Boston: Sunshine, Spirituality And Science?

With the end of my trip rapidly approaching, I’d hoped for some sunshine on the final day in Boston. Initially it seemed that I would be disappointed.

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Not only was the sky grey and the temperature cold, but rain was falling as well.

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Once again I resorted to indoor attractions. First, I found a bookshop in a shopping mall. Inspired by the Japan portion of my trip, I’d resolved to learn the language, and one day return – therefore, I spent my time in the bookshop poring over language texts and books about the country, some of which I would later order back in the UK. After killing some time surrounded by my favourite objects (books), I curiously approached an attraction referred to as the Mapparium – a weird glass globe located in a huge complex of church buildings.

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Being rather wary of religion in general, particularly in its more eccentric, evangelical forms, I felt awkward visiting an attraction surrounded by religious doctrine. The Mapparium is part of a huge Christian Science complex – an opulant array of buildings complete with a library dedicated to Mary Baker Eddy, the movement’s founder.

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Whilst waiting to be taken into the Mapparium, I wandered around the accompanying exhibition – a slick affair detailing somewhat (in my opinion) dubious claims regarding the powers of religion. Let’s just say I felt a little uncomfortable seeing certain statements and assertions presented as fact.

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The Mapparium itself was quite impressive – a globe made in 1935, thus documenting a different geography from a different time.

Standing inside it was a surreal experience, but sadly no photography allowed.

Leaving obscure theories and theology behind, I then visited somewhere completely opposite – the MIT Museum.

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Located on the campus of the world famous Massachusetts Institute for Technology (consistently ranked as one of the top universities in the world) the museum spans two floors of varied exhibits.

The first, was a little disappointing – the exhibits made great efforts towards interactivity, but aesthetically, they were just a little too plain and unexciting for me.

The second floor, however, was a much more interesting and thought-provoking experience.

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One of my favourite parts of the exhibition featured work from MIT students – science buffs who had elected to take an arts module, thus exploring the crossovers between art and science. The results were some quirky and unusual (but also functional) artworks.

This illustrates one of the biggest advantages that US higher education has over that in the UK. Whilst degree courses in Britain are perhaps a little more interdisciplinary than they once were, I get the impression that in the US students have a far broader range of subjects they can study within any given degree discipline. Hence science students can study art, and perhaps vice versa?

On my way back from the museum I encountered the newest form of graffiti – the padlocks on bridges phenomena.

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Seriously what is this all about? Overloading public landmarks with hunks of metal is just as bad as scrawling all over them with spraypaint in my opinion.

Certainly some graffiti is thoughtful and artistically executed, and perhaps there is a way for padlocks to be thus also, however, in their current forms of mass occupation I find them an eyesore.

As I pondered such matters on my walk around Boston, the sun briefly came out, and I enjoyed a walk in the snow-laden Boston Common.

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However, grey skies soon remained, reminding me of my imminent return to Manchester.

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 I returned to the hostel to gather my things. Soon the six week trip would be over…

See also:

Boston’s Icy Welcome

Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum And Other Adventures In Boston

An American Cambridge

An Afternoon At The ICA

Salem: Snow And Witches

Salem: Nathaniel Hawthorne’s House

An Afternoon At The ICA

St Patrick’s Day is huge in Boston, something I didn’t realise or expect when I initially arrived in the city in the early hours of a cold dark morning in March.

The following day I was torn – should I wait in the rain for the celebratory parade, or take advantage of a quiet period to explore the city’s Institute of Contemporary Art?

Much as I’d have liked to have seen costumes and floats (is that what St Patrick’s Day parades in Boston consist of?) the prospect of getting wet and being jostled by crowds led me to seek refuge in the dry, warm company of contemporary art. A decision I by no means regret. The ICA was fantastic.

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As an artist, it was important, during the trip, to experience some of the world’s best contemporary galleries, given that, due to my unfortunate career choice (!) I’m unlikely to be able to afford such venture again in the near future.

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Overlooking the marina, the gallery enthralled me with some fascinating art, including the then exhibition When Stars Begin To Fall: Imagination And The American South.

Admittedly the title did not pique my interest initially, but the work itself did. There was a huge variety in terms of form, subject matter and perhaps, subjectively speaking, quality. Painting, photography, film, performance – all had a home here, brought together by a shared interest in the American South. The highlights for me included some incredible head sculptures, carnivalesque in their playful distortion of features, but also movingly human at the same time. And of course Kara Walker never disappoints – her visceral yet shadowy animation explored some very dark narratives indeed, much to the bewilderment of two young boys who were watching it in front of me.

