- the Waterhouse exhibit at the Royal Academy
- the National Portrait Gallery
I'm not going to post pictures of everything I saw, because it would make this the longest (if also most gorgeous) blog post ever. Instead, I'm going to give you some links. SOME links, mind you - even I can't link to everything I saw today.
(Can I just say, first off, that the Royal Academy is gorgeous? HUGE courtyard - think Bodleian size - paintings on the ceilings, a marvelous entry staircase. The Waterhouse exhibit was in the newer galleries, so I had to climb this fun modern see-through staircase up and around what was clearly once the outside of the RA. Quite fun.)
Then I got into the exhibit. They set it up very sneakily - in chronological order, so that when you first get into the rooms, you don't recognize much. Certainly there are none of his classic dark-haired ethereal beauties. Only when you get into the second gallery do you start recognizing moderately famous works - St. Eulalia, for example. Then I turned to my right and saw The Magic Circle, and my breath skipped for a second. I thought, okay. Now we're getting somewhere.
And I was right. One foot into the third gallery, and instantly I knew what was there. Only one painting could have gathered such a crowd around it, just staring. Only one painting could be that massive, that exquisite, that magnetic. I stood still and just looked. I thought a few stanzas, to go along with it. I couldn't help it.
That whole room was full of beauties. On that same wall, on either side, were A Naiad and La Belle Dame Sans Merci. They framed the doorway into the next gallery with twin Circes. The Lady was in good company - on the opposite wall were Ulysses and St. Cecilia. And at the back, so that I almost missed it (but thank GOD I turned around), was the largest canvas Waterhouse ever painted. Which is saying something. Bless him, the boy painted big canvases. That was one of the things that surprised me about the Tate's Pre-Raphaelites - how many of those famous, gorgeous paintings are so small. Not Waterhouse. The smallest one I saw was this one, about two feet by one and a half, and it was very much in the minority. The Lady is huge; Circe Invidiosa is tall; Ulysses and the Sirens spreads out like a tapestry.
Into the next gallery, I stopped dead at Hylas and the Nymphs, another enormous canvas. This was the first Waterhouse that I knew was his the first time I saw it. It's most certainly in my top three favorite Waterhouses, period. To see it in person was incredible. I'd never noticed, in years of loving it, that the nymphs' bodies are in fact underwater in large part - that their torsos are partly submerged in the green water, but it's clear enough that you can see them. I thought that was marvelous. And in seeing his mermaid up close, she looks a little less evil and eerie than I've always thought her. The RA site has a fantastic feature where you can zoom into the painting: click here for that. Well worth doing.
What else was in that gallery? What WASN'T in that gallery? Lamia (his face is in shadow, but his eyes, looking at her, are incredible. I also never realized that what wraps around her waist and legs and hair is in fact her snakeskin!), Mariana, Nymphs Finding the Head of Orpheus. The Danaides, for my fellow Big Love sisters (the one on the far right, looking out, looks very much like Olympia to me). Psyche Opening the Box, Echo and Narcissus, Ariadne, Jason and Medea - a painting, by the way, that has always frightened me a little. They pointed out that Waterhouse was rather obsessed with Circe, and that showing Medea NOT murdering her children (in fact, showing her as essential to Jason's quest) demonstrates her wisdom and skill. But she's still so frightening - the thick black brows, the look on her face (I can never decide if she's cold and resolute or if this is the moment when she realizes she's betraying her father and brother). And this, which I always forget I adore. It took my breath away to be so close to it.
The last gallery. His third Circe painting, which I didn't know is actually unfinished. The Decameron (where is the seventh lady??). Penelope and Her Suitors, interestingly pointing out that Penelope, as a wise and clever woman, is for Waterhouse a kindred spirit to Circe (and to the Lady of Shalott, the other famous weaver he painted). And, on the back wall, the last one you see: this one.
I looped back through once I'd seen it all. Just to see it all again. It's simply exquisite. It's more perfect than I could possibly have wanted it to be. I still can't believe I've seen these paintings that I've loved for half my life. And that they were even more beautiful than I'd ever thought they were.
