Birds of America

Another special exhibition had rolled into town. The National Museum was hosting Birds of America and we didn't want to miss this one. The work of American artist and ornithologist John James Audubon (1785 - 1851) was the subject of the installation. Around 1820, he declared his intention to paint every species of bird in North America. The printed result of this ambition was Birds of America, published between 1827 and 1838. Featuring 435 life-size, watercolour illustrations of staggering detail, the book's outsize dimensions and its release as a series of folios has resulted in very few complete volumes remaining to this day. An intact first edition will now set you back millions of pounds/dollars. Only 120 such examples are known to exist and the museum's collection includes a partial set of prints from a lapsed subscription, augmented by a few individual pages acquired over the years.

We took the bus across to Edinburgh from the Inverkeithing park & ride facility. It was a blustery day in the capital but not too cold. After a wander around Greyfriars Churchyard, where a crazy preacher was in full flow, we strolled over to the museum and headed straight for the temporary exhibition gallery. The admission fee was the usual £10 but we had a good look around the adjacent bird-themed shop before going in. Nicole bought herself a pair of bullfinch earrings while I made do with a handful of postcards. Taking pride of place on the shelves was a lovely poster (pictured right), depicting European birds with text in German. At £80 however, it was a bit beyond our budget for the day. We purchased our exhibition tickets at the counter and made our way through the doors. The first room featured a revolving set of Audubon's prints being projected on to the white walls. I knew very little about the man and took the time to read a text panel next to his portrait before progressing deeper inside. John James Audubon is generally regarded as the most famous bird illustrator of all time. Born in French-speaking Haiti, he was the illegitimate son of a sugar plantation owner and his chambermaid mistress. Audubon was raised in Nantes and therefore had French as his native language. An early fascination with birds and other wildlife continued into adulthood, by which time he had emigrated to the United States. Audubon set about studying American birds, determined to illustrate his findings in a more realistic manner than most artists did back then. He began drawing, painting and observing behaviour. Audubon settled in Kentucky with his wife Lucy. They had two sons and two daughters but only the boys survived childhood. Both lads eventually helped publish their father's works and young John became a naturalist, writer, and painter in his own right. After finding it difficult to attract the respect of the scientific community, not to mention the necessary financial backing for the Birds of America concept in his adopted homeland, Audubon set sail for Great Britain where his pitch found a receptive audience. He arrived in Liverpool carrying a portfolio of 200 drawings and was well received there. It was however a journey north to Edinburgh that provided the key to making his project a reality.

Armed with his artwork and letters of introduction, Audubon planned to spend a week in Scotland's capital but ended up staying for five months. The movers and shakers in Edinburgh found the "American woodsman" persona fascinating and a public display of Audubon's work received glowing feedback. But the positive impression didn't stop there. He was also elected to many of the city's artistic and scientific societies. Publisher and engraver William Home Lizars stepped in with a distribution deal. Subscribers were sought in order to cover the ongoing production costs. Today we think nothing of sending a colour picture to a laser printer but in the 1800s it was a painstaking (and expensive) process to produce this type of work. Calculating that the illustrations of large birds would prove the most popular, each release deliberately contained one such specimen, along with a medium sized bird and three smaller examples. The big beasts were therefore drip-fed into the market. Another publishing ruse was to issue the sets of prints without accompanying text, therefore getting round the law stipulating that a dozen copies be provided free of charge to various state libraries. A companion piece furnished the reader with the finer details of the pictured birds. For this task, Audubon enlisted the help of an academic named William MacGillivray. English wasn't Audubon's first language and he didn't feel confident enough to write the formal notes on his own, although he did add personal anecdotes which no doubt brought the subject matter to life among non-specialist readers. Audubon was not the first naturalist to turn his hand to painting. This fact was recognised by the exhibition which provided examples of artwork by eminent ornithologists Mark Catesby and Scots-born Alexander Wilson. The determination of Audubon to draw each subject on a life-sized scale meant that large birds were often contorted into unnatural (and often aerodynamically impossible) poses in order to fit the already-huge page. Indeed, only two paper mills in the whole of Britain were manufacturing sheets of suitable dimensions. Audubon claimed he never drew from a stuffed specimen and often shot down the birds himself before commencing work. This would be regarded as a highly controversial act nowadays but back then it would be the only viable method of obtaining a life model. As always, we must resist the temptation to waggle a finger when referencing a much earlier age of different values.