Another highlight was an immersive sound installation – Sonic Arboretum.

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These strange, sculptural contraptions played with eerie haunting melodies, conversing with themselves and one another – gramaphone-esque trumpeting forms, like flowers growing in a bare white gallery.

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Near the entrance I spotted a beautiful site-specific piece – an epic cascading painting of sorts, drawn liberally across the tall walls; the patterns dancing with reflections and shadows, cast by the nearby windows.

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Outside the bad weather continued, and unsurprisingly, very little was happening in the marina.

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Had I been able to spare the dollars, it might have been nice to sample some local seafood.

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Or visit an independent cafe.

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Instead I bought my tea from Whole Foods – yummy and surprisingly affordable.

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Eaten in the hostel kitchen.

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With some complimentary green tea.

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Another perk of HI hostels in the USA – free tea and coffee throughout the day (although not in San Francisco for some reason – but their coffee, arguably, was by far superior and worth paying for).

Finding myself a cosy chair in a corner for the evening (the Boston hostel was full of cosy nooks and crannys, plus handy plug sockets!) I browsed weather forecasts and places to visit.

Eager to be inspired, I had a brainwave – why not pay a visit to nearby Salem?

See also:

Boston’s Icy Welcome

Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum And Other Adventures In Boston

An American Cambridge

America

Europe

Japan

Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum And Other Adventures In Boston

Faced with a rainy start to my Boston stay, I sought refuge in one of many of the city’s museums.

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum showcases an impressive collection of art and artefacts, accumulated by Isabella Stewart Gardner – a noted patron of the arts. Gardner began travelling and aquiring art following the tragic death of her only child – a son who died from pneumonia at the age of two. She spent three decades exploring the world with her husband Jack, and subseqently shared her discoveries, now housed at the museum. In her will, alongside donations to various charitable organisations, Isabella specifically outlined her vision for the museum, which now continues to preserve her legacy for future visitors.

This noble venture sounded great in principle – the range of materials on display was impressive, but for me it was all a little too crowded; I felt as if the individual pieces didn’t always have space to breathe.

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The architecture of the building deserved its own share of the limelight, but perhaps at times also distracted from the accompanying exhibitions and individual museum pieces. A sort of cultural and historical overload perhaps.

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I couldn’t help but be reminded of my visit to Alcazar in Seville – strange to see bits and pieces of my trip appropriated in other, geographically distant places. Indeed, the museum architecture took inspiration from a multitude of historical and geographical locations.

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And of course the ubiquitous selfie invitation.

Why is it necessary to take selfies everywhere? Are places themselves no longer enough?

To be fair, photography was not permitted in many parts of the museum, so it was reassuring to know that the courtyard was exempt from said restriction.

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One thing that occasionally distresses me at museums and galleries is hearing well-meaning but domineering parents instruct their children on each piece on display. Some of the most creative and wonderful interpretations I’ve heard offered inside cultural institutions have come from children, and it is crushing to witness them being told what something is or means, before they’ve had a chance to figure out their own interpretation.

I only mention this because I observed it in action during my visit, I’m all for education and the sharing of knowledge, but shouldn’t this also be coupled with some space for imagination and mystery?

Rant over. I must admit I felt uncomfortable in the museum – it was filled to bursting point, and many visitors were rude – there was a surprising amount of pushing and shoving. I can imagine that the beautiful courtyard would be tranquil on a quieter day (it was a Sunday), and that even the rooms, chock full of art and decoration, would have seemed less claustrophobic without huge crowds to battle through.

To my perhaps uneducated eye, the collection seemed to closely resemble many that I’ve witnessed in visits to stately homes, palaces and more traditional museums over the years. The whole Grand Tour era, in which wealthy Western travellers toured European cultural sites, and later, the more exotic pilgrimages made to the East, the Orient, and beyond, seems to have historically spawned particular types of cultural tourism and art collecting.

The museum deserves a more in-depth review, but I didn’t make enough notes to do this accurately. I was eager to escape the crowds, even if this meant braving the rain for a while, taking the opportunity to explore more of Boston.

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I must admit to have been intrigued by the Tea Party Museum (I encountered it briefly in passing) but was unwilling to gamble on another large entrance fee in the same day. Like the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, the attraction was surrounded by queues, and would undoubtedly have been busy. Loved the historical sailing vessels outside though – there were two!

