Saint Francis of Assisi exhibition at the National Gallery

Visited the St Francis exhibition which I really enjoyed. The exhibition explores how St Francis has been perceived in art history. (Pope Francis took his name).

St Francis was born in Assisi in Italy. The son of a rich textile merchant, the young Francesco probably had a decent comfortable childhood. As a young man though, he wanted to take part in the Crusade as a knight. Participation of which, at the time, was considered one of the highest honours in Christianity. Thus, he tried to reach the court of Gualtieri III, Count of Brienne in Lecce, to move with the other knights to Jerusalem. However, as he arrived at Spoleto, he fell ill, and received nocturnal revelations at the church of San Sabino. He nevertheless joined the army, and fought, and was then taken prisoner for a year. Upon release, he started to pray to God. Later, he performed his miracles like taming the wolf and receiving the Stigmata. St Francis even visited Egypt to negotiate tensions between Muslims and Christians, and thus granted an audience with the Sultan Al Kamil.

He claimed that Christ spoke to him via a wooden crucifix to rebuild the Christian faith. Canonized in 1228 (only 2 years after death!), founder of the order of Franciscans, mentor of St Clare; today he embodies the ascetic lifestyle and poverty for God and kindness to the creation. What is true and what is myth and legend, we'll never know.

Born a millennia after Christ, this near cult-like following arose at a convenient historical juncture. As the nascent Franciscan movement grew, the arts had began to occupy a greater prominence in conveying the myth and legend of St Francis, not least the Franciscan ethic of poverty. Moreover, at the time, the Catholic Church was directed against a more potent challenge to their authority, namely the heresies of the Cathars. When Pope Honorius III approved the Franciscans and Dominicans – as something of a challenge – it was merely to better deal with the Cathars and to constraint the mendicant preaching in line with Canon.

As for the exhibition, my only surprise (and perhaps criticism) is its conspicuously religious tone and ambience. It sometimes felt like I was inside a Cathedral as opposed to an art gallery at times.

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Saint Francis in Meditation by Francisco de Zurbarán

As the gallery says, a near perfect illustration of St Francis. 

Kneeling, darkened still ambience, torn and worn habit, eyes heavenward, deep reverential contemplation, mouth ever-so-slightly ajar (as though to whisper), memento mori.

It's a very powerful depiction and I think it makes that it's placed at the entrance of the exhibition.

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The Altarpieces of St. Francis of Assisi by Sassetta

Visual biographies of the life of St Francis. They're very beautiful and sweet. These are considered to be Sassetta's masterpiece.

Quite beautiful and poignant, and a pretty impressive round-up of the Saint's life. The paints are:

1. The young Francesco. As per his biographer, he gives his fine clothes to a poorer knight.
2. St Francis abandons everything – including his clothes – and leaves his sublunary father for the eternal one. The embodiment of poverty and sacrifice for God. The actual father is angry at this Francis (understandably!).
3. St Francis – older now in his friar's habit – meets Pope Honorius III who grants him permission to establish his order.
4. Francis before the Sultan in Egypt during the 5th crusade offering to pass through fire. 
5. The wolf of Gubbio. Legend here is that Francis tamed a ferocious wolf that was terrorising a community. Birds hovering above also.

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Saint Francis and the posthumous miracles

Byzantine altarpieces are ornately decorated with meticulous care and detail. They date back to the mid-13th century. Beautiful in their own way. In them, St Francis draped in poverty, stigmata and books in one hand. The miracles are (1) healing a girl with a twisted neck, (2) disabled man with leprosy, (3) an exorcism (bottom right-hand side, showing demons exiting her mouth).

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St Francis of Assisi with Angels by Sandro Botticelli

Painted gold background. Botticelli gives us more refined features, a slightly skinny St Francis, bony feet with angels musicians encircling a contemplative Francis.

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After the Council of Trent (which gave renewed emphasis to the arts mostly in opposition to the Protestant reformation), St Francis's portrayal grew. 

St Francis of Assisi in Ecstasy by Caravaggio

Caravaggio painted Francis post stigmata and recumbent. He seems overcome with the pain of the ordeal. There is a tenderness to this painting. Brother Leo, in the background, subtlety looking upset. 

It's interesting; but I don't think it is amazing.

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St Francis Embracing Christ on the Cross by Bartolomé Esteban Murillo

A lot of allusions and imagery in this painting of classical elegance. Francis close enough to be touching Christ. One foot on the globe. The Christ resting a hand on his shoulder for support. As above, there is that feeling of affection and compassion, perhaps even continuing Christ's work for him.

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St Francis Receiving the Stigmata by Frans Pourbus the Younger

A dramatic arresting painting capturing the moment of the stigmata. This was painted for Convent of the Annunciation in Paris. It seems to me to glorify and exalt the terrestrial suffering and pain in favour of the the heavenly bliss and ecstasy. Perhaps self-abnegation has egoism in it?

St Francis's face in calm acceptance and arms surrendered. The wounds visible including on the chest, replicating Christ's wounds. Though, it occurs to me no blood from the crown of thorns? At any rate, his sandals are also brushed aside, as per Moses. Another memento mori with Brother Leo shielding his eyes.

This is a painting of devotion. Quite stirring. 

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St Francis' Vision of the Musical Angel by Francisco Ribalta

Ailing skinny St Francis receives musical angels. Poverty and hardship all around (Brother Leo reading from a single candle) and the burst of energy (blowing hair and clouds), light and music from the left. Lamb being the symbol of meekness, Moses and shepherd-ness. 

Painted in Spain, this must have had an inspiring dazzling effect on the viewers. I think it's pretty good; but not amazing as the Zurbarán.

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St Francis receiving the stigmata by El Greco

Quite an original Spanish depiction painted in approx 1590. Azure skies and clouds enveloping Francis with a heavenward devotional gaze.

It's interesting, but I can't say I like it that much.

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Brother Francis and Brother Son by Giovani Costa

The painter Costa was, apparently, "imbued with the Franciscan spirit". Francis supposed to be greeting the Brother sun.

This painting is charming for 5 mins and then I find it annoying. Its a bit too Disney-like.

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The Wolf of Gubio by Luc-Olivier Merson

Charming painting which is supposed to depict one of Francis's supposed miracles; the taming of a wolf. The taming of any wolf surely does not necessarily entail divine providence? Anyway, the wolf has a halo and is passively eating some meat from the butcher. The wolf, it seems, entered a bargain as opposed to being fully tamed!

I love the mother and daughter interaction, and the general village romantic charm.

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The Habit of St Francis

This habit is from the 13th century, and belongs to the Franciscans in the Basilica of Santa Croce in Florence.

