The second occasion was en route to a wedding at Frodsham, in a tiny church that was a converted barn. It was bitterly cold and the service took an hour, as it was a full Catholic nuptial mass. When it came to giving the sign of peace - something I hadn't come across before and wasn't expecting - the woman in front of me turned round, grabbed my hands and said "Thank God, mine are bloody freezing!". The aisle was the width of only one person, and speculation was rife as to whether the bride or groom would come down first at the end of the ceremony. It was resolved by the extremely possessive mother of the groom launching herself over the top of the pew, grabbing her son and refusing to part with him. The marriage didn't end well.
The final time was in my twenties, when I had to fly to Speke for a telecoms industry exhibition. The plane was very small, with only about 12 passengers, and it was a bumpy ride. By the time we arrived I was feeling green and didn't exactly excel at the exhibition. The lowest point was when I mentioned to one of the exhibitors that there seemed to be something wrong with one of his demonstration phones, as it was making a funny noise. He explained it was the new warble tone.
As well as visiting the gallery, I was looking forward to seeing something of the city itself. We had a smooth journey there by train and asked the young woman at the information desk which metro station we needed for the Tate. She looked completely blank and it was clear she'd never heard of it. Her much older (male) colleague gave us directions and we emerged into a cold brisk wind, with rain in the air. As we saw the Mersey and looked out towards the sea, I found it very poignant, thinking of the millions of emigrants who had made the journey across the Atlantic in appalling conditions, hoping for a better life. There is a statue in bronze given to the people of Liverpool by the Mormon Church as a tribute to the estimated 9 million who made the crossing to the USA. The child stepping forward symbolises migration to the unknown world whilst the child playing with a crab (barely visible in the photo below) indicates a deep association with the sea. The blur of Peter's finger indicates the need for more coffee:
The ferry terminal now is a modern block, with sentimental padlocks festooning the cable fencing:
Behind it you can see some of the Three Graces, which now have a rather unsightly funfair in front of them:
We stopped to have a quick look round the old Piermaster's house, which is furnished inside to illustrate family life during the Second World War, when bombing was heavy. Then our destination was in sight:
As we paused by the entrance and looked across the Albert Dock, we could see the cathedral in the distance and a nineteenth century boat - the Glaciere - which used to carry stones to Denmark and is now for sale:
Inside the Tate, I was wondering where all the works of art had gone. The basement and most of the ground floor had none; half of the first floor was closed as they were dismantling the recent William Blake and Tracey Emin exhibition (a narrow escape, as Peter can't stand her work), there was a Clore Learning Centre for families, and the rest of that floor and the second floor had a Constellation exhibition of the part of the Tate's collection that could in some way be connected with outer space; the third floor had some of their non-Space related pieces; and the top floor was devoted to an exhibition of paintings and photographs portraying Germany in the 1920s and 30s. Since outer space appeared to include empty space, it was slim pickings.
We did find a Mondrian - rather a dreary one (No.VI/Composition No.II, 1920):
There was also a rather fine Lowry (Industrial Landscape, 1955), though from his later, more depressed period when his industrial scenes were largely devoid of people:
I wandered into the Clore Learning Centre, having heard a lot about them in the past but never having been inside one before. It was a large, informal room full of wonderful colours, interesting shapes, some books and a few toys rather like lego but much more attractive as they were lovely colours and you could interlock them to produce all sorts of striking combinations. I was absorbed in playing with them when Peter found me and I reluctantly abandoned the idea of crawling through the mesh tubes (probably a bit ambitious anyway, and rather embarrassing if I'd got wedged). The large cubes which changed colour were mesmerising:
I just had to try out the bean bags but got well and truly stuck. Every time I'd almost reached vertical, a load of beans would shift and I'd fall back, laughing:
In the end Peter had to haul me upright. I was tempted to stop by the cube that had some of those toys on it but thought I'd better not push my luck.
So, it was back to culture - or what I honestly thought was pretentious rubbish, in some cases. One example, and there were plenty, was a pair of very small brown leather shoes:
The Tate's accompanying note explained that "This sculpture relates to Levine's Shoe Sale exhibition of 1977 in which the artist presented shoes that she had purchased from a thrift-store as works of art. Levine is part of the "Pictures Generation" of artists emergent during the late 1970s whose work adopted imagery, ideas or materials from already existing works of art or culture, using appropriation to comment on the notion of authorship and the act of borrowing itself. Levine's work also comments on the fetishisation of art objects while generating associations with the surreal uncanny. The apparent banal functionality of the shoes is undercut by their diminutive scale and emphasised by the over-long shoe laces". Huge shoes, tiny laces, anyone?
