April 29 Tate Mod

Walking along the south bank from the light rail, we passed the Globe Theatre, a replica of Will's place. Didn't fancy going in, nor to the replica Golden Hind. Our goal, the Tate Modern, is an old industrial building, still with its 5 story, twenty ton rail crane and sloping ground floor. Our first encounter was several billion ceramic sunflower seeds spread 6” deep on the football field sized floor, the flat part of the ground, by a Chinese artist who has kept a town in his home country busy for 5 years digging and processing clay, forming the seeds in molds, hand painting, wood firing, sorting, and packing. Of course he is now in custody, whereabouts unknown. What would a stroll in a good museum be, without a meeting with Barbara. Don't ask, you know - if you've been paying attention. Many years ago the Russian-American artist Mark Rothko was commissioned to do paintings for the walls of a NYC restaurant. As the work progressed, he couldn't bear the thought of them in a noisy restaurant, with people gobbling food left and right, so he approached the Tate, where they have been ever since. Gail and I have seen pictures, as you do now, for years, but like our seeing Michelangelo’s David years ago, nothing prepares you for the actual experience: one of the inspirations for the term 'abstract sublime'.
On another floor, the TM had staged an investigation of Surrealism, and we enjoyed the usual Dalis and Arps, plus some new discoveries, such as the Brit, Julian Trevelyan, with his baking pan inspired assemblage, Bomblet, 1937, made when in Paris. A late entry into the fold of Surrealists, Joseph Bueys, installed Lightning with Stag in its Glare, first in Düsseldorf c.1984 from parts of previous works. We came across another Hepworth on our way to dinner on the top floor (see, I knew you knew), the quintessential carving, direct from her hand. She once was met by a critic who was surprised at her small size: 'it's skill and persistence', not brawn, she snipped.
Two views of the pedestrian, but very cool, bridge we took to amble back the north bank to the train 'home'. (OK, Anglicans, it's St. Paul's)