According to the National Gallery, it is reputed to be the very habit that St Francis himself wore. This seems unlikely.

Whilst it's interesting to see this object (which is admittedly rare), it did feel incongruous in the gallery. I felt it should sit or belong in a church as an object of religious significance. I can't see any obvious artistic value. Whilst it does sit in a golden frame, I can't be the only one to find it a bit distasteful.

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Sacco (sack) by Alberto Burri

This modern canvass sits discordantly among the more classic art.

Burri is supposed to have fought in the world war, and taken prisoner of war. Although he didn't expressly identify this piece with Francis; parallels were drawn with the habit of Francis.

It seems he did offer it as an exhibition at a Franciscan friary in Assisi; Sacro Convento. But of course, it may have had nothing to do with Francis. To me, it seems a bit tangential, and didn't fit in with the rest of the exhibition. A sack could just be a sack; the problem with this kind of modern art.

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Franciscan and the Indian by Jose Clemente Orozco

1926 painting by Mexican artist. Invokes Francis's initial horror at a sick disabled man with leprosy; but then embraces the emaciated man in a show of compassion. There is something very moving in the embrace; beneficent and tender in the wrapped arms in the larger-than-life figure. One feels a sense of dejection and compassion.

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Francis, Brother of the Universe (1980)

St Francis meets the Marvel universe in Tokyo with his superhuman characteristics. 

A funny endnote to the exhibition.

The miscarriages of justice compensation scheme: Andrew Malkinson

Recently, the Court of Appeal overturned the conviction of Mr Malkinson. This is a shocking miscarriage of justice. Holroyd LJ found DNA evidence pointed to someone else, but also that "crucial material" was not disclosed at the time of his trial to the defence. It also seems forensics were not conducted! I look forward to the full inquiry.

At any rate, I've recently caught this article about poor Mr Malkinson having to be further humiliated vis-a-vis compensation for unlawful imprisonment. 

You might have thought this was a wind-up. I checked online, and it's quite true.

Until April 2006, in England and Wales, there were two compensation schemes for victims of miscarriages of justice: a discretionary scheme and a statutory scheme. The discretionary scheme was abolished, and the statutory scheme grants the Justice Secretary a discretion to pay compensation to a wrongly convicted person if “new or newly discovered fact shows beyond reasonable doubt that there has been a miscarriage of justice”. 

Should the Secretary of State believe that an applicant is eligible for compensation under section 133, the amount actually awarded is determined by an independent assessor. Deductions are made for conduct that contributed to the conviction, his criminal record and “saved living expenses”. Moreover, the amount won't be particularly large; capped at £1m and calculated loosely on the concept of projected loss of earnings, minus saved living expense and some amount of the compensation reflecting the imprisonment itself.

This is staggering, frankly derisory. There is no automatic right to anything and the loss of earnings is capped at some concept of placing the recipient in the position in respect of earned money. It's not really compensation at all; it's just wages. And the fact that any amount can be deducted as "saved living costs" – when that person has been forcibly imprisoned against their will – is almost a parody, a sickening insult.

To my mind, it should not be about "compensation" for the years lost in accountant-speak; but rather it should permit the victim to move on, compensate the distress and wasted years and opportunities. It should be about the full freedom and comforts of which they were denied for so long.

Review: Reframed: Marilyn Monroe BBC2 – a fascinating life

Just watched the BBC2 docuseries "Reframed: Marilyn Monroe", and it was a fascinating window into her life. I thoroughly enjoyed it. 

The documentary tries to give us an insight into Marilyn Monroe as an iconic hero. But, it is worth asking whether Marilyn merits her cultural icon status or whether she has been misjudged and a bit overrated in our cult of the personality. On the one hand, although she is idolised; she only appeared in very few films, and was pretty good (perhaps not incredible?), and then her infidelity and drug use etc. On the other hand, we cannot deny her incredible accomplishments (at a time when women were generally confined). Dealing with sexual abuse, trauma & abandonment from her schizophrenic mother. Then, getting hitched at 16 to avoid the orphanage, and struggling with addiction and depression, failed marriages and the public shaming in her personal love life.

Part of her mystic is that she never grew old. She never aged – either gracefully or embarrassingly - like Madonna. When mega-famous celebrities die young, their deaths echo a supreme note of tragedy and adoration. Some examples: Kurt Cobain, Princess Diana, JKF. They tend to be judged by the standards of their day. For Norma Jeane Baker, she never had any unsightly photographs - she was always magnetic, captivating and beautiful. No trashy Instagram, no photoshop. The real deal. 

At any rate, this documentary only has woman commentators. I assume this is due to the current philosophy of intersectionality which holds that men are either unworthy or unqualified to proffer any perspective or even an opinion. As such, this made me feel like I wasn't really the documentary's intended audience. Even so, most of the commentators are academics – and only one lady actually knew Marilyn: Amy Greene-Andrews. It's not clear to me what the various professors and academics have to offer over-and-above the actual people who knew her. And this is precisely the problem with the documentary. 

It tries to frame Marilyn as some kind of postmodern superhero of feminism. Indeed, there is much to rebuke in the general perception of her as a 'conventional' blonde. It's interesting that 20th Century Fox tried, at first, to promote her as an innocent babysitter spotted by a talent agent with his youngsters. It must be due to some quaint cultural discomfort, in that bygone, of perceiving women as being purposeful, ambitious and resolute and so on. She was determined and ambitious; and I really loved that part of her. For example, she was fierce when it came to her wages in a film opposite Frank Sinatra. I also liked her line "I can be smart when it's important, but most men don't like it" especially when it was revealed that she adlibbed that line in a film. This is was very interesting, and a much more authentic insight than the academics curating some abstract meta narrative about her. Also, really loved her self-defence of her 1952 nude photographs. She said: "nothing to be ashamed of, did nothing wrong." Today's culture centres around apologising for everything. Love her authenticity and her owning it.

However, this perception of Marilyn as a great heroine can feel a bit forced because it goes too far in the documentary. She is often pitted as the architect of her own fame, but it's her radiant natural beauty which is probably closer to the mark than her own exertions (not to suggest that her hard-work didn't matter). For example, there is a ridiculous comment by an academic about Norma Jean picking her last name (Monroe) as her mother's maiden name. Academic says: "Marilyn challenges what it means to have agency as a woman, and what it means to be a feminist" ... but this overlooks the fact that her first name, Marilyn, was picked for her by a Hollywood bigshot! All the documentary commentators are united in their belief that 'Marilyn' was simply perfect, and thereby vindicating the Hollywood man imposing it on her. Indeed, the whole logic has an ex post facto rationalisation to it. For me, I think I rather prefer "Norma Jean", it seems more beautiful. Unfortunately, that would tarnish this image of Marilyn as commanding her own agency and controlling her own image, so they have to pretend it was the right course.

