Kip Smailing!

It came as quite a surprise to discover I lived next door to the greatest Latvian artist of the twentieth century. But there it was, on page 94 of Janis Kalnacs’ monolithic and wonderful Riga’s Dandy And Outsider – the house at number 10, Frica Brivzemnieka iela.

The view of Padegs' house from my own back door

In the bottom right of the frame I could even see the corner of my own wooden fence. One page further on is a photograph of Karlis Padegs aged about two standing next to a bench in Arkadijas Park – a park so familiar that just from the grass and intersection of paths it was possible to place the scene precisely – close to what is now a children’s sand pit.

I had known that Padegs the dandy was closely associated with the Tornakalns district, but this minor discovery of geographical proximity seemed to bring him even closer in temporal terms too – after all, he died (aged just 28) in 1940. It seemed to make my occasional fantasies of catching his tall, lean figure with his trademark fedora and cigarette holder striding along the far side of Maras dikis or disappearing into the shadows of a hidden courtyard all the more tantalising.

The discovery was a surprise because there is nothing on number 10 Brivzemnieka iela to tell you that a genuinely great artist was born here. While a mannered statue of Padegs has been erected outside Vermanes park and a plaque at 24 Elizabetes iela marks the later home from 1919-40 of “Riga’s extravagant artist”, his birthplace is marked only by a row of graffiti across the facade – the same graffiti that I have scrubbed off my fence more than once. Yet though the spidery scrawl of the graffiti tags is absolutely lacking in artistry (unlike some of Tornakalns’ other graffiti) it is almost appropriate. For there is something of the graffito prodigy about Padegs – along with something of the aesthete, something of the symbolist, something of the war poet, something of the decadent and something of the graphic designer.

As to Padegs’ art itself, I will restrict myself on commentary only because I cannot possibly do it justice and because the circumstances of his life, death and legacy make it perilously easy to slip into cliche when talking about him: his early death, love of shocking subject matter, Wildean/Warholian obsession with his own appearance and myth and disrespect for authority all play into a cosy myth of the rebel artist that has more to do with our reification of creativity than anything of real substance.

From Chatterton onwards, an early grave has been a great career move (yes, this is facetious) as far as certain poets and artists have been concerned. As well as the frankly morbid fascination with youthful death it allows what may not be a particularly satisfying body of work or a small selection of masterpieces to anticipate what would ‘undoubtedly’ have been later works of incomparably greater worth.

As Serge Gainsbourg – of whom I am sure Padegs would have approved – put it:

Chatterton suicidé
Marc-Antoine suicidé,
Van Gogh suicidé
Schumann fou à lier,
Quand à moi, quand à moi,
Ca ne va plus très bien.

A case such as Gogol’s second volume of Dead Souls, the burning of which was supposed to have pushed the novelist over the edge and into his own early grave, is instructive. While the myth makes a perfect tragedy, the more one discovers about the second volume (and the first volume remains my favourite book), the more one suspects that it was something of a lucky break that it never appeared to ruin what had gone before.

Monument to Padegs on Merkela iela

But with Padegs I get the definite feeling that his was a genius still being formed, even taking into account the relatively small but strong body of work  he had produced by the time of his death. Having shown himself adept in everything from oils to line drawings to pen and ink in the Chinese style to cartoons, there is the sense that he had yet to settle on the medium in which he would mature and embark upon a deeper exploration of his talents.

To say an artist is “ahead of his time” is another cliche, but nowhere is it truer than in Padegs’ case. The first time I saw his Red Smiles I was convinced some sort of curating error must have taken place. It looked exactly like a frame from a 1980s graphic novel but was in fact produced in 1931.

And as for shock, he could teach the moany-phoney conceptualists a thing or two. His Madonna With A Machine Gun has the sort of title the Chapman Brothers would wet their pants over, while Don’t Forget your Mother At The Final Moment depicts a soldier lying in barbed wire with his brains quite literally blown out.

In these works he is closest to the Weimar contrasts of Otto Dix – equally at home depicting an elegant set in a nightclub, the hookers and deadbeats outside or, preferably, both together. One small black and white ink drawing of a prostitute adjusting her stocking manages to be economical, erotic and sinister all at the same time. In other works the vacancy of hard-drinking men’s faces gives a much more chilling sense of the slow death of alcoholism than any number of reeling drunks.

