Westminster Abbey

007Yesterday we visited Westminster Abbey. It’s the traditional burial site of British monarchs from Edward the Confessor to the Tudor area, the home of the Coronation Chair in which every British monarch has been crowned for a thousand years, and — predictably — a gathering spot for tourists.

The building itself is a beautiful example of Gothic architecture. Many of its original features, however, have been harmed or destroyed and then restored. Most of the stained glass windows, for example, are replacements. In addition, many of the grave markers, plaques, and other tributes to the dead are scratched and, in some instances, broken. Apparently the schoolboys who served in the choir and in other roles at the church were not worried about scratching a gibe into the back of an ancient chair or breaking off the nose of one of countless cherubs decorating the place.

011It’s interesting to see the burial places of such luminaries as Elizabeth I, her half-sister Queen Mary, and Geoffrey Chaucer, among countless others. At a certain point, however, all of the gilt and marble becomes overwhelming and seems more like clutter than anything else.

That’s why my favor part of the Abbey is the only part where they allow photography. It’s the cloister of the original Abbey, where monks once strolled in quiet religious contemplation.

Here there is a bit less clutter, a bit less bustle, a bracing shot of bright green grass after all the gold and cold white marble, and a whiff of cool, rain-washed air. The monastery elements of this lovely old building are, in my view, the most interesting, and the most enduring.

The Great Stone Face

004When Richard and I walked to Westminster Abbey yesterday, we walked past the Horse Guards building, where the guard posts were manned by mounted members of the Horse Guards, with their bright uniforms and horsehair helmets.

Like the guards in front of Buckingham Palace, the Horse Guards pride themselves on maintaining a stony countenance no matter what provocation they might receive. Their horses seem pretty somber, too.

A Visit To The National Portrait Gallery

051I freely admit that I am a sucker for portraits. I’m fascinated by them, and I applaud the artists who create them. In my view, it takes a special talent to render a good likeness of a fellow human being.

If you also are a fan of portraits, then London’s National Portrait Gallery is a mandatory stop on your bucket list. It is an extraordinary powerhouse of an art collection that left an indelible impression on me after I spent four very enjoyable hours there on Thursday.

054The organization and, frankly, attendance at the museum contributed greatly to the enjoyment. Unlike the National Gallery, the National Portrait Gallery is not overrun with people jostling likes chimps in a zoo cage in front of every piece of artwork on display. There’s room, and time, to really observe each portrait.

If it’s a good portrait — and most of those on display in the National Portrait Gallery certainly fall into that category — then a little contemplation will inevitably cause you to feel as if you have really learned something about the individual being depicted. A good portrait tells you something about the subject that affords you a window of sorts into their soul.

059The Gallery is organized so that you can go start at the beginning and go forward in time, or start at the end and go backward. I chose the former approach, which puts you firmly in the realm of kings and high-ranking nobility at the outset, but then expands to include painters, poets, singers, scientists, politicians, and intellectual members of a drinking and social group called the Kit-Cat Club, among many others. As the subjects are broadened to encompass more of society, so to does the manner of depicting the subject — from icon-like early royal paintings, to portrayals heavy with symbolism, to full-length treatments, to more contemporary approaches.

I also respected the fact that the National Portrait Gallery barred photography of some of the pieces, in order to try to avoid damaging them. In an age when people seem to take pictures without caring much about why they are doing so, I would rather take the steps necessary to preserve the artwork itself for future generations. So, I obeyed the injunctions and refrained from taking a picture, for example, of the stunning and moving portrayal of a deflated Winston Churchill during the time when his handling of the disastrous Dardanelles campaign during World War I was under inquiry.

The other pictures included with this post, however, should give any fan of portraits an idea of what they can expect with a visit to this excellent museum. They include, moving from the top down, Henry Lamb’s 1939 Impressionistic portrait of a brittle and seemingly bewildered Neville Chamberlain, Joshua Reynolds’ far-sighted self-portrait from the middle of the 18th century, Lawrence’s 1773 depiction of Sir Joseph Banks, a scientist who sailed to the Pacific with Captain Cook and who looks like he is ready to break into a broad grin as he sits by his globe, and, below, Sir Thomas Lawrence’s riveting likeness of the laser-eyed Tory Prime Minister Robert Jenkinson, who radiates intensity of purpose from the canvas.