjoying the park

Of course this makes sense. The park is situated in between Trafalgar Square, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, and Buckingham Palace. No tourist is able to avoid going to these locations. In a similar regard, those places are in business because businessmen and women work in them. So, when they are hoping to take a break, what better place is there than a beautiful park? But where are the parks where the people protesting for more conscientious government involvement in Iraq can rest? Where are the parks for the black man and the man from South Asia who got in a fist-fight to sit and find peace? Where are the parks for those who are fully wrapped up in the energy of the city to enjoy some respite? Yes, I walked in shoes that were too small for my feet today and certainly enjoyed a break from the fast-paced striding through the sidewalks but I recognize that my need for the park pales in comparison to the aforementioned people. It just struck me that the park which has so much beauty to offer is only enjoyed by a select few- and a select few that might not be the most ‘deserving’ or the most ‘desiring’ at that. That being said, there is no guard at the gates denying anyone entrance (at least, not that I saw). It’s just some food for thought. While I snapped picture upon picture of this pretty flower and that pretty tree, others who certainly could use some time to stop and smell the roses were probably picking up their bullhorns to ask for a government official to bring peace to the world. Hopefully if and when that happens, it can be enjoyed by all.

It seems appropriate to explain right off the bat that I slept through E.L.F in almost their entirety. I loved Phantasm, I thought the way the weaved in and out of pieces from phantom of the opera was incredible. Further, having played french horn since the fourth grade(stopping in college for lack of time and monetary excess), I absolutely love hearing one played.  He was probably the crispest played I have heard in a very long time outside of a philharmonic.  But yes, they were so amazing, they put me to sleep, which is something that happens with me around classical music–doesn’t matter where or who is judgingly starring.

Afterwards we went to the National Gallery where, as many others have noted, the only British people there were grumpy workers.  the art was neat though; especially one painting called A Girl at the Window, by Louis-Leopold Boilly.

A Girl at a Window

  I really like how it played with illusion. The painting itself was meant to look like a mounted print. It is almost as if she has caught us spying on her, an intimately understanding, yet coy smile. I must admit, I’m not the biggest fan of art galleries. Now you’re saying to yourself: Andrew, you fall asleep in concerts and you don’t like art galleries; are you total rube? And I might be, but I must at least attempt to defend myself.  The art gallery was an interesting look into the distinction between American’s and the British.  Firstly, there were barely any British people in the National Gallery, despite it being free. This is quite the contrast from the Philadelphia Art Museum or the one in DC, which frequently has art students and locals visiting and checking it out. Even the British guards seemed unhappy to be there. This can very easily be chalked up to the fact that it was a week day and in the afternoon because it seems strange that a nation so entrenched in their history would not care for their renowned artists.  Further, I would wager that the National Gallery is far more maticulously organized. Comparing the websites(The American National Gallery and the National Gallery in London) shows this. The London National galleries website allows you to look up paintings by letter of artist’s name, period, and style– down to the exact painting. The latter gallery does not, instead only giving overviews. Everything was micro managed, down to the path you would need to take. Most galleries i have traversed have allowed for more free movement, and directional choice.

We left the gallery to peripatetically wander and instead came across an anti-zionist movement.  What I thought was amazing about this was how volatile it seemed–on both sides.  In America, for the most part, at least the cops remain calm (out of fear of being sued more than anything). Evidently the PM had returned from a vacation early.  I have liked in a college environment for a good many years, so politcal discussions are commen place, but I have heard people talk about how strange it is to see protests and then post-protest discussions.  People here just seem eager to debate, which I love. By that time Paul was in need of a Pasty, so we attempted to make our way back to tottenham court tube station (where it seems the best pasties can be found). While there, a brawl let out between an African fellow and an Indian fellow. They both seemed to speak english. There was evidently a problem with rolling over someone’s foot. It quickly escalated into a serious fight though. They tumbled into a carphone warehouse eventually. What was most interesting was the managers expression: he just seemed to annoyed by the going-ons rather than anything else. Like he was thinking ‘seriously? in my store?’ My two fellow travelers were thoroughly distressed by the situation, but it was startling how little anyone else seemed to care. In fact, the two fighting didn’t really seem to mind either. The Indian guy, hand on bleeding head, simply got up and walked away from the scene.

