There’s a kind of loveliness that’s almost too overwhelming to look at directly, and walking through rooms and rooms of hearts in bold color, beating in canvases, beating in clusters surrounding them, at the Tate Modern today made me a little dizzy—if I’m allowed to be a bit sappy and sentimental for a while. The first exhibit I passed through, Infinite Geometry, was made up of geometric designs inspired by the idea of seeking of order. In Nabil Nahas’s Eclypse 1978, for instance, interlocking squares in red, sea green, and purple cluster against a woven background as a shard of black intrudes into the piece. The wall text explains that designs from this period “focus on ideas of infinity and interconnectedness. The repetitive and modular structure of poetry is important” (Infinite Geometry). Indeed, once you make your way to Saloua Raouda Choucair’s Poem Wall it becomes unavoidably clear that something about poetry, like painting and art, demands organization. Choucair’s blockwork piece links together in a complex network of white, wooden pieces that fit together with only the slightest gaps. It’s cool and calm, but certainly not soulless, and I guess when I think about poetry that is what I think of: how am I to deliver an emotional experience in a logical way? How best do I organize my words so that they can make their way to someone else without the obstruction of poorly ordered thoughts (I say as I write an overtly wordy sentence)?

Choucair’s design surprised me in it’s ability to link the concepts of art and poetry, a relationship that I’ve always suspected existed, in such a streamlined way. It also made me wonder, as I stopped to take a second glance at Virginia Chihota’s Fighting One’s Self, about what the best way is to communicate pain. Fighting One’s Self almost presents itself as an interior view of a womb. A white figure curls inside a vein-blue circle with their hands clasped defensively around their face. The wall text aptly describes these brushstrokes as “watery” (How can colours help us look inside ourselves?) as the figure’s emotions blur in a wash of color. There’s something so incredibly visceral about the internal nature of Chihota’s work being presented for a massive audience to see, and in a way that kind of vulnerability is brave, but part of me wonders if a piece like this should be viewed on its own because of the strength of the impression it leaves. Tate Modern is filled with so many testaments of the work that people do after the wreckage of trauma, but after Chihota’s piece, I spent a little less time with the rest of them. 

Books often hit me in a similar way. I brought A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara to read on the plane and two-hundred or so pages in, I just couldn’t continue. Yanagihara’s novel, a finalist for the National Book Award, is essentially a character study of suffering that keeps traveling deeper and darker for over eight hundred pages. The older I get, the more I realize how sharp experiences of grief can be and how important it is to feel them in their entirety, but also how unnecessary it is to be continually steeped in tragedy. There’s a kind of logic to processing emotion that, I think, works like Eclypse and Poem Wall are getting at as they organize the intricacies of being human into neat boxes that you can jump into and out of at will. Sometimes, sharing our experiences of pain, failure, and even just quiet disappointment through art creates community, but I question the kind of art that leans into the indescribable simply for the sake of provoking a few stray tears from an otherwise content audience, which if you can’t already tell, I suspect A Little Life to be guilty of. Then again, some confessions of internal suffering, like Fighting One’s Self, just require a bit of breathing space to process what the artist has just handed to you.

What I hadn’t considered walking through walls of geometric designs and swaths of abstract color, is that sometimes beauty, too, overwhelms us: the smell of honeysuckle in the rain just might bring me to tears at the right time of the afternoon, joy in a friend’s eyes can be so specific and so strong that I have to look away, and trees (always trees) with their soft-breathing canopies of branches overhead become too generous and ancient to understand when studied at too close a distance. As I was struggling to concentrate on any one specific piece out of the seas of storied paintings and the seas of people pressing in with their curiosity and their own stories and their own hopes to find something recognizable in the remnants of brokenness on the walls, I wandered into a nearly empty room. After the buzz of color and patterns at the beginning of the Artist and Society exhibit, comes an almost blank hall containing the works of Agnes Martin. Past this, another room of paintings focuses on the use of the color white. 

