How do you write about something that inspires you? How do you describe something that reminds you why you love to create? How do you interpret something that teaches you the importance of people of all classes? Well I guess you could start by giving it a name: The Pitmen Painters play at the National Theater. Now I am not a theater person myself. And although we have seen quite a few plays up to this point, Troilus and Cresida, Alls Well That Ends Well, Arcadia, none of them have sparked my interest enough to blog about them until the Pitmen Painters last night. It was so much more than a play about the struggle of the lower classes, or the search for IDENTITY in London society, or even the importance of art to modern society; it was about DISCOVERY. It touched on the heart of what it meant to strive for more, without even knowing you were striving for more, yet knowing you DESERVED more.
While the theme of artistry was what I related to the most in the play (which I will go into more detail about later on), the idea of class and personal identity separate of class identity was another theme I found moving. The class system has traditionally been very prominent in British culture. As we have seen in our various reading thus far in the class, it is still very much an existing prejudice here in London. Although we have spent most of our time studying the prejudices against many immigrant and ethnic communities of more middle to lower classes, this play focused on the disadvantage lower class uneducated miners. As these men took this art class, and began to create and fmailiaritize themselves with art, they still tried to retainer their IDENTITY as miners. Yet, when their instructors strives to use them to prove that all “lower classes” are capable of artistic achievement, the miners reject this, and strive for their own individual identities as artists, separate from other people of their class. In this way I think that the play was able to capture the essence of what we have learned from our readings, visiting various religious sites, and seeing the immigrant communities and markets. Essentially, how does one balance personal identity with group identity. At what cost to the group—whether it be religious, class, ethnic, or other social structure—does one get to be an individual, or a Londoner? Or a native? Or British? In the same way that these miners tried to maintain both identities and form a new one, migrating and immigrant groups to London must find a balance between who they were in their group, and who they want to be to fit in in London. The play also touched on a another more personal level. As an artist myself, I found the play to be especially moving on an artistic level. Since I have been to London, I have hardly drawn and have certainly not embarked on any larger scale artistic projects. There have been reasons and justifications of course, too busy, too tired, not enough space. But Oliver’s struggle to balance the pressures of his role in society as a miner, with his desire and growing passion for art and learning reminded me that art is more than a hobby. When Helen Sutherland confronts Oliver about his artistic future, she does not try to sway him by reassuring him of his talent or artistic ability, instead she tells him that he “thinks like an artist.” Art is not a thing you do, it is who you are. I found this to be one of the most touching parts of the play. It reminded me why I create. It’s not because I like to, or want to, or even because I am good at. No, I create because I have to. ART is not something I do, it is WHO I AM.
If you’re interested in my own personal art, check out my weebsite: MNL.
For the past few weeks we have been bombarded by tours, museums, tube maps, and sightseeing. We have been living the life of the London tourist. However, just last night, for the first time during our trip here, Anthony, Flow, Jeyla, Audrey, Rebecca, and I got a chance to play tour guides to fellow Dickinson students Gina, Luis, and Leslie on layover on their way to study in Malaga. Having been on many Karl-Qualls-Tours, the six of us were fully capable of navigating the city and hitting all the major tourist attractions in the four hours our friends had before they needed to get back to the airport. We took them to the South Bank, Big Ben, Parliament, the Roman Wall/Tower of London, the London Bridge, Tower Bridge, the Millennium Bridge, and St. Paul’s.
But having already seen these sites, and been in London now for about three weeks, another tour didn’t seem that exciting to me. I went along just to be with my friends, but ultimately I learned something about myself along the way, and it has to do with IDENTITY: I’m now a Londoner. Leading the way, knowing the tube routes, does that make me a Londoner? Knowing the history, the significance of each spot, does that makes me a Londoner? Or was it feeling so jaded the past few days that the thought of more sightseeing made me a little sick? I think it was a combination of both. But seeing the look in Leslie, Luis, and Gina’s faces, the excitement they felt at seeing Big Ben for the first time, made me realize that now, we members of Humanities 309 are no longer tourists, but rather Londoners. And it is not because of any reason other than our ability to give that moment of awe to a group of our friends. -Megan
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On Sunday night three members of my posse Leslie, Gina and Luis flew into Europe. For the academic year they will be studying abroad in Spain however their layover for a night was in London. A couple of students decided that it would be great idea to take them out and see our new home, London. Granted they would only be here for a night so we decided to cram in our best London Tour in the span of literally 5 hours.