This post seems to be going a bit on the long side, so I won’t detail(and definitely should not) the clubing experience. But I will say it was interesting to watch the group dynamic, and our interaction with the Europeans, who seemed to not like dancing until American girls showed up.

There is no other way to describe Westminster Abbey other than ‘overwhelming,’ in every sense of the word.  But if anything, I would say Westminster Abbey is not really even a church at this point. It is more of a mausoleum at this point: both for dead face people and British power.  It has essentially become a 15 quid tour of the who is who of Britain passed, which is sad. It has very little to do with religion at all in fact. Don’t get me wrong, the building was glorious and unimaginably beautiful. Our tour guide was impecably brilliant and knowledgable. But I feel, the Abbey stands more in praise of England than in praise of God.  I was most intreged by the enormous amount of symbolism cramed into every ounce of work. Masterful wood and stone working laid out generation long stories about struggle and triumph. I would have loved to just sit at one of the memorials and break down eat of the images.  It also inspired me to pick up a life goal i had all but given up around the age of five: become a knight; we’ll see how that goes.

Afterwards we went to St. James park, which was full of tourists trying to feed bloated ducks. It even had an overpriced resturant in it. What was beautiful, howe

ver, were the flowers. They were exquisit. This is a very stark contrast from Hyde Park, which I had been to earlier in the week. Hyde park had much more local activity: children playing football, lovers and the homeless sleeping and runners running.  Evidently, people were being charged to sit in chairs at St. James park–honestly, what is that?

We had our own bout with swindly prices today though. We stopped at an italian place to eat, and I got to laugh as almost everyone fell for the old still-water trick. Of course the joke was on us all when we realized we were also being charged for the seats.  More and more I am realizing that pubs are the only safe place to eat or drink, everyone else just tries to screw you over.

anyway, cheers

The National Gallery

Laid out in an absolute beautiful mosaic, England’s National Gallery reminds its visitors in a striking fashion to show compassion to others. On the entrance landing (a spot over which all must pass and, therefore, hopefully see) the image of an angel bent down to aide a suffering woman seeks to spark in those that see it a desire or state of consciousness to remember others in need. With this image and reminder being placed before the artwork, the message of compassion is engrained in one’s mind before he or she even begins to look at the paintings he or she is there to see. How true does the message ring in us though?

Many of the paintings portray their subjects in states of need and, thus, excite a feeling of compassion for said subject in the viewer of the piece. One particular piece stood out to me. In the Degas room (room 46- the most impressive room in the gallery in my opinion), an unassuming painting of a woman hangs on the wall. The painting is relatively small and can be passed by without much notice. It displays a woman in a dull black dress facing away from the painter. She stands alone in the sparsely decorated, white room with just a table and chair (both entirely simple and plain themselves). The color of her skin is so light that she would almost blend in with the surrounding wall if it were not for her brown hair and dark dress. If you happen to see this painting in the mix of a beautiful collection of colorful Degas works, you cannot help but be transfixed by it (at least, that was the case for me). The woman appears so lonely- completely isolated in her unnoticed state. My reaction was a desire to reach out and just comfort the woman. Clearly, this cannot happen- she’s just in a painting, I realize. But the painting is a beautiful one that strikes in the viewer an overwhelming sense of compassion for the woman. Success on the National Gallery’s part? Maybe.

