On Sunday we had our first evening out since April. We went to see Cirque du Soleil’s Varekai. We’ve seen, I believe, all their shows that have come to London, and generally buy tickets for each one as soon as as they become available (about a year in advance).

The show wasn’t bad, but I felt it was not up to their usual standard. It was not as innovative as I had expected. Are they running out of ideas, getting stale? Or is it just me, getting used to their thing? In any case it wasn’t quite worth the money I thought (given how horrendously expensive the tickets are, plus the expense of 5 hours of babysitting).

Nevertheless a good show. As usual, a Cirque du Soleil show has to be seen as a whole rather than separate parts. The costumes, music, the acts themselves, etc all have an overarching theme and a coherent feeling. The costumes in particular were fabulous, impressive enough on their own and then even more impressive when you stop to think that the artists can move freely in them without destroying the costumes.

You can’t go wrong with skilled acrobats and tumblers, and two of the strongest acts of this show were acrobatic. One was a tumbling act: two men reclining on their back, spinning their partners with their feet. (Youtube video – you can skip the first 2:30 of the clip which is just general prancing around.) The other one was a Russian swings act – acrobats launched from swings high into the air where they turn and tumble, and then impossibly land on each others’ shoulders, or gracefully “land” high up on a large canvas nets stretched out behind them. (Youtube video.) In both acts the feats that the acrobats perform become gradually more and more impressive until I sat there with my mouth open and could hardly believe the things I was seeing.

At the other extreme of the scale were some totally boring swirlers (marketed as a Georgian dance) and an almost-as-boring hand-balancing contortionist doing nothing new. The swirling dancers were so boring I don’t understand why they were even included in the show. If someone turns up at a circus with swirling as their only skill, you wouldn’t generally expect them to be hired!

My favourite act was an aerial one – two men hanging from wrist straps, swinging high and wide across the scene, sometimes together, sometimes apart. When they first appeared, in tight low-cut black leather, my first thought was, “how much did they pay them to wear those costumes?”. But the act itself was beautiful, well-coreographed and very expressive. Refreshingly, they were not aiming for a pretty result (which is where most aerial acrobatics end up sooner or later) – it was angular and sharp, full of heels and elbows. Very fittingly the performers are two brothers (Andrew and Kevin Atherton). (Youtube video.)

This Saturday we went to see the First Emperor exhibition at the British Museum. Advance tickets are all sold out but they release 500 same-day tickets every morning. I was there when the ticket desk opened and had no trouble getting tickets – if you haven’t seen it yet you still have a chance. (By the way they now keep the exhibition open until midnight Thursday to Saturday – the demand for tickets must be enormous.)

The exhibition space was rather crowded. One has the choice of queueing and moving at a snail’s pace, or standing outside the queues and therefore viewing some of the exhibits over other people’s shoulders. We chose the latter.

This First Emperor of China is the man who united various warring states into a Chinese empire, and who built a 7000-man terracotta army to stand guard over his tomb. I’m not going to write even a short overview of all the other things he did and achieved; you can find all of that elsewhere on the Internet (starting with Wikipedia for example). Instead I’ll just focus on what I saw and what I thought about it.

The focus and main draw of the exhibition was a small fraction of the terracotta army. There were archers, warriors, horses and chariots and charioteers, and more unexpectedly, acrobats, musicians and civil officials. Before seeing the exhibition I thought the army existed to guard the tomb, but I understand that it was really to provide the emperor with all he might need in his afterlife. And of course, for a good life one needs much more than just warriors.

The statues were surprisingly realistic and also surprisingly individual. I imagined that they would be stylized and mass produced – because there were so many of them! The main body parts were indeed mass produced but from multiple moulds, and faces, hair, mustaches etc were added by hand, making each one different. The emperor must have been something of a perfectionist given how detailed the statues were, all the way down to individual rivets on plates of armour, and hobnails on the soles of their shoes.

As with antique statues from other cultures (ancient Greece for example) the statues were originally coloured but have now lost all colour. So photos of 7000 clay-coloured statues give a somewhat misleading impression of what the ranks of the army would have looked like originally. Based on traces of paint found on the statues, one was reproduced in an approximation of its original state – and just as with ancient Greek statues, the result looked garish and loud compared to the stylish dignity of terracotta (or white marble).

While the statues were fine and interesting, I was a bit disappointed to see so few of them. They were far too few to really convey the sensation of grandeur and immensity that 7000 of them would do. So in a way, the Terracotta Army can be more impressive on picture. But on the other hand, seeing the statues up close, you can see and appreciate the details. The statues were very nicely exhibited in such a way that we could see them from all angles, and reasonably close up as well. It made a big difference to have no glass between us and the statues.

The rest of the exhibition was really there to provide a background to the army. There was a brief intro to the emperor’s life and works, explanations of how the army and the emperor’s tomb were built (by conscripted workers and convicts), and how they fit into the general fabric of his society. For example, the legs and bodies of the terracotta warriors were built much like the water pipes in the emperor’s new palaces. And the manufacturing process was highly standardised, just as the emperor standardised many other things (including coinage, weights, writing and the manufacture of weapons). One of the more interesting exhibits was a miniature panorama sculpture showing a team of workers making one statue of a warrior and one of a horse.

