Freelancing

Even before I got into architecture, I have always wanted to own my own company. When I was a wee lass I would refer to my bedroom as my office and have my sister "call" me with a phone-shaped walkie talkie. I would pretend to bill her for products or services and issue her an invoice, of sorts.

Now that I have passed through the bulk of the design education that prefaces earning the title "architect," I am finding that my old dream is slowly but surely resurfacing.

To temporarily satiate my returning entrepreneurial desire, I have decided to submerge myself in some freelancing and business-related reading. One book I highly recommend is:

Creative, Inc.

The Ultimate Guide to Running a Successful Freelance Business

by Meg Mateo Ilasco & Joy Deangdeelert Cho

It is a concise breakdown of the simple concepts involved in starting your own business. I will offer that much of the beginning of the book I feel I had already learned, either through my college education or just from being involved in the design industry. The later chapters, particularly when it gets into billing, invoicing, networking, hiring, etc. becomes quite informative.

It's a pretty quick read and offers some case studies to illustrate the important points. I'm keeping it on my shelf as a reference.

I have begun to dabble in some "freelancing," this year. I suppose technically it falls under the category "consulting." Either way, it's fun!

Part V: Bordeaux – Out Here in the Field, Down Here in the Ground.

Waking up somewhere and not knowing immediately where you are is quite possibly the most off-putting feeling one might ever have. The next thought will reflect your actions for the whole day. The past few (and, might I add, rare) times I have experienced this unsure, surreal moment I have had the following thoughts:

“Ughhh…. Great. This is where I get to die. Can someone please kill me and spare me from this insufferable headache? It would be such sweet release.”
- Storage Closet. Ocean City, Maryland. Beach Week, 2003

“What happened? Weren’t they on a Dock? Why is there a pile of Cocaine?”
- Boyfriend’s Couch. West Lafayette, Indiana. That time I fell asleep watching Scarface, 2006

“Oh. My. God. What happened? The last thing I remember him saying was ‘Don’t leave me, I don’t know where I am’.”
- Pinned on the floor by a nightstand, Hilton Hotel, Boston, Massachusetts Vodka Drinking Contest, 2009

While initially disturbing, eventually everything becomes clear and you are alive with a spirit of determination and redemption (when necessary). Whether your next step is to find Advil, Google the plot of a movie or just out and out panic, they are all done with true grit.

Fortunately in this case of temporary amnesia, my first thought was “Where am..? Oh Right. Bordeaux.”

Bordeaux is a charming city as well as listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site for "an outstanding urban and architectural ensemble" The area has been inhabited since the times of the Neanderthal and has archeological evidence from before the Roman conquest, it also lies in the rich and fertile ground of the Aquitaine, which was always of strategic importance for Europe (especially for the House of Plantagenet).

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eleanor_of_Aquitaine

Great Architectural sites in Bordeaux include.

Place de la Bourse, designed by Ange-Jacques Gabriel built in 1755 as La Place Royal for Louis XV

Court of the First Instance, designed by Richard Rodgers, built in 1998

Eglise Sainte-Croix, designed by any number of people, as it is was built in the 7th century and has a long history

Le Grande Theatre, designed by Victor Louis, built in 1780

It is also a great example of Urban renewal reinvigorating the downtrodden. Most of the buildings in the city are coated with a limestone that while reacting very well to the sea-air, does not fair so well against the pollution. In the past 20 years they have been slowly cleaning the city to the point where the dirtier buildings look like the evil twins of the clean ones.

We learned all this from a guide named Guierrme and this was his story:

“Well I am studying to be a Sommelier. Then when I finish I will join my girlfriend in Brazil. I met her last year in Australia, we talk every night.”

My sister and I looked at each other and silently confirmed what we both knew. This unfortunate young man was going to have his heart ripped out and it was only a matter of time. We were all him (or some version of him) when we were young, for me it was young Blue-eyed blonde who I absolutely adored. He left for the wide west and I convinced myself with the stubborn determination of a last stand that it was going to work. It didn’t. It wasn’t supposed to.