Jeyla and I wasted no time, and rushed on the tube towards Heathrow airport. Our tube cards only go up to zone 3 on the tube, and whenever Jeyla and I passed the boundaries of a new zone we felt petrified that we were venturing out too far. However we got to the airport safely, picked them up, and quickly returned to the hotel. As soon as we arrived they visited some other Dickinson friends of theirs, ate, and we headed out on the town.
Now when I say that London is a beautiful city at night, I am not giving it enough credit. It was definitely a night to remember, in that we saw, what we as “Londoners” thought were the most important tourist attractions in such a short time span. We walked bridges, greeted Big Ben, climbed statues, took pictures, walked skate parks, saw bridges rise and fall, and of course had an amazing time with great friends. I felt so blessed that I was able to take my friends out in the city that I have grown to love, and even more amazing, that I knew my way around. The time spent that night is one I will cherish forever. Next adventure will definitely be in Spain!!!! See you then. -Anthony
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Arrival Time 3:00 pm Sunday
Last Sunday we got a visit from three of our Dickinson friends, who on their way to study abroad in Malaga, stopped by to get a taste of London! Luckily, we had the day off on Monday, so Audrey, Megan, Jeyla, Rebecca, Anthony and myself decided to show Gina, Leslie and Luis everything that we have seen in the past two weeks. Interesting enough, we all had the opportunity to see something we had never before witnessed. For instance, Tower Bridge was raised, gracefully, to allow a ship to continue to make its way down the Thames. It all happened in a matter of about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, but it was my first time seen a bridge being raised, and it was Tower Bridge for that matter! It was a magic moment.
(Video of Tower Bridge rising coming soon)
We walked along the Thames, from the National Theatre to the London Eye to Big Ben to the Tower of London, across Tower Bridge and over the Millennium Bridge towards St.Paul’s. We spoke of everything we knew about, taking the time to explain to them (the “new tourists”) why St.Paul’s was so special and why London Bridge isn’t as cool as Tower Bridge, and to answer their questions on what is Westminster Abbey so important or what is inside the Tower of London… among many, many others. I definitely took some time to show off my knowledge of Nelson Mandela, as we made a quick stop at his statue located near Westminster Abbey. It was a night full of fun, recollection of knowledge and moments that will always be unforgettable.
This night will be remembered as the time when we all felt like true Londoners! The night when “Professor Qualls [(or Quallzie, as Jeyla calls him)] would be proud!,” the night when I described the system of Apartheid as a system where “whites segregated that shit to the T!”
-Flosha
Departure Time 2:00 am Monday
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I’m normally pretty good with directions, but for some reason during our stay in London I have managed to disrupt that pattern in some pretty fantastic ways. My group has had to run for a good 20 minutes because of my decision to take the wrong tube line when we could have just walked to our destination in 10 minutes in the first place. I led a friend on a two-hour walk trying to find the hotel that was only two blocks away. Oopsies. But when a few friends stopped in on their way to Malaga, my sense of direction seemed to be right on. They were incredibly jet-lagged so taking any additional steps than those that were necessary was not even an option if we wanted everyone to be happy by the end of the visit. To get from the Tower of London area to St. Paul’s Cathedral isn’t necessarily that difficult, but the way my luck has been going I was nervous about how we would get from point A to point B without stopping at any tube or bus station. Thank goodness for our walking tours. Just when I was getting nervous about where we were, I looked up and saw a pirate ship on the sidewalk. Normally, such a site might throw me for a loop, but in this situation it was a sign that said ‘don’t worry, everything is working out’.