Maybe not though. When I was finished looking at the painting, I gathered up my things and proceeded to elbow my way through the crowd of people waiting for me to get out of their way so that they might also have a chance at viewing the painting or the one next to it. Crowds can bring out the worst in people though so let’s put that example of selfishness aside for now. Just outside of the gallery, a man stood with a sign asking us to “say no toracism”. Though he was talking with a man and thus clearly making some strides in his campaign, how many others had passed by without paying him any attention? Besides pausing to snap a photograph, I’m one of the guilty. But, sadly I would argue, I’m certainly in the majority here. Now I don’t know what the man was really hoping to get across. His sign was provocative but not informative. But if I really had learned my lesson to remember to be compassionate, to think of others, to want to help others, wouldn’t I have stopped to at least inquire what he was proposing to tackle such a feat as conquering racism? And yet I walked by. The gallery’s fault? Not at all. But I just hope that its reminder of compassion was more readily remembered by its other visitors than it was by me.

Today we went on a tour of Westminster Abbey.  I had an idea of what I would be seeing but I had no idea what I would be feeling.  I am not a religious person in any sense of the word; it must have been years since I last stepped into a church.  Yet ever before entering Westminster Abbey I could tell there was something different about this church.  It gave off the appearance of grandeur and made me feel in awe.  Upon entering I knew that this church was different than any I have ever been in before.  Though filled with tourists, I could imagine the Benedictine monks of the past walking silently, in deep thought and prayer.  There was something about that mental image which was very appealing.  Spiritual silence; complete and tranquil.

On top of all this was the sense of being surrounded by great individuals, long gone but not forgotten.  The burial ground of the “Unknown Warrior” was particularly striking.  The story behind it was incredible and the fact that this British soldier was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor is all the more remarkable. Everywhere I turned I saw more and more famous individuals, whether Henry V, Mary Queen of Scots, Sir Isaac Newton, Charles Dickens or Charles Darwin.

With that in mind, I am glad that someones ideas we think challenge religious belief is actually buried in Westminster Abbey.  Charles Darwin’s name has been thrown around to promote this and that and whatever else.  But the fact that this man is buried in one of the greatest churches on the planet is a testament to the human ability to reconcile differences and respect one another, no matter what.  Belief in God is certainly no prerequisite to feel the sense of awe and peace within Westminster Abbey.

St. Martin in the Fields is a beautiful church.  It is open, airy, has beautiful guilding, and some of the most interesting windows that I have ever seen in a religious building.  While not actually in a field (as there was some debate about it), it still is in a nice, albeit touristey, location.  The inside of church has every appearance of being a nice, though rather upscale, protestant church, much like the ones built all around New England during the 18th century, which is why I found the contrast to the outside so dramatic.

English churches, especially the more well-known ones, tend to be made of stone and feature either gothic or roman architecture, and the inside usually matches the exterior.  However, when sitting inside St. Martin’s I felt that when I exited the building I would see a wooden, white-washed structure with a steeple, basically a copy of many of the protestant churches that litter New England.  It was almost jarring for me to enter what was outwardly a copy of a Roman Temple (with the addition of a steeple and clock) and instead see a bright room filled with windows. 

It just struck me as another difference between our religious establishments and those of Britain.  England has always done a good job of integrating old and new, and St. Martin in the Fields is a perfect example of that.

St. Martin in the Fields

I’ll start by saying what a thrill it was to go to St. Martin
in the Fields today. As a classical music fan, I’ve long admired the recordings of Sir Neville Marriner and the Academy of St. Martin in the fields. 18 Handel_ Water Music Suite #1 In F Hopefully, that is the Air from the Water Music Suite #1 in F by Handel, recorded at St. Martin in the Fields. I enjoyed the trio today, but especially relished the chance to take in the space where the Academy plays.

On another note, I’ve enjoyed (despite being overwhelmed by) both the British Museum and the National Gallery in the last two days. Even though Henry and I only got to see the Egyptian statues before the British Museum closed yesterday, we were in awe of the sheer scope and grandeur of the place. We had a similar feeling at the National Gallery today.

This leads me to the chief irony of both of these museums, namely that neither is all that ostensibly British. The British museum has a section for nearly every part of the world, while the National Gallery is dependent mainly on work by mainland European artists. What makes these museums British then? I’ve been slowly coming to the conclusion that Britain (both in the empire era and even today) has thought itself something of an arbiter of all world culture. Our Burton reading yesterday mentioned that the visitors from India in the 19th century approved of the British Museum’s India section, all but saying one need not go to India but rather London to understand Indian culture. Similarly, today I saw French and Italian tourists in London today admiring Pissaro and Titian at the National Gallery.

