Cappuccino Thoughts 64: On a Road Trip through Rural Scotland--Art Adventure PART 2!
+ visiting Edinburgh and reading Just Kids
The most devoted readers (you know who you are!) will recall last October when I went to the Sargent & Fashion exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. I was bowled over by one particular portrait, Lady Agnew of Lochnaw.
I wrote a slightly unhinged post (see below) about feeling an intense spiritual connection with this painting, and I was very happy to receive many messages back with paintings that have made you feel this way too. Below is an excerpt from my post in October:
Cappuccino Thoughts 42: On Stendhal Syndrome with Sargent
WELL today I have a massive update in my obsession with Lady Agnew of Lochnaw. It’s a bit of a long one, so grab a cappuccino and buckle up.
I joined one of my best friends, M., for a trip to Edinburgh, Scotland. M. is like a brother to me, and he is one of my favorite people in the world to travel with. We’ve visited each other’s respective homes in San Francisco and Bratislava, traversed Germany while we were both stuck there during Covid, and, in one incident that sealed the deal on our friendship for life, he accompanied me to (illegally) cross into France to retrieve my belongings when Covid shut down my study abroad experience. How did we escape the bundespolizei (border police?). A story for another time!
All to say that, while I was very happy for him, I was very sad for me when he moved back home to Slovakia after graduation to pursue his dreams of being an entrepreneur. Why can’t everyone I love live within a ten mile radius of me?!
So we decided to meet up in Scotland to spend some quality time together. We absolutely loved Edinburgh, with its cute cafes, dozens of bookstores, and exceptionally kind people. Did you know the city was named by UNESCO as a World Literary City because of the contributions of Scottish authors like Sir Walter Scott? Add in the four universities the small city is home to and it’s become a haven for literary types. I am dying to go back for the Fringe Festival.
While we had fun roaming around the National Galleries, having coffee at Fortuna, Leo’s Beanery, and New Town Fox, shopping for wool sweaters at Kestin and Dick’s of Edinburgh, visiting the Castle, and even hiking Arthur’s Seat (yes, me, hiking, can you believe it?), our trip hit the next level when we made the last minute choice to go on a road trip.
I do not have the best luck with road trips. I steered my extended family very wrong on a recent road trip through the South, an error that cost us many hours and lots of frustration (I’m still really sorry!). Another time, I left my handbag at a rest stop and my poor husband had to turn around for it, adding hours to our trip (sorry again!). And another time J. and I got very sick with Covid (which we didn’t realize we had at the time) on an intense work trip through North Carolina, and I learned why you don’t mix cold medicines (yikes!).
Yet, it was without trepidation that I agreed when M. made a crazy proposition. We were sitting in the spa at 10pm (because there is nothing that us East Europeans love more than the sauna) talking about Lady Gertrude Agnew. Gertrude, let’s call her Gertrude. I was explaining that she (as a painting) had continued her travels from Boston, where I saw her, to London, and was currently on view at the Tate Britain. I bitterly regretted that I hadn’t gone to visit her, though I only had about 12 hours to spend in London before making my way to Scotland. I was telling M. that her permanent residence is actually none other than the National Galleries of Scotland. I had gone to the museum that day and seen where she usually hangs. What I thought was a remarkable, but not very famous painting, in the Boston exhibit was actually one of the treasures of the National Galleries in Scotland. Her face was plastered everywhere, on notebooks, bags, and scarves.
I mentioned that Lochnaw is located in south-western Scotland, about three hours by car from Edinburgh.
“Well. Are we going?” He asked.
“What do you mean?” I replied.
“You’ll never be closer to her estate than you are right now. Should we just go?”
As you can see, dear readers, M. is a one in a million friend.
So we booked the car. We plotted the route. We hoisted on our Barbour raincoats and we set off the next day.
The only major hurdle was the realization that, of course, the Scots drive on the other side of the road…
Minor panic later, we were off. We stopped at a number of other castles along the way. Scotland, it turns out, is littered with them. Most of them were in ruins or various states of disrepair, with promises that construction was underway (it wasn’t).
We chose a route that took us through the countryside. We saw so many sheep, Icelandic ponies, cows. I saw a pheasant for the first time. The landscape was lush and green as a four leaf clover (oops, wrong country).
The map revealed there to be a small lake next to the estate. The Scottish word for lake is “loch” so that also could have given us a hint. We had already tried to go to some other castles whose entrances were gated off. I felt the tension rise in my chest at the prospect of having dragged M. out here to the middle of nowhere only for us to not be able to enter the estate.
We pulled up to the destination the sat nav had guided us to. A big, closed gate.
“No! We’ll go around. There has to be another road,” he said, commanding the land to open before us.
Around we went, slowly driving past a few cottages with lights on. At least our electric vehicle didn’t make any noise. But then: another gate.
At this point, we had lost all cell service or navigation capabilities. M. drove slowly, trying not to draw any attention. We had read online that the estate had been purchased by a Scottish businessman in his mid-30s who was making repairs to the estate with the intention to live in it with his wife and three children. It was not open for visitors.
But then: a peek of the lake.