As you enter into these spaces, the thrum of conversation dwindles. No one stays very long to ponder over what might be hiding underneath the surface of the pale gray and pink stripes in Agnes Martin’s Happy Holiday and Faraway Love. There is no great mystery here. As a little kid running past me with her dad said with a sort of aghast gesture of her hands in the air, “Daddy, everything here’s just…kind of…blank.” Yet, in this space there’s also respite. The quiet makes the room grow a little wider, and the vast landscapes of barely visible pastels provide sanctuary from the bursts of dizzying color before. As the wall text indicates, Agnes Martin once said that she wanted her paintings to communicate what she felt when she was surrounded by the desert she lived in (Agnes Martin 1912-2004). “I want people, when they look at my paintings, to have the same feelings they experience when they look at a landscape…it’s really about the feeling of beauty and freedom,” the exhibit quotes (Agnes Martin 1912-2004). In a way, the absence of beauty is also a kind of freedom. A little break from the heart, how it aches, how it wonders and loves and doubts, is as liberating as a walk on your own in the desert even if you’ll be back again soon. 

More tomorrow, 

Kath

Sources

Agnes Martin 1912-2004. Wall text, In the Studio Exhibition, Tate Modern Museum, London. 

How can colours help us look inside ourselves? Wall text, In the Studio Exhibition, Tate Modern Museum, London. 

Infinite Geometry. Wall text, In the Studio Exhibition, Tate Modern Museum, London. 

Hooray! A week in London! I can’t believe how quickly the time has passed. Today was a laid back day for me, and at the time of me writing this post I am relaxing in bed with the new season of Stranger Things playing off to the side.

Our group started today with a walk to the Tate Modern museum. On the way there we passed some beautiful sights like the Borough Market, and the Millennium Bridge. We then reached the Tate Modern, which was filled with modern contemporary art. Despite this, my first stop at the museum was the cafe! I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, so it was a must. I got an egg sandwich and a drink that was a mix of apple and orange juice – both were so good!

Onto the more relevant parts of the Tate Modern. I am personally not the biggest fan of art museums; however, there were some very interesting pieces on display! The first piece that stood out to me was the View from the Window by Marie-Louise Von Molesiczky from 1925. This painting depicted a view of roofs seen from Marie-Louise’s flat from the early 1920s. The paint in this piece was dabbed onto the canvas, which created a mottled effect while also being painted with very free brush strokes. This piece interested me mostly because of its canvas size. I liked how narrow it was, as well as its color palette. Even though the canvas size was on the smaller side, there was a lot you could tell from the areas that were visible. You could tell that it was a stormy, snowy night, and buildings seemed to be piled on top of each other. It really makes me wonder about Marie-Louise’s outlook on her every day life, and if this scene somewhat reflected that.

Another piece I took interest in was Untitled (Cravings White) by Lee Bul from 1988 and reconstructed in 2011. This piece took me by surprise when I first saw it. I turned the corner and boom! I was terrified, because honestly- what IS that? That feeling is what made it appeal to me. I feel as though art is supposed to invoke a powerful emotion from its audience whether that emotion is good or bad. Being terrified of this piece made me want to learn more about it, and seeing the video that was supplied alongside it made me even more intrigued. The video included people wearing the original piece and crawling on the ground in public spaces. I don’t understand this piece fully, even with the video supplement, but I think that is the point of it. I strongly believe that it is meant to confuse the viewer, and it was successful at that!

After viewing a few galleries, I hit up the gift shop at the museum and got some cute earrings! I’m glad I got to take a piece of art back with me, no matter how small it was. I definitely have a newfound appreciation for certain pieces, and hopefully at other art museums I will be able to analyze the different works in a more meaningful way because of this experience.

I then made my way to another museum- the Sherlock Holmes museum! I have wanted to go to this museum since I found out I was going on the study abroad and now I can finally say I’ve done it. The museum was Sherlock’s home at 221B Baker St., and the building was so beautiful! There were great tidbits of information scattered around, and it seemed like virtually everything was placed in each room with purpose. I will say that there were some pretty scary mannequins inside, so I skipped out on those rooms; however, from my quick glance inside, those rooms were just as great! I would love to go back and take more photos, it was all visually stunning.

