Stimulation on speed

My weekend in London had a big impact on me. I’ve been thinking about it all week.

On Friday we spent the afternoon and evening at the National Portrait Gallery, beginning with a free guided tour, focusing on fashion and dress. It was fascinating. Did you know, for example, that the empire line came into fashion as a direct result of the French Revolution? Aristocrats who had been parading around in tightly corseted, extravagant dresses, rejected ostentation in favour of simplicity.

We then went to the rooftop bar for a drink. It’s super up there. You get away from the crowds and have a great view over the rooftops, past Nelson’s column to Big Ben in the distance. 

Daughter cropped out, to preserve her privacy.

The only problem is that you can’t just go for a tea or a coffee. You can have a drink and/or a meal. We had the former.

Then it was time for the main event - The Taylor Wessing National Portrait Photo Prize Exhibition. Gosh that’s a mouthful. 

This I loved. It was fascinating and engrossing. The words beside each photo, telling the story of the particular portrait, were fascinating, and so much more meaningful than the often impenetrable and specious intellectual expositions you see about figurative works of art in exhibitions.

One photo moved me to tears. It was ‘Fatima and Ivana’ by the photographer, Giles Duley. Duley was wounded by  bomb in Afghanistan, losing both legs and his left arm, but he has had both a successful and hugely worthwhile career, documenting the impact of war on civilians. And he founded the NGO, Legacy of War Foundation.

This was the photo that moved me - I’m sorry that it was impossible to take a shot of it without reflections:

I found it so affecting because of the smiles and the manifest love on both of the faces, and of course, because of the horrors of war on civilians. And perhaps because my granddaughter MsX is the same age as Ivana.

In reading up about Duley just now, I found another photo of the three year old Ivana, in a hospital bed, after she’d been hit by a bomb, alongside a photo of a child bombed in WW2:

So much to think about. 

We had a stroll around Trafalgar Square to take in some fresh air

and then we went back to the NPG for tea/supper in Larry’s bar, in the basement, where there was a jazz singer and pianist. It was ace. It was fantastic! Here’s my margarita

And that was Friday.

On Saturday we went on a bus 

The Tower of London and the Shard

Crossing Tower Bridge

to Dulwich Picture Gallery to see the Anne Ancher exhibition. Ancher (1859-1935) was a successful Danish painter, a household name in her own country, but little known here. I loved her paintings. And I came away inspired, particularly by her interiors and the way she painted light, pouring in through the windows. The Dulwich is always worth the trip out from London, and this exhibition was fabulous.

The last event was going to see The Mousetrap on Saturday evening. It was huge fun.

You’ve heard of The Mousetrap, haven’t you?

I was telling two family aspies about it, saying “It was first staged in 1952, and has been showing non-stop since then,” and one responded - IN ALL SERIOUSNESS - “What? All through the night? 24 hours a day?” This illustrates the hazards of communicating with aspies. 

And now to paint. 

Ooh, forgot to tell you about the squirrel on the balcony (Het’s flat) ten floors up in the Barbican