Gustav Klimt

I was sitting in a hospital waiting room for much of the morning. It wasn't an especially nice waiting room, and I had sat and listened to at least two barnies as the disgruntled of North London bemoaned the extent of their wait in that rather dull room. But fear ye not, kind reader, because the NHS Trust concerned has spared almost no expense and furnished this place with soothing art.

This image is by some Bavarian bearded dauber by the name of Gustav Klimt. I attach this image to demonstrate in full terms what the version that I saw today didn't look like.

Surely, you have seen these nasty paper prints of pieces of art that adorn the walls of public spaces. They are normally old advertising posters for former exhibitions, and you would see the name of the painter (in this case 'GUSTAV KLIMT' [captalised, centralised, of course] with the locations of the exhibition in far smaller letters nestling beneath (New York ~ London ~ Shoeburyness). This print was in a frame that would have made the Mona Lisa seem dowdy, but here is the best bit. It has hung on that spot for longer than that wall had in fact been there; so long that the only colour that could be percieved was turquoise. The reds were darker turquoise and the golds and yellows lighter turquoise. Sunbleached almost nearly to death, this image was a mere shadow (albeit a turquoise shadow) of its former self. That it was arbitarily hung at an angle about eleven feet off the ground didnt help.

I pondered this image for some time. It was created, in its orginal form, with love and passion. It was meant to add to the world, and once it surely did. Good old Gus (with Bavarian beard) likely spent years perfecting this painting, and I was left with one rather alarming thought ...

...is this how the world sees the Church these days?