Day 2: London's National Gallery

Translation Restored

Another day of class introductions. Bible and Christianity was an hour and a half, followed by the equally lengthy Great War and Modernism. Both seminars are the pet subjects of their profs--hence the great enthusiasm that greeted our total exhaustion.

Dr. Seely talked about translation and the purely technical problems from transmitting the words of Isaiah over a thousand years to millions of readers in different languages; not to mention the reluctance the Catholic Church had to take the standardized canon (which benefitted the clergy's influence voraciously) and turn it into a "lesser" language to make accessible among the people. He also discussed the little struggles printers and translators have had over the years, including there being no spaces between words and no vowels to boot. Look at the Adulterous Bible--it took one angry printing employee to take out the word "not" in the seventh commandment, and now his boss is infamous for blasphemy. Being LDS, I feel immensely grateful that we know the Bible to be the word of God, even through its corruption and fallability and changes. The Spirit can still speak to us as a universal translator.

"Our Worst Friend and Enemy is But Death"

After a quick glass of water, I reluctantly took my seat again for the next class. Dr. Tate's discussion was considerably more sobering. World War I poetry, headed by Englishman Rupert Brooke, is bleak and full of mud, talking graves, Christ and Trojan imagery, and immortality through decay. Now that we are approaching the hundred-year anniversary of WWI's outbreak, the hindsight becomes both clearer and less so; yes, it was a foolish war of hurt pride and opportunists, but the impact destroyed Europe's beautiful optimism and replaced it with fear. My goal for this year is to understand how knowing this history can benefit the way we handle global conflicts today.

Trafalgar Square

Liz and I took the Tube to the National Gallery, me out of curiosity and cabin fever, and she out of Humanities obligation. These oyster cards are really classy! I couldn't help but march down the corridors with flocks of commuters, pointing out Broadway show ads to Liz. We talked boisterously on the Tube; it seems a British fact that everyone must be silent and morose when traveling, but people refrained from glaring at us. Around 2 o'clock, we purchased our annual passes, got headsets and maps, and went off into the halls, not sure where to look first.


Notes: Titian, "Touch Me Not" (1511)
I learned that "touch" in Hebrew also means "hold"--rather, "Hold me not". This amplifies the anguish Mary shurely feels in this painting: to see, but not feel, becomes an intense test of her faith that I'd not appreciated before. Why is she always depicted in a red dress? Why was it painted in such a pastoral (clearly Italian) landscape? She seems to reach for His hand, but He is forced to keep it out of reach, apparent sadness in His face. What an uncharacteristic thing for the Savior to do--after all, why did His apostles get to feel the nailprints while Mary could not?

Foppa, "Adoration of the Kings" (1500)
Paintings of the three kings coming to pay homage feel foreign; indeed, their settings within pastoral Italy and classical Greece feel almost irreverant to the solemnity of the event. However, such commissioned works must have been sources of enormous comfort to the Catholics in Italy during these centuries. In LDS culture, we often place Jesus in such familiar settings as park benches, the capitol, a flower field or riverbank, or walking beside today's missionaries. Although not historically accurate by any means, we "take rest" in these images and find peace. The Italians are surely no different. I'm trying to see these works through the eyes of their intended audience (eyes more appropriate), and as a member, I'm really beginning to appreciate them.

Treats

The day ended with a bit of picture-taking in the Square, and a lovely Tube ride home, where homework awaited. My first Friday night in Europe was indeed spent with a Flake bar over Great War poetry. Nikki was upset that I'd stayed home from the Singles' Dance and has invited me to waffles and shopping tomorrow. Happiness and joy! I hope someone will wake me up come morning, because I will fry my alarm clock with 270 volts. Why so electric over here?