The Hereford Screen: A Personal InteractionBy Christopher J GarciaThere are some moments when one comes into contact with a work of art. Ithappened to me a lot in the 1990s, while trying to justify a minor in Art History. I’d go tothe latest special exhibit at the MFA in Boston and find myself, for no good reason,welling up at the way they presented the last series that Lichtenstein had painted, or theseries of illustrations from Arab scientific manuscripts. I’d spent hours at all distancesfrom Pollack, Man Ray, Rothko, Motherwell, Nevelson, actually feeling something cutthrough me, hit an emotional point in myself that I seldom let flow up to the front. I oncefound myself nearly in hysterics in a room full of Hockney in a gallery in Providence.Something about Abstraction, divorce from representationalism, craft, that’s what reallygot to me. So why, when I visited England on my trip as the Trans-Atlantic Fan Fundrepresentative, was the thing that broke me down a piece of Victorian Iron Work?I had a section of my trip set aside for The Big London Musuems. There was theBritish Museum (planned for two days), The Science Museum (I had to see the BabbageEngine), the Natural History Museum and, far less important than the others, the V&A;the Victoria & Albert Museum. It’s a museum of Decorative Art and Design, with anemphasis on the later, it would seem. Maybe it was that I was visiting when the major artgalleries were being updated, but as I saw it, it was a museum of design: the ugly,functional stepsister of Art. I usually can’t even bring myself to capitalize it.I had done my bit of the Science Museum, observed both the originalreconstruction and the one that would soon be delivered to my museum, and it wasapproaching two o’clock. I walked out and entered the V&A, my iBook and London A-to-Z in my Further Confusion bookbag. It’s a building of hugeness. There’s no other wayto put it. It’s not quite as massive as the Natural History Museum, but it’s still impressive.Then again, all those big stone buildings that I came across in London felt like cathedrals built to convert heretic giants. You walk in and there are pieces, lovely pieces, pieces thatappear everywhere and seem to mean little. There’s a Chihuly glass piece hanging over an information desk. There are pieces that stand as introductions to coming galleries. Theentire layout is full of pieces of art and craft.The galleries are lovely, and some even border on overpowering. There are theCast Courts, huge galleries full of plaster casts of hundreds of massively significantworks that would never be able to move. There are giant pillars, cathedral doors, effigies,tombs, caskets and statues. It’s amazing, though it doesn’t feel like magic. There’s alovely hall full of Korean decorative arts, a wonderful room of Japanese kimono andother pieces of clothing, and a hall of musical instruments that moved me, but not morethan any other collection of objects. It was pretty much a really good museum, like theones that I hang out in around California, only better. There were some truly amazingobjects, the Gloucester Candlestick, a gesso-on-wood Jesus on an Ass, the ThomasBecket Casket and the Butler-Bowden Cope. It was all great, but it wasn’t life-changing.I headed up a set of stairs and down a hallway, going towards what I thought wasgoing to be the Islamic section when I came to a strange object. It was presented just infront of the wall, and when you approached it, it was from the side. I wasn’t sure what itwas, had no idea, but when I got to it, something happened.It was the Hereford Screen.
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