London, Again
London. I know people who really don’t like the grand dame. The weather can be beastly, the hotels mediocre, and the food dodgy. The people that serve you in the hotels, restaurants, and taxis have unpronounceable surnames and barely speak English. They drive on the wrong side of the road. Large buildings are referred to as “houses,” apartments are flats, and houses in the suburbs are called “estates.”
The hotel I’ve staid in these past years is just across from the Victoria and Albert on the edge of Chelsea and Knightsbridge near Harrod’s. It sports a fine location, has a nifty sounding name, and serves a “full English breakfast” (Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast just doesn’t seem to measure up). It also has tiny elevators (lifts) that don’t always work, indifferent beds and pillows (noticeable given the standards now being set by many of the Starwood hotels), tiny rooms, smaller televisions, very tall bathtubs, and difficult to use heating controls. Only this year did they get high speed internet access . . . wifi in the public area for the not inconsiderable sum of ten pounds for twenty four hours (about twenty dollars).
Except for the cost of the wifi (it was worse in Paris), I love it all.
For my wife and me, London doesn’t begin until we’ve had afternoon tea at Harrod’s. No real reason, it’s just become a tradition. I have no sense of what the locals think of the place, particularly since it was bought by the nice Egyptian zillionaire whose son had the temerity to romance Prince Charles’ ex wife, but my guess is that us tourists like Harrod’s better. Either way, it’s always been well stocked with shoppers every time I’ve been there and this particular day was no exception.
Of the alternatives, we like sitting on the glassed-over balcony just off the Georgian Room. There at little tables we sip tea, graze on crustless quarter sandwiches and slather scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam. I always push myself away overstuffed and wondering why I don’t have English tea every afternoon.
In case someone from our internal revenue service is reading this, we’d gone to London on business (New York and Paris too for the record). I am a member of a consulting network based there and we had projects to discuss. We also were due to present a workshop in Paris a few days hence so there was that to work on too. And yes, we’d also gone to see the art.
Art has also become a business for my wife and me. Big cities like London are a trove of small galleries and artists to be researched for ideas and markets. And of course, they are also home to fantastic collections in places like the Whitney, Guggenheim, Met, and MOMA in NY, The Tate Modern and Tate Britain in London, and the d’Orsay, Louvre, Pompidou Center, and Picasso Museum in Paris to name just a few. Although we didn’t see it all, we saw a lot of it. Many of the artists found in the modern collections of these great galleries are favorites and are sources of specific inspiration for projects my wife is currently working on.
For the record, and this will sound like one long inside joke if you don’t like art . . .
To digress, Cy Twombly was everywhere. The MOMA in NY has a gigantic and stunning example of the world’s most famous living scribbler’s work in the main gallery on the second floor of its stunning new facility. The Whitney featured an extensive series of his sketches, studies, and paper works (many of which are real head scratchers), and the Tate has a large four piece, four seasons series that to my eyes was sublime. Even Bergdorf’s had gotten into the act, showcasing Twombly art in its windows on Fifth Avenue.
Frank Stella, one of the living giants of modern art thinks that Tim Hawkinson is one of the few people doing really innovative stuff and as luck would have it, Hawkinson had curated and put up a sweeping installation of his art at the Whitney. His art is not easily described as he doesn’t have a particular look, feel, or size. The first piece you see fills a room that’s probably 25 feet in every direction. I don’t even know what you’d call it. It’s made of big paper tubes and other industrial materials and looks like a bunch of people in odd positions each at the end of one of the joined tubes. Little clickers attached to each of the “people” make droll little noises from different parts of the piece. The next piece was about 12 feet around, made of foil and foam, and was meant to represent a skinned elephant. The piece after that wasn’t like either of those two. All in all, the show filled an entire floor. We thought it was magnificent.
Speaking of the MOMA, the newly rebuilt facility is stunning. There’s no other way to describe it so I won’t. If you have any affection for art of public architecture, you should go. The spaces are soaring, the sight lines (something you don’t tend to think about in galleries) are revealing and intriguing, and of course the collection is impeccable. Get your tickets online
We saw the Tate Modern before we saw the Tate Britain. We liked the first building and the second’s art. The TM is housed in what was an abandoned power station on the south banks of the Thames. Another stunning facility, particularly the “Turbine Room” which is a gigantic hall that houses no specific piece of art but is itself a powerful artistic statement. The featured artists did absolutely nothing for me, particularly the work by a man named Joseph Beuys who is legendary in some circles. His choice in materials and methods wasn’t different than Hawkinson’s, but the German’s work seemed precious and pointless, whereas Hawkinson’s work seemed clever and innovative.
The Tate Britain is an older building that houses generally older works than its sister collection across and up the river. We went to see the Turner Whistler Monet show but arrived too late. Instead, we wandered and wondered through room after room of Anthony Caro’s work. Yet another living legend, Caro was one of the pioneers of large metal sculptures built up from scrap and salvaged metal. Early pieces were geometric and often painted bright colors. His more current work is very large and usually unpainted and oxidized. We bought the book and would go back to see his work any time.
Thomas Friedman wrote a piece in the New York Times the day we arrived called, “Honey, I Shrunk the Dollar.” The first line says it all. “I have just one question about President Bush's trip to Europe: Did he and Laura go shopping?
If I’ve counted properly, I think this was my seventh visit to London and I never remember it being cheap. But to Mr Friedman’s point, it’s gotten really expensive. Or more accurately, the world’s current champion and reigning world currency, the beloved greenback, is looking mighty weak these days. To travel here is to know that, and from what I can tell there are two strategies.
The first, employed by my daughter, is to ruthlessly shop for bargains on everything all the time. Where you can’t sweet talk and/or cajole (“10 pounds for ONE drink? I didn’t want the whole bottle!”). The second, employed by her father, is to close your eyes and stick out either a handful of cash or your credit card and just pay up. It’s all about the story anyway.
The last time I was in London, everyone I met wanted to talk about Bush and Iraq. People were angry at him and angry at us. A year later, the locals seem to be more preoccupied with the upcoming elections and the pending (or not) marriage between Charles and Camilla. Tony Blair seems roundly loathed and un-trusted by at least half the populace but faces feckless competition. He’s bent on leading the nation in a direction that not many want to go (common currency). On our side of the pond we feel none of this particular heat and anxiety though the circumstances seem quite similar.
The same can be said for the Chas and Cammy nuptials. In the States, it’s the sort of thing that merits a couple of hundred words on page five. In the UK it’s a very big deal, or at least appears to be given all the press it gets. Just like the Clinton/Lewinski mess only different. They didn’t get it over there, just like we don’t get the ruckus about Chuck over here. For the record, I think he should abdicate if he’s going to persist in marrying her.
Some Photos from the trip
Pay attention when you see this
Turbine Room at The Tate Modern
Chair and table at the Tate cafe
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Last modified:
07/24/05