Shadows and Dust

So I went to the British Museum, because that's what I do.  When my brain is ticking over so manically it hurts, or when I need to get my head straight, or when I want to feel less, or feel more, I go to the British Museum.  My friend Liz has called it a "touchstone" for me, and she's exactly right.  (Not having access to that touchstone for two years is a little unnerving, but let's leave that aside for the moment...)


I was feeling a bit fretful (hell, I'm only moving to a country I've never seen before in a little under a month, I CAN'T IMAGINE WHY I WOULD FEEL THAT WAY), and it was one of those gorgeous, dark-blue autumn evenings, so I walked from work to the Museum for their members' night.  This basically meant that a few galleries were open, there were a couple of lectures and tours, and there was music in the Great Hall (courtesy of this awesome three-piece medieval band):

Two of them played two recorders each, SIMULTANEOUSLY, while the guy in the middle just wailed away on that massive drum.  I loved it. :)

Anyway, I took a wander and ended up in - surprise, surprise - the Asian galleries.  Which wasn't entirely deliberate; I thought it might be a cool idea, but my attention was also caught by this guy:

 

That's a stunning red-and-gold laquer Buddha.  The photo doesn't do the figure justice; he almost looks like he's breathing, and you get the bizarre sense that if you brushed against his skin, it would be warm to the touch.  What's awesome is this:  guess where this was made?  Burma, baby.

I was also fascinated by the hamsa (sacred geese) offetory pots on either side, decorated a bit like this (though this one's technically a betel case):

They're so gorgeously ornate, and for some reason, that's not a style I associated with Burma (if I'd ever sat down and imagined what Burmese art looked like, and I can't really say I have).  Looks like I have a lot to learn.

Some Thai art now:

 

  

The elephants are my favourite.  I love that not only do they have their trunks intertwined, but the riders are also leaning close together with a kind of easy affection.

 I love prehistoric artefacts.  One of my favourite parts of my trip to India was the collection of prehistoric tools (found locally) at the palace museum in Madurai.  I suppose one reason I like them is that, when you go back far enough, it feels like history stops being the property of individual cultures, and melts into a single history of human civilisation.  Which, now that I think about it, is an incredibly arrogant thought on my part.  I'M IN UR PREHISTORY, STEALIN UR CULTURE.  Hmmm.

Before I left, I took a picture of one of my favourite exhibits (not my all-time favourite; I'll need to get a snapshot of that, too).  And I looked, and I beheld a pale horse, and his name that sat upon him was Death, and Hell followed with him:

 Papier-mache Four Horsemen.  (That's Death sitting on the world, clutching a bomb, if you couldn't tell.)

Tonight was something I needed.  I feel intrigued and excited again, and I'm remembering that I'm doing this placement because I want to (an awareness that can get lost in the minutia of getting ready to leave, and the sting of saying goodbye).  Seeing the Thai and Burmese art also stirred up a lot of other emotions, too, ones I'm having trouble even putting names to.  That's okay; they can percolate in the back of my mind while I run around, getting vaccinated and certified (and debriefed, debugged, dedrugged, disarmed, and disinfected, to steal a line from "Chess" :)).