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Instead I visited the Fire Museum; a smallish building filled vintage fire engines, museum pieces and burly men discussing the dangers of fire (and military service experience).

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There were some nice pieces – not just the old engines, but also some charming models, historical uniform examples and plenty of paraphernalia.

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Outside the rain occasionally let up, running rivulets along seeping piles of sodden snow.

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As usual, an impromptu walking tour offers plenty of unexpected insights into a city, missed when travelling by subway or bus.

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Unexpected art, for instance, and, perhaps more surprisingly, Primark. When did Primark come to the US?!

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I had hoped to walk the Freedom Trail, but as my leaky boots filled with water, I realised that this, and the rain, would make things a little impractical.

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When I planned this Boston visit, I imagined visiting green parks, walking along the river and admiring the historical parts of the city. Instead I found it, like Chicago, buried deep under the grip of an unusually late winter spell.

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I climbed Beacon Hill…

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…and dodged puddles of sludge on Boston Common.

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Then a little adventure when I got back to the hostel.

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My unseen roommates of the previous night had all but disappeared, except one – an aloof girl who ignored my tentative smile upon entering the room.

Shortly after my return, a trio of waspish St Patrick’s Day revellers trooped in, wearing elaborate (and revealing) costumes and make-up, their luggage housed in designer bags.

They passed a condescending look at me and my plain clothes, before getting pally with Roommate Number 1. This was quite unlike my other hostel experiences – even in the less desirable hostels, I’d rarely met roommates who were unwilling to part with a smile or a hello. Perhaps I wasn’t posh enough for Boston?

Later the strangest occupant arrived – an older lady, who seemed a little out of things – after uttering a few strange comments, she went to bed. The other girls left, and I took a shower in the shower room outside. I then returned for an early night. Shortly after nodding off, I was woken by the sounds of people talking, then hurriedly exiting the dorm. Then the smell – at first I thought someone was eating something strong smelling, then as it got worse, I slowly realised the horrible truth, and made a fast exit myself, bumping into one of the hostel staff, who had seemingly been alerted to the situation.

I felt sorry for the older lady – she evidently had problems of some sort, and was not quite aware of what was going on, but it would be impossible, not to say unhygienic, to stay in the room. Fortunately the hostel organised a new room. This one was overheated, but the roommates were friendly, and it was clean.

See also:

Boston’s Icy Welcome

Amtrak: Not Fit For Purpose?

America

Europe

Japan

Skokie Northshore Sculpture Park

When I read about Chicago’s Skokie Northshore Sculpture Park online, I inadvertently thought of the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, one of Northern England’s most fantastic art venues (in my humble opinion). The latter has rolling hills, green fields, winding trails, wildlife and fantastic collections of permanent and changing art.

Consquently I was a little disappointed when I arrived at Skokie.

I took the metro to one of the outer city districts – there’s no station near the park, so it was a long walk through a dull neighbourhood and a whole lot of faith that I was going in the right direction. Thankfully I was.

The park runs adjacent to a murky river and a busy highway, the latter providing less than ideal conditions for a peaceful mosey in an arts venue. The sculptures themselves lacked the variety in scale, materials and form that I’d been hoping for, but evidently this was a much, much smaller scale venture than YSP (and possibly less well funded one might assume). Perhaps also it was difficult for the work to shine on patchy yellow grass, only recently recovering from the onslaught of snow.

Maybe I’m being a little unfair to the park –  had I not a more favourable model to compare it to, I’d have been more enthused. Nonetheless, some of the pieces caught my eye (and iPhone), and it was relatively peaceful people-wise (ignoring the continuous roar of traffic alongside).

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Indeed, there was nothing inherently wrong with the sculptures, and I always applaud any means by which art is celebrated by a city – certainly Chicago seemed to embrace the new and the contemporary – one of its redeeming qualities. However, I can’t help but feel that more could be done with the sculpture park concept.

Some smaller, more intimate pieces perhaps, or some large scale examples? More contrast in material and form? A better and more easily reached location? I wonder if they hold events there? Money of course is a huge factor, and I know little of the park’s circumstances. More information on site might help here – not necessarily over-curating the sculptures but more some context and history regarding the park, and the story of its collection?

As I mused over the respective merits of different sculpture parks I suddenly realised I was marooned once more in the middle of nowhere, I figured that it was no further to walk to a different station than to return to the one I came from. Plus I’d see some different scenery at least. How mistaken I was about the former point. The latter, well, what I saw was certainly, different.

I walked for miles through one of the scariest neighbourhoods I’d ever been through. How glad I was to find the refuge of a metro station.

