Critique

The Raphael exhibition at the National Gallery is a treat. I admit that for many years renaissance painting passed me by. I quite liked the bluish townscapes on the distant horizon but the endless pious madonnas and their out-of-proportion cherubic babies bored me. But 4½ years ago at the Ashmolean Museum I learnt to look at Raphael's drawings and in this exhibition the babies squirm, the Madonnas pay them attention and everyone is making eye contact.

The picture I've blipped  made me laugh. St Cecilia (patron saint of music)'s band have dumped their instruments in despair. The guy front left is seriously contemplating just stamping on his viol and taking up golf instead. The two at the back are having a quiet but exasperated conversation about the complacent one front right who thinks she can play but can't even keep rhythm on the tambourine. Meanwhile St Cecilia in the middle is trying to work out whether she can get away with wounding Ms Complacent irremediably with the pan pipes while innocently rolling her eyebrows heavenwards.

Many bands have been there.

In the extra, I enjoyed Raphael's treatment of the renaissance equivalent of mobile phones. St Nicholas of Bari is so deeply immersed in his he's probably not even aware there are other people in the room. For sure he brings it to the dining table. The Virgin Mary, bless her, is not ignoring her child while she flicks through the images but is bringing him up to be just as adept. Meanwhile, John the Baptist on the left points in despair at the lot of them. He doesn't get this obsessive, anti-social trend for illuminations at all.

Actually, I spent two hours in the exhibition being very much less flippant than this. It's good.