His works are suffused with a latent sense of rage, impotence, disgust… and elegance, as if Aubrey Beardsley and Francis Bacon had decided to collaborate on a graphic novel. Had he been born in Germany or France Padegs would likely be just as well-known as Dix today. But while Dix now has a nice, neat birthplace museum in the east German town of Gera, Padegs has graffiti sprayed over a “Shop For Rent” sign in a Riga suburb with a questionable reputation. Perhaps he would have enjoyed the contrast.

For despite his pose of the refined aesthete, Padegs is never elitist or cold. And how can you not like someone who in an otherwise restrained nude self-portrait gives himself the sort of schlong that would make Dirk Diggler feel inadequate?

In one very funny little cartoon he lampoons various aspects of the art world including one frame depicting ‘Cubism’ which shows a moustachioed man’s oddly-shaped head half-wrapped in bandages and sticking plasters following what must have been a Tornakalns bar brawl.

The current exhibition of Padegs’ work at the Latvian national art museum still has a few days to run (until February 12th). If you haven’t been yet, I urge you in the strongest manner to go.

After all, you might not get another chance.

Scrawled on a gravestone in one of Padegs’ doodles is the deliciously dark inscription in cod-English: “Kip Smailing!”

Let Me Underwhelm You

This is the time when – for want of anything better to report and staffed mainly by interns and juniors – the newspapers turn to their predictions for the new year. One only needs to look at last year’s efforts to realise the pointlessness of the whole exercise.

As far as I can recall, no-one predicted a giant tsunami and nuclear meltdown in Japan, a wave of revolutions across the Arab world, the deaths of the vile Gadaffi and Kim-Jong-Il,  the effective collapse of the eurozone, large-scale popular protests on the streets of Moscow or – closer to home –  the dissolution of the Latvian parliament by presidential decree.

Notwithstanding this fact, there is a tendency for those taking part in this guessing game to venture something fairly dramatic if ultimately fence-sitting for their predictions; say, that the pace of such and such a reform will pick up or that such and such a politician will win a scheduled election. If they are feeling really bold they might even venture that a certain economy will go into recession (though this carries the risk of being factually verifiable) or that sportsman A will beat sportsman B at last.

Therefore for my own piece of worthless crystal ballery I am going against the grain and hereby predict that 2012 will be extremely boring. It will go down in an obscure and rarely-thumbed appendix to the pages of history as one of the dullest, most purgatorial years in memory during which not much happened and what little did happen wasn’t of much interest anyway.

The London Olympics will be a yawn, enlivened neither by sporting excellence or terrorist outrage. They will be the most tedious Olympics since Atlanta, which was like watching live coverage of a coma.

Eurocrats will continue to tell us they have fixed the Eurozone throughout most of the year, their assertions losing resonance with every iteration like a timid echo reverberating through a particularly large and black cave. The zone will muddle on but more by reason of neglect than any chest-thumping action from Merkozy, both of whom will fade away from lack of interest.

This does at least point us towards one of the unexpected positives 2012 will deliver: repeated illustrations of the huge gap between what politicians say they can do and what they really can do. They will keep saying they have done great things, made dynamic, bold decisions and so forth, and then all the evidence will point towards them having made not one jot of difference. This in turn will prompt them to make even more dramatic statements in an attempt to gain our attention which inevitably will ring even more hollow.

In this regard they will come to be viewed like the ratings agencies, whose continued presence on this planet is contrary to the very Darwinian principles that seem to underpin their own world-views. Their failure to wake up to the biggest economic crash in decades until it was raining onto their roofs should have killed them off but still they pontificate and preen, weighing the virtues of nations in their silly little scales. In a way I wish there would be something as dramatic as another huge collapse so they could miss it again and finally prove themselves to be an evolutionary dead end. Sadly, they will be saved by the fact that things will just about manage to stagger on, though perhaps a few investors bored senseless by their outpourings will start actually researching their own investments for a bit of fun instead of placing it all in the hands of these hucksters with superior graph-making technology.

The Baltic economies will be completely flat, and so will the political scene. With nothing much left to trim, policymakers will be  left sitting on their hands and waiting for the weather to improve, though their remains a slight danger that they might start daydreaming and implement a few crackpot laws to give themselves some remnant of self-justification.

In Estonia Andrus Ansip’s main headache will be the lack of snow  which prevents him skiing more often. In Latvia, a challenger to Valdis Dombrovskis might emerge, but everyone will treat him with such indifference that he will soon crawl back into his burrow leaving Domby to do what he does best: carry on quietly.

