Allen Jones at the RA

The Allen Jones show at the RA is rather less successful than the Moroni. Not just because he is a far inferior artist (which obviously he is) but also because the works are rather shoe-horned into the Burlington Gardens gallery space in a way that is determined more by the space than the works. The blurb tries to make a virtue out of this, but its not convincing. A chronological display would have worked much better.

Allen Jones is a controversial artist, but unlike most controversial artists, he has both ability and interest. I think his controversial qualities have moved since he began in the Pop Art movement in the early 60s. I think then the controversy would have been over some of the images being semi-pornographic. Now that side looks tame, but has been taken over by the demeaning to women angle. Of course you could just look over the top of such sterile debates and like the striking images. Those of women, well mannequins, forming tables, chairs and famously a hat-stand are very striking and clever. The more recent stuff is rather more accessible, but a bit poster art for my tastes.

Moroni at the RA

I do like the rather more obscure exhibitions that one can visit in London, over the blockbusters. So this exhibition of the works of Giovanni Battista Moroni appealed to me much more than the Rembrandt exhibition at the National. The trouble with the big exhibitions isn't just the crowds, but also the familiarity one already has with the works. Whereas Moroni was to me only a name. I couldn't have conjoured up an image of any of his works.

The other thing I liked about this show from a critical, viewpoint was that here was an artist who, in my humble opinion, was both brilliant and a bit average at the same time. What he was brilliant at was portraiture. Not just the faces, but also the attire of his sitters. That was what he clearly made most of his money out of in 16th century Bergamo. So many of the subjects just glance out at you, give you a quick, often haughty, stare. The details of their collars are just perfection, setting off an utterly convincing likeness. And by and large his men are better than the women. But both are far better than his landscapes or more distant images of Christs and saints. His religious works are far less convincing than his portraits.

Another attractive part of visiting this is that the works gathered here are from all over the place. You won't have the opportunity to see more than one or two at a time elsewhere. Must have taken a fair bit of effort to put this one altogether.

Elephants

This is probably the best value entertainment you will get all year. And here we are mid-January and already you have missed it.

Of course there are two sides to good value. One is cost, and here we had the ultimate bargain. £12 for best seats in the house. The other is product and this was an excellent product. Had my favourite combination of lots of laughs and some rather harrowing drama too. And you could tell how good it is in that the audience included Juliet Stephenson (which I only noticed because the lady next to me pointed her out and said she knew she was a famous actress but couldn't remember her name.)

The plot couldn't sound less amusing. Christmas Eve and a middle-aged couple are gathering together friends and family for Christmas. These consist of their teenage daughter (who it soon transpires has been in an expensive mental health clinic) another middle-class, middle-aged couple, and a girl of mixed race from Peckham who had been taken in by the family as a youngster through some nice middle-class charity for the disadvantaged. And had been the girlfriend of their son. Whose absence is the elephant in the room, having been stabbed to death in the street the previous year.

Not a traditional back-drop to humour, but in fact it is the basis for it. After all, can you imagine a more awkward way of spending Christmas than with that lot? (Add dad over-drinking, and the nutter daughter hating the ex-girlfriend. And mother trying to confront the "elephant" upfront, by all holding hands, or reading out poetry she had commissioned for her deceased son.)

The star role is the un-PC husband of the visitors. At one point in a heated conversation he is accused of being racist and goes off to the side in a sulk. Then as the heated conversation has gone on but there is a break, he suddenly says "Seven". Everyone is puzzled. "The number of black people I have been friends, or at least nodding terms with. And several homosexuals. And at least 3 bisexuals, and that must be more than the national average."

In another scene the daughter assures the black girl that he isn't really that bad now. His wife makes him read the Guardian every morning. Stands over him pointing out articles that would be improving.

The cast is very high quality, including Helen Atkinson Wood and Imogen Stubbs, and the set, in such a tiny space, is brilliant in concept. An absolute winner and a triumphal antidote to Christmas festivities. At least one will never have a Christmas that bad!

Twixt Christmas and New Year

My original festive plans were to stay in Sandiway until New Year, but then it turned out that the Korean girl I had met in China in the summer could only meet up with me on her December trip to London between Christmas and New Year. So I agreed to pop back on the Sunday after Christmas and then take her round Oxford on the Monday before descending on my mate Thibault for an oriental dinner party in the evening.

Then I found another friend whom I had first met on holiday some years ago was also in London for the period with his mother. But it looked therefore that I could only squeeze them in for a drink on the Sunday night. But best laid plans and all that.

Jean then found she needed to fly back to Korea early, which meant taking a plane on the Sunday, so our day out disappeared. I already had train tickets booked so was committed to coming back to London really, along with meeting my mate Gary. But then opportunity arose. With nothing to do on the Monday I could bump Gary and his mum along to the Monday, and I suggested they might like to be taken around Oxford by yours truly too. And they did. So, hey presto, a nice day in Oxford. And it was a really beautiful winter's day.

We went past my old College, St John's

 and then on past Keble

 to the Natural History Museum, one of Oxford's lesser known sights, except by parents with small children who had all descended on the place at once. Never seen so many pushchairs.

Then on for a wander around Broad Street and the High Street

 before heading into a few of the colleges which were open in the afternoon. Starting with St John's. can't beat the view back across the Great Lawn to the college.

Then round the corner and into Trinity.

And finally into Christ Church. Normally the most impressive, and so most expensive college, but annoyingly both the Dining Hall and the Picture Gallery were closed (although they didn't see fit to reduce the £5.50 entrance fee even for the much reduced sights to see.)

But Christ Church cathedral was open and is impressive.

 

 

Getting dark so we got the 5 o'clock train for London which just neatly allowed me to advance to Thibault's dinner party. Splendid occasion and a very brave dinner choice - several Chinese dishes, far more adventurous than I would be at a dinner party. But all went off very well (barring one wok-melted plastic spoon). Thibault decided to challenge us with a dish of preserved duck eggs. Much to the surprise of us all, despite the dubious colour (green yolks), they actually tasted very pleasant. Fortified by an eclectic choice of alcohol (asti, pinot grigio, mulled wine and prosecco), I got home very merrily, set for the next day's morning return trip to Crewe.

Original plan for my return north was to spend a day in Shrewsbury, with myself, Alison and Carolyn going to an art exhibition and the boys entertaining themselves at the Castle. That almost all fell apart as the Castle closed for the winter and Carolyn had a cold, but Alison and I persevered and went to Shrewsbury for the day anyway, leaving the rest to stay at home. Their loss as Shrewsbury is lovely. Although the art exhibition at Shrewsbury museum on the human body was perhaps predictably disappointing. It seemed largely to consist of anything that Birmingham Art gallery had in its basement that featured a human body. No real theme beyond that. To be fair one or two things worth seeing, but not much for s day trip. On the other hand, a wander around Shrewsbury itself was highly rewarding. A beautiful place with lots of timber-framed medieval buildings. All set off with a late seafood lunch. No turkey.

The Abbey looked particularly attractive, glowing warmly in the late afternoon sun.