Wandering around Whitechapel Gallery is easy, just like a Sunday morning should be. It is the perfect size for someone who can't muster the energy for the Vaticans, the Nationals and the Tates of this world. But although it's small, it's brimming with big names. We saw Spazio di Luce, the wonderful bronze and gold leaf tree trunk from Giusppe Penone; we saw dismantled Aspen Magazines from the 60s and 70s (why haven't magazine 'boxes' ever been made since?); we saw Mel Bochner's colourful and powerful word chains; we watched a two-screen film about cultural identity from Matt Stokes; and of course we marvelled at Maurizio Cattelan's weird and wonderful installations from the Collection Sandretto Re Rebaudengo (including the suicidal stuffed squirrel Bidibidobidiboo). The exhibitions all had dimension; they presented us with both a physical and psycological depth, in my opinion often not graspable in older works of art. A direct example of this was earlier in the year at Metamorphosis: Titian 2012 where contemporary artists highlighted deeper meanings in Titian's paintings through their reactions to his works (see REVIEW: THE NATIONAL GALLERY).
After buying a hoard of wonderful postcards (I would highly recommend the Whitechapel Gallery shop for books and postcards), we left some of our vultures in Aldgate to explore the Sunday markets, and the rest of us journeyed on to St. James' for a spot of pub lunch. Westminster Abbey vultures gradually trickled in to the quiet pub one by one, making me feel as though I was attending a secret Hogwarts gathering in Diagon Alley's Leaky Cauldron.
Arriving 45 minutes before the start of the service, we made our way to the end of the queue that had already formed outside the Abbey. Remembering a pregnant Posh Spice, David Beckham's OBE on the wrong lapel (probably a mirror job - bless) and Tara Palmer-Tomkinson being off her face in line at the Royal Wedding, soon enough our wait was over and we were entering into one of London's most famous treasures...
On entering the Abbey (usually £16 if you aren't there to be godly), we were each given a candle (which was later to be lit by the 'taperer') before being serenaded by Bach on the organ as we made our way to our seats. Soon enough we were lit up and listening to the beautiful all-male Westminster Abbey Choir, consisting of fully grown choristers and what can only be described as little cherubs who must have recently fallen from heaven. The climax of the service was definitely reached with O come, O come, Emmanuel! as the congregation sang and processed to the transcepts of the Cathedral. Newly placed alongside monuments to William Shakespeare, the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen, we spent the rest of the service inhaling burnt service sheets from two naughty schoolboys in the row behind. The CULTURE VULTURES (I am proud to say) were last to leave the Abbey, making sure we saw as many monuments as we could, as well as attempting to find a vulture's family crest in a side-chapel and then finally testing a poor clergyman on his knowledge of the building's history. Glowing, we made our way back to the pub, where we warmed the cockles of our hearts with mulled cider and mini chedders. I'm sure it's procedure for Westminster Abbey goers to top and tail their visit to the church with a visit to the pub...
So I've said it once, and I'll say it again, the Advent Liturgy at Westmister Abbey was up there with some of life's best experiences to date. It was a wonderful end to a wonderful Autumn/Winter season for CULTURE VULTURES. We'll be back in the Spring...