This British “arbiter of all world culture” role, if it indeed does exist, is a very powerful role that is potentially also very problematic. Certainly it is convenient for a traveler or student to have all of this in one city. However, some time ago, I heard about a nation (I believe it was Egypt) demanding a few of its artifacts back from the British Museum. Besides being a tricky legal issue, I feel this says a lot about the power dynamic between Britain and the rest of the world which has come about both as a result of colonialism and the powerful role Britain has had in relation to most of the world since WWII. For some reason it just seems natural and unproblematic to us in the west that the Rosetta Stone should be permanently in London, because we perhaps have subconsciously come to believe that the British have a natural right to something with such value to civilization, without thinking critically about who actually created and contributed to that artifact.

Thoughts on this “arbiter” theory or what it could mean (presuming its reasonable)?

After a delightful performance by E.L.F. trio in St. Martin in-the-Fields, I walked over to the National Gallery with some classmates. I was about to enter a museum with one of the most extensive collections of artwork from the 13^th to early 20^th centuries, and I was in heaven. As an art history major, art museums, especially one as large as this one, make me feel like a kid in a candy store. Our group made a plan to meet up at 4pm and so Kelley and I headed off to the Sainsbury Wing to investigate paintings from the 13^th to 15^th century. Although I prefer modern art, I found the works in this section very moving. Of course, they all had a Christian connotation and most of them were placed in a church at one time as an altarpiece or as part of a triptych. As a Reform Jew, I really don’t know much about Christianity outside of the Old Testament; however, everyone can appreciate the beauty of these paintings and the emotions they evoke. After passing through room after room of the Virgin Mary and Christ I began to wonder, why is the Virgin always depicted in blue robes? The blue is a similar shade in every painting, somewhere in between the color of a clear sky at dusk and a robin’s egg. Naturally, I looked it up when I returned to the Arran House. Some of the answers I found ranged from the ridiculous “because it’s her favorite color” to the more academic explanation, “blue was the color Byzantine empresses wore.” All I can say is that the particular shade of blue is a color I’ve only ever seen in these paintings, so I guess I’ll leave it as ‘the Virgin Blue.’

            As we moved through the rest of the museum I was overcome with joy… I was seeing some of my favorite lessons come to life. When you see a picture that you study in your textbook or in a slide comes to life, it’s like seeing it for the first time all over again. Major players like Masaccio, Titian, Raphael and Bellini were all here. It was hard for me to believe that I was actually standing in front of THE Aronlfini Wedding Portrait by Jan van Eyck. This paining first began my love affair with the Dutch school of painters and semiotics…. now I was here, in front of it. I could actually see the dog (for fidelity), the removed shoes (the marriage as a religious sacrament), and the reflection of Van Eyck himself in the mirror along with the inscription “van Eyck was here.” Also, for anyone who is interested, his bride is NOT pregnant. She is simply wearing the style of dress that was popular at this time period. I was even able to see Holbein’s The Ambassadors (1533) and walk across the room to see the anamorphic perspective skull.

            However, when I walked into the 19^th and early 20^th century gallery my heart really began to race. As Kelly will attest, I did audibly gasp when I saw Gauguin’s Still Life with Mangoes (1891-6). This section was by far my favorite. The late nineteenth century painters were the first school to paint modernity; they disregarded all the set rules, added some color and painted the world around them rather than the bible or portraits. Degas, van Gogh, Cezanne, each one brought paining to a new place either with subject matter, texture or color. The Degas gallery was especially moving. I am fascinated with his series that captures the private movements in women’s lives. He takes everyday scenes intimate such as a woman drying herself off after a bath or having her hair combed and turns it into a story for the viewer. We are left wondering, who is she? What is she doing? Why?

