The Wallace Collection

I thought the labels in the Wallace Collection made sense as most of the pieces were the personal possessions of the owners and presumably decorated their home. As such, the subtle black labels set directly onto the bottoms of most of the opulent gold frames seemed to fit. However, now that the collection is a museum-type display, I would personally have preferred just a little more information. I would also have liked to see a standard, uniform way of displaying the information. Because the labels on the frames were probably created at different times in history, by many different owners, many of them are very different. In a museum, I really like seeing consistency in the labels. It conveys the information, even if the information is just artist, date, and title, so much more clearly.

For this collection, I chose as my "object of appreciation" the painting "Still Life With A Monkey" attributed to Jan Jansz de Heem. The painting is just rather hilarious. It depicts a pretty standard still life scene, with lots of opulent fruit and fertile greenery and a few vases, bowls and sheets thrown about for artistic effect. But, that's where the conventional still life effects end, as there is a monkey in the corner. Perhaps surprisingly, the monkey isn't event the weirdest thing in this painting. Dead-center, the artist painted a few bright red lobsters, just between the lush-looking lemons and the swollen grapes. I understand that the painting is a display of absolute wealth and delicious items and such...but why did the artist have to add the lobsters?! They just look silly today! I'm sure at the time they were just another indicator of wealth and such, and the monkey was probably a reminder of the exotic, but wow. I have to admit, I giggled when I saw this painting. In spite of my comedic reaction to the piece, I did thoroughly enjoy it.

I thought this vase/ewer was a good example of the incredibly opulent, over the top objects that fill the Wallace Collection. First off, it's hardly a usable object. It's only purpose is to look pretty on display. The materials it's made of seem to be smushed together to create a furthered sense of richness that just doesn't seem quite "natural." I love the giant gold bird perched on the handle. It's my favorite part of the piece, not only because I just love birds, but because it's got to be one of the strangest looking birds I've ever seen! I have no clue what the artist thought he was depicting. My best guess is that it's a cross between a crane, a parrot, and that goofy-looking giant bird from the Pixar short who gets picked on by the little mean birds on a telephone wire. The paintings on the side of the object are of people in landscape scenes, and also seem to have nothing to do with any other part of the object. This pitcher was really quite fun to look at, with all of its strange pieces. Reading the label, I discovered that it really was something that was smushed together at different times for different tastes.

I have far too many favorite museum experiences to count, but if I had to choose one museum that I really enjoyed visiting this semester, I'd choose the John Soane's Museum. It's not that it was "better" or more interesting that any of the other places we visited for this class, but it's one that I am 100% sure I would not have discovered on my own. The day we were asked to visit this museum, my family was in town, so I took my antique-loving, artistic mother along with me. We had a wonderful time roaming the packed rooms together! It was just so fun to be able to share that experience, especially since my mother has travelled Europe extensively and has spent a lot of time in London before, so there's really not a lot she hasn't seen. We especially enjoyed seeing the sarcophagus of Seti I. My sister will soon be studying her passion, Egyptology, at the UW, and she has spent her young adult life studying ancient Egypt. Just being around her, my family knows a whole lot more about ancient Egypt than I would have ever expected. Because of her influence, I know a lot about Seti I and I was so surprised to see his sarcophagus turn up in this hidden little London museum! I'd seen his mummy in a previous trip to Egypt (it's in the Cairo Museum), and I'd walked by his tomb in the Valley of the Kings, so now I feel that I've really been able to do the "grand world tour" of good old Seti I.

I think this course has given me the "courage" to go into museums that I would otherwise pass by. I can say with absolute conviction that I would not have gone into the Tate Modern on my own, and I very much enjoyed that visit. I don't think I would have made the Tate Britain a priority either, but after seeing it for class I brought my family there when they visited and we all had a lovely time. I'm very glad we were able to go to smaller collections, too, like the John Soane Museum and the Wallace Collection, since I know I never would have discovered them on my own. This course has also given me the tools to evaluate a museum on it's display and branding prowess, not just its objects. I think that this is a valuable tool to have for someone like me, who love museums and tries to visit as many as possible.

Dear Steven: Thank you. Thank you so, so much for making this semester even more wonderful. This class and Travel Journal were really, truly perfect. I can't express how thankful I am that you were the Madison professor who accompanied us on this adventure.

The Design Museum

Brit Insurance Design Awards: My Vote!

-Architecture: Magdeberg Open Air Library
The idea behind the Open Air Library seems to me to be almost as innovative as the structure itself, which was constructed of panels from an old warehouse. The library runs on the honor system, and I cannot think of anything quite so inspiring as a trust-based library. Honor and books have not gone the way of the dinosaur after all! (At least in Germany.)

-Furniture: Drop Table
I love how this elegant table can be so playful while avoiding obnoxious stock "playful" furniture attributes like bright color or odd shape. It reminds me of the glass table in my home that my grandmother bought in the '60s, but with a fun new twist. I love our glass table because my wonderfully intelligent bird is terrified of it (she thinks she'll fall into space if she strays from the wicker circle that supports the glass), and I can't help but giggle thinking of how my little bird would react to this psychadelic piece of furniture!