Then, the documentary turns to discuss her marriage aged 16. Another academic suggests Marilyn is thus a "pragmatist" because she had to pick between marriage or orphanage. I think this is quite distasteful. She had no choice, and we shouldn't embellish her marrying at that age as some virtue. 

There are some very lovely tender moments. For example, her romance and sweetness with the fashion photographer André de Dienes. He captured some fabulous photos of Marilyn, and it was clear that they had some happy memories together. Then, there was the sweetness with her friend Natasha Lytess who gave Marilyn serious education on acting and theatre. It makes me want to watch her films properly; especially the one with Bette Davis.

However, this is counterposed by the awkward reality of Marilyn having to be unprincipled to advance in the Hollywood studios. It's hard to frame Marilyn positively when she was "dating" Joseph Schenck. He was the boss, and she had to "date" him to get ahead. He seems repulsive and it makes for an awkward viewing. At least she rebuffed Harry Cohn of Columbia Pictures who was a sexual predator. If we accept that this kind of thing is exploitation, then Marilyn should not have given into it. Don't mistake me though; I don't want to judge someone I don't know. Who can say what was right or wrong. My point is that if we begin (as this documentary does) of elevating Marilyn to a hero-like figure, then moments like this rather diminish her stature, and may even set a wrong example. 

Finally, there is the interesting subject of Marilyn's sensuality and sexiness. The Hollywood studios are constructed as having reduce Marilyn to a commodity. Well, maybe so; but I am not sure it can be simplified to that. I think there is something beautiful in celebrating sexiness, legs and arms, sexual attraction, poise, elegance, the exaggerated femineity and campness, charm, and beauty. Was she type casted? Probably, like most actors. I have a few upcoming episodes to conclude the series, so we shall find out.

All-in-all, I quite enjoyed the documentary. She is pretty amazing; but the documentary goes awry in trying to force an undue exaltation.

Review: The Turn of the Screw by Henry James – a very interesting & subtle mystery

What an interesting story. 

Initially, I was growing a bit weary of the slightly discursive parenthetical sentence structure in the first person narration - but I think it works. It's at the half way point that the mystery begins to foment; and - at which point - I think the skilful effect of the dense sentences by Henry James becomes apparent. At that point, we had been in the governess's brain - 'listening' to her internal confusion - sharing the nuances in her suspicion and afterthoughts.

The unreliable narrator is the governess employed at Bly - the country manor - to care for two children placed under her care, Miles and Flora. She is immediately struck by their angelic cherubic beauty and charm, and seems determined to protect them; however, the story takes a menacing and psychologically disturbing turn when she begins to see apparitions. (First one: what we can infer as Peter Quint spends an age starring at the governess from the house’s tower. Moving then, and still without once breaking eye contact. That's quite chilling!)

Side point: it is fascinating that the governess should collapse on the last step of the staircase exactly as Miss Jessel's (the former governess) ghost had done days prior. It suggests a parallel and Jessel (it was alluded) may have had an affair with Quint. I am not sure I can fully appreciate the connection vis-a-vis the present governess; but I'm convinced James drew one. 

What makes this story fascinating is that it is impossible to divine whether the governess is delusional and obsessive. Is she losing her mind? Or are there truly demonic-like apparitions? Were the two children aware of the ghosts all along? Why Quint and Jessel? What was it about them as former employees? I found the governess's behaviour in the final few chapters really quite shocking and mentally disturbing (mind you, I might be the same in such circs). And the ending is just brilliant and cements the ambiguity (the "Peter Quint – you devil!" line and the use of the word "devil" by Henry James is interesting).

Although the language may be unorthodox (at first), it's easy to get used to and there are some interesting literary gems. For example, as regards the residents of Bly Manor, "... I had the fancy of our being almost as lost as a handful of passengers in a great drifting ship. Well, I was, strangely, at the helm!" 

I will definitely re-read this again in the future.

Tony Bennett (1926–2023)

The legendary New York pop and jazz singer died last week aged 96.

I've been listening to his "I left my heart in San Francisco" this week. What a beautiful voice. It's made me want to get started into some Jazz.

His passing marks the end of an era. A classy national treasure. One of the great jazz crooners.

I've read a few of his obituaries. He was drafted to fight in WWII, and it seems present at the liberation of a concentration gamp in Germany. He also grew up in poverty and lived through the Great Depression. Truly the last of his era. 

I'll be listening to some more of his music. RIP

Turner gallery revisited - Part 1 - Main Room

Today I visited the Tate Britain.

Plan was to revisit the Turner galleries (aim = see what's new, answer = loads!), and then spend some time in the rooms devoted to the 15th, 16th and 17th centuries exhibitions. 

Turner left an enormous number of sketchbooks (having always kept one handy) amongst his 19,000 or so watercolours, so it's definitely one of those to revisit every-so-often.

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Fishermen at Sea

Absolutely incredible. This is such a gripping painting. I really loved this canvas.

The emotions of loneliness, despair, dread, bleak iciness; and the fragility of human life set against the icy dark forces of the night sea. The dread of the unknown. Turner gives us human vulnerability, our lack of control, and Nature's ferocious beauty – and captures it so exquisitely in this painting.

There are two sources of light. One man-made lantern with a flickering candlelight, and the other is the moonlight with its lifesaving luminosity. So very beautiful. 

There are some interesting details. Looking closely, I think we can make out some objects floating by the boat, and some seagulls flying by. The silhouette of the other boats in the distance adds a further charm. Moreover, I am always astounded at how Turner is able to paint the boats with that bobbing undulating feel over the waves. It's just so masterful, and makes it feel like you've captured a real life still.

Seagulls gliding, fruits floating in the sea, and the undulant boat over the waves. 

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The Deluge

The dark sublime. This oil painting depicts the Biblical flood. 

It's pure enveloping chaos and suffering. A mother lifting her infant above the water, people pulling on each other, a tsunami-like wave hurtling towards them, trees blown almost to breaking-point, people holding onto broken boats, tempest darkness and winds all around.

I quite like the faint outline of a black man (presumably a slave?) helping up a white woman. Probably social commentary by Turner (who was an abolitionist).

This kind of painting would have been regarded as the most important by the academy which placed grand scenes from literature or the Bible above all else.

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Dido and Aeneas

Inspired by Virgil's The Aeneid, Prince Aeneas fell in love with Queen Dido.

In this painting, Turner shows us their refulgent blossoming love, as they set out to go hunting in the woods. According to the Tate, they setting out to go hunting in the woods.

