My hotel was in east central London, just north of the financial district. I decided to walk everywhere rather than take the Tube. I’m married to a Brit so go to London often and on most trips I make the round of various museums. But this time I was on business and a bit tired from months of hard work and the last minute dash to get ready to go. I just didn’t feel like doing the rounds, save for a couple of trips to The Tate Modern, and thought I’d just explore on foot. It turned out to be a great decision. I saw things I’ve never seen before and, better still, got a clearer picture of people’s lives there and of the immense visual pleasures. When I rounded a corner down near St. Paul’s I was met by this magnificent building. It stopped me in my tracks and I just stood there and took it in for a while. I don’t know what it is—I would have had to do a lot more walking to discover and I was still a bit jet-lagged. But the number of imaginative visual surprises that this building holds just took my breath away. I’m a modernist in a 1,00o ways but, hey, I’m not stopped in my tracks like this too often. Maybe I need to go to Bilbao or Barcelona. Well, I’m sure I do. (Top of wish list.)
I’m not a practiced photographer and absolutely hopeless at deciphering the options on my little camera but I had it in my pocket because I want to learn to slow down and appreciate what I’m seeing. I’m a girl who can live too much in the world of ideas when all around are amazing sensual experiences I don’t always take the time to notice and appreciate. So my camera is helping.
I was on my way to The Tate Modern on this particular morning and had just turned the corner onto this street when a man of my vintage (ie past the first and second flush of youth!) walked by enveloped in the strong scent of patchouli. You can see him on the right under the d0-not-enter sign. I was not quick-thinking enough to snap his picture when he was closer—the scent of patchouli had delivered a Proustian moment when time collapsed and the sixties were present in full force save for the sober attire of all those around me. Patchouli! The whole world smelled of it back then. He was a man of the city, his hair greying, slightly stooped, heading to the office, I expect. He’d survived, as most of us baby boomers have, and made his adjustments, a few compromises, doubtless. Who hasn’t? Those wild dreams of self-expression, doing our own thing, love and peace have mutated and matured but, I was thrilled to inhale, they haven’t died! Our intrepid friend is still carrying the flag into London’s Wall Street, albeit without the scent of pot mixed in. Brave soul.
I carried on to The Tate Modern. It opened in 2000 and is undergoing a phenomenal expansion which should be completed in 2012. I’m amazed at the way art has become so popular. The place was jammed even on a chilly March day.
Turbine Hall, the main entrance, looks a lot spiffier than it did when the place first opened. I hope it doesn’t all become too glitzy. It’s in an old electric power plant and really had that feel when it first opened. That’s the main bookstore on the left. I’m hoping they will carry my book.
When I got to the table where it would fit, I discovered an empty space. It was as if that table were just waiting for my book so I placed my business card with the book cover in the empty space and left it there.
More on the Arshile Gorky exhibit and an amazing occurrence tomorrow. Thanks for reading and hope the sun is shining where you are today! Feel free to leave a comment and say hi, if you like!