-Transport: Barclays Cycle Hire

I have not used this system of transport, but I see others utilizing these bikes all the time and they seem like a wonderful, green, efficient idea. In a city probably best know for its iconic (and dirty) tube system, the bicycles for rent seem like a fresh new take on public transport.

-Graphics: Homemade is Best

I'll confess, I'm still not entirely positive I understand the purpose of these images, but I just really like them. They make me want to look and look again, at the colors, at the patterns, and at the subject matter.

Fashion:

I'm going to kind of cheat and name Corrie Nielsen's garment my fashion design award winner. This garment won the museum's "Fashion Fringe" contest and was displayed at the foot of the main staircase. I loved it. I thought the style was evocative of the old Elizabethan garments we saw in our visit to the National Portrait Gallery, and the total effect of the garment was striking. I loved that it fit perfectly into London, as both a historically inspired piece as well as a modern, innovative design. I also really liked the way it was displayed, with utilitarian hooks and wire and gold and red mosaic panels in the background.

I like Wim Crouwel. I think his work is fun and eye-catching and different, and I truly admire the reputation he has cultivated. I will admit that I did not always "understand" his works, but I still appreciate them. I especially liked the phone book he did and the calendars. I thought his vision of using lower-case letters for the phone book was silly at first, but after seeing it, I was won over. It really was a lot easier and simpler to read that way. I absolutely loved his calendars. My favorite was the one that had the days of the week listed down the left hand side of the top panel, with the numbers of the days of the month to the right, in vertical lines, and the name of the month split in half across the spiral binding.

The Saatchi Gallery

I think the layout of the Saatchi Gallery encourages the viewer to look at the different pieces of art from different angles. The wide open spaces used for display really allow you to see all sides of the works on display, especially those that are three-dimensional. Examples of pieces that really needed to be looked at from different views are Juliana Cerqueira Leite's sculptures "Up" and "Down," Graham Hudson's "All my exes live in Tesco's" (which does but should not have an apostrophe between the o and the s in the title), and Tessa Farmer's "Swarm." All these pieces can be explored from every angle, which makes them just so much more interesting than if they had been stuck inside a glass case or roped off.

Leite's "Up" and "Down"

Mostly, I liked the sparse information given on the pieces in the gallery. I like that I was sort of able to interpret them however I felt. However, with some of the works, I did wish for just a little background. For example, without our guide's explanation of the "Up" and "Down" pieces, I never would have fully appreciated the process, and with those two, they seemed to be more about the process than the product. So in that case I was very glad I had the background. I think it's a thin line between too much information and the need for background, so in this case, I'm quite happy with the minimal explanations.

Certainly, I didn't personally enjoy everything in the collection, but I never expect to when I go to a museum or a gallery. This gallery, especially, is a little different because it represents the personal tastes of the patron. I do have to wonder what the heck is Mr. Saatchi really like, since his collection is so eclectic, but hey, it's his art so he can collect it however he wishes. On a personal level, there were some things that intrigued and fascinated me, like the "Swarm" piece by Farmer, some that I thought were nice ideas but I really did not want to look at, like Stephen Bishop's "Mountain Goat," some that I absolutely loved, like Richard Wilson's oil room, some that I actively didn't like, like the posters of spam mail, and some that I just really didn't understand at all, like the Spartacus Chetywnd's humanoid-ish sculptures. All in all, I think it does a pretty good job as a gallery, presenting pieces that at least provoke some sort of reaction out of most people.

Stephen Bishop, "Mountain Goat"

Graham Hudson's "All my exes live in Tesco's"

Dan Perfect, "Village"

Spartacus Chetywnd, "The Lizard" and "The Stick Insect"

My interpretation: Loch Ness monster meets KKK wacko on the left, and orange Stormtrooper meets platypus on the right. I really didn't know what to think of these.

Close-up of Farmer's "Swarm"

Wilson's oil room

Street Art

This street art is located just outside the Spitalfields Market area, kind of to the back in a parking lot. When I first saw this, I had to debate whether I actually thought it "enhanced the space" or not. I was kind of leaning toward "not," just because it's so chaotic and rather strange, but then I really thought about where I was. The Spitalfields Market is a fun, "young" area, with lots of art and antiques and vintage fashion and other crazy objects for sale, perused by young, artistic and fashion-forward type people. It's gone a long way from being the city's vegetable market. When I consider the context, the winged wrecking ball smushing a white car on top of a Dumpster with a cactus nearby seems to just kind of fit. And I'm pretty sure that's one of "Space Invader"'s installations in black and white above it.

