How Do You Take Your Art?

How do take your art?  Alone or in a crowd?  Fast or slow?  Through a camera lens or in a camera-free zone?

The debate about how people should behave in art museums ramped up recently as the National Gallery in London became the latest in a slew of museums to allow photography in their galleries, leading to many, oh many, columns about how photos - selfies in particular - are Ruining The Museum Experience For The Rest Of Us (see here and here if you're interested in reading more) linking directly or indirectly to opinion pieces that suggest You're Looking at the Art All Wrong (here and here).

Oh.  Really?

In the interests of satisfying my curiosity I decided to carry out my own, entirely personal, non-scientific research on a visit to the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, one of the most visited art museums in the world.

I spent most of my time in two of the most popular areas of the museum: the Gallery of Honour (featuring big names like Vermeer, Rembrandt, Hals) and the 19th century galleries.  I didn't take any selfies, but I did spend a lot of time looking at art, photographing art and photographing other people looking at art.  

The brilliant Nina Simon points out that one of the main gripes against allowing photography in museums (makes it harder to see the art) has less to do with photography as such, and more to do with crowding.  So even if the museum banned photography of, say, the Night Watch, I'm pretty sure you'd still have to peer through a crowd of people to see the painting.  But while it's true that there's a perma-crowd in front of the work - actually, brilliantly, standing in a crowd (taking photos, talking, looking at their maps, jostling for a better view) helped me to get it.  I'm in a crowd, reflecting a crowd, reflecting a crowd ...

Here, people are gathered round Vermeer's Milkmaid.  I love this photo: it looks just like she's doing a demonstration in a department store.  Hey, check out this great milk pourer I have.  Yours for only €19.99.

Had I not had my camera, I think I would have been more focused on the painting on its own.  Because of my camera, I was very aware of the image created by all of these people gazing at The Milkmaid, nodding as they watch her pouring milk.  A new perspective.  I also liked seeing how respectful people were about waiting to take a photo of the painting, as though a little shy about taking liberties with such a celebrity.

I noticed that the act of taking a photograph seems to give people a sense of agency, an important sense of something to do.  I'm often struck by the flatness of the experience (visual and emotional) in art museums: flat paintings against flat walls with flat captions.  Sure, the idea is that the art should reach out to you in some way, but in practice it often leads to a kind of dead-eyed shuffle through the galleries.  (Just spend five minutes in the Louvre on a Sunday morning and you will see what I mean.)
A recent piece of research (seized upon with GLEE by numerous broadsheets) suggests that taking photographs of objects in museums worsens recall of those objects.  But the research also found that if there's a specific reason to take the photo (to zoom in on a detail, for example), people remembered it better.  So, with the right incentive (whether your own interest or someone else's suggestion) a camera can be a tool that helps you feel like an active participant in the museum experience, not just a shuffler.

My pro-photography stance was tested later on, beside the Van Gogh self portrait.  There was a bit of pushy-shovy as two guys tried to get into the best position for photos.  It made me feel uncomfortable to see Vincent's sad face peeking out through the crowd.

And here, everyone seems to be ignoring him.

But again, the interaction of the people, their cameras, my camera and the painting framed the experience in a new way.  If anything, I thought my appreciation of the painting was enhanced because of this moment when I was acutely of Vincent Van Gogh's loneliness in the middle of a crowd.

So, I think it's safe to conclude that the presence of people photographing in the Museum didn't ruin the experience for me, nor - I hope - did I ruin anyone else's experience (apart from the man who elbowed me as he tried to get into optimal position to photograph this painting).  The crowding wasn't ideal but was mostly limited to the iconic paintings - there were still plenty of opportunities in the museum to have an uninterrupted one-on-one with the art.

In fact, the visit was an important reminder that when artworks are in public spaces, the public - and their cameras - become part of the experience.  The obligation is on the museum makers (myself included) to develop galleries that respond better to the fact that visitors are not just participants in their own visit, but also become part of how other visitors experience the museum.

In other words, while you could say that The Rest of Us Are Ruining the Art Museum for the Rest of Us - you could also argue that the presence of other people contributes to the kind of unique, memorable experience you can only get from visiting a museum.

It's A Sign!

Actually several.  I became quite obsessive about taking photographs of signs in Hong Kong.  What do they say?  No idea - but they're purty!  Fingers crossed that they represent good omens and a sunny weekend.

The Quintessential Melbourne Photo?

Market Lane Coffee's new branch at Queen Victoria Market.  Two of my favourite Melbourne food destinations now in the same neighbourhood!