This kind of romanticism involves Turner suggesting a profound peace, joy, plenitude, and calmness beyond our understanding. It's very beautiful.

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Snow Storm: Hannibal and his Army Crossing the Alps

This painting is part of Turner's latter works. It shows his more fanciful observations of Nature – which included vortex compositions. According to my book, it seems Turner was inspired by a violent storm he witnessed in person two years prior in Yorkshire.

Many of Turner’s peers saw the Napoleonic Wars as existential clashes between empires, comparing them to the ancient Trojan and Punic wars. France and Britain debated which was the modern Carthage or Rome. 

French artists portrayed Napoleon as the modern Hannibal. Turner shows Hannibal as a miniature figure on an elephant amid an overarching overwhelming paroxysm. Nature unleashes its blind force, whirling blizzards, biting fury and flurry of snow.

He is overwhelmed by a as mountain-dwellers attack his troops. Turner’s picture became prophetic later in 1812, when Napoleon was forced to retreat from Moscow by the Russian winter.

This is an incredible painting and, I think, quite moving.

Israel's sensible judicial reforms – strengthening Parliamentary sovereignty

Few issues are as thorny as the politics of the Supreme Court; and some interesting legal developments in Israel are worth a blog post. Their Knesset (parliament) adopted a controversial law to limit the Supreme Court's remit (including its ability to overrule government action on the grounds of unreasonableness).

To my mind, these modest reforms seem sensible and probably overdue for Israeli democracy.

I discuss the four important aspects.

1. Judicial review

Like the UK, Israel has an unwritten constitution. It's based on the principle of Parliamentary sovereignty, not checks-and-balances. The body of law passed by the UK Parliament is considered its constitution. What is very striking about the Israeli Supreme Court is the warped equilibrium of power, for example when compared to the UK Supreme Court. Unlike the UK, Israel is still a relatively nascent state and has not really had its equivalent of the Glorious Revolution of 1688. Rather than centuries, it has had decades. During which, the Israeli judiciary have arrogated extraordinary power to themselves in a manner that strikes me as being incomparable with most liberal-democratic courts. 

In Israel, in the 1990s, the Supreme Court underwent a "judicial revolution" and arrogated to itself the power to strike down legislation (The Economist summary). The court rationalised this power as being conferred upon it by the "Basic Law" (which requires a majority and which can be overridden).

However, in the UK, we have the enrolled bill rule. Famous cases (e.g. British Railways v Pickin) have established that no English court may question the validity of an Act of Parliament. All that an English judge can do is to observe that an Act of Parliament has passed the various stages; and then interpret and apply the law. The Human Rights Act 1998 gives the courts a discretion to issue a declaration of incompatibility – but, beyond that, the courts cannot impugn primary law. In contrast, the Israeli Supreme Court would decide what constituted the "Basic Law" implicitly by deeming the primary law unconstitutional. This strikes me as a reversal of Parliamentary sovereignty, and would be anathema to any British judge. 

The proposed changes to the Israeli courts are rather generous to them. They propose to endow the courts with the power to 'judicial review' legislation passed by Knesset if: firstly, it is before a full bench and, secondly, there is a threshold of 80% to rule in favour of invalidation. 

This is significant because it relates to the concept of legitimacy. Modern democratic constitutions derive their legitimacy from the people who elect them. This is important because representative politics gives voice to disparate interests (in policy trade-offs and debates) which affirms the willingness of the electorate to comply with the resultant laws. It is the collective instinct we have to accept the inherent authority of institutions and to have a political process that can best wrestle the conflicting interests and opinions.

An expansive judiciary strikes at the heart of the legitimacy of the law-making institutions in a deep and profound sense. Indeed, every democracy has to rebuff with the problem of idealists imposing beliefs on others. Judges are not constitutionally accountable to the electorate and do not have to weigh the various interests and seek compromises. 

Democracy is a sophisticated political relationship that requires – not a set of beliefs but – a disciplined ways of thinking as to who is the most qualified to have the final say in our constitution; the voters who elect governments, or the appointed judges? Moving forward, the direction that the Israeli courts take will depend on how judges, lawyers, and politicians perceive the political process and the broader limits of law.

2. Knesset override

The changes would allow the Knesset to overrule a decision of the Supreme Court on the legality of legislation. 

There should be nothing controversial here: either elected or appointed; democracy or elitism. I think it's that simple. In English law, the classic example is Barker v Corus. Parliament enacted the Compensation Act 2006 which effectively reversed the ruling of the House of Lords.

3. Reasonableness

As a result of case law in the 1990s, the standard adopted was the "reasonableness" in evaluating government political appointments and to strike down national policy. In the UK, we take the exact opposite approach. The English judiciary have traditionally regarded certain policy-based prerogatives as being non-justiciable. I think this is extremely important because (as already mentioned) it affirms the legitimacy of the political process and our democratic principles. 

The proposals preclude the Israeli courts from hearing appeals against the government on the basis that such decisions were 'unreasonable'. This strikes me as being quite sensible. In English law, the relevant equivalent in principle is referred to as Wednesbury unreasonableness. As a matter of practice, it is almost never used because - aside from very rare exceptions - it is ultimately arbitrary and based on what the judge feels is reasonable. That the Israelis put up with being told what is "reasonable" (and how so) from their Supreme Court is quite laughable.

4. Judicial appointments

The proposed changes would alter the composition of the 9-member judicial appointments committee (JAC), and this is:

• 3 sitting Supreme Court Justices
• 2 representatives of the Israel Bar Association
• 2 lawmakers
• The Justice Minister
• 1 additional Cabinet Member

In the UK, we have an independent JAC with judges and barristers represented on it. The remit of the English JAC is to appoint judges on the basis of their legal merit and expressly not political. Our English judges are always apolitical and I suspect it flourishes because of a deep respect for the constitutional boundaries between interpreting and creating law (as above). Israel may not be able to arrive at such a state of affairs, and judicial appointments may well be subject to different governments with different views. Given the direction of the Israeli courts, it is probably inevitable reality in its future evolution.

All-in-all, I think the reforms are pretty good and sensible.

Thoughts on Mark Rothko at the Tate Britain

Mark Rothko, Untitled 1950

On my way home, I popped into the Tate Britain to see this Rothko piece.

Conventionally, Rothko's paintings are seen as canvases of 'feelings'. They involve broad expanses of paint with strong and stirring juxtapositions of colour & hue. The minimalist abstraction does not seek to capture the tangible world, no flights of fancy or some unique angle or perspective of the world. Indeed, there is no external world, no scene or frame of reference. According to Rothko himself, he sought to communicate to our most core human elements, and not the tangible actors or landscapes on the canvas by which a drama can be exhibited. It's the raw feelings that intense colour of life and its forms can evoke.