For my second space-enhancing bit of street art, I had to look a lot harder. I just wasn't finding anything that I actually liked. There were a few things I thought of writing about just because they seemed to be more intricate than the usual sort of vandalism, but my heart really wasn't in it. Then yesterday, as I was coming home on the Tube after a lovely day at Kew Gardens, I saw it. There was a brick wall near the Tube tracks, covered with graffiti and tags and all sorts of meaningless vandalism. The spray paint was all different colors, especially red, black, and yellow, but on top of the squiggly tags was a true work of art. Some enterprising individual had painted a perfect pink Foxglove plant over the chaos. The plant was executed with perfect precision, with every detail being true to life. Whoever had done that had either had extensive botanical knowledge or a very accurate picture to follow. I didn't see any other words painted, but I wonder if the artist knew about the plant's hidden attributes. If he had gone to the trouble of painting a perfectly realistic Digitalis, I would assume he did. Foxglove (Digitalis purpurea), has been used for ages as a poison. In small doses, it will speed up the heart's beats, making it a valuable medicine, but in a larger dose, it speeds up the heart till it gives out. It is an extremely deadly poison, capable of killing with just a little leaf. I really enjoyed seeing this beautiful piece of street art, especially coming home from the Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew. Whoever the artist was, they obviously put thought and care into this piece. Because I was on the Tube, not expecting to need my camera, I unfortunately did not get a picture of this beautiful artwork. The posted picture is of one of my own Foxglove plants at home, the same type and color of the one painted on the wall.

Walking with Professor Mackey through the East End, I happened upon this sticker on a stop sign. I decided I really don't actually like Shepard Fairy's Andre the Giant image. It just seems sort of silly that this one artist took another man's iconic image and stuck this cartoonish face up everywhere. It feels more like a branding scheme than a true art movement. Because the image is never significantly altered, its purpose seems to be more about promoting Shepard Fairy than promoting some artistic idea. Obviously Fairy has artistic talent (his Obama-Hope portrait proves this) but this particualr campaign seems to me to be more about the artist than the art.

Sticker somewhere around the Brick Lane area

I saw the image again on the way to and from our trip to Bath

I saw this piece on the side of a wall in Brick Lane. Obviously, the artist put some serious work into it, and I would definitely say that it is a step above graffiti or vandalism, but I just don't think it does anything productive. To me, it just seems too busy and too chaotic. Something about it just makes me not like it. I also don't get it. "After Lives"? What do those words have to do with the little green sketchy men with bad teeth and checkerboards? The artist apparently was proud of this work, though, since he signed it. Sorry, Nathan Bowen, but I just don't get "Movement."

Creative Writing Inspired by the British Museum

As an English major, I read a LOT. I read Shakespeare, Tennyson, Austen, Milton, all of the immortal authors, but in my spare time I have made a resolution: I will only read children's books. Not little picture books or anything, but young adult fiction, where there is no sex, no perversion, no truly heinous violence and the story always ends happily one way or another. In these books, I find worlds that don't have that sharp, poisonous edge found within the pages of the "great writers" or really any book meant for adults. Young adult books create worlds that are accessible, worlds that can take me away from reality for an hour or two, worlds I want to visit. The most recent book I've read is called "The Red Pyramid" by wildly popular young adult fantasy author Rick Riordan (of "Percy Jackson and the Olympians" fame). Riordan is a master at creating worlds I want to get lost in, and this latest of his books has a particularly interesting early setting: the British Museum.

In the first action-packed scene of the story, the young heroes find themselves in the room where the famed Rosetta Stone is kept, a room I have now visited three times. The dark forces of ancient evil are rising and the stone explodes, releasing five of the old Egyptian gods, including Set, who will be the ultimate villain in this tale. The two teenaged protagonists must now learn to master the ancient power they have just discovered exists right below the surface of the everyday world. This introduction into this book (the first in a series) is incredibly compelling. Riordan manages to link his story to two things that I find incredibly important: 1) a familiar place, and 2) a well-known and secretly magical artifact. There is something amazing about imagining that such a famous object as the Rosetta Stone, a feature in countless grade-school history books, as a magical catalyst. Young imagination instantly turns the stone into an object of wonder and mystery, and yet it is something that anyone visiting London can walk in front of and take pictures with for free. It suddenly can become so much more than just a rock with writing.

There seems to be something universally fascinating about fictional properties of objects in museums. When I was a child, one of my favorite movies was one where the dinosaurs in New York's Museum of Natural History come to life. The wonderful "Librarian" movies with Noah Wyle have many scenes that take place in museums. Later in "The Red Pyramid," the characters use the reassembled Egyptian temple in the Metropolitan Museum of Art as a magical object. In Riordan's "Percy Jackson" series, the first pivotal action scene takes place in the Greek artifact area of the Met. The films "A Night in the Museum" revolve completely around the concept of museum objects being rather livelier than would be expected of them.

I guess my point is, the things behind the glass don't just fascinate us for their historical or artistic value, but also for their imaginative value.

The National Portrait Gallery

I do not like this logo. I think it's boring and kind of strange. For some reason it reminds me of the title page of an 80s paperback, something rendered in turquoise and neon orange. As such, it seems outdated in a strange way. Though the gallery contains portraits from throughout the ages, I think the logo has to be somehow timeless. I have no idea as to how to go about that, but I think something simple and less "fad" like would be better. Maybe the logo could somehow be "framed" either literally or just figuratively, like the pieces in the collection The script that makes up the logo now seems out of style and just strange.