That was essentially my day! I had some more sushi from Wasabi, and have been in bed watching Stranger Things, just like I mentioned at the start of this blog post. Tomorrow will be a busy busy day, so be prepared… We have the National Gallery, the National Portrait Gallery, and the musical Lift to go to, wish me and my feet luck!

Today was the day we got to check out the Tate Museum Of Modern Art. I am not a huge fan of Modern Art in general. I think this is due to the fact my exposure to modern art has been limited in scope. Most of what I have seen is on the internet being “memed”. Canvases of white or a single orange line on a black canvas. So I am excited to see what the museum has to offer. 

The first piece I have found that really stood out to me was in the Optical illusions section named Supernovae by Victor Vasarely. Many optical illusions can be done and shown over an electronic screen. But this one, was a real life optical illusion. It is a series of black squares across a rectangular grid. It is separated into several sections. The top left is a black “abyss” like section where the white space between the blocks gets thinner and thinner creating a void like effect. The top right is the exact opposite. The space between the squares gets larger, eventually overtaking the squares and leaving a white space. Then on the left it is white squares with black dots in them. From left to right this pattern continues, but the dots get larger and larger until they overtake the white space. But the most important and interesting of this whole that makes it all come together, is the gray dots. Now, these gray dots can see throughout the whole piece. They are seemingly delicately placed just beyond the four corners of each square. But if you try to pick a gray square to focus on. It will disappear. Poof, just like that. You can only see these squares in the peripheral of your vision. How neat!

The second piece I found very interesting was the exhibit called “Number 185”. This is a piece made entirely of Driftwood.  Leonardo Drew found these drift wood pieces and then as he described it “weathered it like nature”. He painted and scratched and wore these pieces down much as mother nature would have, and actively does. It is a combination of different textures which gives depth, but also tells a story. Examining the piece it looks like a city on a shoreline of rock next to a vast ocean or lake. The large driftwood suggests structure, closely compact but seems to have some further story to tell than just straight line organization. Where as the “shore line” is made up of evenly sized wood that neatly fits into each slot perfectly.

I can’t stand modernism. In my personal opinion, it is almost entirely pretension wrapped in good marketing. Meaningless works with value attached only by scotch tape and the words of “artists” “art critics” and other rich snobs and con artists looking for a dollar. Some good art sneaks through by sheer force of luck, and the performative ideologies of those willing to make dollars on the artists’ pennies. In my opinion, art is not a commodity, unlike a painting. Modernism is the feigning of ideas, value, skill, meaning, and whatever else have you, for the sake of social and monetary status. It is snake oil sales, doublespeak, and at best is a lesson on how to pay close attention to that man behind the curtain. Because his tricks are not a happy ending Dorothy, they are LITERALLY A F#@&!NG URINAL

After my ranting about a man who took a urinal, signed it, and called it art and managed to ruin what modern art could have been, leading to thousands of pieces of work barely worth being printed on a coffee cup or t shirt and just as many artists trying to one up the guy who taped a banana to a wall and sold it for thousands. Honestly, some of this garbage could be art to me, if it weren’t so tied up in its millions of dollars and made up meanings.

There are so many people convinced that a canvas with one or two colored squares on it is worth so so much (and ill admit it does look cool but it is not millions), and others working to keep up the lie by tacking on more and more “it’s about capitalism (society, poverty, the nation, sexuality, the human experience, or whatever else they can come up with)” stickers and pricing it at a million, it just becomes exhausting at some point. The saddest part is when real artists either get lumped in with the rest or get nowhere when the modern art industrial complex didn’t want them. With what could be done in modern times, modern art could mean so much more (and that’s easy when the bar was set on the ground and only sunk further since). It would be nice if half of it meant anything at all. Support local art, question everything, and find your own meaning in things if you can. Like I said earlier, this was my opinion. Everyone has one. Art is your own. Art is culture and humanity. To be human is to be both art and the artist.