But are Rothko's paintings void or are they truly imbued with the human spirit?

I think they are pretty and evocative in a visceral kind of way. They kind of draw you in, and the classic rectangular shapes have a melting shifting feel; with the rough dynamism of the colour. 

But, I must admit - after reading articles online - that I am baffled by the idea that anyone can be so emotionally overwhelmed that they have been brough to tears. I have certainly never seen anyone so affected at the Tate. Rothko's canvases tend to have a meditative feel in the gallery with people lost in their thoughts or sitting quietly – but that's it.

Having read some Steven Pinker, I think colour as a means of communication must be rooted in our genome. Like our response to music, it communicates to human beings at a deep level. In our evolutionary past, we needed some means of interpreting the world. Understanding colours helps us hunt, gather, make decisions, work together, and so on. The ability to distinguish between a rotten fruit and a red apple is tied to our emotional states (e.g. perhaps contentedness - green, distress - black, warning - red etc.). These by-product adaptations are forms of primal communication which bestowed environmental advantages. They could then be passed onto descendants. So, I suspect that when we stand before a Rothko; rather like music, it's a super stimulation of those primal hereditary emotions which are fundamental to homo sapiens.

However, despite the adornment of its minimalism, I think any mystical - or even 'spiritual' - experience is a reflection of the viewer's own imagination. I think we're very good at trying too hard to be in tune with the artist's surrounding work and persona, and it's easy to inflate the power of the art. It's too easy to project something from our own psyche which is not inherent in the work itself (i.e. intellectualising it).

For me, I feel I have to be careful not to import undue meaning in these painting. Most of the meta explanations and grand narratives accompanying Rothko's paintings can be applied to almost any other piece of abstract art. By contrast, some abstract artists (like Pavel Filonov) have a near 'spiritual' weight of their own. When I see a Turner, a Vermeer, or a Van Gogh, I don't need to do any meta heavy-lifting. Their works shine by themselves. No one needs to explain why we should love Van Gogh. It's the kind of art where intermediaries are superfluous.

The supposed subjectivity of art is something I'm questioning. It feels too convenient, even a bit disrespectful and lazy, that in our era, a coop receipt is suddenly art. The question of what is art cannot rest merely on whether the onlooker can 'connect' with the artist (otherwise art becomes wholly arbitrary). It's the difference between 'enjoying the art' and whether 'the art is good'. In fact, I also don't think beauty is subjective. I think we all recognise something stirring and alluring as a common language of humankind.

Returning to Rothko; something that confuses me is the question that, if his work is intended to be emotive, then the canvas must have some references which are necessarily objective. We are reacting to an object of the real world on that canvass; and it's probably our genome that's triggering our response.

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Update 26/07/2023

Some more detailed brushstrokes:

Spotted a lovely car in London

I spotted this beautiful car today. No idea what it is, but it's so beautiful and charming ... my sort of car.

La Traviata at the Royal Opera House

Went to see La Traviata on Monday evening with my darling at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden

I think I had seen Richard Eyre’s production last year. Not sure. But, in recent months, I've been binging on YouTube's version with Netrebko, Hampson and Villazon. 

Now, days later, I'm still humming the opening score, it's just so wonderful and heavenly. We were sat at the balcony lower slips just over the orchestra which was a perfect location to save money and also enjoy the music roaring beneath us. My favourite aria is "dite alla giovine" (and I've been listening to Hampson's rendition the past few weeks); so I was able to close my eyes and really feel transported.

The performances were quite memorable and stirring. Kristina Mkhitaryan was very moving with the emotional and physical anguish of Violetta, and her singing was stunning. Liparit Avetisyan as Alfredo was the sensitive soul whose anguish is also quite moving; and I found some of his interaction with Christoph Pohl (as Giorgio) a bit strained. It's hard to 'dislike' your father without infantilising the character at times and the acting can feel a bit contrived. Nevertheless, Christoph gives us some rich-voiced anguish and passion.

In the pit, conductor Keri-Lynn Wilson and the orchestra are excellent and keep the thumping momentum going, although at times, it did feel as though the singers were having to compete with the orchestra where the music was perhaps a bit too powerful.

Yayoi Kusama's Infinity Mirror exhibition at Tate Modern review – overrated and superficial

On Monday 17th July, I visited the Yayoi Kusama exhibition at the Tate Modern.

I had never heard of this artist; but I have since been shocked to see just how much of a big-deal she is in the art world:  'Japan's greatest living artist' etc. 

She has been subject to an interesting and favourable BBC profile recently. 

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Chandelier of Grief

The first partition in which guests are expected to queue and enter is a darkened room. The door is then promptly closed behind you. Mirrors surrounding you, and it takes some time to adjust to darkness. At first, I was disoriented slightly, and then - at head-height - is suspended a chandelier in the darkened enclosure.

According to the Tate, it is "intended to create a destabilising yet mesmerising effect" and be evocative of "mourning" and loss.

I was disappointed and underwhelmed. The whole thing is lame (tickets £10 per person). The chandelier seems tacky; a cheap-and-cheerful ornament. The visual arrangement is supposed to be reminiscent of some baroque-style affectation, and so presumably candleholders ought have held real candles - and not those electric light-bulb cheap substitutes. I think the shifting and dancing glow of a flickering candlelight - against the blackness - would have engendered a more stirring response. 

At any rate, and despite the overall flatness, I think this annoys me in a more fundamental way. The problem here is the lack of artistic proficiency compounded by the prevailing notion of the subjectivity of art (currently leaning on the idea that art should be objective). The viewer is expected to do the heavy-lifting. They are expected to stand there, survey the arrangement, rearrange the pieces, make sense of it, and then emote.

So, this kind of installation strikes me as lazy. It's just a mirror-walled room with some random rubbish suspended. People are too easily impressed, and I honestly think most spectators are kidding themselves at the Tate. We know from the placebo effect that humans are apt to convince themselves that something has had more of a positive effect on them than it actually has. The viewer approaches some talked-about art, and then rationalises some meta placebo-ish explanation; and - because art is purportedly subjective - people think their unfeigned feelings must validate the force of the installation. You could suspend a dead chicken and people would still find it 'moving'.

It doesn't help that we were herded into the instillment and then back out: within 2 mins max. Sad.

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Infinity Mirrored Room – Filled with the Brilliance of Life

This is fun, and it did excite me when I first entered; but that's as complementary as I can be (oh, and that's me with the Hitler moustache). I have to admit there were cool and fun mirrors, lights and decorations - but not much beyond that. I don't think this should be regarded as art. 