Having purchased a day ticket for the metro, I sought out some more far flung corners of the city to visit.

See also:

A Change Of Heart And Mind

Chicago: Not As Expected?

A Long Walk North

Contemporary Art, Chicago Style

Jane Addams Hull House Museum

Winter At The Botanical Gardens

America

Contemporary Art, Chicago-Style

After a pleasant visit to Lincoln Park Conservatory (and a less than pleasant encounter with the inadequate zoo nearby), I found myself face to face with one of the most famous figures in US history.

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Or, to be more specific, a statue of him.

Former president Abraham Lincoln has been dead for well over a century and a half now, but his professional life (as a lawyer) began in Illinois – the state to which Chicago belongs.

In another historical vein, I was also pleased to pass some older Chicago homes, choosing to switch the lakeside for a more suburban wander back through the city.

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My destination was the city’s Museum of Contemporary Art, which proved to be perhaps one of the only true highlights of my visit to Chicago. An excellent arts venue and some incredible work on display.

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Following a cursory perusal of some of the smaller showings (including the above collection of Alexander Calder pieces, which I loved), I was excited to see the Doris Salcedo exhibition.

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I knew little of Salcedo previously – mainly only knowing of her chairs piece (1550 Chairs Stacked Between Two City Buildings) at the 2003 Istanbul Biennial. Reading about this work many years after the event (sadly I couldn’t jet off to Istanbul in 2003 – I was only a teenager at the time) intrigued me, and I was glad to get this opportunity to find out more about the artist and her work.

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The exhibition was a comprehensive one, spanning thirty or so years of work across a network of rooms filled with all manner of materially and conceptually complex installations, ranging from an assortment of hospital furniture to shoes in translucent voids. And yet there were also more direct and emotive messages embedded in her work – the viewer could ostensibly choose how deep to travel into each carefully woven vortex of ideas.

Indeed, Salcedo’s pieces offer many possibilities for dialogue- she truly understands the power of materials, and her work is engaging at all sorts of levels, as was testified by the large and diverse body of visitors in attendance during my visit. A pile of neatly folded white shirts, impaled on metal standsm for instance, make an intriguing visual spectacle, as does her maze of wooden desks, one on top of another, with soil and green shoots sandwiched in between.

Each of these works has a context, should you choose to read about it, but such is the power of the statements made, knowledge of a back story is not a prerequisite to enjoyment of the work.

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Whilst I loved seeing and puzzling over her installations and sculptures, I felt that Salcedo’s most intriguing work had been made and exhibited out in the world, beyond the insular white cube of the gallery space. The aforementioned chair piece is an excellent example. So too is one from her native Columbia – the artist invited people to filled the square outside the Palace of Justice in Bogotá with candles, thus creating a poignant space in which to consider the huge loss of life to violence in the city.

I read that Salcedo’s work is sometimes criticised for leaning towards sentimentality, but I found it refreshing to see emotion and feeling in contemporary art, especially when communicated in ways that were both direct and sophisticated. Often I feel work that is deemed ‘clever’, is championed by critics above work that is moving. The latter need not be synonymous with the crude or the saccharine, nor need it be separate from intellect, as Salcedo’s work demonstrates.

As well as the Salcedo show, Chicago’s MCA had an impressive programme and collection.

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It was with a lifted mood and spirit that I returned to the brown-grey streets of Chicago.

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Ever since arriving in the city I’d been keeping my eyes open for Anish Kapoor’s Cloud Gate sculpture (also affectionately known as ‘the bean’), and on the second afternoon I found it. Much smaller than I’d imagined, the sculpture was still nonetheless impressive; its strange mirrored surface behaving in all kinds of unexpected ways.

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Obviously this kind of piece was a magnet for the selfie generation, but, vanity aside, I think we all draw some kind of peverse curiosity from seeing ourselves as a distorted reflection.

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The city too, enjoyed its own selfie of sorts – the grey brown skyline twisted and bent into unusual configurations across the curved surface of the sculpture. I wish I’d returned to see it at night, or sunrise. No doubt many different scenes could be painted by nature across its manmade surface.

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As I’ve mentioned, Chicago embraced art in every corner of the city. Even the hostel windows were decorated with colourful murals.

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Art can do much to bring any location to life. Last year I visited Folkestone, a small seaside town in the South of England, for an arts triennial. The town itself did not inspire me, and I’ve seen better, more spectacular seaside views, but the incredible collection of public art there, plus the triennial and associated developments, in my opinion, transformed the landscape from an average British town to an exciting cultural hub. But, were a few examples of intriguing art sufficient to make me reconsider my uncertainty about Chicago?

