Fundraising for art

One of the rooms I visited in the National Gallery on Monday had as a focal point what’s referred to in British garden improvement shows as a “water feature”. This one is called “Venus and Cupid”; I forget who sculpted it.

In addition to the usual spitting fish, at the goddess’s feet, this one had an interesting element: water drips from the hair that Venus is wringing, onto a dish held by Cupid, and then splashes into the pool below.

But here’s the thing that stumps me every single time I encounter it: the pool is completely lined with coins. I mean—look at it:

What is it with people and contained bodies of water that they feel obliged to toss money into it? In the few minutes I was in the room three sets of parents gave their offspring coins to throw into the pool.

I mean, I’m sure that every little bit helps the budget of the National Gallery, but this is one practice I just do not get.

Form and function

Not too far away from the wide-rimmed bowl that featured one of the approximately twelve bazillion rapes of Greek mythology, there’s a case with three more Italian Renaissance pots.

Well, two “drug jars” and a plate. By someone called Orazio Pompeii, about whom I can find no information at all.

I was vastly impressed by the size of the drug jars—at least 15 inches high. I mean—that’s pretty much the Costco-size medication container, and I wonder what drug you could get in that quantity?

Back then, I mean.

Also, I thought it very interesting that the illustration on one of them was of Cleopatra’s final dose:

Is that an invitation or a discouraging function, do you think?

But then there was the plate, which was only described as “an allegorical subject”. (Sorry about the light glare.)

I’ll have to go back and see if I can copy down the Latin inscription and get a translation. But my first thought was, “I’ll be blowed if I can figure out what, exactly, allegory this represents.”

But I’d purely like to find out.

P.S. Okay, the “drug jars” are apparently apothecary jars, so not for personal use. Unless you were extra-special friends of the druggist, I suppose.

Food service for the gods

On my flying visit to the National Gallery of Art on Monday I wandered into a room with Renaissance porcelain stuff.

(Sorry, but when I think of old dishware, I can’t help but recall one of George Carlin’s early routines about Congolia Breckinridge, the hapless daytime TV game show contestant who’s given the question category of Ancient Chinese Pottery and is stumped by the question, “How many ancient Chinese pots in a dozen?” Yes, I’m a Philistine.)

Well here’s a quasi-ancient Italian dish that completely stumped me: Francesco Avelli’s broad-rimmed bowl with Neptune raping Theophane; arms of Pucci with an ‘ombrellino’”, of 1532. (The “ombrellino” is the canopy; I had to look it up.)

Because of course you want to eat your linguine and scallops from a bowl with a picture of a god raping…well, anyone, right?

Especially if it’s got a designer’s family coat of arms on it. You can tell that branding has been around for a long time.

(I’m not going to be much help in explicating the Neptune and Theophane thing. It’s the usual maiden-too-beautiful-for-her-own-good-drives-the-gods-to-pursue-her thing, only I kind of lost interest when they started transmogrifying into sheep and rams.)

Not night at the museum

There’s an old joke that Iowans tell: What’s the difference between Minnesota and yoghurt?

Yoghurt has culture.

Okay, with the rim shot out of the way, yesterday I decided I needed more culture than I could get from a bowl of Greek yoghurt, so I headed for the National Mall. Because I live in the District They Call Columbia for the nonce, I left my place at 0930 and got to the Smithsonian Metro station at 0940. It was bitterly cold, so I had to keep moving at a good clip for that 20 minutes. And when that time was up I was in front of the National Gallery of Art, so that’s where I went.

It’s hard to describe how therapeutic that choice was. Of all the options—American history, natural history, air & space, Sackler, etc., the National Gallery was just exactly what I needed. I could only spend a couple of hours there, on account of massive back pain, but since I live here, it doesn’t matter. I can come back. But for yesterday, despite the pain, I felt lifted up and renewed by walking through just a few rooms.

 I didn’t bother with a museum map, because it’s not like I have to hit the “must-see” galleries on one trip; I could let serendipity decide my route. And serendipity delivered, because pretty much the first room I entered was full of Rodins—not the major, large-as-life pieces, but small and entirely accessible ones.

A couple of my favorites (on this pass; they might change the next time I go):

“The Evil Spirits”—I don’t know the story of this, what, exactly the forms represent, or why, but I just love the way Rodin entwines them.

“Sphinx”—I’ve never seen this mythical creature depicted in so benign a fashion. Not to mention without the lion’s body.

And how about "The Hand of God”?

From Rodin I wandered through a photography exhibit, which included some work by Richard Avedon. I hadn’t realized that he did anything besides fashion and celebrity photos, but there was a series of the great and the powerful he did in the run-up to the 1976 presidential election that was stunning, including this shot of one of my heroes, Texas Congresswoman Barbara Jordan. Look at her fierceness:

And this “panorama” of the US leaders, military and diplomatic, in Saigon in 1971, which he called “The Mission Council”. It’s actually multiple photos that he put together with intrinsic fragmentation (allegory for the effect the war was having on the country), centered on General Creighton Abrams, commander of MAC-V, and Ellsworth Bunker, Ambassador to Vietnam. Well, South Vietnam, as was.

And that’s what the museum experience is supposed to do, isn’t it—expand your sense as well as your sensibilities.

In case this is your limit of culture vulturism, I’ll save some of my other pix for later and close out today’s post with a shot of the walkway between the east and west wings of the National Gallery.

Next time I go, I may just walk back and forth along this twinkling passage for a couple of hours for my cultural experience. Beats yoghurt.

Gratitude Monday: Le bon weekend

Today I am grateful for three-day weekends. And for having a job that recognizes the boundaries between work and, you know, life. 

And therefore for being able to enjoy the time off.

That is all.