Grey Mornings, Red Sunsets in London

At the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square, I stood in rooms with Van Gogh, Seurat, Monet, Manet, Lautrec, Degas, Gaugin and Cezanne. I remember seeing paintings such as Cezanne’s ‘The Bathers’ in art books when I was at high school. I’ve never had opportunities to casually stroll into such a rich collection of turn-of-the-century French art before. Looking at these glowing paintings, I can’t help but think that there will never be a significant movement in painting ever again. The next best thing I’ve seen – and a very close next best at that – was the Cindy Sherman Retrospective exhibition in Sydney during the 1990’s – and she is a photographer… and I don’t think photography and painting are so exclusive from one another that you can’t compare them. I have been incredibly fortunate to have stumbled into London during what is evidently a magical break in the weather… or perhaps I was just expecting the worst. Since my arrival just over a week ago, it seems that after a grey morning the clouds will disperse to reveal a quilted sky of blue, white and grey, culminating in a beautiful sunset. It could be that coming from Calgary (which was becoming a freezing place, temperatures dropping to round -20) has served to toughen me up, as a 4 degree day really does not seem particularly cold to me. In any case I’ve not been suffering days of grey and black as I expected, and my spirits have thus remained on a high plain. Looking at the postcards I have collected from souvenir stands I am reminded of the romance of this dark city, the romance of the idea of London. Being here, surrounded by the work of famous artists, buildings that have survived (and been rebuilt after) wars and fires, and an underground network of tunnels and tracks connecting each fragment of this metropolis is not at all like living inside a postcard. Tourists seem to outnumber locals, a spruiker sells international phone call offers at every street corner and the passing of centuries have left their gloriously mouldering buildings behind to meet the shining, flashing, jittering and jiving spectacles of todays corporate demands. Yet when the sun relinquishes its tenuous grip on the cloudy days of London, and the sky turns amber, pink and red, a feeling of being transported ensues. The people who live here are mere transients in a city that has seen more than what their blinkered eyes ever will. At the tube on the way to Camden Intersection of Kennington Rd and Kennington Lane Tottenham Square