Many of Audubon's paintings showed birds devouring prey, showing nature in its full gory detail. I've never understood why people complain about photos on social media depicting raptors enjoying a well-earned meal. Yet a blackbird posing with a worm dangling from its beak is likely to be regarded as cute. Everyone has the right to nourishment. The 18th century saw the proliferations of large museums in major cities which were always looking to add to their natural history collections. Extravagant displays and illustrations of specimens were a sure-fire way of attracting public curiosity. It was certainly a fertile time for an artist to be touting wares showing flora and fauna in the raw. One glass case in the exhibition gallery contained a selection of the taxidermist's art, including a massive golden eagle and a rather attractive tufted puffin - the latter a native of North Pacific regions. Even though Audubon supposedly disapproved of drawing from this type of source, he did possess rudimentary taxidermy skills and the presence of stuffed birds at today's exhibition helped to broaden the scope. Besides, I'm sure he cheated at least once! Another eye-catching stuffed specimen was the gyrfalcon - the largest member of this genus and native of northern parts. It is sometimes seen at lower latitudes during harsh winters when food is scarce. Audubon's life story is full of contradictions and controversy. The son of a slave trader, Audubon himself dabbled in this nefarious trade and also studied the now discredited science of phrenology for a while (although coming to the conclusion it was complete nonsense). Meanwhile he accepted the patronage of abolitionists in England. A failed businessman in his younger days, he nevertheless secured funding for the production of a bird book on a scale and ambition never attempted before or since. A hunter who boasted of shooting thousands of creatures, he also warned of the dangers to wildlife caused by habitat degradation and human interference. Audubon is considered by many today as an advocate of conservation.

Reading between the lines, it seems Audubon was willing to try his hand at anything but often realised the folly of his actions. He apparently refused to participate in the mass shooting of buffalo for sport, rapidly concluding the practice of leaving mounds of corpses piled on the plains while taking only tails and tongues as trophies was completely barbaric and not remotely sustainable. Audubon erroneously believed that targeting species already existent in large numbers would do no lasting harm to their population. A prime example is the passenger pigeon, once widespread across North America but hunted to extinction after demand for its meat reached industrial proportions. Coupled with mass deforestation, this led to an estimated three billion birds being reduced to zero by the outbreak of WW1. Native Americans had of course eaten pigeon flesh for centuries but this activity made no impact on bird numbers. Martha, the last known passenger pigeon, died in Cincinnati Zoo. Her body was frozen into a block of ice and sent to the Smithsonian Institution, where it was skinned, dissected, photographed and mounted. A tragic end for a once ubiquitous bird. A stuffed specimen gazed mournfully from the display case as I wandered past. The gallery also related the sad tale of the Carolina parakeet - a brilliantly coloured, medium-sized parrot that travelled in large noisy flocks and was once common in eastern America. As European settlers arrived and colonised the continent, they began clearing large swathes of forest where the birds resided, mainly for agriculture and residential development. Farmers saw the parakeet as a pest and shot them in large numbers. The prevailing fashion of wearing colourful feathers in ladies hats hardly helped matters.

Therefore the same old situation occurred. A combination of habitat loss and persecution from humans led to a sharp decline and the last surviving parakeet died in 1918 at Cincinnati Zoo - unbelievably in the same cage once occupied by Martha the pigeon. Many experts attribute the final stage of the extinction process to an unknown disease. Viruses are part of nature but the low population base would have been unable to withstand the infection. Two sad stories of feathered friends lost forever but it showed the negative side of our interaction with the natural world. Have lessons been learned? Partially at best, I would say. Audubon wanted the wild turkey (the hen was pictured earlier) to be America's national bird and it was given pride of place as the very first plate printed for the book series. The heavy ground bird also appeared on Audubon's personal seal and calling card. After a serious risk of extinction, a recovery programme was put in place and thankfully succeeded. An estimated seven million wild turkeys roam free today. Yes, they do actually fly, albeit at a low altitude over short distances. The bird lends its name to a bourbon whisky brand and features on the motif. I'm sure it's powerful stuff! Audubon is credited with being the first enthusiast to carry out bird ringing in America. Identifying species in the wild is a tricky business fraught with mistakes. Sometimes the same bird ended up being named twice or juveniles were falsely put forward as new types. To a large extent, these false results helped lead us to where we are today. As they say, the pioneers take the arrows while the settlers get the land. However, Audubon is thought to have gone beyond the usual beginner's blundering and the possible embellishment of details in a desperate attempt to cement his scientific standing. Indeed, it is speculated in some quarters that he went the whole hog and actually fabricated the so-called Bird of Washington (pictured below). This winged warrior - presented as the largest eagle in North America and named after the first president of the United States - stood proudly upon the first painting encountered by visitors to Audubon's 1826 exhibition in Edinburgh.

