83. AN INTERIOR AT BRIGHTON by RUPERT DIXON

    MEDICI GALLERY, LONDON     21.6.11

 

This image doesn’t do justice to the depth and richness of the original oil painting, but it captures beautifully the sweep of light and the echo of faded beauty in a room which has clearly been witness to many a jollification. Rupert Dixon's work – which often features unnamed and unpopulated grand villas, ballrooms and palaces - has an ethereal, dreamlike quality. The artist has been described as having ‘an almost Dickensian sense of light and darkness’. 

By distancing the room from its intended purpose we feel a sense of loss, but it allows our imagination to move around the space without let or hindrance.  He takes images of interiors that he likes, then rips them up and recreates something which is partly abstract, as if leaving us with a canvas for our own imagination. He sometimes uses a mixed medium of gouache and heritage colours, household emulsion, oil on canvas, matt and gloss, intending the work to be both finished and unfinished.

This painting is in the Medici Gallery's exhibition The Influence of Historicism, referring back to artistic styles of the past, often a return to classicism and architectural subjects. The paintings I saw were accompanied by extracts from Lord Byron’s Childe Harold Pilgrimage, Canto the Third. I confess I cannot recall reading Byron but have a daughter who is an expert so I hope she’s got it right...

‘Tis the last remnant of the wreck of years,

And looks as with the wild-bewildered gaze

Of one to stone converted by amaze;

Yet still with consciousness; and there it stands

Making a marvel that it not decays.

I saw this work shortly before I went to the breath-takingly original Magical Consciousness exhibition at the Arnolfini Gallery in Bristol. That’s more than a short walk from my flat (Paddington station is near enough but after that you need a train...). I thought of this work when I read some words of the philosopher Vilem Flusser, who suggests that there is more potential to touch reality in the act of looking in itself, than in what is actually being looked at or read in a descriptive text. The latent potential is your imagination.  I

Dixon’s painting is from a current series called A State of Interiors. An arresting title. ‘State’ has so many associations: a nation, a statement, stateliness - perhaps even  our own ‘state of mind’ or ‘state of grace’?

82. ROYAL BREAKFAST by TONY DE WOLF

                                          MEDICI GALLERY 17.6.11

(c) Medici Gallery

They call it photo-realism: a couple of words which scoop up the transformation of

a flat surface of paint and canvas into objects which cry out to be touched, handled, enjoyed.  I can feel the grain of the linen cloth, the cool of the silver, the fragility of the shells. It's best to stop thinking and simply absorb what Tony de Wolf has achieved with such a limited range of subtle colours and shapes: peace, calm, harmony.

Tony de Wolf is a Belgian artist who draws on the classical tradition of still life painting by the great Flemish artists of the 16C and 17C. But it’s impossible to stand in front of the stillness and the sense of presence of his pictures  without recalling the work of the Italian artist Georgio Morandi (1890 – 1964). Yet his exquisite painting is never derivative.

Why egg shells? Each one is unique. Hard, fragile, protective and life-giving. A friend of mine had to eat them as a source of calcium when a child in the 1940s. Her family, living in China,  was interned in a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp.

Egg shells have been sculpted and drawn and painted in art of every kind. Only the other day I saw a sculpture of a large and arresting bird made from them (they may have been papier mache?) at the Polka, a children’s theatre in Wimbledon.

I wonder about the title? Is it a witty reference to contemporary royalty? Yesterday Carol Midgley in The Times recalled that she’d read how the staff of the Prince of Wales make seven boiled eggs for his breakfast to ensure that one is of his preferred consistency. Myths abound when it comes to royalty. Perhaps the story attracted the attention of the artist?

And that egg yolk winking at us from the bottom right hand corner? A fiery sun with all its associations of health, wholesomeness, nourishment. But don't forget salmonella...

  

81. "GO ON THEN" by MAISIE BROADHEAD

MEDICI GALLERY 18.5.11

,,,and then there’s the title - in quotation marks. It has a tangy, witty flavour. A phrase from a comic turn at the music hall? Or it it words wrung out of a parent to a child who has persisted in the battle to go out to play or have an ice cream long enough to win? 

But this is no trivial matter. this digital C-type print is a strikingly remodelled version of Jean Frederic Schall's The Suitor Accepted ( see below), painted in 1788. It references a binding decision as to marital intentions, 

Our hero in Maisie Broadhead’s beautifully tinted picture shows off his lively calves in stockings which end in trainers, and his finely cut jacket would not look out of place in Canary Wharf.  The three models have the uncanny look of having just come from a photo shoot for a glossy Sunday supplement. The eye searches for other contemporary insertions. The carpet is patterned with a brick wall. An exquisite china tea cup on the right is balanced on a cut glass stand like an interior design feature. It's almost a chalice. Suddenly you are aware that the elegant dog is staring back at you, the viewer, so you almost feel apologetic for giving the picture your close scrutiny.

This parody is in Rococo style, favoured by (mainly)  French artists of the  18C. The style is marked by elegant and ornate furniture, lavish drapery, mirrors and tapestries. Sometimes it carries a narrative, sometimes it takes a snapshot of a highly improbable event. It’s been called frivolous, even modish – but others say it's the champion of sensuous vitality. Reality painting it is not. Maisie Broadhead is one of six artists displaying at the Medici Gallery’s exhibition The Influence of Historicism,  a show full of surprises: portraits in oil, still life, sculpture in bronze and marble, architectural interiors and what appear to be Rococo/Baroque paintings – none of them quite what you expect.The whole exhibition challenges notions of what is real and what is fake. First impressions really do not count. 

