Stormy weather

An English summer is traditionally said to consist of three sunny days then a thunderstorm. Today was the 3rd and final day so, in celebration of the sun, here's a memento of Sunday's wander around Greenwich Hospital:


I was banging on the other day about how I'm not a huge fan of the Baroque, but then I figured I hadn't been to Greenwich for years so I probably ought to revisit it -- you know, just to test.


There's something glorious about it: it's like a giant stage set (and reminds me of Blenheim, actually, another grand building which is, as they say in Scotland, all fur coat and nae knickers. I mean that metaphorically -- both buildings are beautifully maintained. Perhaps not coincidentally, the architect of Blenheim, Vanbrugh, took over the final work on Greenwich, after Wren and Hawksmoor).


Wren loved facades consisting of three layers of windows -- his extension at Hampton Court palace follows this style, although there everything is rather too cramped. Here at Greenwich he had space to breathe.


The whole complex is vast, a series of giant buildings laid out to a mathematical grid, the columns forming a rhythmic procession through the site.


And as it was a space designed for the Royal Navy there are, inevitably, monuments to the heroic dead all around -- this is for the greatest of them all, Nelson, here being lifted Heavenwards to Victory, looking for all the world like a Calvin Klein model:


Even on the brightest of sunny days, the columned cloisters form a delightful shelter:


Because the site consists of several buildings (all designed to be an integrated whole), there are lots of delightful corridors and connections:


Even the smallest of back stairs has a fantastic atmosphere:


But... I have to say, the innards of the building, the grand public spaces, are, for me, ridiculously over the top:


A lot of the decoration is, anyway, tromp l'oeil (that's a fancy phrase for "fake"), and I find it leaden and heavy.


No, no matter what the delights of that great stage set outdoors, the Baroque, for me, still isn't swinging it.

I'm sure Wren feels suitably chastened.