While doing some research for this blog, I came across a post online about this exhibition. I was struck by a comment in which a visitor talked about it giving them an "insight into seeing inside the Milky Way, the great eternal...". This kind of talk returns me to my above point: I think it is too easy for any artist to create such an installation and then expect the viewer to do the abstract metaphysical weightlifting. 

This isn't really some avant-garde or futuristic exploration of life or space. It's just a bunch of mirrors which create an illusory disorienting feeling - which is fleeting; and the beautiful multi-coloured dazzling effect. Otherwise any hedged-maze would be considered art too. So it was fun initially; but it relies on cheap fleeting thrills to mask an essentially vapid superficial empty concept that could be applied to any other thing. It's meant to sound deep but it's not. Nobody should think Kusama's work at the Tate has anything transcendental or profound.

Also – I hate the conveyor-belt feel of this exhibition at the Tate. Art should be personal; and this is anything but.

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The rest

So far, I have not personally come across her other works, so I may stand corrected; but - from what I have seen - they consist almost entirely of an obsession with random polka dots, phallic boats etc. Not art on a high level: more the level of graphic design. The fact that Andy Warhol was accused of ripping off her ideas is itself very revealing because I don't think Warhol's work constitutes much beyond fake and imitation, and little originality. 

The BBC article goes through her difficult life backstory. But having obstacles and difficulties in life says nothing about the quality of the artistic production. Her work seems easily recognisable and very superficial (like Damien Hirst).

Review: Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

Vladimir Nabokov's 'Lolita' is an immensely pleasurable, captivating, and moving novel. I spent a few days reading chunks of the novel, completely gripped, often inhaling in shock or guffawing at Nabokov's zingers and witticism or shaking my head at its scenes of pitiable sadness. Then, as I approach the conclusion of the novel, I was sad to be ending it. 

Nabokov's Lolita works rather like a duel with the reader: like a challenge. Rather like the film 'Law Abiding Citizen', Gerard Butler's character is a murdering psychopath; and yet, I was on his side rooting for him. Also, Hannibal Lecter in 'Silence of the Lambs'. These people are ultimately unhinged and should be repulsive; and yet they possess a certain bewitching charm. Nabokov's protagonist in Lolita, Humbert Humbert (HH), fits into this curious trademark.

Nabokov confronts us, the readers, with a disturbing taboo and pushes the boundaries of storytelling. This novel canvasses the uneasy relationship between a middle-aged man and an underage girl through poetic introspection, and an aureate and mellifluous writing style. The middle-aged HH suffers from an overpowering, oppressive agony. Ever since a failed amorous dalliance with a prepubescent girl named Annabel in his distant childhood, he has become fixated on what he calls "nymphets". Various affairs with actual, what HH calls, "terrestrial women", and even getting married, scarcely subjugates these urges.

And so, Humbert - in a boarding house trying to finish writing a book - discovers his landlady's 12-year-old daughter as his veritable apotheosis of nymphet lust and his licentious urges. Her name is Dolores Haze but she conforms to various sobriquets: Dolly, Lo, Lola … and of course, Lolita. This girl will satiate his fantasies … but will Lolita be willing … and how can HH conceal it from her mother and the family? … and, so our protagonist charts various pathways, and has to confront the ultimate tragedy of his decisions.

Prose

For me, I like to think of myself as a logophile; and so, when reading Nabokov, I got to almost luxuriate in the elegant nuances and complexities of the language. What is immediately apparent is the sheer superlative command that Nabokov wields vis-à-vis the English language, and its richness to better express HH's views. I often found the prose so beautiful that I would re-read paragraphs, and always agog at his amazing feats, implications and insinuations. A certain clarity and subtlety is amplified by Nabokov's use of demanding but accurate vocabulary. I was very often looking-up new words in the dictionary; and wondering why Nabokov used that exotic word over a more prosaic alternative; and sometimes there wasn't an adequate alternative. Send me to the dictionary any day to roll a new word around my palate; with a voyeuristic etymological inquiry to its roots (often attesting to a striking discord between the word's origin and its temporal incarnations). Language isn't just communication - its an intellectual sensibility, and with Nabokov it is pleasure. HH makes a point of saying:

"not a single obscene term is to be found in the whole work; indeed, the robust philistine who is conditioned by modern conventions into accepting without qualms a lavish array of four-letter words in a banal novel, will be quite shocked by their absence here."

HH describing his first and initial prototypic love, Annabel, in the most ornate embroidery:

"All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly, I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every particle of each other's soul and flesh."

On a park bench, as HH reads a book, his mouth-watering prose is imbued with the inherent violation of taboos:

"Once a perfect little beauty in a tartan frock, with a clatter put her heavily armed foot near me upon the bench to dip her slim bare arms into me and tighten the strap of her roller skate, and I dissolved in the sun, with my book for fig leaf, as her auburn ringlets fell all over her skinned knee, and the shadow of leaves I shared pulsated and melted on her radiant limb next to my chameleonic cheek."

The book is filled with first-class one-liners:

"... and spent a fantastic night on the train, imagining in all possible detail the enigmatic nymphet I would coach in French and fondle in Humbertish."

"Oh, my Lolita, I have only words to play with!" 

"McCoo in wet clothes turned up at the only hotel of green-and-pink Ramsdale with the news that his house had just burned down - possibly, owing to the synchronous conflagration that had been raging all night in my veins"

As regards Lolita, her very presence is a source of near spiritual ecstasy:

"Silently, the seventh-grader enjoyed her green-red-blue comics. She was the loveliest nymphet green-red-blue Priap himself could think up. As I looked on, through prismatic layers of light, dry-lipped, focusing my lust and rocking slightly under my newspaper, I felt that my perception of her, if properly concentrated upon, might be sufficient to have me attain a beggar’s bliss ..."

"All the while I was acutely aware of L.’s nearness and as I spoke I gestured in the merciful dark and took advantage of those invisible gestures of mine to touch her hand, her shoulder and a ballerina of wool and gauze which she played with and kept sticking into my lap; and finally, when I had completely enmeshed my glowing darling in this weave of ethereal caresses, I dared stroke her bare leg along the gooseberry fuzz of her shin, and I chuckled at my own jokes, and trembled, and concealed my tremors, and once or twice felt with my rapid lips the warmth of her hair as I treated her to a quick nuzzling, humorous aside and caressed her plaything."

Another example, HH is entranced even by her walking:

"Why does the way she walks—a child, mind you, a mere child!—excite me so abominably? Analyze it. A faint suggestion of turned in toes. A kind of wiggly looseness below the knee prolonged to the end of each footfall. The ghost of a drag. Very infantile, infinitely meretricious."