Emperor Qin must have been an extraordinary man. It is one thing to conquer your neighbours (other warrior kings have done that, too). But this emperor obviously had a grander plan. He was not just a great general but must also have been a great administrator, in order to successfully rule an empire. And he certainly achieved immortality, just as he wanted.

The BBC has some photos (not good but the best I could find).

Here’s an interesting review.

Today we made it to the Shell Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition that we missed last time.

This year’s exhibition was set up just like last year’s, and the one before that, and was as pleasant an experience as the previous ones were. The organisers have obviously worked out a great concept and continue to run it successfully year after year.

The exhibition is relatively small – 45 minutes’ worth of photos, an hour tops – but well worth seeing. The photos, of course, are generally interesting and all of high quality (although Eric said this year’s best photos were not as striking as last year’s, and I had to agree).

The photos are also well presented, so the atmosphere of the exhibition is quite pleasant. The number tickets sold is limited (which is why we didn’t get to see it last time) so it never gets too crowded. The room has good but soft light, and the photos all back-lit and displayed with no glare (which can otherwise kill any exhibition of photos or paintings). Each photo is accompanied by a brief one-paragraph comment by the author, and another paragraph about the subject of the photo.

Like last year we noted without much surprise that almost all the photos had been taken with a digital camera. Interestingly the two exceptions I noticed were both photos of plants.

Another trend was towards more and more technology (remote cameras, infrared triggers etc) which felt, well, sort of like cheating. If you just point your camera at animals and let it automatically take thousands of photos, then the result may be original, educational, beautiful etc, but to what extent can you really say that you took that photo?

There were also several photos which had been produced in highly contrived settings that in my mind are not really suitable for such an exhibition. Putting out food to attract animals is one thing, but putting out an aquarium to catch a view of a heron or a window frame to frame a swallow definitely feels like cheating.

But despite these minor quibbles I found the majority of the exhibition well worth seeing. If you are in London and have a spare few hours, this would be a great way to spend them.

If you’re not, try the online gallery which has all the photos. It’s not a very satisfying way of viewing them (too small) but will give you a taste at least.

Yesterday we went to see the Lee Miller exhibition at the V&A. We were really aiming for the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition at the neighbouring Museum of Natural History, but that was sold out, so it was Lee Miller instead.

She was both a model and a photographer, doing a bit of everything: fashion photography, portraits, photojournalism etc.

The exhibition notes described her as an extraordinary photographer, an icon of photography, or something in that vein. There were some nice photos but on the whole I found her work rather unremarkable. I got the impression that she was famous by association (she was the lover of Man Ray, and friends with Salvador Dali and Jean Cocteau), rather than because of any remarkable talent. Yes, she had guts – photographing the Blitz as well as Nazi concentration camps – but the importance of those photos seemed more documentary than artistic to me.

It didn’t help that all introductory and explanatory texts seemed written by a gushing friend rather than anyone with any real knowledge. This, for example, is all they had to say about why she is important or interesting:

Lee Miller (1907 – 1977) is one of the most remarkable female icons of the 20th century – an individual admired as much for her free-spirit, creativity and intelligence as for her classical beauty. Charting her transformation from muse to ground-breaking artist, this centenary exhibition provides a unique exploration of her life and unprecedented career as a photographer.

Lots of superlatives and big words, little information, and very little to put any of it in any context.

We went to Tate Modern to see the famous crack and an exhibition of Louise Bourgeois.

I found the crack a baffling waste of money – digging up the floor along the entire length of the turbine hall just to put in place a new concrete floor with a crack in it is not art.

The exhibition was not too interesting either. I like her giant spiders. There was one outside on the river bank, and I also saw it when it was first set up in the Tate turbine hall, and happened to see them in New York in the summer of 2001 as well.

But much of her work was just weird. Too modern for my taste, the kind of thing that is art only because an artist says it is. Too modern, even though the majority of the works were done before I was even born.

I liked her marbles and bronzes, like the one in the photo here – a nice contrast between soft forms and hard materials, and shapes that seemed both organic and mineral at the same time.

Eric and Ingrid went to the baby swimming class this morning, which totally knocked her out so she slept for 1½ hours when they got back, so I got lots of work done.

In the afternoon we went out for Open House weekend. We saw St George’s German church (mostly because it was so close to home), and walked from there to the old Turkish baths that now houses a restaurant. We finished our tour with Guildhall and Guildhall Art Gallery. This was actually the first time I visited Guildhall, despite having lived in London for over 6 years. The art gallery was also a pleasant surprise, with some fine Victorian and Pre-Raphaelite paintings.

Yesterday we went to a concert for the first time in at least 7 months – to hear Murray Perahia at the Barbican. This was a birthday gift to Eric’s father who is very fond of classical music, so Eric bought tickets well over a year in advance. Hearing a great pianist live would be a wonderful experience in any case, but our excellent seats made it even better.

