Any trip to the National Art Gallery in Canberra is necessarily accompanied by roadtrip pictures to start it off. I've possibly been to Canberra more times this year than the last five years combined and this trip was the impulse trip of the year, as I made a last attempt to catch Turner from the Tate before its close.
We left on Friday 13th of all days and immediately, for me, after a hellhole three weeks of continual assignments. No unfortunate things happened. And boy, am I glad I decided to go.
As always, a larger selection of pictures can be found at Images from Nowhere.
There's always something peaceful about the drive down - just ages of bushland, highway and McDonalds rest stops; T, V and I listening to an eclectic combination of Asian pop, classical music, 1920s jazz, movie soundtracks and some truly bizarre episodes of Welcome to Night Vale, punctuated by conversation.
Most unusually, Turner from the Tate allowed photographs to be taken (just for the exhibition), which made it absolutely necessary for me to bust out my 5D and spend the next three days recovering from sore muscles I didn't know I had.
Personally, I don't really like simply taking photos of artworks in galleries - other people have done so before and possibly without the slight lens distortion due to my height - so my ideal subjects were candid shots of people interacting in the artwork or small details that could only be produced from getting up close to the artwork's presence. The textures were amazing.
Unfortunately, too many people moved hastily away when I lifted the camera, perhaps thinking they were getting in my shot and I realised there was not really a non-creepy way of saying 'no, it's okay, I just want to capture the back of your head'.
The family room was not as exciting as the Toulouse-Lautrec exhibition...mostly lots of watercolour easels and canvases for kids to draw but kind of brilliant all the same.
And there were some devastatingly beautiful paintings I couldn't help but attempt to photograph in full - if only to preserve some of their amazingly subtle features for my own viewing (and yours).
There's an amazing delicacy and subtlety to Turner's works, but the most impressive were the tiny sketchbooks on display that truly captured the carelessly beautiful detail of the artistic equivalent of 'scribbling in the margins'. The exhibition of his painting palette and the cracked, dried out paints in his painting box - glimpses of the human hands behind the works.
I could wax rhapsodic until the end of time about Turner, but I'll stop here and let the photos speak for themselves.