After finishing 'Lolita', I read his essay/lecture on "Good Readers and Good Writers". In short, he thinks we should separate the fictional world from the real world; "the good reader is one who has imagination, memory, a dictionary, and some artistic sense—which sense I propose to develop in myself and in others whenever I have the chance." He says we shouldn't focus on 'identifying with the character' (because they exist in the fictive world) and avoid importing our preconceptions onto a book. Very interesting thoughts. They key to good writing is detail ("one should notice and fondle details") and style - i.e. literary gymnastics are more important than telling a good yarn. I quite like this.

The subject matter

I think approaching this book requires an open mind and a readiness to grapple with uncomfortable themes. Reading comments online, it seems people thought that the book's eroticism was 'celebrating' or normalising paedophilic 'love'. This is completely wrong. Firstly, Humbert is an unhinged maniac, and self-consciously so. He is completely, utterly, and totally obsessed with Lolita which is certified by his paranoia, delusions, and hallucinations. Nabokov’s linguistic prowess shines throughout the narrative with eloquent prose and exquisite attention to detail. So much so that Nabokov's paedophile archetype is presented so consummately and accurately that, to me, it was only ever mildly uncomfortable - nothing is ever too abrasive.

But, I think its a testament to the author's consummate ability to crawl inside the workings of insanity, self-serving narcissism and self-justification. Humbert even fantasises about having children and even grandchildren with Lolita so that he could ravish them too! On the other hand, Humbert is also shown in his saddening reality of 'dealing' with a child. For example, Lolita's sporadic tantrums and chastising of HH, her flirting with other boys, her indifference to Humbert's efforts to show some affection etc. Nabokov thus weaves a deeper and more textured narrative than at first sight.

Ultimately, for me, I think Nabokov serves a scathing reproach to the idea of paedophilia as a legitimate love. When reading this novel, I was often overcome be the overwhelming sadness in the reality of both characters. In various vignettes, Humbert frolics with little Lolita - even at the back of a parkland; and there is nothing sadder than a full-grown adult reduced to having to cavort with a little child. To the extent that Nabokov can 'explain' what the paedophile finds sexually beautiful in the nymphet - in the way they 'love' a certain child; it is Nabokov's talent to make us sympathise with the self-recognised paedophile.

This is definitely a book worthy of re-reading (and hopefully another review). As Nabokov observed: "curiously enough, one cannot read a book: one can only reread it. A good reader, a major reader, an active and creative reader is a rereader".

In memory of Lord Brown of Eaton-under-Heywood 1937–2023

This week, our former Law Lord and Supreme Court Justice Lord Brown passed away.

I enjoyed reading his obituary in the Daily Telegraph. At university, I rarely came across his judgments. Not only did he have a very brief stint at the Supreme Court, but he appears to 'focused' on judicial review (which is public law). At university, I was mostly focused on private law.

He came from a Jewish emigre family, did National Services in Cyprus, read history at Oxford, was called to the Bar and did his pupillage at Crown Office Row. Observed some interesting cases, and appeared against George Carman QC, and was involved in some IRA-related cases. 

In particular, I liked reading this:

Brown recalled that his dissent rate as a Law Lord increased the more experienced and confident he became, having at first been “in thrall” to his colleagues’ legal expertise and authority. His ultimate support for Jonathan Sumption’s appointment to the Supreme Court directly from practice at the Bar was based on what he saw as the “excessive soft-heartedness of a number of my colleagues” and the need for an injection of the “stern intellectual rigour and legal conservatism” he felt Sumption could provide.

Another interesting paragraph from The Spectator:

He was also highly critical of the Supreme Court’s decision in Evans (2015), which concerned the so-called ‘black-spider memos’ written by Prince Charles, as he then was, to ministers. The majority judgments, requiring disclosure of the letters, effectively excised from the Freedom of Information Act 2000 the Attorney General’s statutory power to block disclosure of information in the public interest. Brown wrote that the judgments ‘are not merely mistaken but give rise to a worrying impression of a tendency towards judicial supremacism. I should certainly have joined [the] dissent.’

I really enjoyed reading that paragraph. 

The very important Supreme Court case Evans v Attorney General concerned the relationship between the courts and Parliament. Professor Mark Elliott has a blog on the case. In short, Parliament conferred a power on the Attorney General to override decisions of a judicial tribunal body. In this case, it concerned the obligation to release King Charles's letters under the Freedom of Information Act 2000.

I completely agree with the minority judgment (and Lord Brown) that Parliamentary sovereignty requires the courts to give effect to the clear will of Parliament through statute; or as per Lord Wilson in his dissent: rewriting not interpretation.

Well, farewell then Lord Brown, and your interesting life.

Turner at Tate Britain – Turner's Exhibitions – Part 4

This is a further continuation of my exploration of the Turner's gallery at the Tate Britain.

• Part 1 - Turner's Europe
• Part 2 - Turner's Britain
• Part 3 - Turner's Seascapes

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This collection is distinguished as works which William Turner had submitted to exhibitions. The earlier exhibitions were based on the old masters - of Titian, Rembrandt etc. Afterwards, he allowed his own inspiration and control of light and colour to come through.

Some of these paintings are enormous, indeed colossal. It's obvious Turner was making an impact at these exhibitions. Goggle blogger allows readers to click a photo to enlargen it to see detail.

London from Greenwich Park

Deer relaxing.

The Dome of St Paul's Cathedral.

Greenwich University now; formerly the Old Royal Naval College.

What a vista. This was painted during the Napoleonic Wars. 

The  hustle-bustle of the Thames,  the foggy distant London life  marked against the serene calm and beauty of Greenwich Park. There is something majestic and beautiful about the deer. Their family are sitting nestled together in the plush vegetation with one of their fawn observing us. It's all very romantic and very charming.

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Aeneas and the Sibyl, Lake Avernus

Aeneas and the Sibyl from the Aeneid by Virgil. The Trojan leader Aeneas wants to consult his father Achises in the underworld. He meets the priestess Cumaean Sibyl who agrees to guide him through the kindgom of the dead.

According to the Tate, this is probably his first attempt at oil painting of a 'classical' landscape.

Broken slabs like tombstones, dark woods, gloomy black lifeless lake, the falling sun, faint outline of ghosts. The priestess seems to radiate warmth, life, and joy from the centre. Aeneas rushing.

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The Decline of the Carthaginian Empire

A woman leaning to grab hold of two rolling oranges.

Exquisite imposing architecture amid some elegant forestry, and ships in the distant attest to the empire's trade and wealth. Carthage was the most powerful empire before ancient Rome. This painting captures an alluring vista, and few sights evoke such calm resignation as the refulgent setting sun. 