Yet there was never any physical evidence put forward to verify the Bird of Washington's existence. A genuine miscalculation or a cheeky attempt to make a fast buck? The issue perplexes historians to this day. The standard set of bird names we reference today is the end result of a process refined over many years. Common names could differ depending on where you were in the English-speaking world and many of the titles doled out by Audubon were subsequently altered. Nevertheless, more than 20 species described by him still go by this name today. One such example is Bewick's long tailed wren. Thomas Bewick was a highly regarded English naturalist and a master wood engraver. He famously produced the volumes A History of British birds between 1797 and 1804. Bewick and Audubon met in 1827 and shared a mutual admiration. You can pick up a reprint of the Bewick series for around a hundred quid. Nicole did just that when we visited a second-hand book emporium in Alnwick, Northumberland. I suspect an Audubon second edition may be a tad pricier! The scientific milieu of the 19th century was highly elitist and Audubon's lack of formal academic schooling put him at a distinct disadvantage in this highly competitive environment. No doubt he was rough around the edges in some respects but it's certain he also ran up against pure snobbery. I'm sure if his particular skills had been required as part of a vital war effort then he would suddenly have found himself accepted among the elite. The actual book exhibit - as opposed to individual prints pinned on the wall - was a sight to behold. It twas a weighty tome and an illustration of a white heron beamed out from the display case. Subscribers had the option of binding numerous prints into a set of four themed volumes. The material on display was devoted to water birds. Each page was approximately one meter tall and 70 centimetres wide. The whole family was involved in the printing enterprise. Son Victor acted as his fathers London agent and supervised the production. Young John reproduced his dad's illustrations on a smaller scale for The Little Work - the runaway success of which enabled the purchase of an extensive estate in New York. Oil painted copies of the master drawings were also sold to generate additional profits.

Following Audubon's death in 1851, the family fortunes declined and the original watercolours were flogged to help pay the bills. Audubon had branched into mammal illustrations in the mid-1840s but failing eyesight, followed by dementia ended his career. The engraved copper plates were deemed relatively worthless at the time and offloaded merely for their scrap value. Only 78 are reckoned to survive. What price would a more substantial set attract today? I think we can categorise Audubon as a flawed genius and many of his original works can be viewed at the internationally acclaimed museum bearing his name in Kentucky. A mere taste was on offer here today in Edinburgh, 3782 miles from Audubon's home state (as the Bird of Washington flies, allegedly!). That said, a huge amount of information was presented and the camera shots I took of the information panels certainly helped me solidify my understanding of the subject matter, as well as providing invaluable notes for the creation of this blog post. A veritable smorgasbord of bird facts. The exhibition was one of the best I had seen in a long time. Thoroughly recommended. We needed to experience fresh air and answer the call of hunger (which pretty much encapsulates the life of a bird). A stroll down Chambers Street to South Bridge presented several food options and we sought refuge in a burrito restaurant. What a remarkable day!

Edinburgh Cinema

The pandemic massively accelerated many trends that were already firmly underway and one leisure activity that must have taken a severe knock on the chin is movie going. Cinemas were in the process of competing against home viewing systems offering large screens and quality sound. That's a hardware issue, but the lockdowns prompted many people to sign up for streaming services such as Netflix and Amazon Video. The rapid rise of these on-demand platforms means some movies are produced directly for that market, by-passing the traditional picture house altogether. A significant number of film fans must now be asking themselves whether it's worth shelling out for cinema tickets, not to mention the travel costs and the exorbitantly priced refreshments, when they can group round a 50-inch TV with quality sound output and peruse an extensive choice of viewing from the comfort of their own sofa. Snacking from the fridge as and when required.