However in Guierrme’s unassuming smile we could see the kind of love that is too powerful and too ignorant to be reasoned with. Like a hungry bear, like a shark with a toothache. There is no easy way for him to learn this lesson. We could tell him, but we would never be believed. What they have is special, unique, and timeless. Just like everyone else’s relationship. Then again, I could be wrong. That’s the best part of young love.

The rest of the day we toured around the Bordeaux region and I learned a very important lesson: I know NOTHING about wine. Example: “Yes, there is fruitiness, lightness and do I detect a hint of…grape?” Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.

After much aimless wandering we happened upon another UNESCO world heritage site, which are apparently as pervasive in this area of France as hobos are in my Baltimore neighborhood, you can literally trip over them. However, unlike the hobos around my house they don’t call you fat while simultaneously asking you for a dollar. At least none have yet.

We had arrived in St. Emilion, home to a large number of Grand Cru vines as well as the Monastery of St. Emilion. St Emilion was renown not only for his sin-absolving abilities but also for his libations. According to legend, St. Emilion carved this church from the living limestone face of the cliff under which the town now resides. There is something inherently religious about being underground. Maybe it’s because it is reminiscent of one’s own mortality and subsequently (if you believe in that sort of thing) immortality. Being under cover of darkness deep within the sturdy walls of someone’s true devotion can make you feel that your soul is an immortal and intangible being while the shell you inhabit perpetually dies all around it. It seems tragically unfair that we spend our whole lives collecting memories, wisdom, insight, intellect, being hoarders of our own experiences only to lose everything in death. In light of that, touching something that has been around for hundreds of years makes you feel as if maybe, your precious little moments stand a chance. That or maybe I had drunk too much wine.

With Bordeaux behind us, the final stop was underway.

On the Final Episode: Part VI Marseilles: “What are you looking at?”

Paris Part IV: Getting Trapped In Cramped Loud Spaces and How to Escape from Them While Still Enjoying Modern Art.

Finally the day had come: We were going to see La Centre Georges Pompidou. For years I had attempted to make it there, but something had always gotten in the way. Whether it was food poisoning, or Lance Armstrong winning the Tour, or the most convincing of all: “Baby, that sounds super boring, why don’t we just get drunk here instead?”. There was always a reason why it got passed over. Not today.

The Pompidou Centre is considered to be one of the great masterpieces in high-tech architecture, a joint effort by the Italian architect, Renzo Piano and British architect, Richard Rodgers. Though theirs is an equal partnership, Piano’s influence comes shining through. What one must always admire about Piano is his adaptability, especially in large-scale public forums. Unlike many of the other starchitects, Piano does not necessarily have a “trademark” image. For Zaha Hadid, it’s the harsh, unforgiving sharpness of her reds, for Frank Ghery, it’s the tinfoil flexibility and sheen of a metallic curve and anything by Rem Koolhaas looks like it can double as Darth Vadar’s summer home. Piano, on the other hand is completely adaptable and while he makes the architecture, he is not above being influenced. This allows his structures to seem less alien, especially in the urban fabric. For other examples, I would look at The New York Times building in New York City or Parco Della Musica in Rome (which is one of my favorite buildings of all time).

The Pompidou revolutionized the museum as much as, if not more than, The Guggenheim by Frank Lloyd Wright. By placing all of the infrastructural needs: HVAC, Plumbing, Electrical and vertical transport on the exterior of the building, the interior is entirely open and free. In this situation, the artist determines how their work is to be viewed, making the architecture a humble and willing participant but not the star. This attitude can be contrasted with Ghery’s Guggenheim museum in Bilbao, which aggressively challenges the art to fight it. (This is similar to Wright’s Guggenheim, which forces the art to conform to his vision of circulation and pageantry)

Long story short: Le Centre Pompidou, works well with others.

While the collection was charismatic, sophisticated, social, and at times poetic and political there was one work which I could not get behind. As the escalator moved its way up, there was the undeniable and inescapable noise of tantric chanting. I get it, I do. It’s supposed to make me confront my preconceived notions, but dammit if it’s not obnoxious. I looked at my sister and mouthed “I’m sorry.” It was a movement of kindness on her part that she had let me live. We could not get out of the area due to a massive school group and if not for deft side-stepping we would have gotten stuck there all day.