At first sight, it seemed to me that the Carthaginians were in plenitude and contentment. But, the details are more subtle. Objects strewn across the floor, in the darkened corner a lady balancing a distressed head on her raised palm, at the other side a woman holding her baby tightly (in the face of some distant danger), the darkened section of the painting has a plinth-like structure on which a statute is missing and the waves seem choppier that side. 

A sense of foreboding perhaps in this painting. Things aren't disastrous yet. The sheer detail in this painting is incredible. I spent an age in this exhibition - with my nose almost pressed on it - studying the artistic decorative details. 

Turner gives us drama, turned-up 100%.

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Regulus

Tumultuous waves in a gusty wind, a child in their mother's arms,
someone beckoning children to the shoreline.

Turner saw 'Seaport at Sunset' by Claude Lorrain in 1821. Thus, in Rome, in 1828, Turner responded with a composition mirroring Claude's painting; but with its central narrative exploding in riotous commotion and drama, with beams of glowing messiah-like sunlight flooding the canvas.

'Regulus' was a captured Roman General by the Carthaginians who had his eyelids removed and then pointed at the sun. Here, Turner displaced Claude's modest glowing sunset with a blaze of resplendent yellow light dazzling all who gaze upon it. 

An elegant seaport transformed into the epicentre of intense sudden scorching drama.

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The Goddess of Discord Choosing the Apple of Contention in the Garden of the Hesperides

Dragon's armoured exoskeleton, bulging yellow eyes, and flammable breath.

What a vista, a panorama which encompasses a woman balancing a water jug on her head, people in the distant gardens playing, scenes of plenty, woman with a hand on her hips looking at her companion. Overall, a scene of calm and security and peace.

On the other side, a haggard old lady receives apples. From ancient Greek mythology, the golden apples grew on a tree in the Garden of the Hesperides which was watched over by a dragon that never slept. The goddess of Discord, in disguise, takes one of the apples which triggers the Trojan War. 

Once again, another charming painting.

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Mercury Sent to Admonish Aeneas

I do love this painting, and I prefer it to 'Regulus'.

I think there is something is aesthetically majestic and alluring in the twisting swirling eddies of rosewood/ferruginous/bronzy/chocolate against the pure radiant sunshine and azure skyline. It's like we're looking through a misty pane. The sun's outline is vague and we're not sure where it ends. The two dark patches, to me, feel like some solid monument town-like structures, while the rest is some earth-like surrounding which forms a near single element.

Once again, it depicts Aeneas by the poet Virgil. He stands-up with his Tyrian purple cloak. Once again, a mother holding her baby and facing Aeneas. 

To me, the overall effect is bewitching (which remind me of his Venice works). Both the intensity of the colours, the tumult and turmoil, and the swirling vortex feel make for a great painting.  

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The Holy Family

According to the Tate, Turner painted this in the style of Titian and the 'Old Master' painters.

Once again, very charming. The beloved Christ seems to the focal point of light, and is about to be lifted and cradled tenderly in his mother's arms. The pastoral arcadian locale and environs conspire to render this spot as lovely as it is inviting and beneficent.

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The Tenth Plague of Egypt

Scene of despair and anguish. Little babies dead. 

Commotion, people running in distress, looks like bodies outside the city walls?

The ten plagues of Egypt were supposed to be God's punishments of Egyptians for not letting the Jews leave Egypt. This punishment was the killing of all the first-born sons of the Egyptians.

When Turner became a member of the Academy, landscapes were considered inferior to biblical or classical vistas as didactic and edifying. 

The enveloping darkness of the skies representing the depraved wanton destruction of human life. Scarcely any tress and vegetation, and no enriching waters. The sun is in the process of being blocked out entirely, to obnubilate the earth. The Tate says it represents man's lack of control over the supernatural. But, I think the darkening could easily presage the entity that opts to massacre children for essentially political disputes. The punishments of the God of the OT is devoid of any perspective, and unhinged. 

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Pilate Washing his Hands

This is supposed to depict Pontius Pilate washed his hands before the multitude on the capital punishment of the Christ.

The lighting in this painting is quite interesting. Light focused on the centre. Distressed lugubrious indistinct faces. The darkness around can make it a scene from some hellish cavern-like hallway. The sweet woman hugging and caress her child (as, presumably, a source of strength and endurance?).

This painting is quite pretty; but don't feel it is as beguiling. 

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Rome seen from the Vatican

Olympian-sized painting. This painting consumes an entire wall.

Turner painted this sweeping vista of the Vatican, St Peter's Square.

This painting is absolutely enormous. It has almost dinosaur-like dimensions and is probably an homage to Rome as the birth-spring of antiquity and the Renaissance. (I hope to visit Rome soon). Raphael was one of Turner's influences; and, in 1820, it was the 300th year of Raphael's death.

While I think this is charming, I don't think it's nearly as aesthetically beautiful as 'Mercury Sent to Admonish Aeneas'.

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Entrance of the Meuse

Dutch ship running aground on a sandbank. It's reminiscent of his other painting 'Shipping at the mouth of the Thames'.

The darkness in the clouds resembles some grasping appendage. The ocean's blackness imparts a feel of empty coldness. I love how Turner is such a virtuoso in painting ships; with beautiful sails, masts etc. towboat. I also like how the haggard old man (Captain?) seems confused and tired, and looking in our direction.

Then, there is the young man is collecting the oranges before they are lost overboard. If you look closely you can see two oranges by the oar - including one which has submerged. Once again, Turner gives us details and drama.

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The Shipwreck

According to the Tate, we don't know if this painting was inspired by an actual shipwreck.

Once again, as above, we ponder the powerful cold harshness of the sea; a bleak howling wilderness. The white crests of waves help us focus on the outlines of vessels and those poor souls.

It's extraordinary just how much detail and trauma is painted on the canvas. People holding each other, a man plunging his hands into the water to grasp some prized object and his closest companion helping him to lift it out, then there is a moving rendering of a man looking down his hand obscuring his face, everyone in perilous disarray.

The last ship looks as though it may founder. Everyone is forsakenly gripping something: ropes, oars, rudders, beams; but the powerful waves cannot be mollified.

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Agrippina Landing with the Ashes of Germanicus

Agrippina carried the ashes of her husband Germanicus, a Roman general, from the the city of Antioch to Rome in an urn.

There is something consoling in this painting. A stunning landscape with beautiful architectural edifices; and yet the sight of a single lady - the widow - cultivates a lugubrious and melancholy feeling. Another a lady, with children in her arms are waiting for their mother. They stillness of the water accentuates the emotions.

It's very sweet and stirring.