Australia From Above

Yesterday was another Canberra day.  What does land look like between Canberra and Melbourne, you're wondering.  (No?)  Well, I had my camera with me, so I took some pictures of the Snowy Mountains, last seen up close and personal.

Snow!  In Australia!

Objective v. Subjective

First, I'd like to observe that if it's still Friday somewhere in the world (which it is), then I've managed to blog every day this week.

I was actually planning to post last night, but I came up against a philosophical obstacle.  No, really.  I was going to post about my supper, which consisted of one of my favourite quick-but-delicious meals: polenta with mushrooms and a fried egg.  While the polenta is cooking, sauté some chopped mushrooms with some herbs (I like tarragon best but last night I used chervil) and poach or fry an egg.  Pour the gooey mushrooms over the polenta, place the egg on top and season well.   Yummy.

Anyway, the obstacle was that by the time this was all ready, I was hungry and not inclined to delay the eating part of the evening by photographing and documenting the meal.

This morning, I enjoyed one of my favourite Melburnian experiences: the not-so-full-English breakfast at Pope Joan on Nicholson St.  This is a sensory delight, not least because it smells so good: the bacon is extra smoky and the tomato relish they serve with it is a combination of sweet and spicy.  But again, it seems just wrong to interrupt the experience by whipping out my not-exactly-small camera to take photos.

This is why I will never be a food blogger.  I want to enjoy these experiences while I'm in them ... not put them on hold while I take photos.  Or perhaps I can start a revolution in food blogging ... no pictures, just words.

Have a lovely weekend; I hope it's full of yummies.  xxx HTLT

A Country Line

Last week I had to go to the Goldfields and decided to take a more historically-appropriate means of transport than usual.  No, I didn't walk (I think I've done enough walking in Australia to last me for a while), nor did I take a stage coach (the horses are so hard to find, these days).  Instead, I took a train.  

Arriving at Southern Cross Station, I found the tracks divided between city lines and country lines.  And at 8 in the morning you could spot the difference: the city line platforms were full of commuters in sharp suits and Melbourne black; the country line platforms were chockful of old ladies with big shopping bags, bogans and men with hats.  

There's a funny kind of tussle between the suburbs and the countryside, giving rise to this kind of scene - an Orthodox church surrounded by scrubland.

There were lots of little country stations that all looked the same.

And then, suddenly, there were no houses, just wide open space.

Oh, and this place, where old farm machinery goes to die. 

On the way back, I noticed the long, straight roads ...

... light shining on the creeks,

and sunshine in Sunshine.

Auckland Round Up

This past week has mostly been about work, work, work.  But I managed to squeeze in a few Lady Traveller experiences in between times.


My first feijoa - smells like strawberry bubblegum, but tastes like a cross between a banana, a kiwi and a pomegranate.  Quite extraordinary.





Auckland War Memorial Museum dressed in crimson on the national day of mourning for the victims of the Christchurch Earthquake - note the appropriately dramatic stormy sky.





La Cigale French Market in Parnell for breakfast on a sunny morning.

St Kevin's Arcade on K (Karangahape) Road, where I poked in the cool vintage shops and admired the Art Deco ironwork.

Mirrors

A conversation threw up a passing reference to European settlers' naming habits in the New World.  Far away from home, the travellers looked for mirrors of their familiar places and landmarks ... so the Southern Alps get called the Southern Alps, for example.  All of this made me think about mirrors and reminded me of these pictures I took in New Zealand before Christmas.

The science part (as Jennifer Aniston, God bless her, would say) is that glacier lakes tend to be particularly still (I can't remember why - perhaps because they aren't fed by rivers/springs like other lakes?) and so you get amazing reflections.

Bundy & Coke (& Story Bridge)

This picture is for Cormac, who spent a year in Brisbane and introduced me to the dubious pleasure of Bundaberg rum drunk with coke. In the background is the Story Bridge, an altogether more palatable icon. (Bundy tastes like TCP.)

I am sorry about not posting yesterday, I didn’t have a spare moment all day in Brisbane and didn’t get back to Melbourne till late. And this evening I’ve recovering from a hectic day of catching up here after my mini-tour of Queensland. (Recovering = me and the cat watching X Factor Australia and eating chocolate-covered teacakes.)

I'll be back tomorrow to share pictures of sunny BrizVegas. Meanwhile the forecast in Melbourne is for torrential rain.

Photographic Memory

It is odd to me that (as previously chronicled on these pages) I have only the haziest of memories of previous time spent in Australia EXCEPT it turns out that I remember the tiniest details of the time I spent in Queensland.

I remember Noosa beach,

I remember walking along Hastings St (I even, I’m ashamed to say, remember having breakfast here wearing a blue silk bandana on my head. Why? Why?)