There were some exhibits I liked, particularly this life-size drawing in charcoal and graphite by Robert Longo (Untitled (Joe) 1981):
The sheer vivacity is infectious and I thought the drawing skill was very impressive. For the skill and the sense of drama, I was quite keen on the Andy Warhol self-portrait, painted in 1986, the year before he died:
The sculpture The Machine Minders, created by Ghisha Koenig in 1956, was also rather appealing for its simplicity:
It depicts two men minding vats at an ink factory in Kent, which she visited regularly, as her particular interest was producing sculptures of people at work.
We moved up to the top floor to have a look at the exhibition entitled Portraying a Nation: Germany 1919-1933. We'd been in two minds about whether to bother, as the posters looked off-putting and it was rather expensive. However the reviews sounded promising and it seemed silly not to go the whole hog while we were there. I'm glad we did, as it was very interesting both in terms of the art and in giving an insight into the mindset of parts of Germany between the wars.
The first half was 144 photographs by August Sander, who in the mid-1920s started his monumental project - which remained unfinished when he died in 1964 - of creating a social atlas of Germany through portraits of people from all segments of society, classified principally by their profession. Some of the most striking images were from the classifications of family and the disabled. Looking at them, you couldn't help wondering how many of the boys would survive the war and whether any of the disabled would.
Above the photographs was a timeline, describing the changes taking place in Germany during this period. I'd known about the hyperinflation but not how extreme it was - far, far worse than Zimbabwe, for example. I also hadn't realised how hard life had been for the farmers in particular. If anything I'd assumed they would be better off than most when times got really hard, as at least they could produce food for their families, but they were in a dire situation. It was uncomfortable thinking about how the British might have reacted - or enough of them, at any rate, to win power - given the same history and conditions.
The other half comprised some 150 paintings by Otto Dix (1891-1969), who was a significant artist during the 1920s and 30s. He was fascinated by the depths of human experience and focused on the aftermath of the First World War and the sordid underbelly of the "Golden Twenties". Having served as a machine-gunner for three years in the First World War, his paintings of some of his experiences were grim and again it made you think about what it would have been like being on the German side. In many respects, probably very similar.
Unfortunately we weren't allowed to take any photographs of the exhibition but if you have the chance to see it, I'd recommend it.
We finished our exploration of the Tate by returning to the ground floor, to see the so-called Space Tapestry by Aleksandra Mir and 25 young artists, which is in fact a huge segmented drawing in marker pen and biro that "contemplates the evolution of advanced space technologies and their increasing impact on our everyday lives".
What struck me was the coincidence that one panel referred to Columbia Road flower market, which I visited last month as another of the challenges (a very enjoyable one):
As we left the Tate and started walking back through the attractive docks area, we passed an interesting juxtaposition of old and new:
The bus is now a cafe, parked outside the Maritime Museum.
Further on, we came across a statue of a working horse, erected in 2010 by the Liverpool Retired Carters Association after 12 years of fundraising. It commemorates the 250 years' service of the working horses of the city. Through all weathers, they hauled goods between the docks and the warehouses, ensuring the flow of food and fuel through the port during the Second World War. Apparently they were considered the best in the land and the carters were renowned for their handling skills and the phenomenal weights they hauled:
Close by, we were surprised to find the propeller of the passenger ship the Lusitania, which was sunk by a German U-boat in 2015 off the coast of southern Ireland, with the loss of 1,198 men, women and children:
As we were leaving the area and heading back towards the metro station, we came across a group statue that I couldn't resist - even though as I posed for the photo, some Middle Eastern men standing behind Peter were watching and giving me points out of ten (not many, it seemed):
Although Tate Liverpool wasn't as exciting as I'd expected, it was worth the visit and the city itself has plenty to offer. We may have only scratched the surface but I love knowing that - equipped with my senior railcard - I can make day trips to all sorts of places across England. If you get up early and come home late, you can see a lot.
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