Of course, there will always be people wanting to experience the communal surroundings of a movie theatre. But with any business model, if you slice off a significant percentage of your previously semi-regular crowd, this can equate to catastrophic losses over a period of time. The sudden arrival of lockdown and the resulting long-term changes in lifestyle meant the cinema industry wasn't given the time to formulate a strategy to counter declining interest. The danger is a trip to the movies is now seen as expensive, even if those doing the mental reasoning can actually afford the cost. Pubs too have been a victim of this argument. Yet many people think nothing of selling out £50 per month for a smartphone contract. A Netflix direct debit at just under a tenner seems like a bargain but how many millions of viewers just limit their spending to just one streaming service? The poor old picture house is being attacked on several fronts. I've noticed the Vue chain is offering all seats at a fiver. Certainly, Nicole and I were baulking at the £13 (per person!) asked by Odeon in the run-up to the pandemic. A pricing re-think is now surely required across the industry. Extra bums on seats means the fixed running costs can be met by a more affordable ticket rate. But that's a gamble and it may well be tempting for the bosses to simply attempt to wring more cash out of the remaining loyal customer base. I definitely think that has been the case with pubs. No way has the increase in beer prices been merely pegged to inflation over the past 30 years.

Nicole and I decided to travel across to Edinburgh and take in a film, followed by a bite to eat. The bus is now our favoured method of reaching the capital city. I can use the weekly pass I purchase for commuting to work and Nicole can ask for a student ticket. Easy parking at Ferrytoll is guaranteed at all times, which isn't necessarily the case at a railway station. Plus, the coach stops at the West End, just a short walk from the Filmhouse cinema. Opened in 1979 and heavily associated with the annual film festival, the Filmhouse screens a varied programme throughout the year which includes many independent and foreign language releases, the sort of fare that struggles to find a home outside the arthouse circuit. Three auditoriums are housed within the former church, the largest having a capacity of 280. A spacious café/bar offers the chance to relax pre-or-post film, or indeed just drop in as I have done on a number of occasions. A good selection of cask ales is normally available.

I vividly recall my first trip to the Filmhouse. It was 1999 and the main source of cinema listings back then was newspapers and teletext (remember that?). The web was rapidly developing but hadn't yet taken hold among the masses. I rather randomly went to see The Third Man - a 1949 British film noir classic, although I didn't know that at the time. I entered the tiny Cinema 3 and a captivating evening ensued. I was back a week later to see the sizzling Summer of Sam and from then on I became a fairly regular punter. I watched mainstream fare at the Dunfermline Odeon and would take a train across to Edinburgh for more obscure releases. I eventually subscribed to an unlimited pass at Edinburgh Cineworld - a large chain that did also show a fair whack of overseas and independent movies, but still frequented the Filmhouse and the city's other main arthouse - the Cameo - just up the road.

Today we were booked in to see Lingui: The Sacred Bonds. Filmed in Chad with a largely non professional cast, determined and devoted single mother Amina works tirelessly to provide for herself and her 15-year-old daughter Maria. When Amina discovers Maria is pregnant and does not want to keep the child, the two women seek an abortion despite it being condemned by both religion and law. Strong on feminist values, the movie was an enthralling couple of hours. The dialogue was in French and the film has been released in various territories following its premiere at the legendary Cannes Festival. Well worth the £9 per head we paid online. We also had a quick snack in the bar beforehand in order to offer the venue some extra support. Cinema 2 holds around 100 people but today's attendance was - wait for it - just six. Not the smallest cinema crowd I've experienced (that would be me on my tod, several times) and I suppose it added another 50 quid to the worldwide box-office takings. Interestingly, our seats had been pre-reserved but I suspect this was purely a Covid measure. The Filmhouse used to stress that places were available on a first come, first served basis and if a group turned up and only single seats were left, then they sit apart.

I briefly mentioned the Cameo Cinema a couple of paragraphs back and I could be found in this establishment on a regular basis in years gone by. My first visit was to see Trainspotting in 1996. Just 400 yards away from the Filmhouse, the Cameo is Scotland's oldest cinema in continuous use. The Hippodrome in Bo'ness, West Lothian, predates the Cameo by a couple of years but was converted to a bingo hall in the 70s and closed completely in the following decade, before being relaunched in 2009. The historic Hippodrome is well worth a visit but that's for a separate post.