I wasn’t so sure.

With two days left, I searched for new sights to see. Meanwhile the weather remained resolutely cold and dull.

See also:

A Change Of Heart And Mind

Chicago: Not As Expected?

A Long Walk North

America

Tiled Steps and A Walk Through The Woods

When staying in a city (without a car or a substantial budget for transport) it’s often difficult to reach the countryside, let alone the sea or a nice beach. San Francisco seems to offer almost everything a visitor could wish for – sun, sea, sand, national parkland, city stuff, a gorgeous bridge…in fact, I spent comparatively little time in the city centre, preferring to enjoy the coast and the countryside during my stay.

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On the third day it was with great reluctance I left the above beach – a real gem of a find. Instead I headed for the woods, to explore a part of the Presidio Park that I’d only thus far seen in part.

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During my walk through the woods, one of the first landmarks I came across was this particularly beautiful cemetery; the pristinely kept gravestones formed neatly regimented lines opposite the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge.

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As I ventured deeper into the park, I nearly became lost in the confusing network of trails.

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Fortunately a second encounter with this Andy Goldsworthy sculpture put me back on the right track.

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Soon I was back in suburbia, walking along surprisingly quiet streets, and admiring a mosque I happened to pass.

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And many an expensive looking gateway.

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My next destination was on 16th Avenue – there were some famous, decorated tiled steps at one end that I was eager to see.

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As I arrived a team of volunteers were carefully cleaning the beautiful painted mosaic of tiles, and I felt rather guilty for walking on the newly polished designs, in spite of assurances from one of the eager workers. The steps represent a community project, which began in the early 2000s. Alongside artists, local residents helped to transform the steps into a stunning, colourful walkway that makes the steep climb much less arduous as a result.

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The walk back to Fisherman’s Wharf would be a long one indeed. I’d strayed many miles from my starting point, and a lengthy, hot hike on tired legs through busy streets was not an enticing prospect. However, with no change for the bus (and no direct bus route back), there was no other option but to brave the heat and exhaustion once more.

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I passed plenty more endearing houses.

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Later on, I conveniently I came across a Whole Foods. What a wonderful selection of food they have – and by American standards, there were some deals to be had. A bizarre early evening meal, consisting of a baguette, some cheese, a yoghurt, fruit and several energy bars ensued.

Interestingly enough I found myself in a completely different neigbourhood. After the spotless pastel hues of tidy surburbia, this grittier, more urban area boasted a host of unusual shops, including the spiritually inspired and the vintage fashion outlets usually found in more artsy, studenty areas. There were many colourful characters to be seen here, but also, sadly, more homeless people. It almost felt as if everything non-conformist had been collected and contained within this vibrant (but seemingly less affluent) network of streets.

Before I knew it, surburbia returned. Had I spent more time exploring the city, I might have discovered other, more nuanced parts, but most of my trip was spent in the company of sun, sea, sand and (parched) plants.

As the end of the day approached, the hostel seemed to get noticably busier, and it seemed that my trip had coincided with the infamous Spring Break holiday, something we don’t have in the UK.

With this in mind, and anticipating a hot busy Saturday (the next day), I resolved (on the following morning) to trade the city for the countryside, and embark on a bus ride further afield.

See also:

The Longest Day In The World

A Golden-Gated Paradise: Part I

A Golden-Gated Paradise: Part II

Lombard Street, Streetcars And Lots Of Hills

Fisherman’s Wharf And A Freak Show (Of Sorts)

A Picturesque Coastal Path

The Golden Gate Park

Lunch On A Sandy Beach

A Downpour In Osaka

It had been my intention, upon arriving in Osaka from nearby Kyoto, to spend a day exploring the city on foot.

Sadly the weather had other ideas.

If my boots had not been prone to excessive leaking, I probably would have walked around in the rain, but since soggy feet can dampen even the most enthusiastic of plans, I took the subway instead.

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First stop – the city’s contemporary art space; the Osaka National Art Museum.

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Under the shelter of this impressive piece of modern architecture, I was fortunate enough to catch the Fiona Tan: Terminology exhibition, which was by far one of the best contemporary shows I saw on my trip.

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Although I knew of Tan before visiting, I was not all that familiar with her work.

