Daily updates – Page 158 – a sibilant intake of breath

London Gallery Tour

The primary focus of my trip to London with Antonia was art galleries. We saw sculpture in Canada House, off Trafalgar Square. We saw paintings in the National Gallery, National Portrait Gallery, and Tate Modern; also, photography in the National Theatre and additional sculpture in other places. Seeing art with a clever and interested fellow observer is wonderful for offsetting the overwhelming character of a place like any of the museums listed above. When that other person is also well versed in historical and mythological iconography, it is even more welcome. When you have dozens of original Dalis, Kandinskys, and Picassos strewn about, it can be hard to maintain focus.

Developing focus in the first place is hard when you need to wake up at 5:45am. As a reward, we were at the British Museum just in time for its opening. Right now, there is a fascinating temporary exhibit on Arabic calligraphy and artwork. Some of the material included is really superb; I especially enjoyed some of the examples where Asiatic kinds of calligraphy and Arabic lettering had been forged into elegant hybrids. Before leaving the British Museum, we also took a guided tour of the Islamic World section, as well as wandering on our own through the North American, Central American (where many of the sculptures have superb facial expression), and ancient British Isles areas. As always, the central atrium – installed sometime before my first visit in 2001 – is a striking piece of artwork in its own right, much like the turbine room in the Tate Modern. I love the elation and sense of safety I feel when enclosed in huge open-air geometric spaces.

After walking through Soho and Chinatown, Antonia and I arrived in Trafalgar Square. After a perfunctory security check, we were allowed into Canada House, though sadly not invited to the wine reception that was being prepared. Instead, I got around to finally registering as a Canadian national living in the UK and we had a look at some of the Canadian stone sculpture that was on display.

I really should dig through all the collected brochures to attach names to these descriptions, but I have neither the time nor the energy just now. Perhaps in future sittings.

Also at Trafalgar Square (aside from a version of Nelson’s column covered with scaffolding for repair, with the scaffolding decorated with sea life as a warning about global warming) are the National Gallery and National Portrait Gallery. At the first, we saw a terrifically frightening dragon that I am hoping Antonia will identify in a comment. All efforts at photography there were quite effectively thwarted. As has generally been the case, the National Portrait Gallery was an illustration of how few British authors, politicians, and public figures I have heard of. They lack a portrait of Douglas Adams: an oversight that really must be rectified.

Between that and the next art viewing (at the National Theatre), we met with two sets of Antonia’s friends – the first a friend from ancient schooldays and the second the kind gentleman who put a roof over my head for the unplanned overnight stay. At the National Theatre, we saw an exhibition of the top photojournalistic images of the year. Some were extremely good – particularly a portrait of Kofi Annan that makes superb use of contrast, composition, and dynamic range. Many were exceptionally gruesome, as I suspect is not unusual for such compositions.

After pizza-walking-sleep-wake-shower, the next day proceeded to the Tate Modern via a picnic. From National Theatre to Antonia’s friend Jong’s house was one long arc with the Gherkin as the central point. The return trip to the Tate Modern was essentially the converse. Since the recent major re-hang, I don’t entirely have my bearings in that fascinating place. As such, every return visit has the feel of rediscovery to it, much as I lament the fact that Hepworth’s Pelagos has been relocated to Cornwall. There, we met another friend of Antonia’s who is on the Tate staff related to planning and executing activities for children and families. A great way to be initiated into such a wonderful collection of art, no doubt.

My thanks to Antonia for the company that was the highlight of the trip, and to Jong who was kind enough to accompany us for a long while, and house us as well.

I would write more, but I need to get to sleep. It’s another 6:00am reveille tomorrow.

Quick London summary

Having just returned from London after one more day than I was planning to spend, I am living in hecticposttriptime. There is much that needs to be done before I leave for The Weald with the Walking Club at 8:00am tomorrow, outside Trinity. The trip with Antonia proved to be very good: we saw quite a collection of galleries and museums, met some of her friends, and generally accessed the city in a very satisfying way. I came back with about five kilos of tofu (bought at an eighth of the Oxford price, in Soho’s Chinatown), two kinds of black bean sauce, and wasabi peas.

Two big and welcome surprises accompanied my return: the discovery that Meghan Mathieson has extremely generously sent me a copy of the new Neko Case CD Fox Confessor Brings the Blues, along with a letter, and the reception of a message from Rosalind that indicates that there has been a miscommunication working against us. While she is only going to be in the country for a few more weeks, tops, there seems to have been a considerable and unexpected reconciliation.