Opened in 1914, the Cameo's main theatre seats 250 patrons but originally more than double this amount was squeezed in. People must have been skinnier then and prepared to tolerate less leg room! Probably all smoking too! Can you imagine the fug? Two smaller screens have been created over the years by purchasing neighbouring shops. In 2005 there was a well-publicised campaign to save the famous cinema, following a takeover proposal that involved converting the main auditorium into a bar and restaurant. Film fans were incensed and successfully petitioned for the conservation status to be upgraded to B-listing, meaning the interior became safe from major alteration. Thankfully we can still enjoy movies while appreciating the amazing architecture. Drinks can be purchased from the 1960s bar (Scotland's first ever licensed premises within a cinema) and taken into the theatre if so desired. The Cameo is here to stay, in its true form!

After leaving the Filmhouse, we walked round to a small sushi restaurant on Morrison Street called Chizuru Tei. The area around Haymarket Station was thronging with rugby fans but we were working on the assumption they wouldn't invade a Japanese restaurant. Fish & chips might have been a different story! We duly snaffled a vacant table in the far corner although I had to dash to the station's ATM as the restaurant was strictly cash only. The exact opposite from the Filmhouse bar. After threading my way through the advancing tide of Murrayfield-bound supporters, I took my seat and ordered up my first ever California roll (pictured above), along with a plate of duck noodles. Many folk wrongly assume that sushi equals raw fish, which in reality occupies just a fraction of the menu. One thing I had failed to spot was the BYOB notice. I could have popped into the nearby Co-op for a couple of beers. Coca-Cola it was then! I love a Japanese feast every now and again and can use chopsticks with a degree of panache. The bill does strain the wallet and a sushi session is best limited to an occasional treat. By the time we left, the rugby was still in progress (a win over England, no less) and we were able to catch the bus home before the kilted and face-painted hordes descended.

Kelvingrove Museum

A rainy Sunday was forecast and I had no appetite for sitting at home. An indoor activity was the obvious solution and I took the first bus through to Glasgow to be at the spectacular Kelvingrove Museum for the doors opening. The rain was off when I arrived in the city centre and I decided to walk the mile and a half along Sauchiehall Street rather than use the subway. That would have cost me a couple of quid and I actually made a profit by riding on Shanks pony as I found a gleaming pound coin on the pavement.

I reached the grand museum and hung around until being admitted. The red sandstone building and its collections are owned by the people of Glasgow and construction was financed by profits from the 1888 International Exhibition of Science, Art & Industry hosted by the city, along with public subscription. Kelvingrove Park was home to a similar extravaganza in 1901 and the new museum and gallery took centre stage - which is why the ornate entrance faces the park rather than the street. It was opened to the general public the following year. There is no truth in the urban myth about the architect jumping to his death when he visited the completed building only to find it had been erected the wrong way round! The spectacular frontage was inspired by Spanish church towers and the palace-like interior was engineered to allow music to echo through the arches and connecting corridors. Indeed, the names of 36 composers decorate the main hall, which has contained a pipe organ since the early days. Concerts were held during the 1901 exhibition and the instrument is still played regularly today. The museum is also notable for being one of the first public buildings in Glasgow to employ electric illumination. I strode into the cavernous entrance hall and marvelled at how we are able to enjoy such an amazing sight free of charge. I had a good few hours ahead of me and hoped to get round all 22 galleries. I had visited a few times before but it was always a case of wandering around the ground floor for a while without any real opportunity to explore upstairs. I remember seeing a very interesting AC/DC special exhibition in the basement and one on dinosaur eggs that wasn't so enthralling. While the place was still fairly quiet, I nipped upstairs to take a photo of the main hall from the perspective of the balcony. It was the first time I'd seen the floor space left completely open. Previously there had been tables for tea and coffee. On one occasion a string ensemble were playing. I must say I liked the minimalist look. Perhaps a hangover from the Covid restrictions?

