My wife and I recently celebrated our tenth anniversary. We flew to London, England, where we spent several days enjoying the attractions of the big city and meeting with family. On the day of our arrival it was rainy and overcast - a familiar “welcome back” to a place which was, for a brief time, home for me.

That was nearly 45 years ago. I lived at the time with my brother and his family in a roomy squat between Belsize Park and Chalk Farm. I traveled everywhere by tube (underground train). In town, billboards were advertising a new musical called “Cats”, which featured dancers dressed as cats prancing about to the poetry of T.S. Eliot, all set to music. I remember thinking at the time, “How bizarre. At least it won’t last long!”

In London there is always something new to see, even when the object in view is familiar. Last week I was conscious of the impressive architecture. From Royal Horseguards to the Atheneum to the National Gallery, the size and style of each building exhibits a pleasing combination of harmony and grandeur. Occasionally the skyline is interrupted by an angular concrete box, which serves only to emphasize the beauty of the older buildings.

On the first day we made our way to Trafalgar Square. We stepped out of the rain and walked up the steps to St. Martin-in-the-Fields church, where we checked the times of the services. From under the portico we looked out at Nelson’s column and watched the cars and taxis pass by, amid the shifting ebb and flow of people. It felt like we had stood there for thirty minutes, although it was less than five.

We then crossed the road and entered the National Gallery, which houses one of the world’s greatest art collections. There is so much to see that it can be overwhelming, which is why it is better to go to a few rooms and then retreat for the day and return the next. 

On our first visit we entered a room with a collection of small European paintings. One of them was by Eduard Gaertner, a nineteenth century German artist who specializes in city landscapes. The painting was titled The Friedrichsgracht, Berlin. A more unassuming picture would be hard to find. It depicts a view of houses above a canal, and not much else, apart from a roof which takes up a large chunk of the painting. Unfortunately, the Gallery has the picture poorly lit, resulting in a shadow along the top. Despite this, I found it entrancing.

Art appreciation is subjective. I am sure an art teacher would take one look at this painting and complain about the roof - it takes up too much space and is uninteresting. When the gallery is full of paintings that are beautifully composed with compelling and dramatic subject matter, why have I singled out this one?

The German picture’s “artlessness” is, for me, one of its attractions. The other is its truthfulness. The artist has painted exactly what he sees outside his window - nothing more, nothing less. Connoisseurs of art are used to appreciating art for the power of its composition, or for its ability to stir emotion, or to provide clues in the form of symbols to unlock a picture’s meaning. Stay with one of these pictures long enough, and it will lead you to a higher truth. 

The Friedrichsgracht, Berlin, on the other hand, is trying to do none of those things. It simply presents the scene as it was. Its claim to truth rests on eschewing all artistic devices, apart from rendering accurately the scene in front of the artist.

No doubt some will find it a boring or clumsy picture. I find it quiet and meditative. There are no people in the picture - just the houses, canal boats, scaffolding, the sublime color of the water in the canal and, of course, the roof, which feels modern in relation to the rest. The whole image is a snapshot in time which transcends time. 

This humble painting has made me reappraise my own understanding of truth. Sometimes it isn’t best represented by the beautifully composed elements, the romantic vision, or the grand, sweeping statement of the artist. Instead, it finds a home in the mundane and ordinary, and in the simple relating of what is directly in front of us. There, freed from our desire for drama, harmony and meaning - freed from “art”, in fact - truth emerges, and asks us quietly to see things as they are. 

Father David