Down in Lithuania, an uninvolving election campaign will result in Andrius Kubilius retaining power but with a reduced majority and an even messier coalition. This will come as a relief as no-one really wants to take over from him anyway in case things take a turn for the worse and they are held responsible. Kubilius will spend the first few months of the year trying to come up with a new joke he can use in place of the “We will win the basketball tournament” gag he was spinning for the first three years of his tenure.

It goes without saying that work will not have begun on the Visaginas nuclear power plant by the end of the year and that what little enthusiasm remains for it after Poland pulled the plug will continue to trickle away, like guests leaving a new year party at which the food, drink and company was all too tedious to endure until midnight.

So even though 2012 will be an absolute snore in terms of news, it will offer us plenty of opportunity to better ourselves doing far more interesting things. If you’ve ever wanted to learn a new language, knit a jumper or grow some roses, this is the year for you!

Normal Service Will Be Resumed…

…shortly.

Nothing has been posted here for the last few months for the simple reason that I’ve been writing a book. Yes, a proper one, intended to be read via ink and paper rather than the wanly glowing screen before you now.

So, if any publishers out there would like to start the bidding war for this sure-fire international bestseller about, er, some idiots in Latvia – do I really need to say any more – then that would be just dandy. I particularly recommend obtaining the film rights, preferably for a six-figure sum.

Once that’s all taken care of in the next couple of weeks, I’ll be back from the new year with more blog posts – with the usual caveat that they are essentially the stuff that’s either not good enough or not appealing enough to be printed in any real outlets.

Anyway, it’s not as if I’ve missed anything major since my last blog post, other than the dissolution of parliament, a referendum, general election, new government, bank collapse etc.

Meanwhile I’ll still be updating the links to many features that have appeared elsewhere, which you can read by clicking ‘Examples’ above.

Will He, Won’t He Join The Dance?

Divided we stand - Dombrovskis and Zatlers

When President Valdis Zatlers announced his intention to dissolve parliament on May 28, he became briefly the most popular Latvian president on record. He took his dramatic action – voice trembling with emotion – ostensibly as a final stand against the influence of oligarchy. Yet around six weeks later, he might be about to help hand power back to the very forces he was supposedly attacking.

Zatlers’ term expires on May 7, whereupon he will be replaced by Andris Berzins, a wealthy former banker who if not regarded as a fully-formed oligarch himself does have links to some of the “pure” oligarchs. Berzins’ true colours remain to be seen. On the one hand is the clearly questionable way he used around a quarter of a million euros of EU funds to help build a “guest house” that is his home and his curious decision to get married to his long-term partner, in secret, just a few days before his inauguration. On the other hand, some of the new recruits to his staff are capable professionals who should do a decent job.

But the main question now concerns Zatlers, not Berzins. The day after he steps down, Zatlers is due to reveal his future plans. He has already dropped broad hints about forming his own political party. Such a move would, I believe, be a catastrophic decision that ultimately would merely retrench the oligarchs’ hold in a slightly different form.

In mid-June Zatlers was offered what amounted to an unconditional offer to join the Vienotiba political bloc headed by PM Valdis Dombrovskis. It even came with a promise to put Zatlers at the top of their electoral list if he so desired, giving him a guaranteed seat in the next parliament. Vienotiba is clearly the political force with which Zatlers is most closely aligned, even if their thoughts do not always overlap – but then the thoughts of the three different political parties constituting Vienotiba don’t always overlap, either.

Of course, Vienotiba’s offer wasn’t just goodwill. They know full well that having Zatlers’ name on their ballot paper would not only ensure they emerged from September’s election as the largest party, it would even give them a shot at an unprecedented overall majority. Failing that, they could form a coalition with the National Alliance bloc which has proven far more cooperative as an opposition party than their ZZS and oligarch-influenced coalition partners have been in government. The National Alliance is likely to increase its representation in the next parliament into double figures from its current 7 MPs and may even double its numbers.

Meanwhile the oligarch-run PLL party is clearly a busted flush. It knows as much and is unlikely even to bother contesting the elections. Its leaders will instead seek ways to grow their influence in ZZS and Saskanas Centrs. So to a certain extent the oligarch problem  will be dealt with anyway – only the influence of Aivars Lembergs within ZZS will remain a pressing concern and a likely dip in ZZS’s showing at the polls to below 20 seats may even be enough to get the decent ZZS members – of whom there are a few such as Raimonds Vejonis – asking whether they might be better off without the weight of Lembergs around their necks.

