There are buildings that are works of eloquent architecture, but in the extension of the National Gallery, the walls have spoken. Literally.
Turning its back on Trafalgar Squqre, what we know as the Sainsbury Wing – because of the generous donation received from the heirs of the famous supermarket empire – has always been ridden with controversy: first in 1984, when the competition organized for the purpose resulted in a design of high-tech flavor that had the then Prince of Wales, Charles, calling it a “monstrous carbuncle on the face of a much-loved and elegant friend”; then in 1991, when, with the initial project discarded by public pressure, the inauguration of Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown’s neoclassical building snubbed the most purist moderns; and just two years ago, with the renovation of what has become an icon of postmodernity, entrusted to the German architect Anabelle Selldorf, which blots out the charm of the columns and moldings in favor of a more neutral shine judged by many to be more suited to an airport terminal.
Its architecture, hence, leaves no one indifferent, as demonstrated by a surprise find that has now come to light: a letter wich turned up among the remains of non-bearing columns demolished during the ongoing revamp. It is signed by Baron Sainsbury himself, who funded the extension and seems to have disagreed with these elements of the project:
“If you have found this note – goes the missive typed on stationery of the grocery chain, dated July 1990 and typed in resounding upper-case print – you must be engaged in demolishing one of the false columns that have been placed in the foyer of the Sainsbury wing of the national gallery. I believe that the false columns are a mistake of the architect and that we would live to regret our accepting this detail of his design. Let it be known that one of the donors of this building is absolutely delighted that your generation has decided to dispense with the unnecessary columns.”
The voice of John Sainsbury, who died two years ago, now returns from the grave to thicken the already turbulent legend of a building nobody imagined would give so much to talk about, under the gaze of the serene Renaissance paintings it has always harbored.
The Economist: John Sainsbury, a donor to the National Gallery, had the last laugh
