I went to London today, for a culture fix. The trains were very quiet, Paralympics notwithstanding (though those Olympic mascots are truly dreadful. Whoever thought that a thing like a cross between a Teletubby and a giant penis was an appropriate representation of the Olympic spirit should seek professional help). The Olympics are responsible for one cultural gem, the presence on loan in the British Museum until 9th September of the Motya charioteer.
This is a Greek victory statue of an athlete, believed from his robe to be a charioteer. It was created around 480 to 470BC, and is a thing of great beauty and erotic power. A muscular young man, arms now sadly missing, face and crotch somewhat chipped, stands in a triumphant pose, hand on hip, while the other arm would originally have been raised to adjust his laurel crown. His charioteer's robe is a softly fluted, full length garment, intended to cling revealingly to the sweat-soaked body beneath, and the sculptor has shown how the young man's fingers press into the folds of fabric, and the swell of every magnificent muscle. He is well worth catching before he disappears back to his small museum in western Sicily. You will find him with the Elgin marbles.
Also on show, and also free, is an enjoyable exhibition about the horse, starting with the earliest records of horses being domesticated in the near East, initially as draught animals and later ridden, which progresses via the role of the horse in the Islamic world to the racing stables of the eighteenth century, finishing with the modern Olympics. It is not a big exhibition, but there are some interesting things, including some beautiful mughal miniatures. That's in room 35, which is in the upper part of the reading room, and is on until the end of next month.
On display until 2nd September is a complete set of Picasso's Vollard Suite. No, I hadn't heard of it until I read that the museum had recently managed to acquire the prints through the generosity of a donor. It consists of a set of 100 etchings, made in the 1930s, exploring classical themes, of artist, muse and minotaur. Many of them were made when Picasso was enjoying an affair with his latest muse and model, a girl not much over a third of his age when they first met. I have admitted before that I struggle with some of Picasso's paintings, but he was a wonderful draughtsman. Having just typed about eight different attempts to explain why these etchings are so good, and erased all of them because they sounded so ridiculous, I suggest you high-tail it to room 90, at the back of the museum and up the stairs past the Chinese porcelain, and see for yourself. If you have twenty-five quid to spare you could buy the catalogue. I didn't, having a rule only to do so when the show relates to art and landscape, because one has to draw the line somewhere with books, but I should have liked to.
The British Museum has been absolutely on top form for several years now, and if I were retired and lived in London I'd go every week. There is always something interesting. Their temporary exhibitions are consistently the best curated of all the galleries I visit, and it would take a lifetime just to look at the permanent collection. The Chinese porcelain is lovely, if you're passing.
Then I went to see the paintings from the Clark Art Institute at the RA. This ends on 23rd September, so I wanted to squeeze it in before we go on holiday. Sterling and Francine Clark were blessed with a good eye for a painting, and a great deal of money, and built up a very nice collection including many fine Impressionist paintings, which they gifted to an art gallery. The RA has borrowed a hunk of the collection wholesale, which must be a great deal easier than having to scout round a couple of dozen different owners to put a show together. There are still lives, landscapes, seascapes, portraits and genre paintings. We all have our favourites when it comes to art exhibitions, so I found Toulouse Lautrec's downcast young woman, waiting alone at a table with her drink in front of her, more interesting than Renoir's sugary ingenues, but you might disagree. It is a lovely exhibition, and I had a look at it, then went and found something to eat in the form of a piece of vastly expensive Royal Academy cafe pie, then returned for a second look.
I don't like the RA so much as the British Museum. For the past three years my mother has kindly paid for me to be a Friend, during which time they have vastly jacked the price up, while introducing the requirement for Friends to book tickets for the most popular events. It's ninety quid nowadays, which for a country member who isn't going to get up to London all that often equates to a lot of money per exhibition, and if I'd wanted a little booklet for today's show they'd have charged me another £2.50. Compared to way the Tate treats its supporters I think the RA is taking the piss. That is not my mother's fault, I hasten to add. She asked me which one I'd like to support, and I opted for the RA, but back then it cost a third less, and you could walk in to the Van Gogh exhibition on a whim, whereas by the time it got to David Hockney and Degas you had to commit in advance. However, the current exhibition is delightful, and worth a visit if you can make it.
Addendum My naturalist friend reported back on the expert opinion on the dead beetle. It was a female stag beetle. She died recently, of natural causes, and the teeth on her front legs showed signs of wear, indicating that she had fulfilled her biological role and laid some eggs somewhere. She weighed 0.96 grammes. I think the Colchester Natural History Society were interested to have the confirmed sighting, which tells them something new about the distribution of stag beetles in this part of Essex.
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