I treated my illustrator self to a professional walk-about in London on Thursday. A 5:30 am car-ride, 7 am Eurostar, 8:40 Tube and 9 am local bus brought me to my final destination by 9:30 am. The Dulwich Picture Gallery.( http://www.dulwichpicturegallery.org.uk/ )!
Besides looking at the buildings and local fashions I enjoyed watching the Londoners pollute. People dropped papers everywhere without shame and constantly. It was shocking but kind of fun to watch. Even when the French litter they do it in shame or in secret.
I also liked looking at the array of faces. My favorite English types to seek out were the ones with buttery white complexions and flabby flush cheeks. Their tiny pink beestung lips open up to expose incredibly long front teeth like my paternal Grandmother. Does anyone know what I mean? Despite my description it is actually a very attractive, delicate look even for the men.
Back to the Dulwich Picture Gallery. In the gallery I was appalled when I realized that it would be me and a loud woman with a stroller of one year old twins. (Flabby cheeks and beestung lips although the mother had something not so attractive going on-- possibly babyfat that creeped up into her neck.) She made a point to speak VERY LOUDLY as she counted outloud while pointing at the illustrations.
I cringed and tried to pull myself together. She continued her counting in a stage voice that pierced my very soul. She was ruining my experience. I held back the tears and ran (I think I was covering my ears with my forearms and cursing outloud) skipping ahead two or three rooms until the echo of her voice disappaited. My heartbeat accompanied my visit from artist to artist. At the half way point I could hear her again and had to make a run back to the beginning and hope that her pace outpaced mine ... And how many severed heads do you see sweetheart? She left before I had to meet up with her again. A dirty diaper may have put an end to her visit.
Tim Burton and Edgar Allen Poe were there (or at least they should have been) amongst the pale sylphides and pining ghouls.
I traced Tim Burton's artistic lineage back to Beardsley and Poe's to the poet Pope. The Lock of the Rape is about a naughty young man who snipped a lock of hair without permission and was a source of inspiration for several generations of poets, illustrators and lovers too.
Some of my favorite discoveries or rediscoveries for my own inspiration are Charles Robinson (nice use of contre jour, dramatic device),
Kay Nielsen (I should look at it for proportions for women's magazine illustrations and note the proportions of scenery/subject,
Harry Clarke (how is it that I never came across his stuff before?! He is just too great! I love the detailed lace-like effects and stark contrast) ,
Annie French (so sparkley and dazzling despite limited palettes.. )
,
Jessie Marion King (great line and feeling... she speaks to me. Love her compositions and how she lets the white space breathe )
,
Alastair (decadence -- can't find image online )
and Edmund Dulac who I should note uses wonderful skin tones in night scenes. His drawings are truly enchanting but almost too beautiful to penetrate. Beardsely is more captivating despite a clumsier line but this is not a competition about who gets me as a fan is it?
They have a nice little cafe where I ate some cake. I had to ask the waitress what the difference between the cafe latte, cafe au lait, cappucino and cafe with milk would be. It was all very clear to her although she couldn't clearly explain. I finally ordered a black coffee with milk on the side but she served me a cappucino. I remember when it was simple to order coffee in London but I also remember it never tasted this good. I was just melting into my chair relaxing from my busy morning when shivers ran down my spine. The horrible loud lady with her twins were seated at the table right next to mine and she began counting again outloud. I paid the check and ran out the door as the twins address little royal-like waves to me.
I then trotted off on the bus and tube to the St Bride Gallery library which is a printers library and great place to hang out. Lots of magazines on design and printmaking. Nice informative people and a busy schedule of guests and events. I saw there about a 1950's illustrator and enjoyed seeing all the technical printing sheets.
I left the library for a trip to Harvey Nichols with hopes to find a gorgeous little doodad or two. Instead, I ended up lost in the winding streets of Knightsbridge or someplace near Buckingham Palace. Not quite sure where I was which is what you might call L O S T ... I ended up smack-dab in front of the entrance to The Illustrator's Gallery or Chris Beetles Gallery.http://www.chrisbeetles.com/ I have never been so lucky to be lost.
Quentin Blake, Ronald Searle and Beatrix Potter are just a couple of the illustrators featured on the walls of this place. Can you believe my luck when I found work for sale by Beardsely, Harry Clarke and some of the others that I had just seen at the Dulwich Gallery? It was a perfect continuation to my visit. Too bad I left 4000 sterling in another wallet or I may have been tempted to purchase my gorgeous little doodad then and there. Instead I happily drank it all up.
The staff left me alone as I phonephotoed and sketched away to my heart's content. Two floors of illustrators from the 1700's to now. Amazing.
Mabel Allwell Lucie was on display amongst the many others. She drew British cupie doll like characters in the 1920's.
William Heath Robinson also stood out from the crowd for me.
I left two hours later (2 hours imagine that) and wandered down the street wondering what I should do next because I was still technically L O S T. I was a bit hungry but it was too late for lunch. I wove in and out of the streets and like magic Fortnum and Mason appeared in front of me at exactly 4:45 otherwise known as...? ! TEA TIME! Scottish highland scrambled eggs on toast and a strong tea has never tasted so good.
Two leisurely hours later the Eurostar whisked me back to my little bed and family where I fell into bed full of pen and ink dreams.
