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Published: April 10th 2012
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23 degrees Celsius. The end of March. Picnicking on Hampstead Heath in shorts and t-shirts. Sitting at an outdoors café in the sun eating scrambled eggs and mushrooms. Struggling to find some of Boris’s bikes to hire as the heat has brought out every man and his dog seeking to cycle in Hyde Park on a Sunday in an early Spring. Unbelievable but all true.
We sat on the steps of Tate Britain waiting for the Picasso exhibition to open, looking at the muddy Thames hedged by glass and concrete towers. What did I find out about Picasso? Confirmation of his dalliances; confirmation of his profound influence on UK painters. Anecdotes from a full life.
A delicate pencil portrait of Lydia Lopokova caught my eye. A ‘particular friend’ of Picasso’s from Diaghilev’s ballet company, she kept him at arm’s length insisting that Picasso be accompanied by his wife Olga Khokhlova, also a dancer, when coming to sketch her. She married John Maynard Keynes and years later in 1950 the now widowed Lady Keynes was asked by Picasso if she still danced, the affirmative saw them dancing on the pavement of Gordon Square.
Two young aficionados clad in white
tights struggled to keep their Alice bands on as they juggled the headphones of the audio guides dangling around their necks. Skipping happily off in their flowery summer frocks and cardies they led their father to their favourite painting. Child with a Dove 1901.
Picasso was not always this successful or popular in Britain. In 1949 the then departing president of the Royal Academy, well known for their avant garde attitudes, made some pretty disparaging comments about Picasso live on BBC radio. Somewhat similar to Margaret Thatcher’s intelligent comment on Francis Bacon, “that awful artist who paints those horrible pictures.’
Having lost count of his new lovers we wondered if there were as many as his style changes. Was the new period indicative of a new lover entering his life? We left after admiring the spectacular Three Dancers painted in 1925 which he sold to the Tate in 1965.
Across from the gallery Graeme nonchalantly leant on the huge concrete bollard at which the convict ships were moored; from which at least one of his ancestors set sail so many years ago.
What could top Picasso? Maybe a ride through Regent’s Park? Straight up the Boardwalk
after working our way through Boris’s bikes payment system (not the easiest in the world) and wended our way via the towpath of Regent’s Canal towards Camden and Camden Lock. We passed houseboats and enjoyed the quiet until we burst into the madness of Camden town. Busy, cosmopolitan, restaurants, eateries, cafes from every country imaginable line the thronged pavements together with cheap shops in which to fleece the unsuspecting tourists. This visit found us skirting the market itself, best kept for when one has time to poke about the stalls looking for the hidden bargain which everyone else had missed.
Standing on the bridge we looked down at the young crowd sardined on the wharf outside The Ice Bar, clutching glasses of cider and the like, baring winter white chests to the unseasonal hot afternoon sun.
Waiting for the number 46 bus to take us back to Hampstead we noted the frequency of commuters using the two-way cycle path. Where did it go and where did it come from? A question for Google I fear.
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