-Ulrich Abroad

Blog 4: The Tate Modern

By Isaac Overman

May 30 2022

We departed for the Tate at around ten o’clock. The ride was pleasant and the day got on without a hitch. I decided to spend my time at the Tate following Shiloh—knowing his love for the building and the style of art. This was because I rarely enjoy modern art. My first impression was that the building itself was incredible. Both the original and added wing were impressive and lovely to behold. This was increased by Shiloh’s expertise and allowed me to appreciate it even more. The two pieces that really stood out to me where: “Monument for the Living” by Marwan Rechmaoui constructed between 2001-2008, and “Birth” by Jackson Pollock painted in 1941.

The former spoke to me because of it simplicity and beauty but also because of the story behind it. From first glance it just looks like the bare bones of a building built 1/100^th of scale. But knowing the backstory about how it was too expensive to finish and too dangerous to go near because it was used as a sniper tower during the civil war in Lebanon at the time really spoke to me. It was impossible to finish but was too heavy to pull down. In a way that kind represents life.

Pollock is more complicated for me. First of all, because I didn’t know that it was a Pollock and secondly because I liked it. If you were to ask me my thoughts on Jackson Pollock I would say that total chaos does not speak to me through art, but this piece was a far cry from his normal chaotic messes. This one had life, pain and complexity to it. I found myself entranced by it and honestly could have spent many more minutes looking at it. Shiloh and I made it trough every nook and cranny of the Tate including the new addition which left more than a little to be desired. My overall review of the Tate would be that the collection itself was lacking. Compared to Le Louvre or Le musée d’Orsay in France the quality of works just was not there. This is not to say that I did not enjoy the Tate because I actually did. Just as an art museum it needs a more robust catalog. The building itself was amazing though.

Foodie note: In case anyone else was curious, Shiloh and I walked across the bridge and enjoyed a Michelin Bibbed (not quite a star but still top 75 in London) restaurant called Bancone. It was about 50 euros between the two of us for drinks, mains and a shared starter. They serve homemade traditional Italian. This is a must try for anyone who wants a truly special dinning experience. Very solid 9.5/10. There are two locations but we went to the one in Covent Gardens which is the original. It would be a good idea to make a reservation if you plan to visit as it was packed at 2:30 on a Monday. Best thing I have eaten so far

May 30

Today we went to visit and explore the Tate Modern Art Museum. I was actually really excited to tour this museum as I have an immense love for art and find modern styles to be the most obscure, yet intriguing.

In the gallery, there was a film running of the choreographies that inspired this piece, including Stavinsky’s Les Noces and Rainer’s Continuous Project Altered Daily. In addition, the whole piece is made using a single watercolor pigment, despite it looking like multiple shades of paint.

I dislike modern and postmodern art. Much of it is empty, either affecting the disappointment of the artist or pushing the boundaries of artistic methods for no other reason than to do so. I’m of the opinion that art needs to affect people, and why not effect them positively? Or if you want to make your audience feel bad, what do you hope to achieve by doing so? This is why the best pieces at the Tate were beautiful or political. Above is The Citizen by Richard Hamilton. Hamilton portrays a Northern Irish protestor detainee during the Troubles. He has decorated the walls of his cell with excrement. Nonetheless, he looks clean and determined, eager to achieve his ends. The stains on the walls aren’t simply splatters either. According to an article about the artist from the Tate museum, this scene is inspired by a real prisoner who painted the walls of his cell in style similar to Celtic style painting. Overall, the piece is a defiant display of national identity and a very effective piece of art.

This painting defied the expectations of the modern tradition by applying earlier, more romantic styles. The figure is beautiful. She is painted with great detail, even her hip bone is noticeable. She’s very intelligent. You can tell by her ponderous gaze and the stack of books propping up her sheet music. She also must be very rich because of her style and dress. Also, her talent with the cello is apparent. This was painted during the great depression, so only people with much time and money on their hands could’ve been able to learn instruments. This piece was a great bit of storytelling that made me fall in love with the figure a little.

