Tuesday, August 24, 2004
I mostly prefer going to museums on my own. Then I can stay for as long or as short as I like, spending hours in front of Rothko and seconds in front of Constable. What is lovely is not only the art itself, and the frames in which it hangs - interesting becomes also the space in which art has been hung, the correspondence between artwork, viewer and room itself. The noises it makes when feet wearing different foot-wear move across the floors. Children laughing and children whining, bored. Snippets of conversations; some outraged by the (lack of) content of a piece of art, some celebratory, gushing, some analysing at great lenght. People jotting down notes or sketching, concentrating on the task at hand.
Tate Modern is splendid. Not only do they have great shows on, you can turn from a Pollock and see the Lobster Telephone and turn again and enjoy the spectacular view of the Millenium Bridge and St. Paul's. And when you exit you can see the waves and the boats and hear the birdmen whistling.
The Edward Hopper show is full of great paintings and within these paintings great spaces. Hopper himself apparently declared that his paintings were not about loneliness but about aloneness, people (or buildings) being alone in a moment but not feeling lonely. There is a beauty of everyday life in his paintings, not so much questions and rebellions as statements or even an acceptance (not to be confused with resignation) of life, in that moment, in that place. Reality and idealisation is juxtaposed, but again, Hopper not so much questions as investigates.
I fell in love with Hopper about 10 or so years ago when I was introduced to his works at Louisiana, outside Copenhagen. That was an amazing show, kicking the Tate's ass times five, but Tate's is still informative, riveting, interesting. Now, of course, Hopper is almost perceived as art lite, like Monet, but that does not detract from the fact that above it all, many of the paintings still stand as testimonies to a great narrator of life.
Tate Modern is splendid. Not only do they have great shows on, you can turn from a Pollock and see the Lobster Telephone and turn again and enjoy the spectacular view of the Millenium Bridge and St. Paul's. And when you exit you can see the waves and the boats and hear the birdmen whistling.
The Edward Hopper show is full of great paintings and within these paintings great spaces. Hopper himself apparently declared that his paintings were not about loneliness but about aloneness, people (or buildings) being alone in a moment but not feeling lonely. There is a beauty of everyday life in his paintings, not so much questions and rebellions as statements or even an acceptance (not to be confused with resignation) of life, in that moment, in that place. Reality and idealisation is juxtaposed, but again, Hopper not so much questions as investigates.
I fell in love with Hopper about 10 or so years ago when I was introduced to his works at Louisiana, outside Copenhagen. That was an amazing show, kicking the Tate's ass times five, but Tate's is still informative, riveting, interesting. Now, of course, Hopper is almost perceived as art lite, like Monet, but that does not detract from the fact that above it all, many of the paintings still stand as testimonies to a great narrator of life.
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