The exhibition brought together photography and film, to explore the ways in which we represent ourselves, others and the world around us. Within this fairly broad remit, Tan presents a number of different stories, and I’ll briefly touch upon a few of them here.

In Lift, for instance, the artist had been photographed fulfilling a dream that perhaps most (if not all) of us have at one time or another – to fly under a canopy of inflated balloons. Whilst this performance may have had particular meaning for Tan (and within the context of her exhibition) it also had a more universal resonance; the childlike simplicity in dreaming of flying. As a foreigner (外人) in Japan, I wondered how truly universal this daydream was – did my fellow visitors long to do this as children?

Likewise there was something similarly whimsical in the grainy video of people rolling down a hill (I forget the title of this piece)- most of us did that as a kid, right? Watching the footage made me long to do this again.

There were also some large scale video projections – my favourite (Rise and Fall) depicted the interweaving parallel lives of two women; one old and the other younger, against the backdrop of a huge waterfall; a leitmotif that fluttered across the different visual narratives. There was something poignant and moving about observing these two characters, undertaking the simple rituals of everyday existence – washing, sleeping, walking. The film felt inviting – well, for me, as a woman anyhow – in the sense that many different readings could be made. I couldn’t help wondering how Japanese visitors might be responding – always fascinating to be a visitor to a gallery in a foreign country.

Certainly there was an international flavour to the work – Tan was born in Indonesia, grew up in Australia and now lives in the Netherlands. Indeed, questions of home and identity are never far away from the work, and some of them deal with this more explicitly than others.

So, having spent a number of pleasurable hours at the art museum, the question of where to go next was a real conundrum.

The rain still thundered down outside, making any kind of outdoor excursion impractical, and having spent a large part of the day’s budget on transport and gallery admission, I could realistically only afford one more entrance fee.

In hindsight I wish I’d split that money over a few, smaller, cheaper attractions, rather than making the colossal mistake of travelling to the world’s largest aquarium. On a Sunday afternoon.

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Big mistake.

See also:

Kyoto – Last Night And A Train To Osaka

Journey To The Far East

Japan

An Enchanting Evening

Returning from a morning of shrines, temples and Nijo Castle, central Kyoto was heaving. So many people everywhere!

I had expected Tokyo to be busier than Kyoto, but it seemed to be the opposite way around. Whether this was due to the different layout of each respective city, or the particular days during which I visited, I’m not sure, but consequently most of my time in Kyoto was spent visited the outer edges of the city.

After battling the crowds and their many shopping bags, I made my way out towards the Kyoto Handicraft Centre, located in a more peaceful area, with a view of the mountains.

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The centre offered free entry, and as photography was not allowed inside, I will have to describe what I saw there instead.

Kyoto is famous for its handicrafts, and its history as a centre for making. The centre showcases all the materials, techniques and objects one might associate with Japan. There were Ukiyo-e prints (like those I saw in Tokyo), kimonos (decorated with exquisite patterns and vibrant colours), stone lanterns (and other examples of stonework), bamboo screens, swords, pottery…all testiments to incredible skill and aesthetically pleasing to the eye.

Indeed, the collections were unanimously beautiful and tastefully arranged – Japanese craft seems to be synonymous with beauty, or at least a traditional, romantic version of the ideal. Whilst I’m a huge fan of contemporary and (some) abstract art/design, in other ways I’m unashamedly old-fashioned in appreciating the skill and dedication that are infused in art from the past.

The centre regularly hosts a local maker or artist, who works within the space, both selling work and demonstrating techniques to visitors. During my visit this role was undertaken by a talented gentleman who worked by inlaying (is that the right word?) gold leaf, creating intricate designs on jewellery, boxes and other objects with jet black polished surfaces.

There was a wonderful selection of gifts on sale, including origami paper in all kinds of colours and patterns, traditional-style clothing and assorted teas and confectionary. Alongside this was a workshop area, where a group were engaged in an activity of some sort.

The centre also had a lovely cafe, which I made a note to revisit for lunch or tea.

Not far from the craft centre I spotted a huge red shrine gateway (torii) looming over the road. The shrine it pointed towards (Heian Shrine) was a wonderful haven of regal red splendour.

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Naturally there were the obligatory rows of decorated sake barrels – minus the sake presumably…

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There were several coaches outside, but the large open space easily accommodated large numbers of visitors, whose footfalls made a soft, syncopated crunching sound on the tiny stones that flooded the main temple area.

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The grounds were of course stunning – the gardens presumably even more so.

