A very old friend (in the sense that we have known each other for an extremely long time. Chronologically she is only sixteen months older than me, and I consider us both to be in the prime of our middle age rather than ancient) kindly took me to lunch in a Japanese restaurant to celebrate my birthday. I do like Japanese food. It is so completely unlike English food. With French, or Italian, or even the UK version of Indian, I feel I am in a different part of a familiar world. Japanese is much more other, I can't identify half the flavours. I like their tea, too.
Buoyed up by sushi I yomped across Green Park for the second time, to go to the exhibition of Tudor and Stuart fashion in the Queen's Gallery that finishes this weekend. I'd already called round before lunch to get a ticket, since I once pitched up with a friend in tow one lunchtime only to discover that there were no slots available until mid afternoon. This morning's trip turned out to be wasted, because while the gallery will sell you advance tickets over the internet, in person they will only let you have one for the next available slot, and the next available slot was at that moment. Goodness knows why Her Majesty's booking system has this particular idiosyncrasy, but that's how it is. However, a kindly woman on the security desk assured me that they were not fully booked and that I should be fine turning up later, imminent end of run notwithstanding.
Apparently the key factor is whether Buckingham Palace is open. When it is, the gallery is lumped in as part of the tour, and punters want to get their money's worth and pile into the picture gallery, which is not very big. When it is not, the only gallery visitors are those who are interested in paintings, and Tudor and Stuart portraits don't have the same kerb appeal as Van Gogh sunflowers or Monet waterlilies.
It was a brilliant exhibition, though. It's a bit mean of me to tell you that, when it shuts in two days. I recognised some of the pictures from previous visits. The small Dutch portrait of a lady sitting on her bed, pulling on (or taking off) one blue stocking with a coquettish look in her eyes, last appeared in an exhibition devoted to Dutch painters, while the young Henry Prince of Wales (1594 - 1612), here reduced to a walk on part as a fashion icon, was the star of his own show the last time I met him. Poor Henry, he was the oldest son of James I, and England had great hopes for him as a true Renaissance prince, when he died, and the country ended up with James II and the glorious revolution. And I have seen Charles II being presented with a pineapple many times in reproduction, but in garden history books where the emphasis was on the pineapple, and not, as today, on Charles' new style of long vest and coat.
Who'd have thought that around the time of the Restoration, that there was a fashion for men's shoes with red heels? There they are, though, in portraits, including the future Charles II, dancing with his sister in the Netherlands. You can spot the royal menfolk among the crowd of well dressed people at the party. They are the only ones allowed to keep their hats on.
An educational panel between two rooms told me what defines satin, which is that it is a waving technique in which the weft crosses multiple warps at once (the phrase satins and silks therefore mixing technique and material). This floating weft is what gives the material its lustrous shine, while presumably reducing its strength. That built nicely on our recent textile museum trips.
Among all the wonderful portrayals of costume was one portrait by Rembrandt Van Rijn. Agatha Bas, blonde eyebrows almost invisible, chin tipped slightly down, lips closed, gazes at us seriously, her gold fan standing out against her black dress, and protruding over the edge of the frame within a frame that Rembrandt has painted. I could have looked at that picture for hours. I would exchange every pickled shark and array of dots ever to come out of Damien Hirst's studio factory, plus Tracey Emin's bed, her tent, her neon tubes, and every single thing she ever made, for that portrait. I would see them all sunk to the bottom of the sea, even the diamond encrusted skull, rather than that it be harmed.
I wonder if Her Majesty goes around out of hours for a private view? I've never got the impression that she was very interested in art.
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