Much of the rest of the museum was pretty boring. For example, one of the rooms was full of empty or painted-white frames. They represent nothing and do nothing to make the viewer feel anything. The only other kind of art I enjoyed in the museum were some of the surrealists, because they at least wanted to make their audience feel confused, as if in a dream. However, much of the art was expected to stand for itself without saying anything, which is really bizarre.

In other news, I saw some of my favorite theater so far over the weekend. Two pieces were inspired by books, and made me want to read them; or in the case of The Great Gatsby, read them again. On Friday, the class saw The Father and the Assassin. It is the tale of Indian Independence and partition told through the lens of Ghandi and his assassin, Nathuram Godse. It was very complex. What I appreciated most about it, is that it felt truthful. Clearly, the show does not expect you to fully agree with Godse or Ghandi, but to show how political radicalism works. Overall brilliant and very complex. The next day I saw Life of Pi. This was the best storytelling I’ve ever seen. The way the writing uses metaphor is brilliant. I plan to read the book soon. Last night I went to The Great Gatsby Immersive Theatre with Grason, Leah, and Margaret. It was a really fun time and fascinating as an actor! We got to play the role of partygoers amid the action of the play. I believe some of the actors identified us as being really open to playing along with a lot of the action, so we got to do and see a lot of stuff which otherwise would have gone unknown to the rest of the audience. We got to swing and Charleston with the actors. Nick Carraway even asked me for relationship advice in confidence. In total, it was a great night that every actor and improviser should see, learn from, and admire.

The Tate Modern Exhibition is one of the best art museums I have visited. The museum currently resides in an old power station that was restored and opened in the year 2000 as the new home of The Tate. Inside the incredible space, patrons can explore four floors of art exhibits, each with their own unique qualities. The museum actually contains ten floors, but only four were available to the public. Within the many halls of the museum, impactful art pieces were abundant.

The first piece that struck me was a series of portraits painted by Leon Golub. These portraits were of General Ernesto Geisel, the head of the military government in Brazil from 1974 to 1979. At first glance, the paintings show an older gentleman from different angels and states of being.

If I hadn’t read the description, I would have never understood the true impact of the piece. As stated on the description of the political portraits, Golub wanted to convey the idea of political powers only wearing the mask of power and in reality, simply being puppets on strings.

The portraits are haunting in the sense that they represent a show of niceties and public approval when underneath the politic smiles and waves lies a parasite feeding off the power given by the puppeteers. It took one simple google search to find out the atrocities committed by General Ernesto Geisel. His treatment of political prisoners as well as protesters was appalling, as shown by the countless examples of torture and executions he imposed on who he perceived as enemies of Brazil. From the paintings, I see a frail man who seems a second away from crumbling into a pile of dust. However, the eyes of the portraits tell a different story.

The second piece I want to discuss is a painting from 1944 titled “Sleeping Venus” by Belgian artist Paul Delvaux.

This painting seems like a bunch of images thrown together on a canvas. Between the temple, the horse heads lining the street, the nude women, and the dress mannequin, it is hard to find a point to this piece at first glance. When I dissected the painting for what it was and learned when and why it was painted, it seemed to come together in one hauntingly beautiful moment. Delvaux painted this piece during the height of World War Two from his home in Brussels as the city was being bombed. He wanted to capture the dramatic image of the war he was currently witnessing and painted “Sleeping Venus.” The temple itself is calm and peaceful while its contents are anguished. Naked women can be seen weeping in the background while Venus, the goddess of love, sleeps peacefully. A skeleton talks to a dressed mannequin. What could this all mean? Delvaux painted this while bombs literally rained down on his city, but for what purpose? Instead of psychoanalyzing this painting, I will choose to listen to Delvaux’s own explanation. He wanted the psychology of the anguished moments in which he was painting to be at the forefront. He wanted mystery, and mystery is what he got. I love this piece as it combines a classical style of art with surrealism in a beautiful and dark way. I cannot explain the complex emotions brought on by this piece of art. I can only articulate its genius.