The programme consisted of Bach (a partita), Beethoven (a sonata), Schumann (Fantasiestücke) and Chopin (a ballade). The Bach piece was my favourite – no surprise there. Bach is the one classical composer whose music I could put on a continuous loop for days without tiring of it. Beethoven has “too many notes” – I find his music a bit difficult to follow. Schumann’s Fantasiestücke were, as the title implies, a mixed bag: very varied. Chopin’s was technically impressive but again not as gripping as Bach.

Despite this I thought that Perahia’s style was better suited for the lighter, more romantic composers. He played very emotionally, gently, almost tenderly. I like my Bach performed firmly, with gusto and confidence – Glenn Gould’s version of the Goldberg Variations is more to my taste than Perahia’s. Not that I didn’t enjoy this, though!

I was also intrigued to simply see Murray Perahia as a person. He appeared very quiet and introverted, almost bothered by the huge crowd. His bows were polite but small, his introductions of the encores quick and clipped – I got the impression that he would have preferred to walk out as soon as he finished playing.

Last week we visited the Royal Academy to see Chola, an exhibition of Indian sacred bronze statues from the time of the Chola dynasty (9th–13th century). I had previously seen a similar exhibition in Antwerp at the Etnographic Museum and enjoyed it a lot, so I was really looking forward to this. But the exhibition was disappointingly small – only three rooms, around 40 pieces in total, about half an hour’s viewing – and quite expensive for its size (£8 per person).

The statues were impressive, especially the signature pieces of Shiva as the Lord of Dance, and Krishna dancing. These were also the most dynamic ones – many of the others were simply straight, upright figures, all quite similar to each other. Which was interesting in itself, in a way, because it demonstrated how the statues were not primarily works of art but expressions of a concept, and thus bound by strong conventions. The same is true of much western religious art, in particular Russian Orthodox icons, where all the saints look the same except for their characteristic accessories and poses that symbolise some part of their role. The same was true here: god X always holds A in his left hand and B in his right hand, etc.

Unlike western religious imagery, though, many of these gods were elegant and physically beautiful, with a strong focus on the naked body, and lively rather than serene or serious. These gods appear far more physical than most Christian saints.

While the individual statues were beautiful, I missed a larger framework or story around them. I would have liked to see photos of them in their ordinary settings in a temple or in use in a processions; some understanding of how this art form changed over time; more about the meanings of the symbols, etc. Perhaps the audio guides gave some of that, I don’t know, but it wasn’t present in the exhibition.

The advance booking brochure for bite07 (Barbican International Theatre Events) arrived today. Interestingly, 6 out of the 19 shows are marked as “contains nudity”, and one of them has age guidance 16+. Even Peer Gynt and Chekhov have nudity in them. What’s the world coming to?

Eric’s latest project finally finished, after several weeks of absurdly long hours (on the worst days he left before I got up, and came home when I was already asleep) so he took today off and we went to see the Rodin exhibition at the Royal Academy.

I’m not an art critic and not even particularly knowledgeable about art, so I don’t have much intelligent commentary to offer (and Rodin has probably been commented-on more than enough, anyway) – only a handful of disjointed personal observations. If you want a proper review, try The Guardian’s.

Bronze suited Rodin a lot better than marble. His marble sculptures tended towards a tame smoothness, whereas the bronzes had vigour and character – there was a lot more strength in their movement, and more life in their surfaces.

All of his portrait busts of men were in bronze. Almost all of his portrait busts of women were in marble. His choice, or the subjects’? Quite possibly the latter: one of the women apparently complained about the first proposed version of her portrait that it made her look fat, so the final version was a dreamy soft portrait, with only her face emerging from a large block of marble. Pretty pathetic in a way (easy for me to say!) although I’m sure it was popular. His portraits of men on the other hand sit straight up, so to say, facing forward, eyes open.

Composition is not his strong side. Each figure on its own made a stronger impression on me than the larger groups. Take the Burghers of Calais for example: they don’t really look like a coherent group to me. One seems to be talking to someone outside the group; one seems to be arguing with the others; one has a headache. What’s going on? I’m sure it’s possible to come up with explanations, but a well-composed sculpture shouldn’t need that. I found the composition of The Gates of Hell equally awkward and confusing.

He spent decades on The Gates of Hell even though the commission was cancelled after a while, and still he never finished them. One has to be really obsessed with something to keep going for that long.

Even though the Gates were never finished, a lot of his other sculptures started out as elements in the Gates but evolved into full-scale standalone pieces. So it wasn’t wasted work. More interestingly, he reused several of those elements in a cut-and-paste manner: take the body of this figure, replace its head with that one, oh, and let’s add one of these women as well. “Object-oriented sculpture”, Eric named it; The Guardian draws parallels to Frankenstein.

He often changed the orientation of the figures when reusing them, so a pose that appeared to have been modelled on a more-or-less upright woman might end up being used lying down, or even upside down. Not really noticeable except on a large scale, but then it had a curiously distorting / twisted effect.

PS: I really like the little folding stools that you can borrow at museums.