While a Doctor Who story might have drawn me to Trafalgar Square, another British TV show was foremost in my mind as I stepped inside Britain’s National Gallery.
In the comedy “To The Manor Born,” Audrey has lost her beloved estate to Richard, the founder of a successful grocery chain. In one episode, he asks her to pose as his wife to fend off the amorous advances of a beautiful French businesswoman with whom he is attempting to finalize a contract. Unknown to him, Audrey arrives early to redecorate the manor according to her tastes, using many of the furnishings she was forced to sell, along with the manor, after her husband’s death. When Richard escorts his guest into a sitting room, she inquires if the painting over the fireplace is a Turner. He chuckles and replies, “No, it’s a Hockney.” Then he looks, and sees not his modern painting (what appears to have been from the artist’s famous series on Los Angeles’ swimming pools) but a traditional seascape, and must correct himself. “No, it’s a Turner.” (Thanks a lot, Audrey!)
I’m not like Thomas Crown (played by Pierce Brosnan in the 1999 remake of “The Thomas Crown Affair”). I may enjoy rereading my favorite books and stories, or re-watching my favorite TV shows and movies, but to stand or sit for extended periods to study famous paintings is not my normal practice. Nevertheless, I did enjoy touring (parts of) the National Gallery. I sought out the work of Joseph Turner, and agreed with Audrey that his famous seascapes and landscapes would better suit the architecture of an English country gentleman’s home. I noticed that much of the art depicted people and events drawn from the Bible or early Church history. I sympathized with Rick Steves: much of the great art that mankind has enjoyed for centuries would now be considered “too fleshy” by Americans to be shown in one of his travelogues (even on PBS stations). And I happened upon the work of one artist whose work I found strangely compelling: the landscapes of John Constable. My only disappointment was that I didn’t have enough time to explore the museum’s many halls, or listen to the various talks on offer, or simply to gaze in appreciation at so many attempts, on the parts on their creators, to transfer the imagery they saw in their minds into something that could bring joy and inspiration to everyone else.
That is the power of all art, is it not? Whether the subjects covered include a Saint, an animal that symbolizes a country, or the individual travel machines of an alien race that invades other planets, all artwork can enrich our lives, often in unforeseen ways. I’m sure I never thought about visiting London’s National Gallery when I first started watching British TV shows. But these stories awakened an interest in visiting the country in which they are set. Seeing “The Dalek Invasion of Earth” drew me to Trafalgar Square. Once here, “To The Manor Born” drew me into the National Gallery. Now I have a new artist to learn about in John Constable, and a place to devote more time to on a subsequent vacation.
One familiar refrain from all who worked on early Doctor Who is their amazement that this show has endured, and continued to entertain and inspire, while many of the other productions they contributed to (either on stage, TV, or film) have been forgotten. That is the way of life, is it not? We can never know the ultimate effects of what we do for others. Out best-intended efforts may be misunderstood or unappreciated. Some of the work we feel most proud of will be forgotten. We can only hope that some of what we do will benefit others in the future. I find that sufficient reason to give of my best to all that I undertake.
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