I will post a more thorough write-up, with photos, sometime later tonight.

Northward along canals

By the fading light this evening, I took an unusually interesting ten mile ride. Initially cutting due north, I veered west until I found a canal I’d never seen before: lined with narrowboats and punctuated with weirs and numbered red brick bridges. After about four miles, I found myself at the intersection with the Oxford Canal. I tried an offshoot path labeled ‘River Thames’ but was rapidly foiled when the path narrowed almost immediately, became composed of unstable dirt clods, and proved to be flanked with shoulder-high stinging nettles.

Once you get more than a couple of miles up along the canal, it seems like a completely different world from the residential and commercial parts of Oxford, as well as the kind of roadway-intersected countryside around Kidlington or Cassington. The houses, which vary in frequency along different stretches, have yards opening right out onto the waterway. Cats and children fishing seem to be common, and the general sense of direction that it is easy to maintain on roads falls victim rapidly to the gentle curves of the branching canals.

The light – between about 8:10 and 9:30pm – was that really lovely warm and directed sunset light, though still bright enough to support ISO100 handheld shots at 50mm or so, in the open spaces at least. The only trouble is that the sky is completely blown out in every shot. Perhaps a polarizer would have helped.

Riding on gravel or dirt track takes dramatically more effort than doing so on blacktop: basically constant peddling in my second-lowest gear in order to maintain speed. The feeling is rather more substantial at the end, however.

Since I need to be at Gloucester Green for the bus to London at seven, I should try to get to sleep early. This is unlikely. Being ill the other day (and sleeping fourteen hours) has completely thrown off my sleeping schedule. I find myself waking up ravenous at random times between three and seven in the morning, always a sure sign that it will take a concerted effort to get things on track. That will only be possible once these two upcoming trips have passed.

PS. To anyone considering replicating the ride above, I suggest wearing glasses. The canalside bugs seem particularly drawn to the eyes of cyclists, and a few uncontrolled moments could easily land you among the floating ducks.

PPS. With two days left in this round, please keep voting for Mica’s video.

Recuperated today, productive tomorrow?

Obviously, today’s photo is not from Oxford. I didn’t take anything good enough to warrant public display, partly because I slept until 1:00pm to purge yesterday’s acute and short-lived illness. The above is a photo of the Capilano Reservoir in North Vancouver: one of the important sources of water for Vancouver, and located about ten minutes’ walk from my high school. Taken during the last week or so of August, you can see how seriously the water level has been depleted by a thirsty summer. The closest mountain, on the right hand side, is Grouse Mountain (with the famous ‘Grind’ hike). The two distinctive peaks close together and farther off at The Lions. How I miss the mountains, the conifers, and the sea…

Today wasn’t really productive, in any standard sense of the word. Even so, it was a day fairly well spent. I recuperated, did laundry, washed linen, got a haircut, and sorted something important out. This evening was that really wonderful combination of the right levels of light, warmth, and humidity to make being outside really wonderful. As such, I just had to take a quick ride out to Kidlington. Now, when I do so, I make sure to at least bring tire irons, a backup tube, and my new pump.

Continuing my experimentation with British cheeses, I went through a block of Sainsbury’s Wensleydale today. It has a consistency similar to Cheshire and a common fondness for breaking into bits. Antonia apty described the taste as somewhere between mozzarella and feta, though quite pleasantly so. I recommend trying it on toasted dark bread, along with either tomato and some black pepper or zucchini slices fried in olive oil.

Brain feeling vaguely crunchy

Since I am going to London from Thursday night to Friday night, and finally doing my first hike with the walking club on Sunday, I suppose I really need to get to work on my third-to-last paper for Dr. Hurrell today. It is a shame that I have been feeling rather ill since yesterday afternoon. Perhaps I can spend today immersed in the reading of books, the doing of laundry, and the sipping of ginger ale.

At least the presentation on unipolarity and great powers managed to go fairly well, ably expanded upon by Alex.

[Update: 7 June 2006, 1:33pm] After sleeping about fourteen hours straight, I feel much better. Now to do laundry and have my hair snipped back to a helmet-friendly length.

Life on an upswing

I am really glad to have my bike in working order again. Using it for a mail-run to Wadham and finding a card from Sarah was doubly gratifying. Oxford is a really fun place to cycle at night, lights blinking. The familiar streets feel liberating without traffic. I am equally glad to have dropped another paper into the inter-college post for Dr. Hurrell. It’s the one I am presenting on tomorrow, so I hope it is acceptably good. Now, I just need to write another three for him in the next couple of weeks and the academic year will be over.