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There was a fee to enter the gardens, and although I intended to go back and visit them (closing time was fast approaching), this sadly never happened. Instead I took a small detour as the light faded…

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Traffic roared past me, and on the opposite side of the road, was another small shrine.

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Behind a stream and the backs of houses, I discovered a winding path, sheltered by trees. Intrigued, I climbed it, enjoying the  views.

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Sensing my intrusion on what appeared to be a residential cul-de-sac of some sort, I retreated back towards the shrine I’d passed earlier. And went inside.

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Under the looming threat of darkness I made my way back to the hostel, glancing back towards the mountains – the site of a famous, hillside temple that I planned to visit the next day.

See also:

 A Shrine And A Castle

The Golden Pavilion

Leaky Boots and Soggy Socks

Kyoto: A Rainy Introduction

Journey To The Far East

Japan

 

An Afternoon In Tokyo

My second morning in Tokyo was spent at the Studio Ghibli Museum in Mitaka, a peaceful suburban district only a short train ride from the city centre. After admiring art and other paraphernalia related to my favourite anime films, I returned to central Tokyo at midday, to revisit the Meiji Shrine.

This time the inner garden was my destination.

Although there was often a fee to enter larger shrines, temples and gardens, this was very rarely a large amount of money. The most I paid was generally between ¥500 and ¥600 (round about £2.50 – £3). Often less.

Sadly there was relatively little to see in the Meiji Shrine inner garden.

Judging from the pictures at the entrance gate, summer, spring and autumn brought blazes of colour to what was, in winter, a rather barren and muted landscape.

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A little disappointed after my inner garden experience, I decided to check out some Japanese prints at the Ukiyo-e Ota Memorial Museum, a small but elegant museum, nestled at the back of a secluded side street only minutes from a busy shopping district.

There certainly were some bizarre sights in this area.

There were groups of teenagers wearing the most unusual and wacky outfts, and then these guys:

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Performance art?

Anyway, back to the museum, which, incidentally, had a locking system outside for umbrellas!

Not that this was unusual – various places had these; Japanese people seem to take umbrellas much more seriously than Brits – none of these flimsy cheap affairs that break with the first gust of wind. No, everyone had sturdy umbrellas, even whilst riding bicycles!

Inside the museum I was spellbound by the prints.

Long ago, as a teenager, during one of my first foreign holidays, I bought a tiny book of Japanese prints from a shop in San Francisco. Part of my adolescent love affair with Japanese art – it even inspired an ill-fated A-level art project. Ever since I have longed to see these otherworldly images for real – with their sensuous lines and curiously flat perspective.

The collection is extensive, and subsequently only a fraction is displayed at any one time.

However I was bowled over by the vivid colours – the fine line work and attention to detail and pattern in clothing. None of this is accurately portrayed online or in digitally printed reproductions. Also here were many images and scenes I’d never come across before – each one offering more insight into the so-called ‘floating world’ or Ukiyo-e.

Even more startling, a good deal of the prints were created by apprentices rather than masters – the level of skill was incredible.

Following this artistic excursion I enjoyed a stroll past some of the shops (again, more global brands – H&M, Topshop, Body Shop, etc) and through more random parts of the city. Plenty of interesting things to see along the way.

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I did have some planned destinations on my list, but must have wandered the wrong way as I somehow missed them all. Eventually I found myself back amongst the bright lights of Shinjuku, wrestling through crowds of excitable young Japanese men and women who were enjoying the remainder of their weekends.

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As it was growing dark (and I was becoming tired), it seemed wise to return to my bizarre capsule hotel.

It’s worth noting that it was necessary to ‘check out’ every single day – no guests were allowed in the hotel between 10 and 4pm, due to cleaning, and whilst large luggage could be stored, one was effectively thrown out during the day.

In addition to the capsules and bathroom, there was also a lounge, with, of course vending machines (everywhere in Japan – but selling not just drinks this time, but noodles and random snacks also), hot water (to add to your instant noodles of course!) and a laundrette. The hotel even served a limited range of evening meals. I mainly used the lounge to charge my phone (no power sockets in the capsules sadly) and get online (again, no wifi in the capsules).

The lounge was a fascinating place to people watch.

The population of the hotel consisted largely of Japanese men, a variety of ages. Apparently capsule hotels are popular with businessmen, who after a late night drink with colleagues, might miss the last train home, and subsequently check in to bathe, sleep and so on. After all, pyjamas and toiletries are provided, as are washing facilities. I found it quite amusing to see rows of men, in their blue kimonos, sat on the sofas, heads back, snoring loudly in front of Japanese TV. Both at night and in the morning!