It was at the pirate ship that I realized that London has become more than just a big city with a confusing street lay out. This bridge connects to this theater which is caddycorner to that cathedral. It’s not a home for me yet and I’m not sure that it will be any time soon. But it’s not a place in which I feel completely out of place anymore. I am familiar with some of its alleys, I have a good-ish grasp of which tube stops are on which line, and I know which areas of London have which personalities. The pirate ship is in quirky Southwark and not in the swanky West End. It’s also something that can help a group of Dickinson students around London on a fun night of exploration. I only wish that I was more at home in the city that I could have climbed aboard and said Argh. Another time. -Audrey
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Seeing Big Ben lit up at night, running across the streets, crossing the Millennium Bridge, witnessing the Tower Bridge being lifted. This was all experienced in one night when my three good friends from Dickinson had their 15 hour lay-over in London’s Heathrow Airport before going on their way to Malaga, Spain for their study abroad program. The adventure began when Anthony and myself decided to pick our friends up in the Zone Six area of London which is farther than one would expect to be from our “regular” Zone Three expeditions. It was fairly easy to get to the airport on the Picadilly line on the tube and we were pleasantly surprised to see out friends hanging out at the arrival gate. As we made our way back to the Arran Hotel we explained to them what we have seen so far of London and of course they have seen our facebook photo albums to go along with our stories. Arriving at the Hotel, Anthony, Flosha, Megan, Audrey, Rebecca and myself decided that we wanted to show Leslie, Gina and Luis the “real London” which meant a lot of walking in the few hours that they have had left to spend in England. It has been a great experience to have spent a month exploring London with my fellow Dickinson class mates, some whom I knew while attending Dickinson and some whom I got to know better by living in the Arran Hotel. However, a whole new appreciation came upon me when three of my friends, whom I have known for almost three years, were able to explore London with me. As we made our way to Embankment stop, we made sure to show them Big Ben peaking through the bridges, the Westminster Abbey, the statue of Nelson Mandela, the Tower Bridge, the Globe, London Bridge, and of course the magnificent Saint Paul’s. We ended the night by taking a ride in the legendary London double decker bus. I can just imagine how exciting it must be to be able to see another European country before heading to their destination of Spain. Their arrival to London also made me realize how easy it is to travel across Europe, and seeing London full of lights gave the city a romantic notion for me instead of the historical side that I am used to.
I am so happy that we were able to not be tourists for a night and show someone else around this beautiful city. Quallzie would be proud! –Jeyla
Over the past few days we have visited both a Sikh Gudwara and a Hindu Mandir, each of which presented very different public images and provided very different experiences. At the Sikh Gudwara we were met awkwardly by a man who led the female members of the group out of the entrance and back inside through a side door where we were instructed to remove our shoes and wash our hands. I found this entrance uncomfortable. On the other hand, when we visited the Hindu Mandir, we were able to enter together as a group of men and women. However, we all entered together through a metal detector with security guards surrounding us and x-ray machines for our pocket items. At the Gudwara were waited about 30 minutes before a man welcomed us and gave us a rather informal tour and presentation on Sikhism. At the Mandir we began our planned, scheduled, and timed tour as soon as we stepped into the temple. Both these religions use different methods of dealing with their place in British society. But both find that the best way is openness to outsiders.
While our Sikh guide seemed optimistic about future harmony between the “British” and the Sikh community, the BBC religion page on Sikhism tells a less hopeful one. In an interview posted on the site with Sody Singh Kahlon, a second generation Sikh, Kahlon says, “Seventeenth century India, Mogul emperors butcher and mutilate to curb Sikh popularity. Twenty-first century Britain, western influences butcher and mutilate Sikh identity.” According to Kaholn, he spent most of his childhood defending himself and his Sikh identity against bullies of all ages, sometimes even his teachers. In Tarquin Hall’s Salaam Brick Lane, we see the way looking different can lead to becoming an easy target for violence. From his window, Hall describes the violence he sees and the lack of assistance even from law enforcement.
So it’s not surprising to hear Kahlon note the pressure Sihks feel to conform to the western identity. He says, “it is a well known fact that scores of western Sikhs are visiting the barbers and abandoning their identity to look like the majority. But those who denounce the Sikh identity are conveniently overlooking the first step in being a Sikh – i.e. to accept the Guru’s instructions and wear the ordained Sikh uniform.” Kaholn continues throughout the interview to highlight the tension between “British” culture and identity and his own religious identity. But ultimately he ends the interview by explaining, “I wear my turban out of love for my faith and I am proud to stand out from the crowd as a Sikh.”