This is me as Catherine Parr, after "Master John's" 1545 portrait:

I've always liked Catherine Parr the best out of all old King Henry VIII's wives, probably because she's the one who lived. She seems like a smart, intelligent woman who used her intellect to literally keep her head. I admire her for the story of how Henry was all set to capture and probably execute her, but she was able to talk him out of it by reminding him of her subservient status. The fact that she was smart enough to play on his chauvanism I think tells a lot about her ability to think quickly and survive in a very nasty world. I've always felt bad about her end after Henry, though. She fell in love with a less than reliable man and died in childbirth. I take this as a well-delivered warning. In another time and place, that could be me. Thank goodness I wasn't born in 16th century England.

This is Jamie as Elizabeth of Bohemia by an unknown artist around the time of her marriage in 1613:

I just really liked the look in the eyes of the sitter of this portrait. It seemed like she was conveying intelligence, kindness, a fun-loving spirit, and just a hint of boredom, which is just the way Jamie would look if I told her she had to sit still for who knows how long to do a painting of her. The two of us were admiring the lack collar in the painting. Jamie says she'd love to have one like that, and I must say, it would look lovely on her. The collar had lions and unicorns and coats of arms worked into it. Just Jamie's style!

Leigh as Princess Charlotte of Wales by George Dawe, 1817:

This portrait was perfect for Leigh. Just a few days before, we had all been laughing that all the women around the Burberry Fashion Week tent were wearing their hair in a tight bun on the very tops of their heads and looked rather silly. Leigh had promptly given herself the same hairstyle and worn it for the rest of the day. When I saw this painting, I immediately noticed the hairstyle and thought of my stylish friend. Unfortunately, the hairstyle is where the similarities between Leigh and Princess Charlotte end. Actually, it's really not so unfortunate. Princess Charlotte was 21 years old in this picture, newly married and in love and exceedingly happy, but just a few months later she died delivering a stillborn child. I had to adjust the angle of the sitter's face because my poor sketching skills just could not capture the correct pose.

Lauryn as

The pose of this woman could not be more different than Lauryn's usual posture, but I couldn't help noticing the almost frightening similarity of their faces. The expressions are entirely different, with ____'s being sultry and seductive, and Lauryn's generally being kind and honest, but the features and coloring were spot-on. At first I wasn't going to include this juxtaposition and was going to try to find another portrait to draw, but I thought the contrast between physical resemblance and personality to be rather comedic.

Professor Steven Driscoll Hixson as Henry VIII in a sketch by Hans Holbein the Younger, 1537:



I was having trouble choosing a final comparison so I decided I'd like to portray Professor Hixson as a very unlikely Henry VIII. This is not a comparison of likeness but of absolute dissimilarity. I don't like Henry VIII. He just was not a nice guy. By all accounts he was just about the most self-centered, generally nasty person who ever lived. When we visited Windsor, I made sure to walk on his tombstone. In contrast, Professor Hixson is friendly and helpful. The physical differences are also pretty huge (pun sort of accidentally intended). Old Henry was clearly rather rotund, while our professor is certainly a whole lot leaner. The one similarity I can possibly draw is the importance of clothing to the two men. Both seem to value clothing, though for what I assume are rather different reasons. Where Henry used rich cloth to show off his power and wealth, Professor Hixson has revealed that he chooses his own clothing to reflect mood through pattern and color. In some ways, this selection of clothing is done for similar reasons: both men use their clothes to convey a message, but that message is very different. Where Henry's rich embroideries and jewellry and massive (and unlikely) codpiece seem to declare the wearer to be immensely wealthy, powerful and self-confident (and very aware of his own standing), Professor Hixson's happy patterns and colors clothe a cheerful and kind-hearted teacher .

The National Gallery

I think the logo is boring. That being said, I'm afraid I do like it more than I like, for example, the Tate Museums' logos, which I find confusing and transient. But other than than the National Gallery's logo's consistency, blahhhh. I suppose its boring-ness could have a point. When I saw the Tate logo next to a work of art, I was distracted by the logo, but when I see the National Gallery's logo near a work of art, or even superimposed on a postcard or an umbrella or a banner, I have absolutely no interest in the logo whatsoever so I am not distracted from the art itself. However, I think it could still be improved. How? I have no idea. I just know that I'm not thrilled by it, but I have no good suggestion of what to replace it with. I do think, though, if I saw a good substitution, I'd know.

I like the van Gogh paintings, for the most part. I'll admit, I'm not entirely thrilled by the still life chair-type paintings, but I love his landscapes and natural subjects. I like the squiggly lines van Gogh often uses. Perhaps it's because I let my knowledge of his life and end color my opinion, but I've always thought the repeated lines give his works a sense of time flying by, a feeling that this moment is stolen and cannot be properly captured because it's about to float away. For example, in his "Wheatfield with cypresses," I feel like the clouds are literally moving, that the painting is more a snapshot, capturing motion in a freeze-frame. The "Long grass with butterflies" painting also seems to capture time passing, but in a different way. Unlike the "Wheatfield with cypresses" or the "Sunflowers" paintings, this piece focuses on a close-up of grass with a distant path in the background. It seems like a photo that was accidentally taken when the camera was pointed at the ground. The background grass seems to be bent in the wind, while in the foreground, bare patches of earth can be imagined. I love the contrast between the pokiness of this piece and the flowiness of the cypresses piece.

