Satisfying Appetites....

To the Royal Academy, to see the Russian pictures, about which there has been such a kerfuffle in recent months amongst both the diplomatic and the chattering classes. Having read Brian Sewell's diatribe in The Evening Standard against the exhibition, I was tempted to give it a miss - although, I suspect I was actually just tempted to let his seething criticism justify me in avoiding the heaving crowds that are always so grim at these blockbuster events. In the end, it seemed that the packed rooms in Burlington House were probably a less grim option than having to travel to Russia to see the pictures - which is the only likely alternative; and definitely not my favourite place - and therefore one should at least give it a go. So, we did.

It's clear that a certain type from the British Middle Classes regards queuing as something very definitely for 'other people'. And they themselves have developed a method of standing vaguely in the general area of the front of a queue that 'other people' have formed, with the clear intention of attaching themselves somehow to the head of it whenever it shows any sign of movement. Well, the courtyard at the RA this morning was awash with just that type, all looking wide-eyed in surprise when it was firmly but politely pointed out to them, one-by-one, by the uniformed commisars that yes, indeed there was a queue - even for them - and that yes, indeed, they should join it, and that yes, indeed, the point at which they should join was the rear - down in the general direction of Piccadilly. It provided a degree of entertainment for the rest of us who stood there and quietly froze, as we waited for the doors to open.
At least in Russia, there would have been somebody selling those warming little stuffed dumplings you find for sale everywhere on the streets of Moscow...

And then the scene became strangely like the first day of Harrods' sale: the doors opened, people surged in, and 'the strategy' planned in advance was put into action. Some lost valuable time by peeling off to left and right, to hand in coats or to exchange pre-paid vouchers for tickets. Others - the seasoned campaigners - forged directly up the main stairs and through the shop, to get into the as-yet-empty galleries well in advance of the hordes. The Technical Department has honed a method over the years whereby, in cavalier fashion, he strides straight through at least the first two rooms, with nothing but the merest glance to left and right, and only slows his pace to start looking at things by room three. The best things are never right at the beginning - by his reasoning - and if you give yourself a good two rooms' head start, you stand a chance of getting right round before the crowds catch up with you and start to impede the view. As a method, it has its good points - and so, I couldn't really tell you about the start of The Russians, as I had no more than a sense in the first couple of rooms of a number of large portraits of women in frocks.....

But from room three onwards, I can tell you, it was splendid! Whether Brian Sewell's carping was the rarified perspective from his art-critical pinnacle, or whether he was merely being negative in order to be ornery I couldn't tell you - but I certainly didn't agree with him. OK, the first room of impressionists were a bit run-of-the-mill, but the Gauguins (not normally to my taste) were striking; Matisse's 'Dance' was wonderfully fluid (the same beautiful movement as The Dancing Satyr bronze in Mazara Del Vallo in Sicily); Picasso, and Bracque, and Derain; and on, and on. Some of the gems that had been in the Russian exhibition several years ago at The National Gallery were there: Petrov-Vodkin's 'Bathing the Red Horse' and Altman's beautifully haunting portrait of Anna Akhmatova. The room of neo-primitives was a bit of a cold bath - but then I suppose you can't have everything.....

And I suppose, if there were to be a criticism, then I'd say that it's the fact that they've tried to have everything. Which becomes more than a little indigestible. For me, the demands of trying in one go to assimilate Renoir and Matisse and Chagall and Kandinsky, with a bit of futurism thrown in for good measure, just ends up slightly frying the brain. Which is why I'll be back for another more-focused go, sometime in the next few weeks.....Strategy firmly in place.

If you turn right on Piccadilly as you emerge from the RA, and wander along to the entrance of Burlington Arcade, then there you'll see something else of striking visual intensity. The colours in the window of Ladurée, of mountains of exquisitely-coloured and perfectly-formed macaroons. Delicate and intense and mesmerising. (I hear that Pierre Hermé has given up his day job to go and work for Ladurée, by the way, which is impressive in itself...the King of Pâtisserie devoting his life to macaroons!)

It may not be Art, but an array of Laduree Macaroons is quite definitely a thing of beauty!