On the other hand, Hinduism allows for a little more blending in. But yet, when I entered thought the metal detectors I couldn’t help thinking why? Perhaps they were one of the greatest symbols of Hinduism’s ability to mix, coexist, and eventually find a place in British culture. If Hinduism is accepted, and welcomed, why does it need so much protection? Yes of course, the Mandir we visited is a he tourist attraction. But so is St. Paul’s, and there were no metal detectors there. According to the BBC Religion page on Hinduism, this religion follows the idea of karma, birth death and rebirth based on good or bad deeds done in life and it is polytheistic with a center on one supreme being. So when we visited the Mandir I expected to see the images or icons of many various gods—which I did—but what I was not expecting was the degree to which they worshiped their spiritual leader, the inspirer, Pramukh Swami Maharaj. There were cardboard cutouts, photographs, and other images of this man all over the Mandir, even on the alters alongside their gods. This was the most surprising thing to me. The man is still just a man, despite his training, yet the guide spoke about him in such a godly way, and his images is worshiped, it seem to me that the was elevated to god-status, which was not evident from the BBC page.
In terms of coping with British culture, the BBC page did provide one interesting thing. It was a small section on the caste system, which is central still to Indian culture, despite the struggle against it. The section explained that in large cities the caste system had almost disappeared. But, the system did still offer a sense of community to the Indian people. In most western societies, a caste system is looked down on and seen as unequal. But, in many ways the caste system fits the classist prejudice that we have studied in Britain. British classism is essentially America’s racism.
Will or how these religions fit into British culture is hard to say. In many ways Kahlon exemplifies the British man of a foreign religion. He refuses to give his religious identity up, but constantly questions his decision when faced with persecution. And there will always be persecution. Hopefully religious difference will become so common that one different religion can no longer be singled out. But until then, people will always fear what is unfamiliar to them. In that way, the open attitude of both places of worship is the only way that religious tolerance can ever be achieved.
There were many things I adored about the V&A museum: the entrance way of marble Greek sculptures, the fashion wing including one of Princess Diana’s dresses. But what took my breath away the most was the fairy tale exhibit, Telling Tales. As many of you know, I have a childlike obsession with fairy tales and Disney movies, especially the Little Mermaid. But it is not the Disney story or the catchy songs that make me love these stories even as the years go by, but rather the way that these stories can transform a young child’s hopes and dreams into a story that suspends reality. These stories create a new world where children can hide for a little while. Who wouldn’t love that?
Well the Telling Tales exhibit at the V&A museum did just that: suspend reality and take the audience into a magical fantasy world. The works of art on display were amazing manifestations of the classical fairytales in furniture and sculpture. But that was not even the best part of the exhibit, rather it was the way that entire space was like a fairytale. Each room followed a different theme: the forest glade, the enchanted castle, and heaven and hell. To say that each of these rooms’ atmospheres matched their titles would be an understatement. When I entered the first room, the enchanted forest, all the walls and lighting matched that of a forest. It was likewise for each room. With this, the exhibit was able to achieve exactly what a fairytale is meant to: suspend reality.
The V&A museum mostly deals with exhibitions about design. Besides the suspension of reality, this show captures the elements of fairytales: dreams, hope, fear, beauty, and of course happy endings. Although the exhibit ended darkly with the heaven and hell room, I think in this way it remained grounded in realtiy. Afterall, we are not in a fairytale. And eventually the suspension of reality ends. And what better place to end it than with death, where everything ultimately ends?
Note: Photo slideshow of the V&A museum to come soon. However the Teling Tales Exhibit did not allow photography inside.
For those of you who are not my facebook friends or who don’t have a facebook (GAWK!), I wanted to share with you a few great group photos I have acquired over the trip so far. I couldn’t think of any better way to share them than to post them in a blog with our favorite word as a title. Enjoy this juxtaposition of different group photos!
I believe that ours has become a culture of fear. Not only, but especially since 9/11, we have begun to fear those of different cultures and those of different appearances, more than I think we ever have before. While many of you may find this a very controversial statement, I think it has become a truth that we all live with everyday. As students in a foreign country, we spend our time fighting this growing reality. We study other cultures, we learn about the unknown so that we will not fear it. But ultimately, Americans live in a society that is suspicious of the unknown.