So even without any action from Zatlers we would see the number of political forces in parliament reduced to four from the current five, and the exit of most overt oligarch involvement.

However, it is looking increasingly likely that instead of demanding that Vienotiba finally amalgamate into a single party in order to attract his support (which would have been an effective way of getting them to stop their bickering) he is going to form his own political party. Ironically,Vienotiba would be the biggest losers of such action which would effectively split the centre-right vote and hand the election to Saskanas Centrs which can rely on its core vote even with its most bankable asset, Riga mayor Nils Usakovs, off the scene for health reasons.

SC, which likes to portray itself as a left-wing party but is just as in thrall to wealthy backers and vested interests as the other parties – should then be able to form a government with ZZS. Admittedy this would be historic inasmuch as it would be the first time a “Russian” party had been in power in post-independence Latvia. But the smarter members of SC must know that they would destroy their claim to be standing up for the common man (they are already on dangerous ground after backing for Berzins’ presidential bid).

At ‘best’ this would merely perpetuate Lembergs’ influence in such vital areas as transport. At worst I think  a government constituted in such a manner could actually prompt fairly widespread civil disobedience. Either way, it would be hard to imagine the government lasting more than a year, returning us back to where we are right now.

An alternative, less likely scenario might see SC and Vienotiba brought together by a Zatlers acting as “honest broker” and recycling his thoughts about national unity and the like. It would be interesting but would be difficult if Zatlers had just stolen a large share of Vienotiba’s vote and prompted its break-up intosmall parties again. The National Alliance would never get involved in a government involving SC and would effectively become the main opposition party (ZZS would be rudderless in opposition) leading to gradual radicalisation of the political landscape.

But even without taking the parliamentary shakedown into account, I question the wisdom of a “Zatlers party”. He found approval as a figurehead, not a politician. His main quality – that he seems like an honest man – won’t stretch all that far in daily political life and will be eroded as he inevitably seeks compromise and accommodation with other parties. He lacks charisma, is not a great public speaker (his dissolution statement was endearing for its naive directness more than its rhetoric) and sometimes gets flustered in debates. Stripped of presidential privelege his opponents will relish the opportunity of getting stuck into him.

Moreover, where exactly is the pool of undiscovered talent to form the backbone of his party? At the moment it seems to consist of attempts to woo a few newer members of Vienotiba (so again, why not simply join them?) and some other fairly prominent figures from NGOs and the like who are understandably lukewarm about quitting their jobs to climb aboard a bandwagon which will likely have one brief hurrah. For whoever does sign up will have to cope with the fact that whatever name his party has, it will effectively be the Zatlers party and all of its support will depend on the popularity of its leader – a popularity that will never, ever be as high as it was on May 28.

Finally and perhaps slightly cynically, Zatlers might also consider that in four years’ time he should have an excellent chance of regaining the presidency – provided he doesn’t  get too directly involved in politics in the meantime.

You Know It’s Gonna Be… Alright

You say you got a real solution/Well, you know/ We'd all love to see the plan

There are two different versions of the Beatles’ Revolution. The one most often heard is the upbeat single version in which Lennon’s lyrical delivery is at its sarky best as he savages the self-importance of ideologues.

But there’s also a laid-back, stoner version in which the refrain “Cos you know it’s gonna be… alright” becomes the most important lyric, a thought which the ideologues would rubbish as passive fatalism but which – when said the right way by the right people – exudes a sort of effortless confidence and sense of perspective that in the end makes it a better song.

It was the latter version that was buzzing in my head yesterday when I attended what was probably the mellowest revolutionary gathering on record.

Around 5,000 people gathered in a small park on the left bank of the Daugava to protest against the continuing influence of Latvia’s crooked, self-serving oligarchs. There were barely any banners, just a few remarkably intelligent speeches by non-political figures and a few witty put-downs of the oligarchs themselves by means of a celebratory “corruption pyre”, a flotilla of model boats launched onto the river and an hilarious maquette of Aivars Lembergs that drifted among the crowds like a malevolent leprechaun.

As people lounged on the grass in the warm evening sunshine, the mood had a hint of Woodstock about it and was remarkable chiefly for its optimism. The consensus was that the oligarchs’ days are alread numbered, and the gathering took the form of an ironical send-off into the afterlife.

