An Afternoon At The National Gallery And Stuff With John Random, 4 May 2018

John Random and I had originally intended this National Gallery visit to take place on 6 April, but for reasons explained in the Ogblog piece here and below, the National Gallery element of our get together was postponed:

Lord’s-related Lunches 6 & 10 April 2018, Then Middlesex v Northants Day One, Lord’s, 13 April 2018

No matter – perhaps we had been over-ambitious trying to do everything in one day, so Plan B was to meet for lunch 4 May and then go to the National Gallery.

John suggested Gaby’s on Charing Cross Road – a real blast from the past – I hadn’t been in there for donkey’s years. John had ful medames, but I didn’t want to risk jet-propelling myself around the National Gallery, so I went traditional with a salt beef sandwich and pickle. Substantial – but I had worked up an appetite playing an intense hour of real tennis that morning.

Then on to the National Gallery. John had planned five pieces with interesting/quirky stories to show me – then we would wander freestyle.

The First Four Of The Five Random Tour Items

First up – the Boris Anrep mosaics. John took great pleasure in quizzing me on the famous folk depicted in that mosaic. At first I thought he was kidding (and with one or two examples, he was kidding) but there are some quite quirky choices for some of the depictions. If you click this link (also up front in this paragraph) you get Wikipedia chapter and verse.

Second – Portrait Of The Duke Of Wellington by Goya. Far from the most interesting work of art in the gallery, but it has a fascinating story to it’s theft, the subsequent trial of Kempton Bunton and the reference to this incident in the James Bond film, Dr No – just click this or the preceding link to read about it.

As a curious aside to the Duke Of Wellington story, John Random and I tried (and failed to remember the name of the famous QC who defended Kempton Bunton; it was of course Jeremy Hutchinson.  That made me wonder whether Hutchinson had ever worked with my friend Robin Simpson, one of the senior gentlemen with whom I sometimes play doubles at real tennis. It turns out that both Jeremy and Robin were involved with the defence of the Fanny Hill obscenity prosecution, see pp192-196 of the attached thesis, as was Richard Du Cann. (Makes mental note to Ogblog the crazy day in the mid-to-late 1980s when I ended up dashing to the Old Bailey to brief Richard Du Cann ahead of a fraud trial, the facts of which had taken an unexpected, last-minute turn.)

Third –  An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump by Joseph Wright ‘of Derby’. I did recall having seen this picture before in my childhood. Indeed the whole visit to the National Gallery reminded me of visits with my dad in the 1970s – possibly even before I started to keep a diary – I must have a skim of the early diaries to see if I can find any references. John and I mused on whether the scientist resembles Peter Stringfellow (John’s choice) or Frank Finlay (Jenny’s preference). I don’t like to take sides, but on reflection, I think Jenny (Frank Finlay) wins the lookalike contest by a 1970s hair’s breadth. Janie also plugged for Frank Finlay. John and I struggled to work out the main source of light in the picture, but that is explained in the National Gallery piece on this painting, click the link here or the preceding link in this paragraph.

Fourth up – The Toilet Of Venus (aka The Rokeby Venus) by Diego Velázquez. A favourite of John’s family, in part due to their proximity to Rokeby, John and I agreed that it is not, in our view, the finest example of a Velázquez to be found. John reminded me of a Peter Cook and Dudley Moore sketch, set in an art gallery,  in which Pete muses that well-painted bottoms follow you all around the room – referenced here. John and I mused briefly on that characteristic in the context of The Rokeby Venus’s bottom, concluding that it does follow you around the room – judge for yourself below and/or click here or the first link in the paragraph for more details:

The Fifth Random Tour Item – The Non-Existent Man With Theorbo

This fifth item was due to be the highlight and indeed was probably the initiating idea for the entire visit. John and I had been talking about my interest in early music and early music instruments. Then John wrote to me, mentioning that he had seen some interesting paintings in the National Gallery, depicting people with those instruments.

Unfortunately, fragments of  John’s memories of the conversation and the paintings themselves apparently got mixed up, but John promised me that he would show me a painting entitled “Man With Theorbo”. This was a very exciting prospect for me indeed; a veritable highlight was in store for me.

Or was it?

When we got to the appropriate room, John showed me the following painting

I explained to John that the instrument depicted was a lute, not a theorbo. I showed John a picture of a theorbo.

Even John had to agree that these were different instruments. I politely pointed out that the painting John showed me is actually named “A Man Playing A Lute“…no mention of a theorbo.

We looked around that room, in vain, wondering whether there was also a picture of man with theorbo, but eventually John admitted that he must have been mistaken.

I decided to put my foot down at this juncture. After all, a promise is a promise. And my previous visits to the National Gallery took place when I was a small child, so I knew how to behave there.

“I’m not leaving the National Gallery until I have seen the man with theorbo,” I declared.

If John had thought about it clearly, he could have rapidly released me from this fixation by offering to buy me an ice cream outside or something. But instead, John seemed to resign himself to a long – perhaps eternal – trawl through the National Gallery in the vain hope that the non-existent grand master, Man With Theorbo, might miraculously emerge – perhaps through the power of magical thinking.

So we wandered on, through the Rembrandt Rooms and the Rubens Rooms, which felt very much like home turf to me from visits with dad in days of yore. A large party of schoolkids were having Belshazzar’s Feast explained to them by a teacher. John asked me if I could read and translate the writing on the wall. I demurred, loosely translating it as “you’ve had it, pal” – not bad for a rank amateur.

Then, quite by chance, we happened upon Room 16, where John spotted A Woman Singing And A Man With A Cittern. John then remembered that he had intended to show me this room and that particular picture too, as we had, on that musical instrument discussion occasion, explored briefly the distinction between the mandolin-like cittern and the guitar-like gittern.

Then, in the exact same room, I spotted the following picture, A Young Woman Playing A Harpsichord To A Young Man :

“Oh look”, I said, “the little fella on the stairs is carrying an instrument that looks very much like a theorbo…”

“Thank heavens for that”, said John, “can we go now?”

“…but on the other hand, that might be an archlute, not a theorbo,” I said, “it’s hard to judge the scale of the thing at that size and distance.”

“Do you fancy a cup of coffee and a piece of cake,” said John, at this juncture realising that a few well chosen words might help him finally escape from his theorbo debacle.

“Great idea”, I said, so off we went in search of a decent caff.

In Trafalgar Square, I wanted to take a proper look at the new fourth plinth item: The Invisible Enemy Should Not Exist by Michael Rakowitz:

Then on to find a cafe where we could enjoy some coffee and cake out of doors – we soon found Tasting Sicily Enzo’s Kitchen in Panton Street, where we indulged in cannoli – i.e. we each tried Cannolo Siciliano and some Italian-style coffee.

Ever wondered what John Random might look like with cannolo at an outdoor Sicilian style cafe? Wonder no more:

Ever wondered what people like me and John talk about over such an afternoon treat? Well, the conversation somehow got on to Carlos The Jackal, the fact that John had once met a Venezuelan lady who had once shared a taxi with Carlos The Jackal, Leila Khaled, the fact that Graham Robertson’s dad’s gardening was interrupted by the unscheduled arrival of said Leila Khaled at Heathrow on El Al Flight 219 in 1970 (frightfully inconvenient of her), then inevitably, The Teardrop Explodes, the fact that I had once rubbed shoulders with Julian Cope of the Teardrop Explodes, Laurence Corner and the fact that Janie and I met through the Laurence Corner family.

In short, it had been a fascinating and fun afternoon.