So when we entered the SikhGurdwara in Southall, I’ll admit I was uneasy. However, it is not about that uneasy feeling, the uncomfortable awareness of difference, that I mean to write about tonight, but rather something that our generous guide earnestly said to us. After covering our heads, removing our shoes, washing our hands, touring the Gurdwara, and hearing about the Sikh faith, Professor Qualls asked our guide about the traditional kirpan sword that practicing Sikhs would normally wear at their side at all times. The guide did explain –to my understanding—that they are allowed to wear them on the street etc, because it part of their faith and is not considered a weapon. However, he did note that they are still not allowed to travel with them on airplanes. He stated that, “[Sikhs] sometimes stand out because of what we wear. People may see us with a kirpan and think we are going to try to take over the plane. But it would be better if we could take them because if someone were to try to take the plane, we would be able to stand up and say ‘no! do not do that!’ I know that someday we will be able to take them with us when we travel. People will see us with it and say, ‘No, he is a Sikh, he will not hurt us. Let him have it.” Perhaps I am more of a jaded American city girl than I ever thought, because hearing this man honestly tell us this belief for the future moved me more than anything else said that morning.
Part of the Sikh tradition is to protect the innocent. They carry this sword with them at all times because it is their duty to protect themselves and those who cannot protect themselves. This man had such faith in the British people, in the American people, in the growing cultural world, that someday he saw people not only accepting his faith, but understanding and allowing him to practice all the aspects of it, even if it involved carrying weapons.
It was a deeply powerful moment, to feel someone else’s hopes, however naïve you may think them, and to know, that are not in any future you foresee. As much as this experience in another culture, which despite similar languages is very different from my own, has opened my eyes to many wonderful differences and helped me to be even more accepting, I do not know that I can believe the same openness is possible on a worldwide scale. After all, we are a people who are afraid of differences. And while that can change one person at a time, we still have a long way to go.
Note: No photographs were allowed in the temple so I did not bring my camera along on this trip. However, if you would like to see images of the area, check out Google Images of Southall.
When I picture my summer at home, I see myself with Starbucks in hand, sitting on the dirt and grass of Prospect Park in Brooklyn. I’m with friends, or my brother, or even alone. My ipod speakers are turned up next to me so I can hear over the music that other small groups around me play from various speakers. I smell hot dogs and other food being barbequed in the shade of the trees where the grass has been worn away. Every once in a while I look up from my book, or my friends, to dodge a rouge Frisbee, soccer ball, or running child. For the most part it’s a sort of low city hum surrounding me as I watch the various families eating and talking, the young women sun tanning, or the men playing various sports.
slideshow of photos from parks
But here in London, I’ve found my park experiences to be quite different. My first experience at a London park was with a friend outside of the Dickinson program. We were on a mission to find Harrods so that I could see the famous English department store. We did in fact find it. It was a window into the English equivalent of 5th Avenue, New York. I was surrounded by upscale, architecturally beautiful, storefronts and benches. This illustrated the main difference between the parks at home and the two parks I’ve visited in London: usage. Although both the major parks that I am familiar with in New York, Central Park and Prospect Park, are both on the edges of upscale neighborhoods, they also border more middle class neighborhoods as well. At home, the people who use the parks are primarily people who don’t have their own outdoor spaces. They use the park for family barbeques and get-togethers as well as the more traditional uses of sports activities, exercise, or even sun tanning.
While Hyde Park bordered a very upper class (which the English call middle class) neighborhood, just as most parks do, it seemed much more up kept. There we lots of small gardens, fountains, and monuments that were still in very good condition. Also, there were no people lying out on the grass—that I could see, at Hyde park. The people that were there, although they seemed to be of different ethnicities, all seemed to be of the same class. And not only was there no music playing from loud speakers, or people barbequing, there was very little shouting or noise at all. Now I must admit that Hyde Park is very very large, and I only explored one corner of it. But even in that corner what struck me the most was the quite. No music, loud children playing or laughing, or even the sound of large groups gathered. The people there either had outdoor space of their own for these uses or didn’t want to barbeque or ever do these outdoor things that I see at home. And this was not just limited to Hyde Park.
When we met for a class on Mrs. Dalloway in Regent’s Park, I was left with similar feelings. This park was also filled with fountains, monuments, and cleanliness. In fact, I got the feeling that our class of 27 students were the only 27 people talking in the whole park. Now don’t get me wrong, in both these parks people were present sitting on benches reading, walking their dogs, strolling holding hands, but never talking loudly, shouting, and absolutely not playing music. And although both Prospect Park and Central Park are also very large, I never seem to be able to find a completely private spot. Yet at Regent’s Park and Hyde Park there were a few times where no one besides our group was visible.