Significantly I think, the very few wackos who bothered to walk across the bridge sensed that they didn’t really belong and stayed very much on the fringes of the event. Their aggression and narrow-mindedness, whether directed at this or that ethnic group or historic event, was so out of keeping with the pervading spirit of laid-back optimism that one could almost have felt sorry for them… if they weren’t such twats.

And looking at the people lying on the grass or trundling past on bicycles, I found mysef drawn into the optimistic mood. These people knew the oligarchs better than anyone – they had been putting up with them for 20 years – but they no loner felt threatened or scared by them. Messrs. Lembergs, Skele and Slesers no longer seemed like big, influential figures but rather vulgar gatecrashers at a party who had overstayed their welcome and were now being asked politely to leave.

As a true republic, Latvia is in many ways a “classless” society, but yesterday showed that a different sort of class does exist.  There’s the gaudy grubbing of the oligarchs and their serf-like cronies which is all short-term and obvious. Then there is  true class – the sort of thing that cannot really be taught: the difference between merely having good manners and being a gentleman, or between doing what’s good for you and what’s better for everyone. Or perhaps the difference between “pilsoniba” and “tautiba.”

Even while lazing on their backs in the warm Pardaugava grass, the demonstrators had somehow managed to claim the moral high ground. And there was absolutely nothing the oligarchs could do about it other than look on with no hope of comprehension. A bit like Revolution Number 9.

He Captures The Castle

The joy of becoming president is etched on every pore

Of all the various scams that can take place with EU money, one of the commonest runs something like this:

1. Draw up grandiose plans to open a leisure complex in a beautiful location in the countryside. The complex will preferably include a luxuriously-appointed main building, several smaller guest houses, a few ponds, tennis courts and sundry other essentials.
2. Fill in the necessary forms to apply for EU co-funding. Make liberal mention of the jobs the leisure complex will provide, the money it wil bring into the rural economy and of course how it will help visitors and locals alike to become more familiar with each other, reinforcing “European-ness” etc. It helps at this stage if you have a contact or two in the food chain between applicants and deciders. In Latvia that’s not too problematic as it’s such a small place that quite possibly friends, friends of friends or family members will be involved somewhere along the way.
3. Hey presto, you’ve been accepted. Pass go and collect 50% of the costs of the project courtesy of the EU (including Latvian) taxpayer.
4. When the leisure complex is finshed, open for business. This does not necessarily mean you need to advertise, produce brochures or even put a “Welcome” sign outside. If you do put a sign outside for the photos you take to prove you are open for business, don’t be surprised if some miscreants come in the night and steal it. So don’t bother replacing it. Fly the EU flag though, just in case.
5. Wait six months or so, hoping no-one who’s got lost in the mist actually turns up to stay. If they do, say you are unfortunately fully booked.
6. Resign yourself to the fact that it just isn’t going to work out as a leisure complex. At this point you face a tough choice. Either a) leave it officially as a guest house with just your family living there, b) sell it to another company you own for a knock-down price or c) put it on the market at market value. Luckily, the fact that you only put in half of what it actually cost to construct should mean you can turn a handsome profit even in a depressed housing market.

It’s a simple enough scam, which probably explains why it is so common. In Cesis region, a part of Latvia which I know fairly well, there are at least four examples of this I could drive to within 20 minutes of each other. And there may be another that has recently come to light. According to a report by the excellent investigative journalist Ilze Nagla, newly-elected president Andris Berzins’ rather swanky country home – built with EU funds – is technically a guest house/leisure complex notable mainly for its lack of guests or even indications that it is a guest house.

Riga castle was also built using German money...

Berzins was asked about this at his post-election press conference and chose his words carefully when replying, insisting that “no rules were broken.” I’m sure he’s right, and that the rules were very, very carefully scrutinised to make sure they weren’t broken according to the letter of the law. The spirit of the law is something else.

I have a feeling this issue could be the one that ends up biting his backside even more than the tragi-comic manner in which he was elected.

Probably the best thing that can be said in Berzins’ defence – though it is rather a back-handed compliment – is that he didn’t look particularly interested in whether he became El Presidente or not. Some sort of enthusiasm or sense of emotion might have been nice, but he acted more in the manner of a diabetic who has just been told they get a complimentary bottle of cola with every large pizza ordered.