After the Pomp and circumstance, we spent the afternoon walking around where the Bastille once stood, saw a market and musicians but could find no sign of a giant paper-mache mountain, tragic really:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cult_of_the_Supreme_Being

The evening ended when we had to switch our hotel to one in the business district of La Defense in the shadow of La Grande Arche.

Arche de la Défense or La Grande Arche was designed by a Danish architect and an engineer: Johann Otto von Sprecklesen and Erik Reitzel. While a clear reference to the Arc De Triomphe, La Grande Arche is meant not as a monument to the horrors of war but as a reminder of modern societies’ humanitarian responsibilities. It was inaugurated in 1989 as a bicentennial celebration of the French revolution. It’s big, bold and maybe just a little bit boring. Never the less there is no denying its epic domination over the business district.

Our last stop was the countryside of Champagne. What can be said about Champagne? It’s a charming landscape and a beverage that is really, really hard (and pretty dangerous) to make.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xu6Nmq3hbFc

As far as architecture goes, there is one site in Champagne that cannot be missed. That is the Cathedral in Reims.
Reims is famous for being the structure most affiliated with the French monarchy in all of France. Some will argue “What about Versailles?” That is the structure most affiliated with the end of the monarchy not necessarily its reign. There is a tendency to forget that French monarchy did go on for over 1300 years before the dopey locksmith and his spend-thrift ditzy bride became the symbols of decadence and corruption. The story started with Clovis I, whose reign began in approximately 481 AD, just as the Roman Empire was on its last legs. Eventually Clovis unified all of what was to be known as “France” (which included the conquest of Gaul) and made Christianity the national religion. This means you need a cathedral. BAM! Notre Dame de Reims.

Since Clovis I, every French monarch (with the exception of one) has been crowned at the Cathedral in Reims upon their assumption to the throne. The exception to the rule is Charles VII, who could not be crowned there initially, as it was under the possession of the English. Then a feisty, illiterate teenager comes out of nowhere and demands he get his skinny ass on that throne. She leads an army to take back the land, gets the Dauphin the Reims, he is crowned King and she is not allowed inside because she is, after all, a peasant. I would have hated to be the usher who tells Joan of Arc that she is not on the list. Not even as a plus one. Awwwwkward.
Reims as a building is a lot like other European cathedrals. The site was evolved over a long period of time, starting as a Roman Bath becoming a place of worship under St. Nicasius and continued as such under St. Remi. It has a labyrinth, similar to Chartes and a rare, beautiful Rose window. Like Westminser Abbey in London, the architecture becomes eclipsed by the history.
After returning from Reims, we ended our time in Paris by having Chinese food and preparing for the southern sun.

Next Time : Part 5 Bordeaux – Out Here in the Field, Down Here in the Ground.

Part III: Paris or “How to say ‘Bonjour’ and other helpful French Phrases

So there we were, in the elevator of the L’Hotel Arch di Triomphe, a giant man who was playing in the French Open in a few days and me. At least I assume he was playing, as he looked like someone who would be a professional athlete and was also carrying a tennis racket. Only a few weeks prior I had to explain to someone that the French Open was not, in fact, a golf tournament. However, I must confess that is the extend of my knowledge of Tennis.

I should have remembered that before I made a clumsy attempt at, I won’t say seduction, but flattery.

“So…. Are you going to be swearing any oaths on the Tennis Court? Because I read a book about those once, they don’t end well. Pretty Bloody.”
“What?”
“Good Luck!” Then I got off and waited 4 minutes for another elevator.

Sometimes I forget I am a 13 year old girl trapped in a grown woman’s body. Also no one thinks jokes about the French Revolution are funny. Too soon.

We have arrived in Paris. This morning we had left London via the Chunnel.

The Chunnel is an engineering marvel, and not just because of what it does (connecting France and England by a virtually highwayman-free thoroughfare) but also by how it was made. It took the better part of a decade but a total of eleven boring machines starting on either end worked to cut through the chalk and marl bed of the English Channel. Shockingly, the project was completed on time (take THAT Big Dig).

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/59/Channel_Tunnel_geological_profile_1.svg/1000px-Channel_Tunnel_geological_profile_1.svg.png

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Eurotunnel_schema_(empty_service).svg

A modern marvel that was (and still is) revolutionary, the only room for improvement is if the sandwiches on board didn’t cost six pounds.

Once we arrived in Paris, deposited our things and I committed at least one act of social suicide, we were ready to hit the town. As an American, it’s easy to fall into the pit of the stereotypical tourist who wonders Paris dazed, smitten, romanced. This being the fourth time being in the eternal city of light, I assumed that, in part due to my experiences the last time, the affect had finally worn of. In 2007, I had almost gotten my bag stolen by a vagrant and had gotten into a shouting tussle about why I was not going to pay him for the effort. Eventually we were broken up by the transit police of Montmatre. A group of gypsies started following me down the street and I was only able to lose them in the hostel lobby. On top of that it was a rainy week in April and to paraphrase T.S. Eliot, “April blows.”

I’m not going to say I didn’t love every minute of the trip in 2007, but looking back then, Paris seemed like a beautiful and cruel partner in a dysfunctional relationship. Paris was bullying and indifferent, but as they say “you got to be big if you treat pretty girls bad.”

This time around, the weather seemed to be doing its best to apologize for past mistakes by shining in the most magical way. As Hepburn once quipped “the light is almost pink”.

Walking down the street gave off a feeling of such intoxication that it was probably illegal. Everything seemed weightless, delicate, charming. Being in a place like that, one can also feel weightless, delicate and charming which must be why French women are the way they are.

From an architectural perspective, Paris is either a city that serves as enduring inspiration to be put on a pedestal (as the lost generation writers and the etudents de la Acadamie de Beaux Arts did) or an archaic and backwards relic, worthy of destruction, (as Le Corbusier did). However, one aspect cannot be ignored, the city for better or worse, feels like something. When you see a picture of Paris, it looks like Paris. It sounds obvious, but in much of contemporary architecture it could be anywhere. Milwalkee could just as easily be Miami. Paris sometimes cartoonishly, looks like itself and always finds a way to enchant, young or old, naïve or cynical.

(For more information on the phenomenon of Architectural Personalities and the populations that reflect it (In an American and Canadian perspective) I recommend Richard Florida’s “Who’s Your City? http://www.creativeclass.com/whos_your_city/ )

But back to the show.

As we were traveling in a group of three (a walking joke of a blonde, a brunette and a red-head) and one of the trio had never been to Paris before we decided to hit the well trekked landmarks.

The Arch de Triomphe – constructed by Napoleon to commemorate a battle to win a land that he had no rightful claim to. The roman spirit was alive and well in Imperial France. If you get a chance, you really should look up the Battle of Austerlitz, it was actually, kind of amazing.

The Louvre – There things you do while traveling that are “Cliché” For example, seeing the Mona Lisa. The Mona Lisa is an extraordinary painting, but it is not the ONLY extraordinary painting. Say what you want, but when you walk into a room with a 15’ X 20’ DelaCroix painting. The only thing you can say is “wow.” On a previous trip I had spent the entire day in the Louvre. From open to close, I packed a lunch and was just enveloped in it all day. Too much is never enough, the first sign of addiction. It also makes you think “Damn. Europe stole a lot of stuff from people”

La Notre Dame – There aren’t really words. You just kind of have to go. However! I can tell you an interesting fact:

This famous painting by David is actually set in La Notre Dame

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/08/Jacques-Louis_David%2C_The_Coronation_of_Napoleon_edit.jpg

After the Revolution, the church was turned into a “Temple of Reason”, however much like the calendar that was invented to eliminate all traces of the past (it’s a real thing) –http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Republican_Calendar - The French people eventually came to their senses and put it back the way it was supposed to be.

You know, my favorite part of the time we spent in Paris was on the Champs-Élysées. It was the first time I got to actually “stroll”. Most of the times I have traveled, it’s similar to being carted from stop to stop never really getting a feel for a place. The Champs-Élyséesis a glamorous place and a place that makes you feel glamorous.

Next Time on European adventures:

Part 4: Getting Trapped In Cramped Loud Spaces and How to Escape from Them While Still Enjoying Modern Art.

EUROPE TRIP BONUS

I feel compelled to describe Buckingham Palace, but before I do so, let’s be honest: There are more awe-inspiring Palaces. Not to jump ahead, but when you look at the Grandeur of the Louvre or the ruins of the Villa Adriana, you can’t help but look at Buckingham Palace and think “This is it?”

Granted Americans have no room to talk.

The White House: tiny, cramped, and expensive.

It leads one to think: What is the measure of a Ruler’s residence?

This may be bad paraphrasing but I recall that Frederick Jackson Turner once hypothesized that the Untied States would never truly have great Federal Buildings because the legacy of free people cannot be found in the impressiveness of their architecture, but rather in the way that everyday people have been treated and valued. This means basically: “Sorry Guys. No forced-labor Pyramids for you. You just get a fair wage and natural beauty.” To which all tyrants say “lame.”

So no, Buckingham Palace is not that impressive. But the Palace of Versailles is and we all know how that turned out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ls6HiYVkt0M&feature=related

London Part II. Birds and Serpents

Waking up the first time in a new city is almost as disorienting as walking around in one. I find frequently that dreams are stronger and more vivid. Maybe it’s because traveling long distances forces you to confront the distance of your origin. Maybe it’s because I eat a lot of Indian food late at night. Who knows.

The night before we had drinks with an old roommate from college who also happened to be in London. Just like in college, liquor somehow found a way for me to miss deadlines. So, a little later than expected, we started the walk to the two big churches in London: Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Westminster Abbey

Having arrived in England about a month after the wedding ceremony between Kate Middleton and Prince William and am happy to report there were no shortages of nuptial memorabilia around the historic structure. Now, I love love, but truly, madly, deeply love spectacle. And am therefore not at all disgusted that the faces of the newlyweds have been plastered on everything from T-shirts to Tea Towels. Even though, I remember being in Baltimore the day of the actual ceremony and thinking “Didn’t we have a Revolution for the specific purpose of not having to hear about Royal Weddings?” While not a historian, I’m about 99% sure the Boston Tea Party was a reaction to rumors of the Prince Regent popping the question.

Onto for the building itself

To be honest, a lot of the hub-bub that surrounds Westminster Abbey has to do more with who is buried there (Oscar Wilde, Geoffrey Chaucer, Anne of Cleaves, etc.) than the architecture. It is marvelous, that’s not a question: the scale is epic, the detailing refined and the emotive response awe-inspiring but as far as a remarkable bit of architecture, it gets out shined easily by its own celebrity: A victim of spin.

The most interesting part of the building is a rock that is passed unceremoniously thousands of times a day. The rock is a mile-marker for a Roman road, tracing the lineage of the site almost 2000 years. Yet, there it is, sitting in the open air, a testament to humility. This rock allows the Abbey to be seen in another light, not just a place where weird hats get worn.

When you think about Westminster not as a building but as a physical record of the history of England , the importance of the material seems almost trivial. This building has seen it all, from Londinium roots, through the middle ages, onto the break from the Catholic Church and further still to the funeral of Diana Spencer. This structure has been created to house the events of a unified people, a backdrop to what has happened and what may happen next. Westminster Abbey is not the star of the show, it’s only a set.

Also, it costs 16 Pounds to get in. Seriously Guys, that’s like 30 bucks. Come on!

We can’t speak about Westminster Abbey without also mentioning its noisy neighbors....

The Palace at Westminster and Big Ben

Big Ben, as it turns out, is not a Paul Bunyon-esque Giant. (So bringing my giant griddle-cake butter skates was for nothing).

Though Big Ben is the most dominant feature in the Palace Parti, it was not added until long after the Palace at Westminster had been established. The site can date back to c. 1016-1035 when it was used by Cnut the Great. (And NO it’s not an anagram for anything, you horrible people). The site, like many others in Europe was burned, beaten and built-up until it became what we see today, which is actually considered “Neo-Gothic” which is ironic as the basis of much of the building is “Actual, Like, For Real Gothic”.

The Clock was added in the reign of Victoria and it serves as a testament not only to the goals of her reign, (expansion, commerce and propriety) but also as a memoriam to the Victorian revisionist treatment of history and English culture. Big Ben seems to yell: “We were Glorious. And still are...also nobody in the past ever did anything wrong… ever…also, no one has ever been, or will ever be gay…EVER. Love, VR”

Moving all the way across town we make our way towards St. Paul’s.

St. Paul’s Cathedral

You might remember St. Paul’s as the setting for a creepy-ass song about birds from a well known and delightful children’s movie.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XHrRxQVUFN4

People love this song. Whatever. Guess what’s better? Dancing Penguins and Horse Racing, this was also in the movie. (I’m indifferent towards tea parties on ceilings)

Like Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral has a long and sordid history, along with more than its share of fire. Tracing its lineage back to pre-Norman roots, this was a standard story of Built, Beloved, Burned, Rebuilt, Revered, Razed, and so on (oh but let’s not forget the dissolution of the Church under Henry VIII, because this is, after all a Cathedral). All this architectural uncertainty ended in 1667 when it fell upon Christopher Wren to come up with its next incarnation. The previous embodiment had been influenced about 40 years earlier by Inigo Jones, who is generally thought to be England’s first “classical” architect.

In 1666 the entirety of London Burned to the ground and a huge upcrop of building took place. Wren actually had the foresight to come up with schemes to completely redesign the urban landscape of London. Why not? Rome had done the exact same thing a few decades earlier to make Churches easier to access for Pilgrims entering the city. It had done wonders for their economy (Those crafty Popes).

Unfortunately his design was dismissed in favor of replacing what already existed, the Cathedral was still workable, so suspicion remains that the powers that be decided to throw it in as a consolation prize.

Wren decided to pull a DJ mash-up and combined Greco-Roman, Gothic and Renaissance into one enormous structure. With all of these factors at play it’s to be believed that Wren was much more concerned about it as a famous poem implies:

Sir Christopher Wren
Went to dine with some men
He said, "If anyone calls,
Say I'm designing Saint Paul's."
-Edmund Clerihew Bently

Whether you love it or hate it (and there are people who do both) one thing that cannot be avoided is the sheer scale of the structure. It stands on the hill top near the Tate Modern: all-consuming, tall, romantic and slightly overbearing, like a Bronte figure. There is a poetic kind of closure that St. Paul’s has, a silver kind of sadness that hums seamlessly with the constant drone of the city. It’s also pretty hard not to like it when you know it survived the Blitz.

Plus the views from the top are phenomenal.

http://static.panoramio.com/photos/original/3637082.jpg

Speaking of views, let’s not forget our last stop in London, The Serpentine Gallery, located in Kensington Gardens.

The Serpentine Gallery

The actual gallery is nothing really to write home about. However, like many small packages it’s what inside that counts. Or at least that’s the case usually.

When I got there, the exhibit was one called “See, We Assemble” which I am sorry to say was just awful. According to the artist’s statement, his intent was to “explore the potential of the human imagination to appropriate and to animate a concept, an object or an environment. Drawing on his personal experiences, [Mark] Leckey returns frequently to the themes of desire and transformation.”

Wait a second.

You mean I have to go into a green screen room with a fridge in it, and the instruction video for said fridge playing stupidly loud on super slow and tell YOU what it means. Call it what you want, but I call it lazy.