Until the next adventure,

Dru

  

Sources:

https://doyle.com/specialists/angelo-madrigale/stories/leon-golub-raw-nerve

May 30th, 2022

Today our group visited the Tate Modern Museum; one of the largest modern art museums in the world! It was incredibly fascinating to view so many pieces and modes of art, especially with the number of installations that the museum had. Two pieces of art that stuck out to me were Meredith Frampton’s Portrait of a Young Woman (1935) and Cildo Meireles’s Babel (2001). Firstly, Frampton’s piece is elegant and beautiful, as it depicts a woman standing in contrapposto stance, which symbolizes a more poised and relaxed state of being. When viewing this piece, I see the woman being closely tied to the arts, as the cello sits next to her along with a flower. She is painted in such a realistic way that it appears to not even be a painting at all, but rather an actual woman standing in front of you. 

The other piece of art actually took my breath away. Concerned with the effects of mass communication, Meireles seeks to showcase the noise of the world through the radios stacked upon other radios. It was quite remarkable, as each of the radios were playing different sounds, making it so the person viewing the piece could not make out anything remotely coherent about what each radio was sharing. I felt that this piece was deep through these remarks, as the effects of mass communication ultimately leads to mass confusion. In my opinion, Babel was one of the most moving pieces in the Tate Modern Museum because it reminded me that we live in a world that lives dispositionally, relying on quick news cycles that makes the world suffocating at times. 

After visiting the Tate museum, I grabbed a BBQ wrap from Borough market and then I tried Bienenstich (or Bee Sting Cake) for the first time. It was quite remarkably one of the best desserts I have had in a long time, and it is safe to say that I will be going back to that stand on Wednesday when we go to Sky Gardens and have lunch at Borough market!

– Maggie Martin

Today we explored the Tate Museum of modern and contemporary art. I really enjoyed this museum. The interior of the building was striking with expansive hallways and high ceilings that boasted of it’s potential for grandness. I noticed that this museum is free and open to all, and I really appreciated that about it; I think it’s important to allow all classes and people from different walks of life to experience art in the same way. Art wasn’t created for just the elite, in fact it is often made in honor of the oppressed – especially in this museum, that seemed to be a consistent focus.

Because this is a modern museum the first thing, I noticed was the unique use of vibrant color. It was because of this that the artists who chose to make pieces playing with lack of color were that much more noticeable and thought-provoking. Such as this black and white display of the flags below. This work is by Fred Wilson, and it is composed of 27 flags of African and African Diaspora nations. The artist is reflecting on countries that formed because of independence movements and freedom from colonial rule. The description reads: “The flags have ben stripped of their identifying colors. By doing so, Wilson questions the capacity of the flags to represent the complex history of these nations. As he explains; ‘The colors can represent tribal, cultural, religious, and political identities as well as national ones, sometimes simultaneously. Conversely, the missing colors also speak to the fluid and in flux nature of Africa and its national identities.”

I’ve never thought about the ways color represents a country before, and the symbolism behind it. I think this is a very noticeable statement that made me look at these flags from a different perspective.

Seeing things from a different perspective is what art is all about. While we were on our way here, I overheard some discussion on the validity of modern art. You hear the common remark of “oh I could do that!” but that is simply never true. The artist that created the piece came from an inner place of deep feeling, strongly rooted backstory, and a vision of the world around them. The colors they chose, what they created and the way they framed it to tell a story will always be unique. No two people are the same, and therefore art can never be exactly replicated by two different people. Sure, copies or replicas can be made—but the individual experience that the creator has while making the piece will always translate to how the viewer is experiencing the piece. Art is putting a tangible and visual quality to humanity, the things we all experience and feel. However, art is also an expression of individuality and inner essence. It is a way to immortalize and share just one of the infinitely different perspectives that the universe can be experienced from.

