Finally, a Sunny Day

OK, so I took the first picture with a slightly raised angle because I wanted to get as much of the sky in as possible. Why? Because this qualifies as a sunny day in November in Russia. The weather report called for a sunny day - and my friend Anna told me last night that I was lucky because I was getting a sunny day on my last full day in St. Petersburg (sometimes that happens for me, oddly -I was in Budapest last year and it was dreadful for the entire time - and then suddenly the last day was brilliantly sunny). So I was expecting the same type treatment as a send-off from Russia - it's always designed to make me come back, and I always do. Well, a sunny day in Russia in November means that it is not actually raining and the clouds are less oppressively thick. Still, I took advantage of the sunshine - after putting on some sunscreen - and went for a long walk. I was going to go to the Russian Museum today, but I figured I'd do that on my next trip. I walked through the central square by the Hermitage again, and saw them putting the Christmas tree up. The huge arch in the background is what you walk through as you head towards the Hermitage - passing beyond where I was standing, across the square, and then on towards the Winter Palace - imagine my earlier picture of the central column and you'd have a sense of the progression. The last picture is of the Hermitage from the center of the bridge right next to it - the one I waited by for two hours the other night in anticipation of the mythical drawbridge opening (grin).

Vodka Museum

Not since I discovered the Serial Killer Museum in Florence has there been such excitement! Actually, I was running late and didn't make it inside - my main interest would have been buying a t-shirt, which I probably would have given to my Russian friend Anna because she was lamenting the fact that she had only just heard of this famous Vodka Museum and had to admit to a visiting foreigner that, to her chagrin, she knew nothing about it.

Woman in a Black Hat

Here's another artist and painting that, unfortunately, I was unfamiliar with. It's too bad the picture turned out so poorly - the reflected ceiling lights, which showed up in way too many of my pictures, made for a lovely mood but played havoc when taking pictures of paintings with a glass frame. This is Woman in a Black Hat by Kees van Dongen from 1908. Again, why do I like it? Why do I ask so many questions - isn't it possible just to like it? Yes, certainly, and I do like it on a "surface" level - that is, I just find it pleasing and I do find her beautiful. However, I also find her very mysterious - and this seems to be a common theme in what draws me to certain paintings - and I'm sure there is some real psychological insight that we can draw from that observation. In this case I really like how the artist used the subject's eyes, which, because they are so dark - and I would think slightly enlarged - completely draws you into her world. Is she waiting for someone? Does she hope that no one ever shows up to bother her again? Is she bored? Ennui? What is she thinking?

Gerome

And speaking of learning about new artists - or at least artists that are new to me (and what I don't know could easily fill the Pacific Ocean, sadly), here's a painting, Sale of a Slave, by Jean Leon Gerome, from 1884. Sadly, I didn't know anything about Gerome until visiting the Hermitage. Certainly the nude slave in the middle of the painting is beautifully rendered and her skin, especially in the darkness of the slave market, is radiant and speaks of purity (even if it's purity that will not last long) - but there's also a calmness and a dignity about her. The painting that it reminded me of, in an odd way, is the Last Supper, in that in the middle of the chaos she (like Christ in the Last Supper) provides stability and serenity. The fact that Gerome had her right hand partially covering her face adds to the mystery because it is impossible to completely understand her emotions. The painting to me also speaks of the universal female condition, then and now.

Matisse

OK, every time I got to a major art museum I always discover or rediscover a painter. In this case it is Henri Matisse. Again, it may just be because I'm teaching the Aesthetics course right now, so I'm naturally open to learning about new artists, but for some reason I was reallhy blown away by the works of Matisse on this particular trip. Obviously, the Dance and the Study in Red are very famous works, but several of the other paints attracted me, especially the nude at the bottom, and the study of the woman's face at the top. His paintings are disarmingly simple - which mask a deep complexity, and his choices of color fit completely logically, even when they at first blush seem to be far afield from reality. That's what I love about museums - and about teaching, for that matter - you're always driven to learn new things - and each new discovery leads you down another new path which leads you down another new path - and thus you never grow old or get tired.

Locks

Here's a great tradition that I discovered last night when Anna and her mother were walking me to a lovely little cafe and pie shop. When Russian couples get married they afix locks with their names on them to certain key bridges, usually the small quaint ones (in this case right next to the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood - more on it later) or on a bridge that has some special meaning to them. Obviously, this is hardly high marriage season, so there aren't a lot of locks to be found right now, but the joke in the summer is that the bridges are in danger of collapsing because of the extra weight.

The Eagle and the Fasces

As I've been going through pictures and posting way too much to my blog on this trip - blame some generally dreary weather and the lack of English language options on St. Petersburg TV - I've started thinking about some interesting pictures that I've taken over the years. I'm not talking about brilliant pictures or even profoundly important shots, but those occasional shots that you look at later and think that they're interesting, often in spite of themselves. This is a shot I took earlier today, and it was not an accident because I intentionally framed it this way, but it is an odd justaposition of icons in one short section of railing. The picture was taken on a sidewalk leading up to a bridge - in the background is the Peter and Paul Fortress, where St. Petersburg had its origins. In the center of the railing section is Peter the Great's famous two-headed eagle, looking both to the east and to the west (up until Peter's time, obviously, the Russians had not shown much interest in looking to the west - and hence the term "westernization" that we always associate with Peter). The other recurring icon in the railing, serving as a support, is the old Roman symbol the fasces, which is ironic when you consider the twenty-five million Russians who lost their lives in World War II fighting a movement that took it's name from the old Russian symbol, fascism. However, to be fair, the symbol was pretty universal - it's displayed prominently on Lincoln's chair in the Lincoln Memorial, for instance. Nothing profound, just one of those things that jumps out of you on another cold, rainy day in St. Petersburg.