I remember this night club, where my sister Róisín coined the phrase ‘twenty hundred’. She was looking for a snappy comeback to some gormless English kid … but it didn’t come out exactly right.

I remember Wild Horse Mountain where we stopped on our way back to Brisbane to admire the view,

And I took a picture of three lovely ladies, Róisín, Alma and Máire Áine walking back down this path.

Degraves Noir

I teach a class on Friday afternoons from 2.30 to 5.30. It seems like cruel and unusual punishment for the students (and for me) to sit in our allotted, windowless room for three hours at the end of the week, so I’ve decided Friday afternoons are for exploring.

Last Friday’s exercise was to go to Degraves St, a narrow passageway connecting Flinders St to Flinders Lane. It’s lined with cafes and shops and stretches under Flinders St to the main station via an underground subway. The students have to create maps on which they will plot the stories – real or imagined – they encountered last week.

I decided to create my masterpiece for your delectation, in the style of a film noir (something about the photos called for it).

The End of the Shared Zone

The telephone rang. Meet me at the café, she whispered.

Meet me at the café, she’d said. But which café?

Wasn’t that her bicycle, there, that one …?

He caught a glimpse of a dark head, a flash of scarlet lipstick.

I’ll wait here, he thought. I’ll order two coffees – it was an act of faith.

He waited, but she never came.

Fin.

Stonehenge Out the Window

Old joke: American tourist says to local, ‘Great castle [or ancient monument/ruin, as appropriate], but why did they build it so close to the highway?’

The people who built Stonehenge certainly set up shop uncomfortably close to the A303. Not just that, but the road goes from dual carriageway to single lane shortly before Stonehenge. This means you have plenty of time to admire the stones because you will almost inevitably get stuck in the traffic jam across the road.

Of course, for people like me who like the absurdity of taking photos of historic monuments from the car (something about the ironic juxtaposition appeals to my sense of the ridiculous. Why yes – I do have a degree in English literature. Why do you ask?) this presents an ideal opportunity.

So in the continuing series ‘monuments from the car window’ I give you … Stonehenge With Raindrops:

(Without trees)

(With trees)

Le Road Trip

I won’t bother you with accounts of how I got from Dublin to Birmingham (to collect Lady Traveller’s Big Brother – LTBB), or how we got from Birmingham to Calais. First of all, the A55/M6/M1 route is really quite boring. Second of all, while I have carried out other activies (cooking, pushing a pram) while also attempting to take pictures, driving is not among them.

Anyway, from Calais we drove to Paris via Boulogne and Agincourt (see yesterday’s post), where I took this photo:

In Paris, LTBB packed and I cleaned the kitchen then took pictures of the car (in full glory, with Roscommon licence plate) on Rue Montorgueil:

Driving in big cities is a strange thrill. I suppose it’s because mostly I take public transport when I’m visiting a new city. But even in London, I always liked driving through the centre, past famous landmarks. Look! There's Buckingham Palace! The Empire State Building! (You really have to crane your neck for that one.) The Eiffel Tower! So Cormac drove and I took pictures.

Hotel de Ville:

At the Place d’Etoile:

The Arc de Triomphe:

Next stop, Giverny!

Official Hints Day - Revived!

A few months ago I told you that, since this blog was nominally about hints, I should have, you know, actual hints on it. I decided, in my usual arbitrary way, that Monday would be Official Hints Day. But mostly on Monday mornings my brain hasn’t kicked in enough to remember this so it’s been a long time since we had OHD. But recently Friday approached me and asked if I’d consider giving it a trial in the role of OHD. Why not?

And today’s hint is a good one, courtesy of Robbie Honey, my multi-talented friend and ex-housemate. A couple of years ago, I moaned to him that my photos were never any good and why were they always blurry and blah blah moan moan. Robbie pointed out that professional photographers will take hundreds of photographs of something from which they’ll choose just one. His hint was to take lots and lots of photos and then edit out just a few really good ones.

It is no exaggeration to say that this has revolutionised the standard of photographs I produce.(Although credit must also go to the super-duper camera some VERY NICE PEOPLE gave me last year.)

Of course, it also means I end up with hundreds of photos – far more than will ever grace this blog, or even get seen by anyone other than me. So this morning, I decided to share with you a random sample of photographs taken by my camera in the last month.

An amusing frieze in Zurich:

A Japanese woman blending into her surroundings outside the Louvre:

An Easter centrepiece:

My feet:

A noteworthy Parisian street name:

A Martin Luther bear in Oberammergau:

Gregory, his bobble and me: