This post went missing in action yesterday, thanks WP. If you’ve seen it already, please move on. If not, please enjoy…
The bit of London I inhabit is still, at heart a village. Back in the mid 19th Century Dickens retired Mr Pickwick to the village, which explains a few street and house names. Amongst Mr Pickwick’s leisurely pleasures, he visits the Picture Gallery which today prides itself on being designed by Sir John Soane who gave us the monumental Bank of England and is the oldest public picture gallery in the UK.
Today Dog and I wandered through its ground in search of a coffee and a shortcut. The autumn colours, set against the old London brick building kind of drew out my phone and I began taking pictures from different angles.
When I came on these there lumps, like giant fossilised stools from an enormous extinct type of humungous rabbit. Kicking away the leaves, I found a descriptor of what the sculptor had in mind.
And then a story board telling me about the artist and his use of ex glacier granite lumps…
I’m often dumbfounded by art, certain that there’s a conceit I should be getting if only I was clever enough, or maybe if I sneaked up on it and caught it unawares.
I was pondering these lofty questions, unsure how to obtain a deeper understanding of the eternal contradictions inherent in this brain-stone interface, when I realised Dog had added his own unique critique with a short sharp burst of uri-coating.
He cuts through to the essence does Dog, reducing public outside art to three categories.
He marked it. High praise indeed.