Episode 3, 6/30/09 – Turners, Constables, Gainesboros, Neal’s Yard…and you.

Wednesday was chock-full of art museums and visits to some of England’s premier nerd hotspots. We did SO much and packed so much in such a tiny little space, I can’t possibly write down everything I saw. There’s just too much. It became a little overwhelming after a while too, because EVERY single work in some of these art galleries is a masterpiece. It’s hard to give each individual work the attention that perhaps it deserves. I’ll detail exactly WHERE we went and then make some general observations about what we saw there.

We woke up early and went to the Tate Britain, companion museum to the aforementioned Tate Modern. Whereas the Tate Modern is dedicated to all modern art, British, Spanish, etc., the Tate Britain concentrates specifically on the elite British painters over the ages. I’m not particularly versed in English painting. Most of the knowledge that I had of it has long since disappeared, so it was nice to have a most-authentic refresher of my memory. The museum itself isn’t tremendously large, but does a decent job of categorizing and classifying the paintings. Notable amongst what we saw were some classic paintings by the “Big Three” of English painting, so to speak. John Constable, Thomas Gainsboro, and J.M.W. Turner (oh, and some people add Joshua Reynolds in place of Turner…but it depends on how you ask). These folks are considered to be the Velazquezes of English painting. Turner is easily my favorite for his semi-realist/semi-impressionist style. The Tate Britain was allright…but it was deceptive. Apparently Wikipedia lied to me when it mentioned that the Tate Britain housed some works by my favorite surrealist painter Salvador Dali. In fact, Tate Britain contains NOTHING from non-English painters…and it certainly wasn’t at the Tate Modern (trust me, I checked). I left the Tate Britain satisfied, but at the same time disappointed.

It was getting around lunchtime so we stopped at an authentic British pub, called “Silver Cross.” The food was good. I should take a moment to comment on the “setup” of the traditional British pub. You walk in, take a seat yourself (a lot of people sit at the bar), you search over the menu for what you want to eat, you go up to the bar, order, and pay in advance. They give you a table marker and/or deliver the food to your table. And themz British…they love their beer…even at 12:30 in the afternoon.

Next spot: the National Gallery. The Nat. Gal. is the largest of the museums dedicated to painting, and the most diverse. I was quite pleased that there’s a terrific selection of works from just about every period, and from masters of British, French, Spanish, and German heritage. On the Spanish front, the museum contained a few lesser Picassos, one Miro, several Goyas (one of which famous), and zero Dali (oh well). In terms of other paintings, we saw it all! Everything from medieval Madonna and Childs to some “cartoons” (sketches) of Michelangelo and Leonardo DaVinci, to the Pre-Raphaelites, to Van Gogh and other Impressionists, to the classic battle of the Manet vs. the Monet, to the landscapes of Turner (a special exhibit was dedicated to the seascapes of Turner), Constable, etc., to even some more modern works like the hideous Mark Rothko and some new artists like Ellen Gallagher who I had never heard of before, but I ended up loving after we were finished. I do love the National Gallery.

As if the first two weren’t enough, we went to ANOTHER museum: the National Portrait gallery. I had been to the National Gallery before, but never to the National Portrait Gallery, so that made our trip especially significant for me. I ended up liking the Nat. Por. Gall. a whole lot. Contained in the gallery are portraits used by the history books, uber-famous portraits of artists, leaders, statesmen, kings…it was like a trip through a Norton Anthology. For example, I’m sure you’ve seen somewhere the famous full-length portrait of Elizabeth I. She’s standing on a globe with a scepter and orb in her hand, her face painted white and countenance confident. That painting, reprinted in pretty much every single book EVER written about Elizabeth I resides in that gallery. Add to that THE definitive portraits of (just a brief list): Henry VIII, Charles I, Charles II (etc.), Milton, Shelly, Mary Shelly, Blake, Keats, Wordsworth, Disraeli…it was the hall of fame for all persons famous and British. I particularly had a nerdorgasm by seeing Shakespeare and Byron’s portraits. The Shakespeare one is important because it is the only one that has a reliable chance of having been painted during his lifetime. Such coolness.

