Glass Doors

Last month in Birmingham, England I attended a reading by the extraordinary novelist Will Self.  A bit early, I decided to drop into a café for a quick coffee.  Although I know Birmingham city centre quite well, I don’t know a single independent café.  Like independent bookstores, they’ve all gone to the wall. So, it had to be a Starbucks lookalike, Café Nero I think – couches, forgettable music, customers locked behind laptops.  I stood in line, ordered my espresso macchiato, then shuffled obediently sideways, waited in line again until my drink arrived then walked like I knew what I was doing to the island with the sugar and water, and having filled myself a glass I made my way towards an empty couch. Sometimes I feel like a robot, though without really knowing how robots feel.

From my seat I had a view of the door. I couldn’t resist it, and on impulse I got up and took a photograph of the door.  That’s one way of drawing attention to oneself, I must say. From behind the counter a kid darted forward, clad in uniform that included the regulation baseball cap, and asked me could he be of assistance.  Apparently taking photos of glass doors is considered aberrant behavior in controlled, risk-free environments, like Britain. And by the way, when did British waiters, or baristas, start wearing baseball caps? Does it have anything to do with Blair’s attempt to become the prime minister of the USA?

Anyway, what attracted my attention was the signs on the door.  I guess it’s an obsession of mine, though I do think it is a symptom of the nanny state that Britain has become.  It’s also an indication of the growing ugliness of public spaces.  If there is a wall, slap a warning sign on it; a glass door,  cover it with stickers that say “Glass Door”.  I once got in a train to Birmingham airport and counted seventeen safety signs in the carriage, including one that said “Please take the time to familiarize yourself with our safety signs”. After deboarding my plane in Zurich I got in a Swiss train.  The carriage had one small sign, a sticker, indicating “no smoking”. How do the Swiss manage? I would venture, they are grown up.

Well, back to the glass door.  Luckily my photo wasn’t confiscated by the pimply waiter.  As you can see, there is a sign over the door that tells you this is the exit - always helpful. Then, each glass door has a sticker prominently warning you that this is, well, glass, just in case you’re stupid.  And then, alongside each door there are big exclamation marks, warnings that these are sliding doors, just to save you from being crushed between the door and the wall, though really, if you happen to have squeezed yourself between the glass door and the wall then, as far as I’m concerned, you deserve to be crushed. Off to one side of the doors you have some gadget ot other with four signs telling you when and how  to use it and the penalty that you'll pay if you abuse it.  Maybe its my deep Irish peasantry, but such nonsense stirs the vandal in me. I remember a time when entering and exited through doors was a simple affair.

Some people will argue all these signs are simply to cover the business from being sued. Think of all the people who would otherwise be jamming themselves in between the door and the wall in an attempt to become millionaires.  But, my musing done, it was time to go.  I had warned Will Self that I was coming, but he wasn’t going to wait for me.  As I walked towards the dangerous exit, would you belief it, the doors jammed.  An electronic malfunction; a door engineer had to be called.  He arrived within a minute, in regulation uniform, including baseball cap. At last, the obnoxious doors sighed open. I was almost late for the reading. I should have sued.

Edward Burne-Jones' Stained Glass Windows

Edward Burne-Jones: The Ascension

After a busy day of teaching last week in Birmingham, England, I sought some quiet time in the Cathedral of St. Philip, set in a small park in the centre of the city’s busy business district. Surrounded by Victorian buildings that house law offices, and a stone’s throw from the brashness of fast food stores and shopping centres, it provides a surprisingly restrained, Baroque haven. Skateboarders and winos hang out between the ancient gravestones. Tall obelisks mark the triumphs and heroic losses that yesterday’s imperial armies found on foreign battlefields.

The church was designed by Thomas Archer and consecrated in 1715.  Built in the Italian style, it is remarkable for its simplified forms and what impressed me the most is its human scale. It is this that makes it the essential example of English Baroque. In the late 19^th century the beauty of this space was enhanced with the addition of four windows designed by the Pre-Raphaelite artist Edward Burne-Jones and manufactured by William Morris and Co. Burne-Jones was a local lad and had been baptized in this very church.

