St Martin; Sisley
And yes, now it is Friday again. I have a breakfast date at the SoHo Hotel which means I have to get up early - early for me at least because Sonnet gets going well before dawn preparing for whatever or jogging with her psycho female friends. SoHo Hotel is tres gay and I admire the dudes and their cool outfits - I too can aspire to be metrosexual. After, I find myself with three hours to kill before lunch and after some initial concerns about, ahem, boredom I pay a respectful visit to St Martin-in-the-field and then the National Gallery for some arts. St Martin has been around since at least 1222 when the Abbot of Westminster and the Bishop of London fought over its control, leaving an historical paper-trail which was not email (Westminster won BTW and it was used by their monks). The church rebuilt by Henry VIII (Madeleine: "the fat one") in 1542 to avoid plague victims passing through the King's Palace of Whitehall. At the time, it was "in the fields" in an isolated spot between the cities of Westminster and London. The church later survived the London fire but replaced eventually with a new building in 1721 designed by James Gibbs (influenced, I am sure, by Wren). It was panned then became famous and finally copied - all across America. Given all that, St Martin is pretty darn simple if you ask me: rectangular box, one pointy steeple and some massive columns to greet worshipers and tourists who walk up the chalky steps to pray or gawk. Sonnet and I, during our first year in London, joined a Saturday morning tour of "Portland stone" (yes, those desperate times). Surrounded by old-aged pensioners and wacko enthusiasts we learned all about.... Portland stone, the church being a fine example, you see. With everything else, St Martin offers extraordinary acoustics and a wonderful organ; performances occur daily and my favorite being the lunch-time series show-casing young, musical genius (there is plenty here in an eccentric way), strange instruments, choirs and ensembles. This, I know, a favorite of Stan and I must agree: heaven, and the cost a donation.
From God I go to the the gallery across the street to see an expo on impressionist Sisley, who I learn had British parents yet born and raised in France. Sisley studied at the atelier of of Swiss artist Marc-Charles-Gabriel Gleyre where he befriended Frederic Bazille, Claude Monet and Pierre-Auguste Renoir. The rest, as they say, is history. The efficient collection gives us Sisley's sea-front paintings, in their entirety, which he completed whilst visiting Wales late in his life - strange considering Sisley loved water and rivers (most famously the Seine outside of Paris+Hampton Court on the Thames, pictured- the flow of water, ah). I happily compare these paintings to the permanent collection which unfailingly puts me in a good mood. From there to Nobu and a catch-up with Scott who, with his partner Daniel, surrogate birth twins in September. Life and life-style have changed for him, for sure. Bravo!
I ask Eitan how is dinner? He replies with an enormous burp! and we giggle. Sonnet walks in noting: "It is so nice to see your table manners" and we both crack up.
Image from the National Galleries.