I want all of JMW Turner's pieces. My favorite from this collection was "Ulysses deriding Polyphemus." Looking at the piece, I was amazed at the color, the composition, the contrasts, the figures, the story and just everything. I really, really like this piece. I think it would fit perfectly on the wall of my future castle, over the mantle. My sister and I have always loved studying Greek mythology. When our friends were reading "Goosebumps" and "Nancy Drew" to each other, we would take turns reading out of Edith Hamilton's "Mythology." This Turner painting not only pleases my eye, but also brings to mind happy times spent with my sister, something we continue to this day.

I have varying feelings about the wall colors of the National Gallery. On the one hand, I love the richness they create. The bright colors also make the spaces seem less like a gallery. On the other hand, the colors sometimes conflict with individual paintings and sometimes seem chaotic and confusing. Who chose the colors and why? What authority did they have? Personally, I had a real problem with the rooms that were not only brightly colored, but also wallpapered. The scalloped fleur-de-lis-type patterns on the wallpaper seemed entirely inappropriate in a gallery. I really didn't like galleries 33 and 34 for their sky blue and gray-green wallpaper. I also wasn't a huge fan of the tangerine in the Vermeer room. Why tangerine? I remember hearing that tangerine was a popular wall color in the 1700s or so from a castle tour I was on in Dublin several weeks ago, but is this the real reason for the tangerine, or was it simply because all the other colors were taken, and Vermeer was just unlucky? I did, however, like the rich red in the room that displayed the "Execution of Lady Jane Grey" by Delaroche. Though morbid, the red seemed to fit with the painting and the dramatic scene it presented. I also liked the muted gray-brown in the van Gogh gallery, mostly because of the beautiful green marble door frames, which I absolutely loved.

I'm not really sure how I feel about the use of famous art in objects such as umbrellas, handbags, and tshirts. I want to think of it as needlessly commercializing great art, but then again, I find nothing wrong with the sale of postcards of artwork. I find the postcards to be a way for people to remember their trip to a gallery where photography is not allowed, and also as a good way for a free museum to make some money. If I don't mind the postcards, how can I mind tshirts or umbrellas? They're a way to integrate great art into everyday life. Instead of disliking that art is being brought down to every day level, I find it charming that people can access the work of Vermeer or van Gogh or Picasso and surround themselves with the cultural capital that comes with the images of the great artists.

I really enjoyed looking at Renoir's "Gladioli in a Vase," 1874. As an obsessed gardener, I love representations of flowers and plants that are true to form. The gladioli in the painting could be growing in my garden. Really; I have some that are that beautiful coral color. I realize that this is hardly a grand or exotic or limit-pushing piece, but that's what I like about it. It's peaceful. It makes me want to look at it. I'm a simple person when it comes to art: I like pretty things, and I would certainly classify this as a "pretty" thing. Renoir gets everything right, from the flowers to the lighting to the lovely blue contrasting vase. Normally I don't like still life paintings, but with the flowers, it doesn't seem still and boring. I also loved it because of the giant urns full of  real fuscia-colored gladioli on either side of the main staircase when we walked into the gallery. The echo of the real flowers made the painting all the more fun to see.

The Tate Modern

Perhaps the ever changing logo of the Tate museums is a testament to the spirit of modern art, but if I'm being totally honest, I don't really like it. I think it's confusing and kind of annoying to never quite know what I'm looking at. Sometimes different versions of the logo are placed right next to each other, and that just seems rather juvenile and silly, as though someone couldn't be bothered to either choose one or even synchronize which logo goes where. Maybe the different degrees of blurriness make a statement about the art the logo is supposed to represent, but if this is the case, they have failed miserably to communicate whatever message is being portrayed. I can't imagine what the blurred logo could mean...maybe the difficulty of some to interpret modern art? Maybe the difficulty to represent modern art? If this is the case, then why are the logos so similar? If I were to try to represent the difficulty in representing something, I would make it obvious, perhaps use blatantly different styles of logo, not just variations of a theme as is used in the Tate's logo(s). But, I'm not trained in art at all, so maybe I'm just missing the point...but then again, I am a member of the general public, and if I don't get it, they don't get it, so what's the point?