Berzins’ advisers shoud be telling him to sort out the housing issue at the earliest opportunity – and not just because he will soon be entitled to a nice seaside residence in Jurmala entirely at the taxpayers’ expense. Ironically, in this regard he could learn from his predecessor. When Valdis Zatlers came clean about the “envelope payments” he had accepted while working as a doctor, he was vilified. But it also meant that the beginning of his presidency was its lowest point and over the next four years his reputation climbed steadily, ending sky-high with his decision to dissolve the Saeima.

It would be hard for Berzins’ approval ratings to be any lower among everyone but his party pals (MP Iveta Grigule, who proposed him for the presidency acts like a bobbysoxer in the presence of Frank Sinatra when he’s in the room) so he would be well advised to make The House In The Country Scandal his own vrsion of the Brown Envelope Scandal.

A full explanation/admission is a must – otherwise every future meeting with EU colleagues will be just one journalist’s question away from embarrassment. And were he to say “The opportunity was there to work the system and I took it,” he might actually win a bit of respect from a large part of population which is forced to bend the rules just to survive rather than to make another fortune.

 

What An Impressive Erection

Does this make you think of forests and streams - or big buildings?

“As that building gets bigger, yours gets smaller.” Uncle Ivars was talking about the new national library being constructed across the road from my office and, as usual, he was right.

May 3rd brought the “ridgepole” ceremony at the library construction site, which according to Latvian tradition takes place when a newly-constructed building reaches its highest point. A wreath is placed on top and if you’re really lucky a stork will start building a nest – hampering further construction work but apparently an omen of good luck.

Storks were notable by their absence today but the snow that was falling as the ceremony began also felt like an omen – though of the good or bad sort it is hard to say.

The crisis of the last couple of years seems to have been quite good for the library project. What threatened to become another example of a hugely over-priced white elephant project (cf. the Southern Bridge, known locally as the “Golden” bridge thanks to its ridiculous billion-euro price tag) has at least come under intense scrutiny and looks likely to be built for much less than originally planned while being much more suited to its purpose: at one point the library’s function housing books seemed very low down on the list of priorities after its ability to host conferences, beauty salons and retail outlets.

Elerte, Zatlers and Dombrovskis enjoy the view

Personally I am not a fan of Gunars Birkerts’ architectural design, much as I applaud the nation for taking libraries seriously.

According to the plans, the building, a.k.a the “castle of light” takes its form from various Latvian legends, but the first sketches appeared more than 20 years ago and the hulking geometry of the thing still seems like something from the 1980s. The architectural renderings make it seem like an attempt to build the Pompidou Centre using offcuts from La Grande Arche De La Defense.

But according to Birkerts:

• It tells of green fields and meadows, of many-coloured flowers;
• It tells of dark pine forests and white birch groves;
• It tells of slowly flowing, dark, dreamy rivers, their streams are so slow, that at times it seems that they are flowing backwards;
• The landscape is flat and slightly sloping, its highest mountain – Gaiziņš, is only 12 metres higher than the Eiffel Tower;
• It tells of the ever present folklore, of the human emotions expressed in the folk songs and legends. Legends of the determination that will make a brilliant castle rise up from the dark waters. It tells of the courageous riders riding up the mountain of ice to save the princess. It takes a strong will and persistence to accomplish it.

It also tells of a whacking great slab of breeze block. The most common thing people have said to me when I point it out to them for the first time is: “Who will be the first person to skateboard down the front?”

Now imagine lots of books...

From the other side of the river it looks more like an economist’s graph plotting Latvia’s wage growth in the boom years.

From another angle it bears a passing and hopefully coincidental resemblance to the Skrunda radar station which was dynamited exactly 16 years ago on 4 May 1995, as a final farewell to Soviet power.

Maybe it will be great once it is finished in late 2012. At the moment it is impossible to get any real feel of how the final building will look. The interior currently resembles nothing so much as a multistorey car park.

But the view from the top is impressive (though I couldn’t help thinking of Maupassant’s quip about the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower being magnificent because it is the only place in Paris you can’t see the Eiffel Tower) and the choir cleverly dispersed among the guests at the ceremony showed off the nice acoustics shared by huge concrete shells everywhere.

Take a bow, boys

Hopefully the Latvian National Library it’s a “grower” just like the Swedbank tower a little further downstream which has seemed to get more elegant and satisfying with the years. By the time the ceremony was over (including a birch juice toast) the snow had stopped and the sun was struggling through the clouds. A good omen, perhaps.