Thursday nights are different

Thursday nights are a bit different in Edinburgh. On Thursdays, shops stay open until late (late as in 8pm). It is as if the weekend had started early, and it's not just me who thinks this is a very good idea: the streets are unusally busy. Some museums have a late opening night on Thursday too, so I decided to take advantage of that. Instead of making a beeline for the Mound, however, which is where both the Royal Scottish Academy and the National Gallery of Scotland reside, I was constantly being diverted by views of night-time Edinburgh.

Balmoral hotel and the North bridge.

A close-up of the night traffic on the North bridge.

The rather disturbingly lit Royal Scottish Academy building.

Do not let the lighting put you off. Inside, the National Gallery is a surprisingly cosy space, especially on a Thursday evening. The rooms are octagonal, with a mixture of paintings, sculptures and even two golden clocks, which kept chiming rather charmingly throughout my visit. There were few actual visitors around, but two rooms were filled to capacity with audiences. In one, an art historian was giving a lecture; in another, a guitar and flute concert was taking place.

The audience.

The listeners were provided with small fold-away stools at the entrance, and were looking only marginally uncomfortable. The funny thing is, I am sure events of this kind take place in London every single evening, but when I was there I never participated in even one. There is just something about distances in that city that makes everything too much bother; to spend some time at the National Gallery in Edinburgh, I only had to walk for ten minutes.

I only had a chance to see a part of what the combined galleries have to offer, but was already very pleased and often surprised with the collection. There is the usual array of naked fleshy voluptuousness, allegorical scenes and stuffy landscapes; but apart from that, I find there are quite a few pictures that make you stop mid-stride, such as a very unusal 17th century Dutch lanscape - with naked bathers. So I did stop, and took out my camera, and was promptly told off by a guardian in tartan trousers. In fact, the gallery guardians in Edinburgh are amongst the most ferocious I have met, nearly equalling the sour-faced, prematurely aged women of Moscow museums. Before I knew it I was told off for trying to take pictures (twice), wearing a backpack (it has to be carried), and touching a wall (!). Fortunately it was getting late and the guardians were getting dozy, so, being a sneaky sneak, I managed to snap a few shots anyway.

The first picture that really caught my eye was hidden in a small octangonal room with dimmed lights and a low ceiling, and featured two rather sheepish looking babies in a golden shell.

Salomon de Bray 'The twins Clara and Albert Bray'

In fact, the gallery has a big collection of really good portraits - and some spectacularly bad ones of course. I did not manage to steal a photo of the Van Dyck's family portrait below, so I gazed at it for a long while instead.

Van Dyck 'The Lomellini Family'

It is so dark and full of foreboding, it got me thinking about a basic feature of portraits - the people portrayed are not happy at all. They hardly ever smile; more often then not, they look like they wholehartedly resent not only one another, but the painter as well. This holds especially true for the one below.

William Chalmers-Bethune, his wife Isabella Morison and their Daughter Isabella.

How different to contemporary photo portraits, where we always seem to feel the compulsion to grin as if we had just won the lottery and the back yard filled with mashmallows. I got talking about it with one of the guards in the Scottish Collection, and we came to the conclusion this must be because of the state those peoples' teeth were in. He got so enthused that he helped me count all the toothy smiles on show. There was only one, and that was the fool from King Lear, which does not really count, being by definition foolish.

Allan Rumsay 'Anne Cockburn' (via candid camera).

I found portraits of older Scottish women to be much more interesting then of the young ones. In contrast to the bland, big-eyed heroines, they loo like creatures shrewed, full of humor and strength - they have soul.

Henry Raeburn 'The Reverend Robert Walker Skating on Duddingston Loch'

There were many other very good paintings there, of which I will mention a few (because it's still early and I don't feel like going to bed yet). The Skating Minister is hilarious - especially when you consider that this iconic Scottish painting, the one which inspired the design of the Scottish Parliment, may have actually been painted by a Frenchman. There is a bizzare historic scene of a curling game, with men rubbing the ice excitedly with sticks in a barren winter landscape. There is also the first ever Jesus meditating the fate of humanity on a moor - the beautiful "Man of Sorrow' by Sir David Wilkie. There is a beutiful morning view of the returning herring fleet, the rectangular sails making it look vaguely Japanese.

Sir William Fettes Douglas 'Early Morning: Herring Boats Entering Stonehaven Harbour'

There is also a small section dedicated to Celtic legends inspired art. The one below was my favourite;
according to legend, the saint was transported to Bethelem to witness the bith of Christ. I like it mostly for the seal just visible in the left lower corner though, unimposing, quietly making its way ahead of the angels.

John Duncan 'Saint Bride'

Finally a little something for my pregnant friend; this made me think of the good news you've had!

Sir William Quiller Orchardson 'Master Baby'