Having a trio of parties seems the natural response: one next week to mark the end of term, one on the 22nd to celebrate the summer solstice, and another on July 1st to celebrate Canada Day. It will be a grand affair and I encourage all the Canucks in Oxford who I know to come out for it. Those wanting to observe Canadians in groups may also be considered for admission, though you will be required to learn any one sentence in French, as well as the chorus to ‘The Log Driver’s Waltz.’ Anyone who can provide actual Canadian beer is automatically extremely welcome.

PS. Mica’s video contest quarter file is ongoing. Please take a moment to vote for him. His film is really dramatically better than the version of ‘Song 2’ it is up against. Incidentally, yes – I will continue advertising this contest until i

Parties, walking, bikes, and gratitude

Anna's cake After walking about six miles home from Anna’s birthday party, my father talked me through the repair of the puncture in my rear tire. Now, I just need to buy a pump to replace the one I have deemed hopelessly lost. Since the cycle shops wanted to charge me eleven quid, or so, just to repair the punctured tube this is a very welcome development. Indeed, the eleven quid will cover most of the ‘go to Heathrow to meet Linnea’ shortfall. Excellent.

Now, I should sleep. My thanks to Anna for an entertaining party.

PS. Aside from being a very cool kind of cat, Cheshire is also a tasty – though very crumbly – kind of cheese. I actually find the cheese to be rather like the cat: it vanishes fairly quickly, but leaves a smile.

Summer day, time to vote for Mica again

With the summer solstice nineteen days away, it is dazzlingly bright outside and all of Oxford’s green spaces are strewn with sleeping, reading, shirtless, ice-cream eating, ultimate-playing students. The University Parks look like English Bay, in Vancouver, on a sunny summer’s afternoon. While I don’t overly appreciate being irradiated by the sun, myself, I enjoy the spirit that seems to accompany the collective exodus to the outside world: even if I am appreciating it through library windows.

On Mica’s ‘Hives’ video
On a different matter, my brother Mica’s video has made it to the quarter final of the ‘Google Idol’ competition. I highly recommend that people take the time to go vote. You can also leave him comments on his blog. He is winning by a rather smaller margin this time, so people are especially encouraged to have a look.

My post about the previous round is here.

For my part, I am going to read a few more articles before heading off to Anna’s birthday party, way down Abingdon Road. I will also continue to dream of Amsterdam, where I feel increasingly compelled to go for a week or so, once classes end. Ideally, it’s a trip that I can convince someone interesting, with whom I have a stable and engaging relationship, to accompany me on.

On luxury notebooks

Encouraged by the approval of friends like Emily and Tarun, as well as the endorsement on Tony’s blog, I bought a Moleskine notebook today. I am quite ambivalent with regards to the symbolism of the things: they try to cultivate artistic chic, but through their absurd price, coupled with ready availability, they can easily be seen as absurdly pompous. This might be called ‘Powerbook syndrome:’ only very marginally better than iBooks, yet nearly twice the price.

I was able to justify spending eight quid on a 120-page notebook only because it is an eighteen month weekly calendar. As such, it is worth spending more for something that will not fall apart or lead to you cursing it daily for a year and a half. It is a better alternative to telling people: “Yes, Thursday might be good. Just email me and I will check in Outlook that I don’t already have something sorted out.”

The choice was between developing a memory for appointment-type details and getting some kind of day-planner. The redeeming qualities of spending money on something long-lived should be a useful antidote to accusations of notebook snobbery. As for the question of whether Moleskine notebooks are really all they’re cracked up to be, I will get back to you.

Ratchet of the year

The psychological gulf from May to June is enormous. That boundary is the ratchet; it’s the point beyond which the advancements of September through May are locked down. The feeling of crossing it is that of being secured and unleashed at the same time. A few more loose ends to tie up (four papers and a presentation) and it’s just me and Europe for the summer. Some kind of European job, many European books, and at least a few quick sojourns to the continent itself.

With four whole months now before classes will resume, I can scarcely imagine what will transpire in the interim. I need only compare the present day to May Day to be instantly reminded of how quickly things change here. Oxford terms and relationships operate on accelerated time scales, as they tend to within communities of people in transit.

This coming Friday, it looks as though I will be going to London. Despite it only being a few hours away, by bus, this will be only my third visit to see things within the city itself, rather than simply pass through on the way to an airport. Key objectives are the British Museum, the Tate Modern, and the search for certain things I’ve been unable to find so far in Oxford. I imagine that anything that can be found can be found somewhere in that broad, flattened, ancient metropolis.