I had a thought, comparing Waterhouse to Rossetti, say, or Millais, or Burne-Jones. I love their paintings, don't for a second think I don't adore and worship them and fall on my knees at the sight. But I think I love Rossetti's women because they have a quality about them that is ethereal - that is very much not of this world. They're stunningly beautiful; they keep their secrets closed up tight; they're not quite human. Jane Morris is human; Proserpine isn't, quite. Lizzie Siddal is human; Beata Beatrix is much more than human. Fanny Cornforth is incredibly human; The Beloved simply comes from a different world, one with no flaw.
But Waterhouse's women are flawed. The looks on their faces, the things they're doing - something is off, with nearly all of them. And he lets that be so; he seeks it out, draws our attention to that flaw, that humanness. I can imagine myself as Windflowers; I can dream about being as beautiful and mischievous as the Naiad. There's an opening. There's no opening in Millais' Ophelia, or in Lady Lilith. Those women are complete unto themselves; they're not letting anyone else in any more than they choose. (Not to mention that practically all of Waterhouse's women have dark hair...)
Anyway. There's my bit of art philosophy for the day.
From there I took the Underground to the National Portrait Gallery. And I have to throw in a plug for the London Underground: it is THE most convenient, easy, helpful subway system I have ever encountered in my LIFE. You can get ANYWHERE on a one-time fee, you can loop back and ahead and never run into problems, there are maps and interchanging stations all over the place. It's an amazing system. Every single city in the world with a subway system should take note and reform.
Anyway. To paraphrase Rosalind from As You Like It, why talk we of the Underground, when there is such a thing as the National Portrait Gallery?! More links! Just so you understand the incredible enormity of everything I saw today! (Actually, this reads more like a who's who of British history.)
The family portrait of Thomas More. Richard III. Henry VII. The funny portrait of Henry VIII. Anne Boleyn (my favorite version of this portrait, too!). Cranmer. Cecil. Shakespeare's Earl of Southampton. Drake. Raleigh (and Walter Jr., courtesy of Bess Throckmorton). Walsingham. Essex.
On the far end of the gallery, this. It's huge - hung as low to the ground as the frame could be, she still towers. She's magnificent.
And on the other end of the gallery, so that you turn a corner and it catches your eye: this.
When I turned and saw her, no one else was looking at that portrait. I couldn't believe it. Three other people in that gallery, and they were off looking at Walsingham and Southampton. I stood in front of her; I looked up at her (even this one, smaller than the Ditchley, is above eye level). I could hardly look away. She's mesmerizing. It was as visceral as The Beloved. She has Anne's eyes - too dark and lovely to be Henry's squinty little piggy peekers (although she has his mouth). And she's smiling - that little quirk up at the corners, the look in her eyes. She's marvelous.
There was another lovely thing I noticed. They also have a portrait of Leicester. And they hung it just to the right of the Darnley portrait of Elizabeth. And the lovely thing is...well, just look at their hands.
Each at the edge of their portrait, each reaching toward the other. Never managing to connect - but still reaching. I just thought it was beautiful.
Oh, yeah. I saw this guy too.
The Chandos portrait is my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE and I got to SEE IT!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!
It's just always seemed to get at him best, for me at least. I don't buy the ones with fancy clothes; with the exception of those deep eyes, I hate the engraving from the First Folio; the frequency with which people keep turning up "new authentic portraits" makes me wary. But the Chandos...there's something right about it. He's got an edge to him. This guy could hop out of the portrait and start quipping and teasing. I've yet to see any other portrait capture that.
Quick highlights from the rest, because bloody hell, Harry, this is a long blog post!
Barbara Villiers, Charles II's mistress, with their son, posing as the Virgin and Child. Gotta love it! Nell Gwyn, William Laud (biiig problem for Charles I), Nelson and Emma Hamilton right next to each other. Queen Victoria's coronation portrait, and a bust of Tennyson.
Tomorrow I'm going back into London! More British Museum, hopefully the Tower, and probably some shopping. By the time I come back, I'll know London better than Philly!
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