I made my way into the gallery showcasing the work of an esteemed group of home grown artists known as the Glasgow Boys. Now regarded as the most significant group of British painters from late Victorian times, their work was widely displayed and admired in Europe and America. Their efforts helped put Glasgow on the cultural map and encouraged following generations of local talent to have confidence in their own abilities and push the boundaries. A loose-knit coterie of a couple of dozen, they all knew each other personally and were bonded by the city where they lived and worked. They developed a distinctive style and were drawn towards similar subjects, beginning with rural outdoor scenes. Later, the more fashionable aspects of Glasgow life found favour and their output relied heavily on colour, texture and pattern. By the turn of the 20th century, few of the Glasgow Boys remained in the city as they inevitably sought pastures new and followed their individual paths. Fortune took them far and wide and in many cases brought wealth and international status. But as the last survivor Robert Macaulay Stevenson observed, we were just the Boys. Famous paintings are a pleasant distraction, but I am naturally inclined to seek out social and industrial history when browsing a general purpose museum. Transport too, although Glasgow has a dedicated facility for this interest on the banks of the Clyde. I crossed the hall and entered the gallery that tells the story of Glasgow's transformation into the second city of the British Empire. Everyone knows Glasgow was a major force in shipbuilding and that obviously required huge quantities of iron and steel, in turn produced by furnaces consuming mountains of coal. Cranes, boilers and locomotives were also forged within the wider area. The giant St Rollox depot at Springburn was established in the 1850s and built stock for the Caledonian Railway Company. It continued in one form or another until as recently as 2018. It is human nature to yearn for the past. The so-called good old days. Glasgow however had horrendous problems with overcrowding and insanitary living conditions. A lack of health & safety led to many men being maimed or killed in accidents at work. Those who did reach old age often had their health blighted by this stage and in many respects it's good that we have moved on. People were still living in tenements without indoor baths and toilets until the early 70s! Unthinkable nowadays.

Kelvingrove Park was carved out from a former estate and purchased by the city authorities in 1852. It provided a relief from the appalling standard of housing many local residents had to endure. One of the first large-scale examples of Victorian urban parkland, Kelvingrove hosted - as previously stated - a major public exhibition in 1901 for which the current museum was created. A similar event was staged a decade later - the Scottish Exhibition of National History, Art and Industry. This time the museum was excluded from the official programme and presumably continued to function as normal, no doubt benefitting from the flow of visitors to the various themes dispersed around the park. An older museum did stand here in Victorian times. Kelvingrove Mansion - dating from 1783 - became the City Industrial Museum in 1870 but was demolished to make way for the new building. I spotted a lovely photo upstairs of the old parkland with the original museum in place. The industrial gallery had a fair amount of space devoted to the concept of Red Clydeside. The city was a hotbed of political activity and a centre of socialist thinking throughout the 20th century. Eventually the stranglehold of the trades unions was broken and workers rights are much more easily eroded these days. A sad situation, as many people fought long and hard - often at personal expense - to gain better conditions and working hours for future generations. Imagine if you had emigrated from Scotland in 1980 and lost touch with the political scene. Coming back today would be a real eye-opener with scarcely a Labour MP to be find in the entire country, let alone the biggest city. Had you suggested such a scenario prior to your departure, passport control would have been instructed to prevent you boarding a plane or ship in order to give the men in white coats time to arrive and drag you away to the asylum in a straitjacket! It's a different land these days. I wandered through the natural history displays, always popular among family groups. There was a good selection of British birds as well as other stuffed animals from around the globe. It's always harrowing to see examples of extinct species, particularly when the reason is galling, like the feathers being considered fashion accessories.

