It was gorgeous, gorgeous work. Not allowed to take photos or sketch, so you’ll have to go see it for yourself.
I did something I’ve never done – I took along a magnifying glass.
The kind that Sherlock Holmes carried. Sturdy, with a handle. What a difference! Especially looking at the etchings under the low light conditions favored by conservators. They had several by Rembrandt, and I could see the individual expressions on each of the faces. I’m definitely packing a magnifying glass in my luggage.
It was in the low 80s in Alabama, the same weather I can expect about midway through my Madrid adventure. We walked fifteen minutes to a restaurant, and I was overheated in my jeans and chucks. Made me think about packing skirts and sandals. But then, back in the museum, it was cool to frosty, as AC in the south often is. So again, layers, but ditching the down jacket, a hoodie is plenty. No heavy socks, no long sleeve shirts. By the time I got home I was motivated to order some leopard print sandals that will go with my black wardrobe. Simple slides that I hope will require minimal breaking in to be sublimely comfortable. If not, it’s an old pair of black Merrell slides. The heat of the day is best served by getting horizontal. Maybe I’ll be taking that siesta and going out at dusk for round two of Madrileños life. Well, probably not, but I’ve made a note to schedule my walking around tours of the city for early in the mornings and early in the trip. before the city heats up like a griddle.
The drive over to Birmingham was two and a half hours. The drive back was closer to three and a half, thanks to construction on a bridge that funneled three lanes down to one. My daughter did all the driving and was an entertaining companion. She has a great eye and we often find the same work compelling.
They had an excellent Innes and Bierstadt in their permanent collection. A luscious Bouguereau, Aurora.
A slightly racy Sargent I’d never seen. An interesting terracotta bust of an authoritarian Doge, which, thanks to Terry Pratchett, will always remind me of the Patrician, Havelock Vetinari.
A fabulous portrait of three spinster sisters who ran a local female academy in the 30s. They fairly jumped off the canvas. I can’t find them searching the permanent collection, but trust me, go hunt for them. A second-rate Monet and Canaletto, but a first-rate Bierstadt and Innes. Plus, monkeys.
At the end of this long day of travel and museum reveling, I ached from my toes to my hips. No getting around my age, I’m afraid. But no giving into it, either.
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