Indeed, the lounge provided the chance to sample Japanese TV – the crazy gameshows, obscure news stories (children guessing cuts of meat?!) and whimsical adverts. Having said that, this is always a weird experience in any country foreign to your own – observing the adverts and media without knowing the context or language.

Although my dorm was quieter that night (no loud TV this time) I was troubled by the succession of people blowdrying their hair at all hours (right through until 2am).

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My latest capsule (as well as checking out every day, you also get a different capsule each time) was right next to the bathroom. Unfortunate place to be when a constant stream of people are preparing for bed or to leave at every hour of the night imaginable.

See also:

Journey To The Far East

First Time In Japan: A Whole New World

Tokyo: An Imperial Palace

Shrines and Shinjuku

A Japanese Capsule Hotel

The Studio Ghibli Museum

The Art Of Getting Lost

Getting lost is a forte of mine.

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I brought a map for every destination on my itinerary – many were comprehensive, pocket-sized maps; I even downloaded a couple of city guides using the Stay.com app on my phone. And yet I still managed to get lost in nearly every place I visited.

Above: I took some of these handy pocket city maps with me (source)

Efficient navigation can hinder the exploration of a new place. After all, getting lost is often serendipitous – away from the map and the tourist guides are entire worlds waiting to be explored, and in many cases I enjoyed following instinct rather than walking with my eyes glued to a map.

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However, at times getting lost can be an absolute pain in the neck. In Vienna I wasted an entire morning being blinded by snow whilst in search of an obscure attraction. In Rome I frittered away another morning trying to find the way up a hill, and in Seville it took forever to find the hostel. Southern parts of Europe in particular seem to be characterised by obscure winding streets and networks of alleyways, that in no way resemble the maps that represent them.

Above: Everything always seems so straightforward on a map (source)

Naples belonged to this category of unfathomable places, and on my second day there, having lost an entire night of sleep to a crappy hostel, I spent most of the following day trying to find attractions that just didn’t seem to exist. Out of all the many places I’d hoped to find, I came across just one.

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MADRE was tucked away in a confusing network of passages and small roads. I’d bought a day ticket for the Naples Metro, in an attempt to bypass the need for maps, but still ended up lost and bewildered. Even the public transport is tricky to fathom. Seeing the yellow signs for MADRE was a cheering moment, although the staff inside were less than welcoming.

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The experience of a museum or gallery, particularly in a foreign country – in which etiquette and admission policies might differ from those back home – is in a large part shaped by the staff who run the space. In most places these people, lovers of history, art and culture, like myself, were friendly, welcoming and enthusiastic.

However, those at MADRE join my very short of unfriendly places to visit. MAK in Vienna was another.

This is a huge shame – MADRE is a wonderful contemporary arts venue, and their collection is fantastic, particularly the specially commissioned site-specific series. I was pleased to see work by Joseph Beuys – his output has subtly influenced my own art/approach, and site-specific contributions from (or developed from) Rebecca Horn, Sol LeWitt and many other famous names in the contemporary art world.

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And yet an art gallery isn’t just about the art – my favourite arts venues are inviting, inclusive places with helpful, interested staff. Here I found the front desk staff abrupt and rude (obstructive almost), and whilst savouring the art I was vigorously monitored by the clumping footsteps of museum staff, who policed the collections more vigorously than anywhere else I’ve ever visited. Only one – a young, friendly guy I encountered towards the end of my visit –  acknowledged me with a smile and made me feel welcome.

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Having volunteered in various arts venues I’m a huge believer in making visitors feel valued – especially those from overseas. After all, visitors are the lifeblood of cultural spaces, and their testimonials potentially bring greater numbers to the museum, gallery, theatre or whatever. Sure, there are security policies, rules, regulations and so on, but the style and manner via which these are ‘enforced’ is very much at the discretion of individuals.

Often this is done well, but at other times, the surveillance of a space seems unnecessarily draconian; aggressive even.

I do apologise if my reviews of Rome and Naples seem somewhat negative. It was not my intention to dwell on what might seem like fairly trivial problems. I also acknowledge that my experiences do not constitute a complete picture of either place. However, long term travel brings good and bad experiences, and if everything was wonderful, it’d all be rather boring.

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Fortunately the next stage of the journey would prove to be spectacular.

See also:

From Rome To Naples: By Train

A Somewhat Horrendous Hostel

The Nicer Side Of Naples

Europe