            Of course, I could not make it through the entire gallery in one day. So I plan on returning soon to take in the 17^th century (including one of my absolute favorites, Vermeer) and to revisit the early-modern painters. Everyone should visit the National Gallery, regardless of his or her “art background.” It really is the crown jewel in the world of art museums.  I anyone wants to come back with me, please let me know.

Instead of perusing the Portrait Gallery along with everyone else, Sarah, Alli and I decided to chip away at the vast collections of the British Museum a short walk away from the Arran House in Bloomsbury. Because their collection is so vast, we were only able to manage the Egyptian and Southeast Asian exhibits in one afternoon, but so far I think it’s safe to say that the British Museum is my favorite of all that we have seen.

At every turn in this country, I am astounded by the amount of history and the age of buildings, artifacts, and communities on display both in museums and on the city streets, but the Egyptian section of the British Museum takes the cake for being the most impressive and mindblowingly old. As an American, when something is over one hundred years old, I usually find it quite impressive and worthy of special honor and delicate hands. However, many of the Egyptian artifacts at the British Museum are out in the open, which strikes me as almost irresponsible, since “PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH” signs usually don’t stop small children and excited tourists from running their hands all over these ancient hieroglyphs and pharaohstatues. Besides my worries about greasy fingers and eroded stones, however, I believe I have a new-found interest in hieroglyphics and Egyptian culture based on what I saw this afternoon. While I’m usually not a fan of dead things on principle, I particularly liked an exhibit in a glass case of a remarkably well-preserved man, buried and surrounded by various jars of important things he would need in the afterlife. The idea of preparing a dead person for the unknown with worldly goods fascinates me, and seeing the mummies up close and in person is something I don’t think I’ll soon forget.

Even though we didn’t make it to about 75% of the museum today, by glancing at the floor plan, it was immediately obvious that despite the fact this was the British Museum, there was very little having to do with the Brits in the exhibits. There were whole floors and wings dedicated to Ancient Egypt, Ancient Greece, Southeast Asia and Asia, and Africa, and seemingly most other continents and cultures besides Great Britain. The name “the British Museum” is certainly a misnomer, and I hope to find out the origins behind the name. If there had been a feedback section for visitors to leave their comments like there was in the Docklands Museum, I wonder what the patrons would have said. Because the exhibits I saw were not as politically charged as the slavery exhibit at the Docklands Museum, perhaps the comments would be less scathing, but I imagine that many tourists and visitors have arrived at the museum expecting a museum of British history and leaving without getting what they came for (many comments at the Docklands had been about “missing” components of British history and an imbalance of representation of thinkers and innovators).

Perhaps the name of the museum remains the somewhat confusing “British Museum” because of the elusive definition of “British” itself. Since Britain, specifically London, is such a patchwork of histories and cultures and traditions, perhaps making the British Museum focus on everything but the history that went down on this particular piece of land is actually fitting: each culture gets a historical representation in the broad strokes of the various African and Asian and European galleries, and together these collective histories make up the histories of the individuals who make up Britain.

Yesterday I toured the Docklands Museum and was fascinated with the exhibit on slavery and the response that many museum-goers had to that particular exhibit. I found the museum overall to be both interesting and informative and that it filled a major hole in the historical sense since the Thames is integral to the economy of both city of London and the nation as a whole. The slavery exhibit included several examples of artwork that highlighted the enslaved Africans place in society. The museum housed multiple paintings depicting the slaves as an accessory or a barometer to measure a family’s wealth. After viewing the included artwork I remembered that we had the possibility of touring the National gallery the next day and I decided to look for paintings of a comparable theme to see how the Gallery would handle the similar works.

I was surprised however that in all of the paintings that there were no paintings that included enslaved Africans within the painting. Out of the hundred of paintings that detailed religious aspects of life, the nobility, and the popular myths there was not one acknowledged the existence of slavery in European world. I understand that the gallery is predominately for fine art owned by the British Government, but I do not believe that this was something unintentionally overlooked. Especially during the period that it was fashionable to own a slave and was considered a sign of wealth and class. I just found it interesting that one of the most prestigious art museums in London would gloss over such an important aspect of British history.