London

“There has never been any division between my life and my work,” the Italian sculptor Marisa Merz once said. She created this piece, on display at the Tate Modern, in 1966 for her home and as a gallery installation. Untitled (Living Sculpture) triggers a whimsical and fantastical undercurrent as you walk beneath these jellyfish-like creations hanging from the ceiling. “It was made from thin strips of shiny aluminium, clipped together and suspended from the ceiling to form great coiled and spiralling forms,” according to the museum’s commentary, “inviting us to explore the relationship between material and space.” Read more about Merz’s work and see another view of this installation by clicking the image.

Auguste Rodin, the French sculptor best known for The Thinker, was everywhere: at the Musée d’Orsay, in the Jardin des Tuileries, at the Paris museum devoted to his life and work, and even at the Tate Modern in London. It was there, at the latter, that we discovered and admired Rodin’s The Kiss (the second, from 1900, of three large-scale marble versions made by Rodin) at length and in detail. A surprisingly sensuous sculpture, The Kiss depicts 13th-century noblewoman Francesca da Rimini and her lover Paolo Malatesta, who also happened to be the younger brother of Francesca’s husband Giovanni. The couple—immortalized in Dante’s Inferno—fell in love while reading the story of Lancelot and Guinevere, only to be discovered and killed by Giovanni. Considered controversial at the time due to its erotic nature, Rodin’s The Kiss, like The Thinker and several other individual works, first appeared (smaller in size) as part of his monumental masterpiece, The Gates of Hell. As noted by the Tate Modern’s website, “Its blend of eroticism and idealism makes it one of the great images of sexual love.” Click the image above to see The Kiss from another angle.

We seemed to walk through Trafalgar Square at least once or twice a day during our stay in London. One Friday morning we passed an artist recreating Sandro Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus—using paint and brushes, of all things—on the sidewalk (or some medium laid out on it) outside of the National Gallery. Amidst the constant threat posed by heavy foot traffic, the artist had finished the painstakingly detailed piece when we returned several hours later. The result: a surprisingly accurate and altogether remarkable reproduction of an iconic image. [Click the photo to view larger in new window.]

“All the world’s a stage,” but there is no better place to see a performance of a Shakespeare* play than at the Globe Theatre. After crossing the River Thames via the Millennium Bridge to London’s Bankside on the evening of Friday, Sept. 10, we seemingly stepped back in time. The reconstruction of the Globe Theatre relied heavily on 16th century building materials, equipment and techniques—save for a handful of modern concessions. The result is an amazingly authentic atmosphere.

Pint in hand, we climbed the stairs to our bench seats in the third tier, looking down at the stage from above as a cool breeze entered the circular opening in the thatched roof. The highly entertaining and uproarious performance of the Shakespeare* comedy The Merry Wives of Windsor, with themes and action still relevant in today’s much different world, seemed as if it could have been written a few months earlier—perhaps as a pilot for some breakout HBO hit sitcom—rather than 400-plus years ago. The crowd literally laughing out loud throughout most of the production, I was reminded that these plays were written to be performed. And, while some might contest this notion, that’s how they are best enjoyed—on the stage rather than on the page.

*William Shakespeare did not actually write the works attributed to him. The true author is Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford. Shameless self-promotion: For more information on this authorship controversy, Web of Conspiracy contains a concise yet comprehensive chapter on the topic.

Of all the museums we visited during the trip, the Tate Modern in London ranks at or near the top of that list. This piece, Venus of the Rags (1967, 1974) by Michelangelo Pistoletto, caused me (and others) to pause a bit longer than many others. Along with the size of the installation, its juxtaposition of elements old and new, classical and contemporary, sculpted and disorderly, offers us a bit to ponder. According to the Tate Modern website:

Venus of the Rags appears to bring together an iconic figure of classical culture with the detritus of contemporary society as the solid Roman goddess props up a randomly formed pile of gaudily coloured second-hand clothes. In fact the figure is based on a kitsch statue found in a garden centre rather than a genuine antiquity.

Click the image above to see the work from another angle.

I spent the first two weeks of September abroad, exploring the sights and sounds of three amazing cities: Paris, Amsterdam and London. Not surprisingly, much of the trip (if not all of it) revolved around various forms of art. Each day and night of the journey was filled with all kinds of discoveries—small and large, planned and unexpected, inspiring and entertaining, captivating and exciting.

From paintings, music and theater to architecture, culinary arts and books, art comprised the itinerary: wandering the magnificent and seemingly endless rooms of the Louvre; watching a Shakespeare comedy come to life, as if written just a few weeks prior for HBO, on the banks of the Thames; experiencing an intimate live performance by Modest Mouse in Amsterdam; browsing the shelves of the legendary Shakespeare and Company bookstore in Paris; spotting some comical or thought-provoking street art; stumbling upon an alternative art gallery on a side street in the City of Light; spending some quality time with the likes of Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Kandinsky, Rembrandt, Warhol, Dali, Matisse, Gauguin, Miró, and Picasso while discovering so many others at Musée d’Orsay, Tate Modern and Musée national d’art moderne at Centre Pompidou.

The Madness of Art will feature these delightful discoveries, artistic encounters and inspiring experiences through daily photographic installments in a series titled “Art Abroad” (using mostly original photos I took on the trip, except for memorable pieces I want to share from museums that prohibited cameras). Hope you enjoy the daily tour through the streets and museums of Paris, Amsterdam and London these next few weeks.