“Let’s go,” M said, and we followed the dirt road toward the lake.
Suddenly, Lochnaw.
Oh my god, readers, it was beautiful. The silvery lake contrasted beautifully against the bright green Scottish grasses. A pheasant bobbed its colorful head in greeting to us. Cows brayed in the distance.
I felt Lady Agnew’s spirit there.
Finally, convinced that no one was inside the castle, we entered the courtyard through the open gate.
“You know what I feel?” M asked.
“Sad?” I guessed.
“YES! Exactly. But it was only when we entered the courtyard, not from the outside.”
“Me too. I feel like I can feel her here. And her life was not a happy one.” I could see it all. Horse-drawn carriages pulling up to the entrance to drop visitors into this courtyard for suppers and soirees. Lady Agnew looking out from the turret. Lord Agnew in another wing of the house. She was young, beautiful, and a little bit famous because of Sargent’s portrait. She should have enjoyed the zenith of the social scene. But in the portrait, there’s just a malaise about her.
Something that fascinated me most about this portrait was how other people had written articles about being so struck by her. Yet, there was no consensus about what the portrait conveyed. Several said she looked beautiful, glamorous, composed. Others thought she looked mischievous, seductive, and enticing. Still others saw her as languorous, sickly, unhappy.
I learned upon further reading that both her parents died when she was a teenager. This left her bereft, but independently wealthy. Then came along Lord Agnew. He proposed to her after four days—and she said no! He proposed to her repeatedly for a year, and she kept saying no, until one day she acquiesced. How sad to capitulate to lifelong commitment. She apparently made it clear to him that she “harbored no strong feelings” towards him. WHY then did she marry him? She was one of those rare women who had enough money to be on her own. Yet she agreed to marry a man she did not love. The union produced no children. I can’t imagine that chilly castle on the secluded lake was very romantic. She entertained a lot there in the beginning. But I don’t think she loved Lochnaw. I don’t think she loved being an Agnew.
The family fell on hard times. Her husband tried to sell the portrait of her to the Frick, who said no (bad choice!!). She was eventually sold to the National Galleries of Scotland, where she makes her home today.
Going to Lochnaw brought me closer to her and to her spirit. But it did not bring me closer to any answers. I cannot deduce why she agreed to marry him. I keep searching her face, but it seems like a secret she is keeping. She had her reasons, that I’m sure of, but I don’t know if they worked out for her the way she hoped. I wonder what she hoped for.
I think she just wanted to be Gertrude. To be left alone on the bench overlooking the Loch. To live life on her terms. And maybe she doesn’t owe us any explanation.
Updates on the bag project
A bit of fashion news for my fellow New Yorkers: Casa Magazines has been sold by the owner Mohammed Ahmed. If you’ve ever been, you’ve probably seen him working there. But never fear, it’s been sold to Iconic Magazines, a small downtown chain, and will continue to be operated by them.
How does this relate to the bags? Because the first magazine the bags were featured in,Cool and Thoughtful, is sold there! I imagine it will continue to be sold there even under new ownership. Mohammed was so nice when K. and I walked in and pitched him on the magazine. There aren’t that many stores that take chances on small projects, so I will always be grateful for that! Another time, I walked in when I had a spare five minutes in the West Village, and I was wearing Breton stripes and toting an iced coffee, and he took a photo of me and called me Jane Birkin. Grateful for that too!
Look of the week
Not quite done with the amazing Tokyo fashion.I watched this grandpa absolutely cruising down the street on his bike (on his left), and he just looked so grounded and comfortable. I think that’s what the best fashion does. A bit of googling leads me to believe these are called “zubon” pants. I love this product description:
“The idea is that any surplus length balloons over the narrow hem at the bottom, so the shorter you are, the more ballooning you get, which is generally considered a good thing. All that air inside circulates and keeps you cool, and of course any pulling or squeezing you may have experienced in trousers of lesser volume will become long-forgotten discomforts.”
Comfy and stylish!
What’s on the bedside table
My friend S. very thoughtfully gave me a copy of Patti Smith’s Just Kids for my birthday last month. Have you ever had that feeling when you are so sure you will love something that you actually put it off so you can continue looking forward to doing the thing? That’s how I felt about Just Kids, and boy have I loved it. For someone whose strongest drug of choice is a double espresso, Smith’s prose felt like what I imagine a shot of heroin feels like. Ice cold and straight into the veins. Her writing is electric and jumps off the page, grabbing the reader with both hands, and pulling them into her world. The book is about her relationship with fellow artist Robert Mapplethorpe. The way they meet is so crazy and somehow still so believable (all I’ll say is they have a very strong dose of the phenomenon In-yun, as described in the movie Past Lives). They immediately become embroiled with each other and have a complex yet beautiful and meaningful relationship. I’m only halfway through, but I’m dreading it ending. If you haven’t read it yet, I urge you to go get a copy.
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This week I will still be traveling. I’m taking a bit of time before my next job starts to have an around the world adventure. I’ll continue publishing, and promise to be back to regularly scheduled programming in April.
Catch up on recent issues:
I loved Just Kids!