The Good Egg
On Friday afternoon I found myself in the studio office debating whether it was time for a caffeinated or herbal tea when a friend unexpectedly arrived with her colleague to record a programme on air.
I had been trying to meet this particular friend for weeks on end with no luck; our Zone 5 London lives and the lack of connection between the ends of the Metropolitan and Piccadilly Lines proving a challenge for our hectic schedules.
We had however finally managed to decide upon a place to meet on Saturday, and delightful words like ‘shakshuka’, ‘zhoug’ and ‘za’atar’ had been floating around my mind since she’d suggested ‘The Good Egg’, a Middle Eastern-inspired brunch spot tucked away in Kingly Court, off Carnaby Street, Soho.
It was therefore a welcome surprise to see her about sixteen hours in advance of our plans.
We laughed at how, caught up as we often are in our Gen-Z brunch era, we’d failed to put two and two together and realise that we were both ‘too busy on the Friday’ for the very same reason.
St Francis of Assisi
Filled with a lamb shakshuka hash and pondering over our shared thoughts about life as recent humanities’ graduates in London, I headed off down Regent’s Street and towards Trafalgar Square.
I was keen to visit the new major exhibition on St Francis of Assisi in the National Gallery, the opening night of which was attended by the Cardinal, a bunch of Franciscan monks, and even some wolves.
I was curious to see whether the saint had been turned into some sort of vegan eco-warrior activist figure, perhaps in an attempt to make him seem relevant to a modern and secular audience.
Any cynical thoughts soon vanished however as I was met with the figure of Francis.
Here, with his arms outstretched, looking up to the Heavens, in Gormley’s modern take on Bellini’s Francis in the Desert which had struck me at the Frick Collection in New York when I'd stumbled across it half a year ago.
Image: Antony Gormley, 'Untitled (for Francis)', 1985, Lead, fibreglass and plaster, 190 × 117 × 29 cm, Tate (T05004) © Antony Gormley / photo © Tate
Here, embracing Christ on the Cross with a brotherly tenderness in an evocative scene by Murillo.
And as you turn into the adjacent rooms, he’s here, sitting in the margins of the manuscripts, over there feeding Büttner’s woodcut colourful birds, there in the corner meeting with the Sultan of Egypt.
The stories, the miracles, and the Truth which shaped the remarkable life of Francis transcend temporal and cultural divides.
They have inspired artists to draw, sculpt, and paint the remarkable works to be found on display at the exhibition.
And yet in the penultimate room we are met with a coarse brown tunic, crumpled up in a glass display case, and labelled as belonging to St Francis.
It’s a jarring shift from the transcendental and lofty praises embodied in ‘The Canticle of the Sun’ to the materiality of the very clothes worn by this saint, and it caught me somewhat off-guard.
Filled with artsy millennials sporting tote-bags and tourists who had stumbled into the exhibition, the ground floor of the National Gallery is hardly a quiet side chapel, where relics are usually venerated in sacred reverence.
And yet the tunic stands apart: it is not devotional art, nor a metaphorical representation or an interpretative masterpiece.
It’s a reminder of the human person of Francis, the mortal flesh of one whose being longed for the Eternal.
Yet as I stood caught in front of the glass case, it seemed Francis was meeting us here too.
Amidst the compositional perfection of Caravaggio’s Francis, the striking and distinctive figure of El Greco’s Francis, here a shabby and torn tunic remind us of Francis’ earthly mission.
It’s a reminder that he is not one of the many allegorical figures or mythological beings who adorn the walls of the National Gallery, but a humble, prayerful, and compassionate monk.
And it was precisely this life as a humble, prayerful, and compassionate monk which set him on the path to sainthood.
Saint Francis of Assisi in Ecstasy, Caravaggio, c. 1595, oil on canvas, 92.5 cm x 127.8 cm
Going round in circles
As I sat on the bench outside the exhibit gathering my thoughts, I heard a familiar voice saying hello.
I looked up to the friendly face of the colleague who is with me in the studio office on Fridays.
It turns out that we not only share our first name and a worrying tendency to make puns, but also the idea of what to do with a spare few hours in Central London.
I’m not too sure what conclusions I can draw from my weekend, other than perhaps the idea of retreating to an Alpine monastery with complete anonymity does currently seem rather appealing.
I did think however that my unexpected encounters would at least provide a satisfying cyclical structure to this entry.
Andrea Büttner, ‘Vogelpredigt (sermon to the birds) (2010)’, Woodcut, diptych, 117 x 180 cm. © Andrea Büttner. Photo: Thor Brødreskift.
Saint Francis of Assisi is on display at the National Gallery until 30 July 2023, Ground Floor, free entry