We went up to Wollaton Hall in Notts for the Dinosaurs of China Exhibition in half term week, and so much of interest in the garden area happened there that I've been saving it up for when I have time to post. (The Dinosaurs are back in China now, but there's a 3D tour of the exhibition here and I know I shouldn't spoil but... Microrapter Gui holotype! Fossil eyes! An entirely new way of flying!)
Wollaton Hall is one of those huge old seats of the wealthy now turned over to public enjoyment, with huge grounds (now containing an equally huge car-park) full of the usuals; lakes, grand landscaping, extremely chilled deer, orangeries in mild dis/pending repair:
That dog had enough of a go at the deer that I stopped taking photographs in case I inadvertently photographed a beloved spaniel being gored; but from the reactions of the locals (tsks and disapproval rather than fear for the doggie) I expect this deer is a well-known photo oppportunity.
Orangeries are such joyful places in the UK; little flights from the grey and the damp. It's always wonderful to find one there and open for the public. This one had amazing ancient glass, thick and bubbled, which distorted the formal gardens beyond into wild psychedelic pulses and whorls.
Inside the house there is also a permanent collection, in cabinet of curiosities/treasurehouse style. Stuffed birds in diorama, glass jellyfish models, an archaeopteryx; but no furniture, no objets d'art. The effect is curiously serious, as if it had been assembled by an aristo with no time for anything pretty, unless it was also educational.
The dinosaurs are peerlessly stunning. A combination of casts, 3-D printing, specimens of interest and holotypes. We find a palaeontologist vibrating with frustration at the ten centimetres of space between the glass that must not be moved and the stone begging for microscopic analysis, and spend a great ten minutes getting information about soft tissue discoveries, taxonomic arguments and the latest theories about what flew and how.
Garden dinosaurs are of course a thing, my plant pots teem with Schleichs, and while many of them are either too luxe or too daft for my taste, I have an eye out for just the right beast.
Upstairs we've had the usual invasion of dinosaur art, imagining scenery and plumage and landscapes. I love these imaginary worlds, teeming with diagrammatic life. The palaeontologist is torn between his outright admiration for the gorgeous paintwork and desire to point out where the depictions diverge from the latest reconstructions.
Wollaton Hall is one of those huge old seats of the wealthy now turned over to public enjoyment, with huge grounds (now containing an equally huge car-park) full of the usuals; lakes, grand landscaping, extremely chilled deer, orangeries in mild dis/pending repair:
That dog had enough of a go at the deer that I stopped taking photographs in case I inadvertently photographed a beloved spaniel being gored; but from the reactions of the locals (tsks and disapproval rather than fear for the doggie) I expect this deer is a well-known photo oppportunity.
Orangeries are such joyful places in the UK; little flights from the grey and the damp. It's always wonderful to find one there and open for the public. This one had amazing ancient glass, thick and bubbled, which distorted the formal gardens beyond into wild psychedelic pulses and whorls.
Inside the house there is also a permanent collection, in cabinet of curiosities/treasurehouse style. Stuffed birds in diorama, glass jellyfish models, an archaeopteryx; but no furniture, no objets d'art. The effect is curiously serious, as if it had been assembled by an aristo with no time for anything pretty, unless it was also educational.
The dinosaurs are peerlessly stunning. A combination of casts, 3-D printing, specimens of interest and holotypes. We find a palaeontologist vibrating with frustration at the ten centimetres of space between the glass that must not be moved and the stone begging for microscopic analysis, and spend a great ten minutes getting information about soft tissue discoveries, taxonomic arguments and the latest theories about what flew and how.
Garden dinosaurs are of course a thing, my plant pots teem with Schleichs, and while many of them are either too luxe or too daft for my taste, I have an eye out for just the right beast.
Upstairs we've had the usual invasion of dinosaur art, imagining scenery and plumage and landscapes. I love these imaginary worlds, teeming with diagrammatic life. The palaeontologist is torn between his outright admiration for the gorgeous paintwork and desire to point out where the depictions diverge from the latest reconstructions.
Wild reconstructions of awesome animals stare down at us from all directions. Concrete, resin, feathers, fur and plastic. We get to touch a Mamenchisaurus. Selfies with a wire T-Rex; green tea with concrete worthies barely dressed in a coat of algae. Above the hysterical chimneyscape, crows play in the evening wind.
I'm not sure our local County Houses have ever done anything as awesome as this.
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