I went to see the Glamour of the Gods exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery with my boyfriend today after his work finished. It was sweet and incredibly short (seriously, about 3 tiny rooms) but a lotta fun nevertheless.

Of course, I glossed over the photos of male actors in favour of the female ones. The highlight was the above picture of Jean Harlow taken by George Hurrell but there was a veritable BEVY of screen goddesses from Lillian Gish to Elizabeth Taylor. I wanted the photos of a sleek, wet Ava Gardner (one of my personal faves) and Katharine Hepburn (another fave) but the post card selection was weak and they had neither.

(I know, art exhibitions aren’t all about the post cards but I gotta make my room look purty somehow…)

The show was supposed to place equal emphasis on the photographers and subjects, an idea that I find fascinating in theory, but in practise, didn’t work for me. As much as I like to know what goes on ‘behind the [literal] scenes’ and find out about the relatively unsung heroes, I found it impossible to care about the people doing the photographing when their sitters were that glamorous and beautiful.

My photographer friends might be offended but oh well.