Therefore, I really enjoyed Painting by Albert Gleizes. I think the artist speaks on this subject a bit, and the name of the artwork speaks for itself. The description told me that Gleize often keeps strong links with the subject matter that inspired them to make the art. This one is thought to be a female head, possibly his wife’s. The artist was deeply affected by his experience being conscripted into the French army during World War One. He became gravely concerned with the future of society and thought that ‘artists could help create a better world, not just by making beautiful things but by offering new ways of looking.’ This really spoke to me, and what I think art is all about. Giving someone a unique perspective of the world will change the way they see it. It is an essential part of our growth and change, and it is a perfect exercise in empathy and understanding; something we could all practice diligently right now.

 My favorite part of the museum was Cildo Meireles’ Babel (2001). It was a giant sculpture that stretched to the ceiling of the dark, blue lit room. It was completely made from tv’s and radios and projectors – a conglomeration of media. But this exhibit was unique because it wasn’t just visual—the radios were all playing and making sound, but not in sync. They were all playing different stations, songs, and voices. I walked into the room, and it demanded my undivided attention. Before I entered this room, my mind was overwhelmed and scattered, but there was too much sound and chaos going on once I entered that I couldn’t focus on a single thing happening outside of this art piece. It forcefully shuts out anything else going on. This piece of art forces us to connect and pay attention; to look deeper than just the surface level, past all the noise to tune into our own feelings and influence that the piece has on us. Being in this room was incredibly comforting to me. It felt like a representation of the inside of my mind, and I felt understood. It quieted me, calmed me, and brought me inward. It allowed me to focus, even amidst all the different things happening. When I could pick out and selectively listen to one thing, it was extremely satisfying. I heard Dancing Queen by Abba come on one of the radios and I immediately felt so excited and lifted. It was familiar, focused and unquieted by all the other noise. It felt like finally being able to get back on track. Just like any art piece, the different people in the room were hearing and experiencing different things from me.  They were tuning in differently. What makes us tune into one thing over the other? What makes one thing easier to listen to and digest than others? I stood in this room for quite a while and thought about this as I observed people’s reactions to this art piece.

There were lots of themes of freedom, or lack thereof in this museum. Such as my favorite painting that I found, Stern by Marlene Dumas. As soon as I saw it, I was very emotionally struck by it. I had to sit down in front of it and watch its unmoving influence unfold upon me. It made me incredibly introspective. Especially after going to The Great Gatsby immersive experience last night and having very personal interactions and conversations with a character (Myrtle) who was fighting for her freedom after a lifetime of sacrificing for what she thought was love. She became a hostage to what she thought she wanted, and there were striking lines about freedom, only living once, and sacrifice. This painting really reminded me of her, and how she made me feel. I thought about my own personal freedom, and the ways in which I sacrifice it for a false sense of security and happiness, just like Myrtle. At the end of Gatsby, Myrtle dies chasing down the freedom she has realized that she truly desires. She never achieves it. This painting depicts a woman lying face up with her eyes closed and her eyes open. There was an aura of green color breaking up the darkness around her. It was heart wrenching. It made me think of womanhood, of love and loss, and of imprisonment; either literally or metaphorically. It made me think that I didn’t want my story to end like hers, Myrtle’s or the woman in the painting. Then I read the description and I was shocked to find that my interpretation of the painting had not been very far from the artist’s intent. “This shows Ulrike Meinhof, a member of the West German far left militant organization Red Army Faction. Found dead in her prison cell in May 1976, she appeared to have taken her own life, although some claim she was murdered.” I thought the mention that it might’ve been suicide was interesting, to be so drained of your personal sense of humanity that you feel the need to escape in any way possible. I can only hope that death granted this woman a sense of freedom. Whether or not her life was taken from her or willingly given up, it drew a striking comparison to Myrtle who would give herself away for love, or money – when all she ever wanted was to be free, as we all do.

I’ve included some of the other works that spoke to me and their descriptions below.

Signing Off from London,

Margaret