Fortunately The Serpentine can back up its street cred in the world of Architecture without question. Since 2000, The Serpentine has had a world-class architect design a pavilion every year. The cast is as follows:

2000: Zaha Hadid
2001: Daniel Libeskind
2002: Toyo Ito
2003: Oscar Niemeyer
2005: Álvaro Siza and Eduardo Souto de Moura
2006: Rem Koolhaas with Cecil Balmond and Arup
2007 pre-pavilion 'Lilias': Zaha Hadid and Patrik Schumacher
2007: Olafur Eliasson, Cecil Balmond, and Kjetil Thorsen
2008: Frank Gehry
2009: SANAA
2010: Jean Nouvel
2011: Peter Zumthor

The Serpentine Pavilion Challenge is a chance for these architects to make the impossible possible for 4 months out of the year. With such a small scale, structure is only a minor concern and the scheme is everything. There are too many to go through each individually, but I highly recommend checking out the website:

http://www.serpentinegallery.org/architecture/

The aesthetics range from something vaguely reminiscent of a stewardess (Lilias) to the firm and patriotic countenance of a Royal Marine (Nouvel).

On the way back a Swan in Hyde Park and I had some words over a sandwich (THAT HE DID’NT EVEN PAY FOR). My sister and I had a drink and we plotted our Southern Escape.

Next Episode: How to Say “Bonjour” and other helpful French Phases.

Art, Architecture, Beer, Wine, Cheese then more Wine: Retly Corm Hits Europe

Recently I discovered that I don’t necessarily have to be successful to travel well, I just need to be friends with people who are successful. This was the case last month, when my older sister (a junior CEO for a major multinational corporation) invited me on her business trip. To give our discoveries context, I feel it is necessary to give a little bit of background: it will surprise no one that I have always been a little jealous of my traveling companion.

Growing up, I was always pale, filled with angst, odd and desperate for approval. While she, at least to me, was tan, blonde, popular and envied no one.

This is the woman whom I one time asked the rhetorical question of :

“Man, I looked so good this morning and now I look crazy frumpy, does that ever happen to you?”

“No.”

Then a long pause

“I’m really pretty; those kinds of things just don’t happen to me”

Because of our clear differences we were often put into categories; Artistic and Misunderstood vs. Bubbly and Manipulative. Basically Jane Eyre vs. Emma Woodhouse.

I know I deserved no such credit, nor she such censure. Between the two, she has always been the smarter one and though we continually butted heads in our adolescence, we actually became good friends as we grew older. I became more confident and less dependant on others, while she became more sympathetic and understanding of faults. Eventually we decided not to force each other to be what the other one wanted. I was never going to be accepted by the Field Hockey Team and she was never going to care about the Battle of Thermopolis.

Keep that in mind when I force her to join me, on not one, but TWO modern art museums even though she hates them. She didn't even complain once. Long story short: she's pretty cool.

So let’s get down to it, shall we?

London: Part I Lone Ranger in a Strange Land.

Arriving at 7:00 am on Thursday after the world’s longest flight, I made the decision that should I ever have enough power to institute it, I am banning babies from international red-eye flights. I’m not sure what tragedy that baby had seen in its short life, but it was making it well known. Verbally. For 5 hours.

Perhaps it was the symptoms of exhaustion and disorientation that made the city of London seem so much more magical that morning. The sun was shining with a kind of pleasant indifference, the kind that beautiful people have, and I headed from our hotel along Hyde Park straight to the National Galleries.

Visiting an art museum is something that is usually best done after going Rogue. An art museum is a kind of secular cathedral; you need to be one with the greater forces at work. Such was the case here. Some of the highlights include:

Hogarths’ “Marriage A La Mode” which depicts the unfortunate and arranged marriage and acts as biting social commentary. I’ve mentioned Hogarth before on the Blog (While I was in Scotland) but just in case you’re not familiar with Hogarth, here’s his formula:

Plate 1- This is John. John works hard at a printer’s shop. This is John’s friend Steve. Steve is lazy and kicks dogs.

Plate 2- John is rewarded for his hard work and marries a respectable young lady. Steve says “Eff this” and goes off to the East Indies.

Plate 3- John becomes a Law Clerk. Steve dicks around with Hookers.

Plate 4- John buys an estate in the country. Steve contracts syphilis and his ugly girlfriend steals from the blind orphans.

Plate 5 – John becomes Mayor and is now the richest man in London.

Plate 6 -Steve gets beat up by his ex girlfriend’s new boyfriend and is burned in a fire only to be hung later that day.

