New British Galleries at the Metropolitan Museum

Japanese-inspired 19th-century Worcester ceramics.

New York City is re-opening and so are the museums. A week-end in May found me at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, viewing, among other exhibits, the newly-reinstalled British Galleries. These galleries were opened on the eve of the pandemic and are still not fully accessible; whether due to a staff shortage or other issues is a mystery.

Sadly, not able to see the embroidery.

The wall texts give a much more inclusive and honest narrative of these objects, especially with regard to that quintessentially British beverage: tea. 

The Tea Gallery.

 

There is one entire room devoted to the storing and serving of tea and the display is as exciting as the objects. One can now see the teapots from every angle, in all their shapely glory.  Ever since the King Tut exhibit, designed by the late Stuart Silver, the Met has presented its objects and artifacts in some very imaginative formats.  The design of the British Galleries hits it out of the park.

In a gravity-defying display, ceramics and small metal objects are "floated" using all-but-invisible supports affixed to transparent paneled display cases.

 

Display of ceramics and small metal objects.

Finally - we're able to see all sides of these beautiful creations.

 

Another aspect of these galleries is that there is no distinction between "fine art" and craft  but includes paintings, sculpture, furniture and even entire rooms from stately homes.  The anonymous artisan's work is celebrated as much as the work of Sir Joshua Reynolds or Christopher Dresser.

 

Iron balusters, ca. 1730-80.

Chair, ca. 1755, mahogany and needlework.

 

The chair above is from a design by Thomas Chippendale; the needlework design in the chair back depicts the Annunication, or "Lady Day,"which falls on March 25.   England had adopted the Gregorian calendar on March 25, 1752, only a few years before this chair was made. On this feast day contracts for tenant farmers and landowners were renegotiated. 

I look forward to returning to the galleries when they are fully open.

Return to the Metropolitan Museum

Flowers in the Main Entrance.

 

In late May, DH and I went to New York, to visit family. The Metropolitan Museum re-opened earlier in the spring, so off I went. Timed tickets were required, but as a member I was able to join the line at the lower level entrance, without a reserved time slot. 

I went to see the Alice Neel exhibit, People Come First, after waiting in another line. According to the friendly guard managing the line, there's been a wait to enter the exhibit from opening day. 

 

Cut Glass with Fruit, 1952.

 

While Neel is celebrated for her portraits, her still life paintings are very appealing, and the exhibit also includes cityscapes, as well as illustrations for periodicals.  Neel painted people famous and not; many of the portraits are of family members or neighbors in Spanish Harlem.

Hartley, 1966.

 

Hartley, Neel's younger son, relaxes in a chair in this portrait. His face has a neutral affect; great care is taken with the drape and folds of the t-shirt and trousers, giving the form solidity.  Elbows and knees extend the territory of the body, which is delineated with Neel's trademark blue outline (Cezanne, an influence, often outlined his figures too). 

Below, Neel's daughter-in-law slouches on a stool; her face is inscrutable, but the loose knit shirt and the red mini-skirt suggest comfort and confidence.  The angles of elbows and knees again expand the space taken up by the sitter, and create negative space through which the white wall appears. The image remains quite flat despite the suggestion of shadows and the emphasis is solely on the figure.  After seeing this image, I began to note the motif of stripes in many of the paintings; adjusting the organization of the stripes suggest folds and drape in a more abstract manner than shadows or highlights. 

Ginny in Striped Shirt, 1969.

David Bourdon and Gregory Battcock, 1970.

 

David Bourdon (1934-1998) was an editor at Life magazine; he sits on the right in this double portrait, comfortable in a striped chair, and striped tie. Gregory Battcock (1937-1980) was an art critic, educator and activist who had a habit of lounging and working in his underwear. The contrast between the two men is humorous, as are Battock's orange socks. The postures are animated, again, by knees and elbows.

In contrast, a portrait of the artist's mother, the elderly woman is shown almost slumped in her chair, cocooned in a plaid bathrobe with a striped belt forming a limp, loose cincture. It's the personification of resignation.

Last Sickness, 1953.

 

Finally, my last image is Neel's self portrait at age 80, holding a paint brush and a rag.  Is this portrait her rejoinder to the tradition of the male gaze? (The brown bit at upper top is my crummy photography capturing a bit of the frame)  Neel's body sags into a crisply upholstered striped chair, but her head is steady as she looks directly out at the viewer, with authority.

Self Portrait, 1980.

For more images and review, see this article in The New Yorker by Hilton Als.