"unfinished"

From Witley Court, the ruins of a Jacobean palace, complete with an impressive fountain and a stunning Baroque chapel.

1

Water and light

One... two – the bells announce the hour. Still nothing. Hell, it’s hot here. I’m not sure now if I’m standing in the best place – yeah, I’m facing the front of the fountain, but more crucially, I’m also facing the sun, and judging by the glaring look it’s giving me, it doesn’t like being stared at. A few more agonizing minutes, and the cupids on either side of the fountain, having decided they’ve kept us waiting long enough, lazily shoot some water from their bows.

The long moments in which nothing happens were probably intended to increase the tension to an unbearable level; I stifle a yawn and contemplate my over-heavy mountain boots. One by one, the fountains surrounding the central sculpture shoot into the air. They don’t change direction, the figures don’t move, and yet it all suddenly springs to life. The graceful arcs of water emphasize the curves of the centerpiece, they glitter and dance in the sun. Their delicate watercolor draws my attention to different parts of the scene. In the center there, with a mighty, but still only metaphysical sweep, Perseus swings his sword and pierces the sea monster’s jaw. Its teeth, like those from a T-rex fossil, look surprisingly sharp – but its eyes have already been dulled by Death’s scythe. It’s very artistic, the way the creature’s watered down blood squirts into the air. All the tension of the story is concentrated in that fountain, and it shoots higher and higher, a man-made cloud. It’s not quite the fountain in Geneva, but it’s got the same monumentality; and it’s tall enough for me to doubt whether even the largest sea monster could have as much blood as all that.

“I won’t be stared at if I hide well,” the sun reflects as it looks down into the clear fountain pool. And it wraps its face in a cloudy veil, and I know I have chosen the best place to stand. Droplets of water fall on my face and arms. The battle has been won; I persisted in watching the spectacle despite all obstacles and was duly rewarded by the retreat of my sunny enemy.

2

Problems with perspective

On the spectrum of audio guide makers, the ones from Witley Court should occupy the opposite end to “practical” people, somewhere towards the “poetic” section. But of course they wouldn’t know what I mean, as they don’t understand the meaning of the words “opposite end” – when they used this expression to denote the position of the next point on the tour, it didn’t mean, as some might have supposed while standing with their back against a wall, the part of the room in front of them, but a different room altogether, located not in front of them, but behind.

This wasn’t the only time on this trip we had doubts about geometry. In the Baroque chapel, we debated whether the painting on the ceiling was “upside-down” or not. With the character’s feet closer to us and the sky away from us, it did look uncomfortable, especially when compared with a second wall-painting, orientated the other way around. But then it’s only natural to draw the sky further away than the ground, isn’t it? The matter was further complicated by the fact that the artist realized that the painting was going to be hung on the ceiling, so he foreshortened the figures a bit to suggest that they are actually above us. Above us and at the same time having their own private ground and sky? Makes my head spin.

But neither this painterly drawback nor the broken CD player in the corner emitting cho-cho-cho-choral music of a slightly more mi-mi-mi-minimalistic nature than intended by the composer prevented us from appreciating the place.

The amazement we feel at seeing a thing is unfortunately a function of how common it is (this function is probably different for everyone and depends on many other variables; but on average it’s an inverse proportionality). In Poland I couldn’t stand Baroque architecture – argh, the overflowing gold, the kitsch angels... – while Gothic churches were a source of constant awe. But this year I’ve come to feel that flying buttresses are the same everywhere, and though gems such as Winchester or Yorkminster still squeeze a gasp out of me, your average Gothic or Neogothic minsters will only warrant a polite nod. Baroque churches of the type found on the Continent, on the other hand, are almost unheard of here, and so the chapel in Witley Court caused the intended widened eyes and increased heartbeat. There were no chubby angels here, and the gold leaf adorning a relaxingly white wall was overdone with much more style than is found in a typical Polish Baroque church.

No witty ending for this article.