I headed upstairs and was confronted by a statue of the King himself. Elvis was decked out in a fetching blue suit and he sported a flashing halo. It was a vision I hadn't expected to see. In fact, it left me all shook up! Much of the upper floor is given over to artwork but there was a large gallery tracing the history of warfare and the all-too-overlooked consequences of such actions. World cultures were also celebrated and I read an interesting account of the tea trail, which I suppose is a western incursion into other ways of life. Another exhibit I enjoyed was an immersive multimedia recreation of a rain forest scene. Then it was off for a swatch at the canvas. The most prized offering has a little room to itself and is entitled Christ of Saint John of the Cross. The world famous painting by Spanish surrealist Salvador Dali depicts Jesus looking down on a shoreline fishing scene, but without his crown of thorns. Folklore insists that Dali's decision to show the son of God without the usual marks of crucifixion was made following a dream in which he saw a cross-bound Christ above the Catalonian coast where he (Dali) was living at the time. The work was purchased by the Glasgow Corporation in 1952 for £8200. Today it is reckoned to be worth a cool £60 million. Who says investing in art doesn't pay? Well actually it doesn't, until you sell it. Except you can't really flog such an iconic painting held in the public sector. I wasn't able to capture a worthwhile photo due to the oblong shape of the frame and the trapezoidal effect of photographing such objects at close quarters on a smartphone. After a spell at the St Mungo Museum of Religious Life & Art, the Dali masterpiece returned to the Kelvingrove in 2006 following a major refurbishment of the premises. The Dutch Masters gallery has a Rembrandt as its centrepiece. Man in Armour shows a thoughtful young man weighed down by battle dress. It was painted right at the end of the great man's career. I've seen the world-famous Night Watch in Amsterdam. Breathtaking both in size and detail. However, it was another Dutch painting from the 17th century that really caught my eye here in Glasgow. A Fire at Night by Egbert van der Poel - described as "the best painter of fire in the Netherlands" - yo, my man! A group of houses by a church alongside the canal are brightly illuminated. The house in foreground is burning fiercely and flames shoot up into the night sky. A crowd of figures are escaping with whatever furniture they can carry as they seek the safety of the canal bank. There are also boats in foreground. Quite a dramatic episode! The French gallery featured luminaries such as Monet and Cezanne but homespun talent awaited me in the next room. It was time to discover the Scottish Colourists.

John Duncan Fergusson, Samuel John Peploe, George Leslie Hunter and Francis Campbell Boileau Cadell rank alongside the Glasgow Boys as the most internationally significant group of artists to emerge from Scotland. They never worked collaboratively in the creative sense but knew each other socially. The "Colourists" name was bestowed upon them well into their career, after it had been used in the title of a joint exhibition. From around 1900 to 1930, the Colourists breathed new life in Scottish art. Their vigorously painted canvases were full of light and a celebration of life itself. Yet many critics at the time regarded their output as too garish and modern. So it wasn't rock n' roll that introduced the concept of shocking the establishment! The landscapes of Scotland provided inspiration for the boys throughout their careers but they also spent time in France, gaining acclaim for their atmospheric seaside depictions. They all painted women and pictured below is The Orange Blind (circa 1925) by Cadell, who was known for portraying elegant and fashionable females. From the Colourists gallery, I passed through a doorway leading to a display of general Scottish artwork. I liked the Balmoral scene by Francis Chantrey, where cattle in the foreground peer curiously at the viewer. The castle is seen in the distance upon a sunlit moor. To change the mood a little, John Hassall's rousing Bannockburn shows a Scottish force assembling under the Saltire and Lion Rampant. The accompanying text points out that in reality, warriors in the days of Bruce and Wallace would not have worn tartan, despite what movies like Braveheart would have us believe. They actually looked pretty much like the English soldiers. I admired a portrait of Bruce and again the information panel provided balance, stating the mythical hero of legend was in fact driven by political motives rather than a burning sense of patriotism. Oh well, it seems these guys were flawed like the leaders of today.

I finished off my visit by viewing the organ at close quarters and popping down to the gift shop, where I bought a handful of postcards. As I emerged back into daylight, I had a stroke of luck as the sun penetrated the previously grey sky to light up the museum perfectly for photographs. After a quick lunch on a bench, I began the trek back to the city centre, this time taking the Argyll Street route instead of Sauchiehall Street. The two famous thoroughfares begin at the museum and diverge before running roughly parallel. I wanted to pop into Richer Sounds hi-fi shop to check if they had a soundbar I'd spotted on their website. Often it's desirable to inspect audio equipment in the flesh before committing to purchase. Even better if you have the chance to hear the speakers in action. Unfortunately it was out of stock and I had a quick wander around the city centre before caching a bus home. It had been a productive day and I was glad I'd had the time to do the whole museum justice and have a good look round the regular collection. I always keep an eye out for special exhibitions and this invariably means having a look around other galleries as well, although your focus is naturally on the main event. The Kelvingrove is certainly a world-class venue offering a wide variety of material. More power to Glasgow!