Okay, so now I’ve got to tell you about Neal’s Yard. The first rule about Neal’s Yard is “You don’t talk about Neal’s Yard.”….Well, it’s not EXACTLY like that. But Neal’s Yard is so not-touristy and such a good story to tell, I feel like I should start from the absolute beginning in order to tell you (shhhhhh) the beautiful secrets of this place. When I first went to London in the Summer of 2008, my mom and I went wandering the city with no particular goal. We stopped in this neighborhood called Covent Garden, which is famous for being the London equivalent of old SoHo. It’s got lots of high-end artisan shops and some designer clothing stores. All fine and good and everything, but I didn’t come to London to shop for £70 t-shirts. So we wandered a little more and we went through a few back alleys and came upon this place called Neal’s Yard.

Neal’s Yard is a tiny collection of shops built in a courtyard where all the back alleys meet. And it’s one of my favorite places on the planet earth. Neal’s Yard cannot be found by the casual tourist. We only accidentally fell upon it by mere chance. When one walks into the courtyard, it is immediately recognizable that this is a special place. Everything is vertical, from the decorations, to the street signs, to the flowers hanging on the windows. Neal’s Yard shines with charm, with funk, with what the old folk call “quaint.” The shops are tiny little boutique shops dedicated to things like skater fashion and herbal remedies. The restaurants are sandwich shops and salad bars. And the great thing is that the yard only comprises perhaps 800 square feet. Neal’s Yard has a spirit and a vibe of youth and of funk that I can only call veritably English. It’s tucked away in Covent Garden away from prying eyes, almost like one of those old fashioned Easter eggs of old. The locals there speak loudly and with soft giggles rolling like a soft rain in their speech. The air, mixed with bizarre perfumes, clashes almost harmoniously with the soft classical music from the salad bar and the post-punk from the skater fashion place in the alley. My mom and I went into one store, Neal’s Yard Remedies, and had a 10+ minute conversation with the store attendant (I’m convinced that if anyone on earth were the corporeal manifestation of a fairy, she would’ve been it) about the medicinal properties of clove. We bought some clove soap for a gift and left Neal’s Yard.

One year later, in the current summer of 2009, I decided to find Neal’s Yard again. This was no easy task. Like I mentioned before, Neal’s Yard can only be found by those who have been there before. Lol and I only happened upon it by accident the first time. Dad and I went to Covent Garden, like before, and tried to find Neal’s Yard. We spent about a full hour trying to find it (with about 10 minutes spent going into David & Goliath, aka indie t-shirts galore), but we COULD NOT FIND IT AGAIN. I was losing hope… It’s a whole lot harder than one may think because Neal’s Yard is not listed on any map. It is just too small. And it’s not very well documented on the internet either. Eventually in our wanderings, my memory caught a scent of a familiar sight, a skater fashion store that I remembered from last time. Sure enough, turn the corner, into the back alley, and there you have it: Neal’s Yard. I was so glad to have found it again. The very same vibe, the very same stores…. Nothing had changed in a whole year. The air still smelled of perfume and youth, and all around were people talking, texting, twirling their sunglasses, eating salads…enjoying themselves. Everything was practically the same. The skate shop still blared loud post-punk and the salad bar had its selection of classical muzak. Neal’s Yard Remedies was still there, though minus the saleswoman who reminded me of a fairy. I walked in and bought some clove soap for a gift and left Neal’s Yard again…glad, for some reason, that I found it almost exactly like I left it.

There you have it, that was the story of Neal’s Yard. Maybe sometime if we go to London together, I’ll take you there (if I can find it). After Neal’s Yard, we went back to the hotel and ate dinner at an Indian restaurant, which was delicious (I had lamb) and expensive. After that, it was time to bid adieu to Neal’s Yard in reality and welcome it back in dream.