I was very surprised to realize that most museums in London have free admission. I had expected at least nominal fees, but the British museums seem to want to encourage exploration by everyone. I really love this! It gives me something to do in this horrifically expensive city that I don't have to pay for, thus encouraging me to go multiple times, and it's a place where I actually learn and get cultured and feel as though I've passed a productive afternoon. Going to a big museum in the States is, I think, more of an "event," for special occasions only. I've only ever been to the big Chicago museums once, on a vacation there when I was around 13, and while I remember being awed and amazed, I don't remember anything else. My sister and I had wanted to take a roadtrip to Chicago this summer to re-do the museums, but with both of us working full time, it just wasn't possible. I think here, the museums are much more accessible. Perhaps if the field museum was free and not $29 to get into, our road trip would not have seemed so daunting. It's one thing to take time off work to go to a museum, but it's another to pay almost $60 for two people to just get in, let alone eat or go to any special exhibits. Yesterday, I went to the London Aquarium, which charges a pretty steep admission, but I was able to get a discount for booking online after 3pm, for being a student, so I convinced myself to go. I was able to rationalize the 14 pounds I had to spend by reminding myself that I hadn't paid for anything at all yet, and I've been to lots and lots of museums over the last month. I love knowing that all that stands between me and a wonderful afternoon spent marvelling in a museum is tube fare, and sometimes not even that.

I liked the idea of Al Weiwei's "Sunflowers." I was very excited to see it. After seeing it, however, I am disappointed to report that I was underwealmed. I supposed the idea of a giant pile of man-made sunflower seeds is more enthralling than the realization of it. I think one of the problems I had with getting the most out of the piece was that the sunflower seeds were just not displayed to any sort of advantage whatsoever. I would have liked to see some variation or movement or pattern or something, but raking them into a flat layer really just didn't make it work for me. I think it could have been much more interesting if they were in a pile or just randomly strewn about. Had Weiwei's original plan worked out, with people being able to walk through the seeds, I think I would have loved the exhibit. As it is, while I understand the point about the individual among the masses, blah blah blah, I wasn't so amazed. The most interesting aspect of this piece was, in my opinion, the back story of how the seeds got made and painted.

I really liked the white walls of the Tate Modern. While I loved the rich color on some of the Tate Britain's walls, I felt that the white was perfectly appropriate for a modern collection. For example, I thought the bright green-blue painted on the Turner Collection's walls in the Tate Britain added to the opulence and lavish qualities of his landscapes. The color also nicely offset the gold of the ornate frames around his works. However, in the Tate Modern, the clean white walls seemed perfect to show off the more modern, varied works on display. The walls didn't color the experience, pardon the pun. Growing up, my mother never let my sister or I paint our walk-in closets or our shared bathroom, because she said we should be able to choose our clothes and do our hair and makeup without another color reflecting back on us. The white walls of the Tate Modern seem to mirror my mother's point: color is an experience in itself, and lack of color allows whatever is on display to do its job without interferrence.

I like the history of the Tate Modern's building. I think it's immensely appropriate that the place is an old power mill. There's something poetic and modern about repurposing a dingy brick building into a collection of art. I think the insides were ok, but I don't think I liked the layout as much as I could have. Perhaps it's because the original structure of the building imposed limitations, but I would have wished that the upper floors were more inviting, rather than doorways off a main room. Once I got into some of the galleries, it seemed to flow better, but stepping off the stairs and having to choose one room to enter was rather off-putting for some reason. I think I was a little scared to make the choice, worried that by choosing one doorway I would not have the chance to explore any others. I think the white walls again enhanced the space, making small rooms seem larger and brighter. I think the white was a wonderful idea, especially considering the building's history. Had the rooms been painted another color, I think they may have seemed more claustrophobic, but the white made everything bright, and even the windows seemed on display.

To choose my "object of appreciation," I had to just make a slightly arbitrary decision. I could have chosen many other objects, but I settled on one by Max Ernst that caught my eye. The painting, "Forest and Dove" from 1927 made me think of a Brothers Grimm-style fairy tale. I, of course, am always intrigued by birds, so the little red bird in a cage in the scary forest appealed to me. I love how ambiguous the "forest" is, with dark saw-like shapes standing in for conventional trees. To me, this ambiguity allows the viewer to insert their own idea of a scary forest into the painting, be it a dark city or forbidding mountains. I love the bird's stick-figure-like simplicity. The giant white eye draws the viewer in. At first, I didn't notice the lightly-sketched cage, but I think it adds a whole different level to the painting and the story behind it. As the plaque next to it says, I do get a feeling of both "enchantment and terror."

Tate Britain

I'm really not a big fan of the Tate Britain's logo. I think it does come across as easily recognizable, but for the wrong reasons. I don't like the blurry word "TATE" at all. I think it's fuzziness is rather annoying to read. Perhaps if the blurriness had more to do with the museum, it would work better, but I don't see the Tate Britain as being blurry. I understand that the Tate is sort of a "chain" museum, but the blurred logo does not accurately represent each museum individually. I also really don't like that the word "Britain" is above the word "Tate." How am I supposed to read that? When I see it, I immediately think "Britain Tate." Honestly, if I were in charge, I would completely re-do the Tate logo for all the Tate museums.

John Everett Millais' painting of Ophelia's death is, I think, a depiction of a very straight-forward reading of Ophelia's role in Hamlet. Millais' Ophelia seems to have fallen into the water, either on purpose or accidentally, but she seems to have no inclination to get herself out, and appears to be slowly sinking with her bouquet of flowers. This is a very naturalistic scene, and Ophelia does not seem out of place. To me, this represents a reading of the play where she has only one option (death), which is somehow the natural outcome of the events that have driven poor Ophelia into madness. In Nicholas Hytner's production of Hamlet at the National Theatre, Ophelia's death seems to be the absolute opposite of "natural." She is dragged off stage after her final outburst by violent-looking men in suits, with the implication that these men (probably under orders from Claudius or Gertrude) are directly involved in her subsequent death. In this reading of Hamlet, Ophelia is a victim of the other characters, but not herself. Though she goes mad, she never seems suicidal, as Millais' Ophelia does. Hytner's Ophelia has not yet given up on life, but is presumably violently forced to relinquish it.

My experience in "The Coral Reef" by Mike Nelson was...disappointing. At first, I hoped the exhibit was one I'd read about in National Geographic and Smithsonian Magazine some months ago, also called "The Coral Reef" (this exhibit is a depiction of a coral reef made from knitted and croqueted material sent in from amateur craftspeople from around the world and I think is on display somewhere in the USA), but nope, this version of "The Coral Reef" is just a little bit different. When I read that Nelson's piece was supposed to show different layers of belief systems, I was intrigued, and excited to see how it would work. I'm sad to say, it didn't, at least for me. I really did not get Nelson's message at all, not even a little. I thought the exhibit was just weird, and not weird in a good way or weird in a provocative, make-me-think sort of way, but just weird for the sake of being weird. I felt like Nelson was presenting me with the most bizarre set of experiences available and saying "Look what an artist I am!" but I was not impressed. The only thing that linked the many rooms and disjointed objects together was the sense of weirdness. I didn't see layers of belief systems at all. I guess I think that just creating something that is strange and weird and bizarre and scary doesn't make automatic "art." I took nothing away from the exhibit, except maybe a sense of extreme disappointment.

Comparing the Tate Britain to the Victoria and Albert Museum is, I think, a bit like comparing apples and sardines. Both have the same general function, but I would never think to compare or combine them, because they're just too different. I loved both, but I think each serves a very different purpose. I felt that the V & A was much larger and sprawling, and contains very different historic artifacts, whereas the Tate Britain is an art museum. The V & A seems to hold more diverse objects, with different historic functions, which makes sense given its experimental original purpose. The Tate Britain is a true art museum, holding classical artworks as well as more modern ones. I like both, for different reasons. I think the Tate Britain is very impressive and fun to look at, and I love that I can always find something new at the V & A to be excited about.

I could never choose a "favorite" object from the Tate Britain collection, so I just decided to pick one that I really like. I chose JMW Turner's "The Bay of Baiae, with Apollo and Sybil" from 1823. I just really liked looking at this painting. I love reading stories of Greek mythology, so the story behind the painting is a familiar one. The Sybil asks Apollo to grant her as many years of life as there are sand grains in her hands, which Apollo does, but the Sybil has overlooked one major downfall of long life: ageing. She has forgotten to ask the god for eternal youth with her long life, so she will now whither away for centuries, cursed by her own greed. I love Turner's depiction of this scene. The setting is so peaceful and full of rich colors and scenery, that the story's rather morbid message provides a stark contrast. I love looking at the exquisite detail in the painting, from the trees to the crumbling buildings to the central figures, but what really caught my eye and made me decide to label this my "favorite object" is the little white bunny rabbit opposite Apollo and the Sybil. For whatever reason, the little bunny adds just that extra bit of whimsy and fantasy and interest. I thought it was by far the most interesting aspect of the work, especially since it's a white rabbit painted against dark shadows, so it's a very prominent figure in the painting. I wonder why Turner included it, but I'm very glad he did.

The Victoria and Albert Museum

I am very impressed by the logo for the Victoria and Albert Museum. I think it’s pretty and simple and clean. The institution it represents is immediately clear upon sight, without the viewer needing to pause and wonder what the logo stands for. I love the trick with the “&” creating the cross-bar of the “A.” I also like that the lines creating the three characters are not all the same size, but vary in thickness. This seems to me to convey delicacy. If each stroke were of the same size, the logo would appear more created, more forced. The way it is, it seems like a lovely, seamless scripted device that just so happens to hint at the wonderful treasures hidden inside.

When I walked into the Cast Courts at the Victoria and Albert Museum, I was completely awed. Perhaps I should have been less amazed at the objects, since they are plaster casts and not originals, but I almost felt more awed, thinking that these wonderful objects had been painstakingly reproduced and reassembled for my viewing pleasure and convenience. I walked into the room on the left first, the one full of Italian and Spanish casts. The giant arch on the left side of the door really demands immediate attention. It is simply beautiful. The gold pain really made it stand out, as did it’s immense size. I really loved this room, and the way the ceiling was so very far up, and the walls were light orange-colored and thus made the room seem much grander. All the plaster casts were lightish gray, so they too added to the brightness of the room. I was very happy to see some objects there that I will probably never see in real life. I had never realized that “The David” is SO big! It’s pretty amazing to walk through a room and be able to enjoy hundreds of years of art and history in a small space. I wasn’t quite as impressed with the other room, however. I felt it was much more cluttered (though the first was as well). The room itself was darker, and the objects within varied in color from white to black. The black objects seemed to suck the light from the room, making it seem less grand, and perhaps even a bit more sinister. The row of plaster effigies I first stumbled into probably helped further the sinister feel. I still immensely enjoyed looking and marveling at all the wonderful casts from all over time and space, especially Trajen's Column. 

Compared to the figures in the International System of Signs, I felt that the Isotype figures did have much more “personality.” The Isotype people, for instance, could be expressing not only function (as in, “Gent’s Loo Here”), but also subtle things like class or even race or emotion. I thought the frame showing unemployment rates in Britain was a particularly strong example of this. The pictures show white male figures standing in lines, wearing caps and looking downward, thus conveying a rather dejected appearance. The graph is then not only functional in that it accurately and clearly displays information, but it also gives a visual element to the graph as well, perhaps reminding viewers that the numbers they are considering are real human lives. I was very impressed that the simple Isotype figures could so easily portray just about anything. One of my favorite Isotype pictures was of the “Crusader” fighting the “Infidel.”  I thought it was interesting that the straight-forward, uncomplicated lines that formed the two cartoonish figures could so easily convey what they set out to. I’m not quite sure how the Isotype and International System of Signs figures compare when it comes to communicating to a large group of people. Perhaps the International System’s basic, plain “stick figures” are more universal, since they’re pretty well stripped of any identifying characteristics. On the other hand, there was something interesting about being able to make the figures look like the actual people they are supposed to represent, which the Isotype form does very well, especially in the picture of African citizens voting.

The patterns I chose to compare and contrast both incorporate “organic” figures with symmetric, “man-made” shapes. The Iranian carpet fragment from the Middle East Collection portrays animals and floral designs in a repeating pattern. The focal points of the fragment are two lions, displayed upside-down. These lions not only function as representations of lions, but also as a design element. The shapes of the lion’s bodies echo the curving lines of the floral elements of the pattern, as do the shapes of the bodies of the other figures shown on the carpet, including the wolves at the top, the scary human-faced birds at each upper corner, the dragon- or griffin-like creatures under the lions, and the deer figures near the bottom. The piece from the Ironwork Collection, the “Aumbry Grille,” also uses curving lines to etch an outline, but incorporates vine-like tendrils to execute the pattern. Like in the carpet fragment, there is a strange element of not-quite-human forms, in the men’s heads at the top of either side of the grille, which seem to sprout out of vertical vines. I wish the description of the grille explained why the men’s heads were included. To me, they’re extremely disturbing, but this piece would have held the Communion vessels during Mass, so I wonder who the heads represent and why they’re growing out of vines? One of my favorite aspects of this piece is the keyhole on the left side of the front panel. I didn’t notice the keyhole at first, but it caught my eye as I walked by. The keyhole reminds me of the many layers of creatures and plants in the carpet fragment: you never know what you’ll find when you look hard.

I can't claim to be terribly familiar with the Madison Metro system, but it seems like a decent system for a sparsely-populated city. The only architecture I have noticed are the bus stops. As bus stops go, they seem pretty functional. The logo seems to me to be less than lovely. The bright orange, red and blue colors remind me of bad 80s commercials or a truncated rainbow. I've never liked how the background is tilted. It makes me feel motion sick. I think the word "Metro" under the big M is rather redundant. Either the M should be synonymous for "Metro" or it's not doing it's job properly. The London Underground system, on the other hand, is classic. Obviously it has the advantage of being a London institution, but the circle and crossbar design is instantaneously recognizable. It's a clean, simple logo that communicates its purpose perfectly. The O is also a nice little echo of the tube tunnel. Some of the tube stations are architectural marvels in themselves, while others display only the bare minimum to remain functional. I LOVE the maps for the tube system. Not being familiar with public transportation, I tend to be easily confused by the Madison bus system (or even the London bus system), but the tube is so straight-forward, even I can't get it messed up.

Though it's impossible to pick one piece to be my "favorite," I'll choose a tabernacle grille of wrought iron, made in Austria or Germany around 1850. I love the gothic revival style of the piece, which is apparently modeled after a 15th century "Tyrolean type." The grille is pretty, but not as pretty as, say, the enamled turban ornaments in the Middle Eastern collection, or the elaborate Japanese armor on display in the Asian collection; I chose this piece as my favorite because it's just a little different than I had expected. As I was taking pictures of the left side of the grille to potentially use for my compare and contrast a pattern answer, I was really amazed at the delicate pattern. Then, I moved to the right side to take more pictures, and I was surprised to notice that the right side was totally different from the left side. Both scrolling patterns were similar in style, but still completely different! This intrigued me. Why would this be so? Every other grill I'd seen in the Ironworks collection had been symmetrical. I just really enjoyed the whimsy that the differences provided. I also fell in love with the dragon-looking head at the center of the piece. At first, the head just blends into the complex patterns and gothic arches, but when I finally noticed it, I realized that it's a very strange, quirky little addition.

Left side

Close-up on left pattern

Close-up on right pattern

"Dragon" head