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Glasgow has its charms
Among them: architectural sites and an art museum
Author: By M. R. Montgomery, Globe Staff
Date: SUNDAY, February 15, 1998
Page: M10
Section: Travel
GLASGOW -- It is probably the case that Glasgow is regarded by the average
tourist as an impediment lying between the airport and the scenic highlands
just a few miles north and west of this curious, sprawling city. Goodness
knows, Glasgow tries very hard to be lovable. The downtown shopping area
between the two train stations (Glasgow Central and Queen Street) has been
made pedestrian-friendly, and uniformed young women from the Chamber of
Commerce approach visitors with maps and promises of helpful directions to the
destination of their choice. This is new; a decade ago -- the last time I was
in downtown Glasgow -- the only young women making offers were making quite
different suggestions.
Glasgow has its charms, not the least of which is a certain anti-English
humor, stronger than the average Scottish city's because of the large Irish
population. In a central square, a heroic-sized bronze equestrian statue of
the Duke of Wellington, high on a 20-foot-high granite base, was much improved
by the addition of an orange-and-white-striped traffic cone jauntily perched
on the Iron Duke's head. It was an impressive piece of mountaineering, and
Glaswegians strolling by were visibly amused.
The city has tried recently to become something of an architectural history
center, all focused on a native son, Charles Rennie McIntosh, a
turn-of-this-century modernist whose work foreshadows, oddly, Bauhaus and Art
Deco styles alike. He was fascinated with natural light and airiness in an
Edwardian world more interested in ersatz castles with tiny windows and Gothic
gloom interiors. Last summer, McIntosh was apotheosized with the opening of
a new building, ``House for an Art Lover,'' built from plans submitted to a
design competition in 1900. It is an interesting building, and somehow
utterly lifeless.
A much more satisfactory McIntosh house is a short train ride away in
the suburb of Helensburgh, with trains every half hour in each direction from
Queen Street station. It's not called ``Hill House'' by accident, and the
average tourist is well advised to take a taxi up, and if the day is pleasant,
walk downhill to Helensburgh Central Station after a visit. The other piece
of sensible advice is not to bother going to Helensburgh, and Hill House,
except on a sunny afternoon when the intended effects, light pouring into
elegantly simple rooms, can be appreciated. Tourists brave enough to drive in
Scotland will find Helensburgh is just a short pop over a bonnie brae from
Loch Lomond, and really not out of the way on a trip up to the West Coast of
Scotland.
Hill House has the right stamp to it, that of an architect collaborating
with an owner. The dining room is dark walnut and oak, in the taste of the
time, and still enlivened with a few touches of McIntosh color. The master
bathroom is evidently inspired by technology, including one of those
new-fangled 20th-century inventions, the shower-bath. McIntosh was allowed
his way with the other rooms, and unlike those of his near contemporary, Frank
Lloyd Wright, the McIntosh rooms are all comfort and serenity, never severe or
stark.
Oddly, perhaps, the best way to appreciate the uniqueness of McIntosh in
his time is to visit Glasgow's major art museum, the Burrell Collection in
Pollokshaws Park, a short train ride from Glasgow Central station (much more
sensible than taking the bus; you'll be there by train before you even find
the right bus stop in over-bused downtown Glasgow). Sir William Burrell's own
house is partly restored as individual rooms inside the museum, and nothing
could be gloomier. This is understandable, considering that Burrell's art
collection consists mostly of late Gothic stuff, everything from coats of
armor to stained glass and other looted items from the effects of the
Reformation on the interior architecture of once-Catholic churches.
Even more oddly, Burrell collected a few very good French Impressionist
paintings, absolute 180 degrees opposite his obvious taste for knights,
maidens, unicorns, and local saints. On the other hand, inspecting the modern
paintings suggests that Burrell liked accessible paintings of subjects
familiar to him; from Degas, he acquired the ``Jockeys in the Rain,'' and his
Renoir is of two attractive women in a cafe, ``The Beer Drinkers.'' Wonderful
paintings, but not requiring much in the way of imagination.
What saves a trip to the Burrell from just another small art experience is
the setting. The huge parkland surrounding the museum includes enough room
for a small herd of Highland Cattle with their long horns and woolly coats,
and pleasant foot trails walk you through ancient oak and beech trees before
and after the bustle of the train ride. And the park has what appears to be
the highest density possible of that most amusing of all temperate-zone birds,
the magpie. (There are few magpies in rural England and Scotland; they have a
very bad reputation with sheep and cattle growers.)
Glasgow will probably never become a destination city for tourists, but it
is there, halfway between the Lake District of England and the Highlands and
isles of Scotland, and it has its small charms. You certainly won't think
you're in Kansas anymore.
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