The good are rewarded, the evil are punished. No redemption available. Maybe it’s because I’m too brassy for my own good, but the heroes of Hogarth Paintings always seem like such tools. I feel like the Villains are at least interesting, they don’t live their lives by the book (God forbid).

However, unlike the Rake’s or Harlot’s Progress paintings, Marriage A La Mode reads less like a Bad Gofus and Gallant sketch from Hilights for Kids.

It is more a tale of love of money over respect for others than a how-to guide. The young couple is really only a set of cogs in a system that is fundamentally broken. This is what Hogarth is really all about, meritocracy not mediocrity. Eventually they become the monsters society has made them, nothing more, nothing less.

There are countless other great paintings:

Velazquez- Venus at the Mirror
(Damn Girl you so fine you making me sexist, so fine crazy women want to stab you)

Van Dyck – Portrait of Charles I
(So I’m short, big friggin deal. I’m still going to rule your asses until...oh wait…dang)

Van Eyck – The Arnolfini Portrait
(maybe after you’re finished pretending to be pregnant you can get some housework done)

Titian – Bacchus and Ariadne
(Some brothers wanna play that "hard" role and tell you that the butt ain't gold, So they toss it and leave it, and I pull up quick to retrieve it)

Rubens- The Judgement of Paris
(Girls. Girls. You’re all pretty. Yeah, pretty heavy. Oh damn)

Wright – An Experiment on a Bird in an Air Pump
(Don’t worry girls, that bird stole a T.V. he deserves it)

Carravaggio – Boy Bitten by a Lizard
(Am I a metaphor for dude sex? A technical exercise on exploring the senses? Social commentary? Who knows.)

Holbien – The Ambassadors
(It’s like a magic eye, but literally a million times better)

Gainsborough – Mr. and Mrs. Andrews
(Look at all our stuff. Seriously, there’s a lot of it)

Suerat – The Bathers at Asnieres.
(In all seriousness this painting almost made me cry…It was at that point I realized I needed to eat and pee, not necessarily in that order, to become sane again)

Finally there’s Turner.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zc_zrz6j9Hw&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhICGT1gnCA

No one ever breaks your heart quite like J.M.W.Turner. There is dignity and loneliness, disrepair and nostalgia all in that kind of sad golden light. The self acknowledged end of an age. This is the most poignant in The Fighting Temmiers. Turner knows it’s only a matter of time until he and his ilk are shooed away by the hard, sharp and loud future. (I’m looking at YOU Isambard Kingdom Brunnel) But there’s no point in being mad about it. Just try and go off with a little bit of dignity. That is until John Ruskin finds stacks and stacks of porn in your house after you die. Gross.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2004/dec/29/artsandhumanities.arts

The Gallery building itself is quite imposing

Originally put up by John Nash as a (can you believe it) Parthenon of virtue through art. Eventually John Nash had his ideas stolen and built by another. As the collection expanded so did the building. Each addition feels like a complex layer added onto a strong backbone. As if to say “Me too! I’m in! Don’t Forget me.” All except one. This is of course, the addition by Venturi Scott Brown and Associates. The Sainsbury Wing, is unlike the others for obvious reasons. Firstly, it’s post-modern. And very much so.

There pulling back of the stone and making it into a curtain holding back the show is that rare combination of wit, drama and sexiness that made Venturi into a legend and is so missing from his later work. The original scheme for the addition by Ahrends, Burton and Koralek was called a "monstrous carbuncle" by the Prince of Wales. A term which is now common (apparently) for a modern building that clashes with its surroundings.

http://www.ribapix.com/image.php?i=17036&r=2&t=4&x=1

The galleries of VSBA are stark yet cozy, humble yet wry. Out of context and yet completely at home, almost like an Italian painting in a British Museum…

The next stop was the National Portrait Gallery in London. A whole 30 feet away.

Beautiful, inspiring and expected. Like a Facebook gallery of you and all your supercool friends. I feel a little bit like a stalker. Additionally there is nothing I can say about this gallery which has not been said more eloquently than Kate Beaton:

http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=167
http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=168
http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=169
http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=170

Stay tuned for the next episode:

London Part II. Birds and Serpents.