Virginia Museum of Fine Art – exterior display
My flight home was at 6:30 pm from Dulles so I reckoned that if I was back at Dulles (about 110 miles from Richmond) by 3 o’clock that would give me plenty of time to check in, get through security, etc. That meant leaving Richmond no later than noon, which in turn meant that I could have a final couple of hours in the morning. I decided to visit the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, a large art gallery just a block away from where I had stayed.
I had intended to go to an special exhibition at the gallery of late 19th century european still life pictures, mainly flowers, and featuring Matisse, Monet and van Gogh, but in the event I decided to just wander around the general public galleries. It would be fair to describe the collection as eclectic, but thorough. There aren’t that many great names – I didn’t see any Rembrandts, Michelangelos or Caravaggios there, for example; but there were examples of Dutch Golden Age art by other artists, there were Italian renaissance pictures, and several by painters who I have seen referred to as the ‘Caravagisti’ – the followers of Caravaggio. So not Premier League art, but solid Championship stuff; and it all benefitted from being hung in a big modern gallery with few visitors on that wet Thursday morning. In addition to paintings there was art of other types: a classical gallery containing statuary, pottery and mosaics from Greek and Roman classical times, a display of stunning silverware from London silversmiths of the 18th and 19th centuries, and a collection of objets from the Art Nouveau/Art Deco periods. I especially liked these – this collection included some chairs and other small pieces by Mackintosh, the first examples of his work that I’ve ever actually seen. I very much enjoyed the couple of hours I spent there, and I’m sure I only scratched the surface of what’s there.
Then it was time for the drive to Dulles. Given that I had a deadline I decided to use the Interstate (I95), which I didn’t enjoy. It was wet – torrentially so at times – and it wasn’t fun being overtaken by big trucks doing 75mph and kicking up huge amounts of spray as they did so. Altogether the drive took me just about two and three-quarter hours, with no stops, and I was rolling into the Alamo rental lot at just after 3pm. Then it was back to the terminal in the shuttle bus, and after visiting the restroom to make myself comfortable and presentable, I was at checkin by 3:30. All of that went very well, in fact; I was through checkin and security and had got airside by about 4pm. Boarding was at 5:30 so I had an hour to kill. Having not enjoyed my in-flight meal on the way over I decided to have a final american meal, and what could be more american than hamburger, fries and all the trimmings? So I did this in a small fast-food hamburger bar around the ‘C’ gates, and even found myself in conversion one last time, with Maggie, a young american on her way to Spain to progress her education. Thank you, Maggie, for taking time to chat with a rumpled and elderly Brit; although I shall reassure Val (my wife) by saying that it was Maggie who started the conversation.
Then it was onto the plane where I found myself in an aisle seat on the back row. Never mind; I had a rented film to watch, ‘The Hobbit – Battle of the Five Armies’, which I did through the flight. I enjoyed it, especially Billy Connolly as Dain Ironfoot (although I’ve since learned that what we saw on screen was entirely digital, and that Billy did a voiceover from the UK).
The flight back had the benefit of a tailwind and we landed just six and a half hours later in Manchester, about 45 minutes early; but frustratingly that meant our gate at Manchester was still occupied by an outbound flight so we were held on the taxiway for about 20 minutes. Never mind, it didn’t take long to get through immigration, my bag was already on the carousel, and I got a bus to the long-stay carpark straight away. What with an easy drive from Manchester airport through the Peak District, I was unlocking my front door at a quarter-past eight in the morning, after 11 nights away.
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