As I walked through these various parks, and made these comparisions in my mind, I began to ask myself why? Why were the parks I knew marked by noise, children, laughter, and the sense that people LIVED there? Why were these London parks most notably quiet with the beauty of something that is untouched and tiddy?
So far in my time here I have begun to notice that we Americans are often the loudest people around when we walk down the street, ride the tube, or sit in a restaurant. Perhaps this contributes to the idea of quiet London parks. It seems as though it is part of English culture, British nature, to be reserved and contained. No one screams or runs wild through the open grass. Instead, people read their books and seem to be sitting in nature, rather than monopolizing it with noise and music. Of course I’ll always feel more comfortable in a loud park where patches of grass have been sat on so much that it has worn away to dirt. A park where the tunnels smell of urine because of the homeless people who find shelter in them. A park where families who may not be able to afford a back yard can give their children a place to run free. But at the same time, there is something to be said of a place where people can simply exist with nature—not to say that London parks are an untamed forest, they are clearly man-made—unnoticed because they are so quiet there.
Yesterday, I stood on Charles Darwin’s grave. And no, it was not in a cemetery or science sanctuary, it was in a church. Over 3,000 people are buried at Westminster Abbey. While it is mainly dominated by various royal figures, there are several burials and memorials for literary figures, scientists, and even an unknown soldier. But by far the most shocking person buried there is Charles Darwin. Despite the fact that in many ways his work refutes the teachings of the church, he is still honored there as an important historical figure. This illustrates the importance of English history to the English, to the point where they would rather honor a historical figure who they disgraced with than have his part of history lost.
As an English major, there was also another part of the church I particularly liked: poet’s corner. There I saw stones for many writers including D. H. Lawrence, Lewis Carroll, and Dylan Thomas. However, I was disappointed to realize that not everyone who had a stone on the ground was really buried there. I later learned that these stones served mainly as memorials to recognize these artists’ efforts. One the bright side, I did stand on Charles Dickens, who is actually buried in the church next to Rudyard Kipling.
All these sanctuaries, memorials, and graves, some with carving or detailed sculptures of the deceased present set me thinking about death rituals. The more we looked at these secularized burial spots , the more they began to resemble the Egyptian burial traditions. My knowledge of their practices is limited, but to my understand the Egyptians bury their dead in elaborate tombs with gold and riches to prepare them for the afterlife. And I looked at the extravagant sculpture of Queen Elizabeth lying about her body I began to wonder what the purpose of this whole thing was. Who was really being honored here? Queen Elizabeth? The artist? The patron or surviving family members? Or even the church itself?
And amongst these thoughts, as I walked the tours, the announcement came on for a moment of prayer, it was 11:00. And out of these thoughts of vain royalty, religious celebrations, or tourist attractions, I was reminded that we were in a place of worship, a house of God. And these people were lying here to be with God and to be remembered. These ornate carving and statues were not meant to honor the person, to prepare them for the afterlife, or even to make Westminster Abbey the tourist attraction that it is today; they were made to honor England’s history. Everyday people visit Westminster Abbey and they worship this country’s history.
To view a slideshow of photos from my time at Westminster Abbey, The National Gallery, and the South Bank please click here.
Today I visited both the Cabinet War Rooms/Churchill Museum and the Sir John Soane Museum and what struck me most about both of these very different museums was their presentation. The approach that these two museums took with presentation are very different from each other, and therefore striking in different ways. Having put on an exhibition myself during the past school year, I know the decisions involved in creating a show.
Although I visited both the Cabinet War Rooms and the Churchill Museum, I was much more impressed with the set up of the Churchill Museum, so that will be my focus here. Upon entering the Churchill Museum, the first thing I noticed was the color scheme: blue and grey/silver. This was continued throughout the exhibition which gave it cohesion and unity. This exhibit also mainly used interactive media like audio and video. My favorite section of the museum was the wall of black and white photos (keeping with the color scheme of the museum) that were back lit and place in deep silver frames. As you walked along the line of photos, motion sensors on the floor active clips from Churchill speeches that related to the photos. I found this combination of visual and audio stimulation to be very engaging.
