disgusting

the louvre is going to permanently loan part of its collection to a new branch office in, of all places, abu dhabi. why? for money. naturally. so as to fund "new acquisitions" (don't laugh). they say.

this is crazy. those works of art are the patrimony of western civilization. they have no business being on saracen territory.

art is a fixed commodity. the real thing stopped being produced long ago. art is finite and precious. it's not to be given away.

where is french cultural chauvanism when you really need it?

monet, monet, monet

ok that's enough of the abba joke.

anyone who finds themselves adrift in central london with nothing much to do should buzz over to the royal academy and point their eyes at the "impressionists by the sea" exhibition. so much to admire.

no. we don't envy london its weather, its traffic, or its general squashiness. but we are terribly jealous of its access to high culture. when the world's grown-ups are talking oz usually gets sent to its room. dash it.

the pix featured is courbet's "the sea-arch at etretat" (1869) and, strictly speaking, is not impressionist. for once i'm not complaining.

busier than blue soup

last month i rather wished i was in madrid, taking in the tintoretto show at the prado. this month i'd rather be in boston, where edward hopper's best stuff is on display.

after cézanne art is hopelessly boring, diffuse and vapid—apart from these four:

edward hopper (the lone figure in the landscape)
walter sickert (always vital)
risko (a fantastic portraitist)
dr suess (an utterly original illustrator, and pure joy).

i'd rather be

in madrid. looking at the tintoretto exhibition at the prado. you can get an inkling from "new york review of books" here. "nyrb" are incorrigible surrender monkeys, i know. but they do take the trouble to notice the finer things. like art. so hat's off.

tintoretto
just goes to show
why the west
is the best.