Here’s the Thing With The Tate Modern

Continuing with museum fever, I went to Tate Modern. Although I can certainly appreciate modern art, sometimes I don’t like the ambiguous nature and the debatable (mis)interpretation of it. Guess you can call me a Classicist. In most cases, if I see it and I can understand it, then I can feel it and appreciate it. I’m sure my statement may offend, but that’s why art is so subjective.

If I walk into a darkened room, with 2 film projectors going, and one of those black and white reels show a shapeless, naked man, wearing a pig mask and boxing gloves, pummelling himself in the face, I really can’t constitute this as art. It seems like I’m not alone, neither could other people, who like me, spun on their heels, getting out of there the moment they walked in.

It’s funny, I saw way more younger people here at the Tate than the V&A. It was a hipster’s paradise, but it did dawn on me, is it all surface? Do these kids really like modern art, or was this their cruising ground for picking up? I cruised, but for very different reasons. Besides a few pieces that held my interest, I didn’t find the other pieces appealing.

One that stood out for me was Cornelia Parker’s thirty pieces of silver.

Another room sized installation was my nightmare come to life. Think of a padded cell, but instead of antiseptic, clinical white, the 20 foot high’s walls were painted a chalkboard dark gray and the lines and geometric shapes were drawn with a mathematician or engineer’s precision in what looked similar to white chalk. The room felt like it had been decorated by Beetlejuice or something. Upon walking in and looking at one wall, let alone 4 walls, my eyes started to get squirrelly and I pictured myself in the corner, wearing a straight jacket, losing my mind, cuz this room will do exactly that to me.

Sol Lewitt Tate Modern on Flickr

Suffice it to say, I did not find myself spending the whole afternoon there. One shining star? One of my favourite modern artist will be having a major retospective at the Tate, Cy Twombly, starting June 19. Another artist’s work I fell in love with, while in New York. Frankly, that artist was the only reason why I went to moma.

Cy Twombly’s The Four Seasons: Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter from the MoMA website:

He’s a modern master and abstract expressionist, but call me simplistic, I just dig on his colours and composition – it’s as simple as that.

Exiting The Tate, I walked over the Millennium Bridge to St. Paul’s Cathedral. You really can’t miss this majestic building. Unbeknownst to me, I just hit on 5 o’clock mass and as I strolled in, I was asked if I’d like to take part in the service. But since I’m not a Catholic, I thought it would be disingenuous of me to do anything more than to take in the choir, listen to the opening sermon and just observe. I sat for a little bit, before quietly slipping out to wander the grounds of St. Paul’s. And to pass on a tip from my boss, while the front of the cathedral is a wonder to behold, truly, it is the back courtyard that will prove the oasis in the bustling city. A hidden gem, with the statue of the lovers and a fountain pool to admire.

Trying my luck to get a ticket to catch Don Carlo playing at the Royal Opera House was not in my favour, so I walked through Covent Garden and Leicester Square, on my way home. Having passed shop after shop, I finally caved and went into H&M. I’ve been here 4 days and shopped at pretty much all my favourite shops at Oxford Circus and I couldn’t find anything! No. Not that I didn’t like the clothes. On the contrary, my size was never in stock. Ever. It became maddening. I really thought that I’d have nothing to show for my trip, but then I realized that I had been shopping on the high street, alongside a billion other UK size 8s. We were all competing for a finite number of pieces.

The one shop in the last fews days that offered salvation? (before today, that is) Selfridges. Oh. My. Word. That department store is beyond awesome. It’s stunning and what every high end/designer department store should aspire to. Seriously. And they carried a small selection of Topshop, and they had size 8s. But nothing that fried my burger. (isn’t that always the way?) But now I know – stay off the high street and everything will be just peachy.

View more photos of my trip on my Flickr album.