Above the simple altar we see Christ’s Ascension.  He stands on a cloud of blue, surrounded by the saints as he rises above his apostles below. While the saints in heaven are almost Byzantine in their stiffness and other worldliness, Burne-Jones has made the apostles look full-bodied and earthy.  A scene of the Nativity and the Crucifixion flanks this window.

Edward Burne-Jones: The Last Judgement

At the other end of the church, facing Christ’s Ascension is the Last Judgement. A white Christ sits majestically above the world surrounded by angels and archangels.  The archangel Michael sounds the trumpet that marks the end of the world while below him the people, young and old alike, look up in distress, as well they might.  Just beyond the humans we catch a glimpse of their blackened cities crumbling. In a style that echoes the facial gestures of Giotto’s paintings, Burne-Jones has captured the anxiety that surely comes when humankind realizes that its time is up, that the moment for atonement has passed, that judgement is imminent.

For more on stained glass windows see my post on Sigmar Polke

Sign of the Times

I am blogging in Birmingham, England this week, where I am teaching a week long seminar in Political Systems at the College for International Citizenship.  I always enjoy coming here, but I never cease to be amazed by the number of signs from some governmental authority telling me how to behave.  How do the British cope with it I wonder.

Soon after disembarking from the plane I was greeted by a sign that told me that taking photos was fobidden.  Another sign told me that smoking was forbidden. A few steps later I read the sign: "Please remove your passport from your wallet or passport holder".  As I joined the line, passport in hand, I saw the sign indicating "Do not use mobile telephones".  At the desk of the immigration officer I read the sign "Threatening behaviour towards airport employees will result in prosection".  Well, welcome to the UK - five signs instructing me or warning me how to behave, and I hadn't even officially entered the country yet.

In the train ride to Birmingham city centre I counted 14 signs on the train telling me how to behave. One sign read: "Place your light baggage on the overhead rack".  Another read: "Do not place heavy baggage on the overhead rack" and a third sign warned: "When standing, mind your head on the overhead rack".  I had no idea that overhead racks could be so dangerous, did you?  It is a wonder that I have survived until now, because back home in Switzerland we have no signs warning us of the dangers of overheads racks. 

Signs on the train told me that I musn't smoke, musn't listen to music that is loud and that if I eat I should be thoughful of my neighbours and not leave a mess.  I was told to pull a red cord if there is an emergency but warned that there is a fine for inappropriate use. If the train stops, a sign told me not to open the doors, but in case of fire I was told "Use hammer to smash emergency window".  Once again I read "Penalty for inappropriate use".  The doors of the train were fairly covered in signs that gave me a five step programme on how to exit the train via the doors.  Once again, I must admit, I had no idea that exiting through a door on a train can be so harrowingly dangerous.  It is a wonder that anyone is left alive in Switzerland, where we thoughtlessly step out of trains without reading the non-existent signs, obviously risking life and limb everytime.

The best of all was an announcement that I had never seen before. It appeared on an electronic rolling sign and, just in case you missed it, it was announced after every station.  This is what it said (I joke not): "Please familiarise yourself with the safety notices in this train".  The British are in such constant danger it seems, or perhaps they are simply so down right badly behaved, that their lives need to be not only circumscribed by warnings and safety signs, but they even need signs ordering them to read the signs.  That sign reminded me of one of the thousands that I read while driving from Sussex to London last June.  It said, and again I joke not: "Warning: some signs have been removed".  Shudder... "Should we turn back?" "Will we survive without signs?" We bravely ploughed on along the M25 and, it is hard to believe, but we managed to find London.

As my train was pulling into Birmingham New Street I was relieved to see the sign: "For your own comfort and safety this carriage is being monitered by CCTV".  Well, it would be, wouldn't it.  After all, this is the country whose citizens are the most filmed in Europe, and it's not because they are on The X Factor.


Just before I got off the train I was reminded to "Please take all of your personal belongings with you" and, finally, the reassuring "Please mind the gap".