Besides the color scheme, I also loved the various either lit up, scrolling, or painted Churchill quotes throughout the exhibition. Often when people picture art exhibitions they picture paintings and history exhibitions they picture photographs and artifacts. Adding text was just another way this exhibition engaged the audience successfully. As an English major and art minor, I found the quotes pleasing both because they were well chosen for their content, and also because they were presented in a very aesthetically pleasing way.
The Sir John Soane
The Soane Museum, on the other hand, had an equally engaging yet completely different layout. As opposed to the open, spacious, unified by color Churchill exhibit, the Sir John Soane Museum was in Soane’s home with tiny hallways, narrow stairwells, and rooms packed with busts and statues. Unfortunately no photographs were allowed in the museum, and only a photo could really convey the feeling of the museum—or home. That was the thing, this was the architect Sir John Soane’s home, more or less just the way he left it. The walls were covered in paintings and relief sculptures from various time periods. The banisters, tables, and other available wall space was covered in busts and other types of statues. Every windowsill and flat surface had something on it. The bookshelves were packed and the floors were all lined with various floral printed rugs. There was literally just enough room for a person to walk around the room or through the hallway. As I entered I had to place all my carried belongings in a plastic bag to be carried in front of me because there was not room enough for me to hold things at my sides as I walked. The stairwells winded around and as I walked, with my head always facing upward, I could not help but to think about the kind of man who would collect and appreciate these works of art, let alone live crammed in a house with them!
This exhibition overwhelmed me. I paced and paced around the house, and even saw a wall UNFOLD to reveal even more paintings! Most of the artwork was classical. Many of the paintings were landscapes. But it was not necessarily the artwork itself that made me love this museum, but the presentation. As I walked through the front door of the house and was instructed to turn off my mobile phone, I suddenly had this feeling that I was going through the wardrobe into Narnia. It was no longer busy modern London, it was 18th century England. The small spaces kept the museum goers quite, and I had a feeling of calm silence and awe as I entered room after room of wall to wall, floor to ceiling, art. Really, what could be better than that?
Ultimately I know that neither the content of the historical Churchill Museum or the classical busts and landscapes of the Sir John Soane Museum would have captivated me nearly as much had they not each been presented in such engaging ways. When it comes to being good at something practice, practice, practice. And when it comes to an exhibition its presentation, presentation, presentation!
Below is a slideshow of photos from the CHurchill Museum.
After a morning class discussion on Ethnic London, I headed with some friends to Trafalgar Square to spend the afternoon in the National Gallery. As an artist and art lover, visiting the National Gallery has been on my high priority list. Not only is it a very large museum, but the collection spans over several centuries. It includes work by some of my favorite artists, Jan Van Eyck and Botticelli, and it is nicely spread out over well organized and numbered rooms.
Tourist pose by the lion
As soon as I entered the museum, I knew there was no way I would finish it all in a day. I was overwhelmed just looking at the interior architecture! I picked up one of the museum’s detailed colored coordinated and numbered maps, decided on left, and entered paradise. Yes, I was one of those people who stood right up against the barrier, nearly put my face in the paint, and twisted my head into awkward angles so I could “see the quality of the paint.” Having just finished my Fundaments of (Oil) Painting class at Dickinson, I was completely engrossed and fascinated with the brightness and sharpness of the paint when the artists painted on wood.
I only made it through the 16th and some of the 17th century works, which tend to be of a more religious nature. So many paintings depicting the life and death of Christ, or the various Saints, reminds me not only of the political nature of those time periods, but also the importance of religion. So much of England’s history and beauty steams from the country’s religious roots. People flock to the churches of England as tourist attractions, forgetting that they were once places of worship. People stare at paintings of Christ, forgetting the meaning and significance tied to the image.
Hanging out by the National Gallery
While I hope at least most people appreciate these works for there aesthetic beauty, mastery of skill, and creative perspectives, I hope that every once and a while, we all think about the mindset of the artist. What is this a painting of? For whom and why? What does this image mean? I try to ask myself these questions with every work of art I look at, in hopes I will appreciate it a little more.
To view a slideshow of photos from my time at The National Gallery, Westminster Abbey, and the South Bank please click here.
