|The spiral staircase inside the main foyer of the
Tate Britain art gallery in London. Photo: Alamy
London’s Tate Britain shines from its $86
million facelift, right down to the cafe’s teaspoons and fridge magnets,
discovers Belinda Jackson.
Once a stultifying swamp, then a prison for Australians’
ancestors, Millbank, on London’s Thames River, is home to London’s
latest glorious art reincarnation, the Tate Britain art gallery.
home of the Turner Prize, which turns 21 this year, the Tate Britain
opened in 1897 as the National Gallery of British Art. The Tate Modern
broke away from its fusty parent in 2000 to become the world’s most
popular museum, leaving the Tate Britain to languish, unloved, in its
ultra-cool cousin’s shadow. Now, a $86 million renovation has the
Instead of slinking round the side entrance like it’s your
dirty secret, the main Thames-facing entrance is once again open, so I
strut boldly up the stairs and into the most beautiful atrium, crowned
by a dramatic glass dome that has been hidden from view since the 1920s.
The dome allows sunlight to pour into the elegant foyer and down a new
spiral staircase. Visitors simply stop and stare at the architectural
beauty, camera phones working hard.
The staircase leads to new
galleries below, including two set aside for special exhibits. While
entry into the regular collection is free, these two are not.
new BP Walk through British Art steers you past 500 paintings, from
severe portraits of the Tudor nobility of the early 1500s around to a
modern installation of ethnographic totems. I’m reminded of the
Aboriginal Memorial in the National Gallery of Australia, but peering
into the gloom, I spot the head of Ronald McDonald … and is that a
crucified Big Mac? It’s The Chapman Family Collection, by artists Jake
and Dinos Chapman.
We break for lunch, but because we’re toting a
toddler, the swish Whistler Restaurant with its restored 1927 Rex
Whistler mural gets a miss. Instead, we bags a sofa amid Doric columns
in the new Djanogly Cafe. Our open sandwiches of British salmon and
blood-red rare roast beef are followed by coffee served with “Manners”
double-ended teaspoons designed by artist Nicole Wermers. Word is
they’ve quickly become a must-have souvenir for many light-fingered
Cool Britannia abounds: visitors snap favourite artworks
on mobile phones, cruise the gallery with a mobile phone app, and a
temporary gallery is stormed briefly by a gang of young schoolchildren
wielding “More Art for Kids” placards.
If I had a gripe, it’s
because my favourite painting – and I’m an unashamed pre-Raphalite
romantic – is lost in the busy 1840s room. Waterhouse’s The Lady of Shalott
is still pale and deathly beautiful, but what’s she doing, alone and
palely loitering high up in the gods? I almost miss her.
But even if I
did bypass her in the gallery, she’s waiting for me at the gift shop –
of course, one exits through the gift shop – she’s zapped conveniently
on to a fridge magnet. It just proves that while the renewed Tate
Britain is tour-de-force of art curatorship, her feet are still on solid