Maisie Broadhead’s first reputation was as an outstanding jeweller. Her website gives an indication of the range of her work.

Jean Frederic Schall's The Suitor Accepted 

 Maisie Broadhead's work makes an interesting contrast with Tom Hunter's work. He won the John Kobal Photographic Portrait Award in 1998 with his iconic Woman reading a Possession Order, a take on Johannes Vermeer’s A Girl Reading a Letter by an Open Window,1647-9. He  talks candidly about photography sometimes being like an act of prayer, a moment of suspense and concentration,  timeless, allowing the atmosphere to pour in. I wrote about his work in Blog 46

80. HELMSLEY SKY STUDIES 6Z by WILLIAM TILLYER

BERNARD JACOBSON GALLERY, LONDON 14.6.11

 

My godmother, taking my hand and pointing to the sky, would said to me as a child ‘Just look at those clouds! If people had to pay to see them, there'd be queues all round the block...'

Acrylic on perforated paper 58.4x76.2cm

I don’t believe you can have too many paintings of the sky.  This beautiful study at the Bernard Jacobson Gallery is part of a series based on an area on the edge of Ryedale in North Yorkshire, and it’s easy to see it as part of an historic English landscape tradition.  I saw the picture on the day when The Times newspaper ran a weather feature about how, even in London at the moment, ‘if you blotted out the buildings and looked up it has felt a bit like stepping into a picture by Constable'.

I first saw Tillyer’s work in 1998 when he was shortlisted for the Jerwood Painting Prize in a year when the judges ‘found it a most difficult challenge to reduce the numbers. The ten selected artists are all exceptional exponents of painting as a versatile and exciting medium’. This picture is built on the accumulated experience of half a century of innovation, of making works which strive towards a fresh interpretation of the landscape tradition - and painting in general. 

Helmsley Sky Studies sees Tillyer working on a perforated lattice, suspended above a white background. The paint weaves its way through the broken surface. We are reminded that seascape – and landscape and skyscape - are shaped and valued by our imaginative capacity for symbolism.  

What is especially delightful about Tillyer’s distinctive way of painting is that however beautiful his work, it’s rooted in the real world of air, water and earth. I wonder if he saw Cloudspotting, the BBC TV documentary presented by Gavin Pretor-Pinney last April, which drew on science, meteorology and mythology for a playful trip round distinctive cloud types. Another way of responding to the sublime without losing touch with science, meteorology and the here and now.

Image by kind permission of the Bernard Jacobson Gallery

  jacobsongallery.com 

UNTITLED BY SANDMAN OF SYMI

Not alas within walking distance in London but a viewing of the opening of the graffiti street artist Sandman's art gallery on Symi - a paradise island a ferry distance from Rhodes.  It's a gentle, warm night and the Aegean sea is almost lapping at your feet ...

Here is the picture you can see through the door.
sandman.gr



My next blog - number 80 - will be available in the next 48 hours.

NORMAL SERVICE WILL BE RESUMED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE

I've walked to 79 works of art to make 79 blogs in the past 9 months. In fact there have been rather more visits then blogs, because sometimes I judged that the art wasn't worth it or the gallery was closed or the exhibition had just ended or I couldn't get an image.

And now for the next couple of weeks (Icelandic volcanic ash allowing) there'll be no more blogging as I'll be on the remote Greek island of Symi....

Looking back to my first entries I realise how indebted I am to those who run our wonderful free national galleries: in particular the staff at the National Portrait Gallery, the Imperial War Museum and both Tates. If they had been unfriendly I would probably not have continued. They thought it not at  all odd to take time to send me images and to help me with the rules of copyright and attribution. What's more, I found I was allowed to take pictures of their permanent exhibitions. That - plus the lucious outdoor sculptures of  Kapoor - propelled me into buying my first camera.

It hasn't been all plain sailing. Sometimes going to a commercial gallery needs courage.  You may need to search for it in the dark and the rain on a late winter afternoon. It's a rule that they don't signal where they are - just a discreet sign way above eye level or an inconspicuous plaque on the wall. Then you have to fathom out the electronic entry system, or there may be an unexpected doorman who sweeps you inside. The first thing you discover is that the place is empty, except for an attractive young person (usually a woman) who is clearly paid to pretend you are not there.You pick up a press release and perhaps a price list on her desk and she doesn't bat an eyelid. I suppose it's called discretion. If you ask her a question she won't know the answer but is likely to know someone who does and gives you an email address. If you mail, you may get a helpful answer or you may never hear another word or you may be added to their list of guests at the nexr private viewing. Her main job is to press the right switch to let you out as you walk towards the door.

Sometimes I contact the artist direct. It's exciting to be corresponding with someone across the world who's really pleased to be featured. Nothing is predictable. I found some watercolours in an otherwise empty shop window which is part of a medical centre. I didn't think they were exceptional but it was an interesting use of space for art so I contacted the artist whose details were on a card in the window. No response, yet he was clearly wanting to sell. I also saw a seascape at the Mall Gallery which, judging by the price, was by a relatively unknown artist. I loved the picture and really really wanted to include it. I think I emailed three times but  heard nothing. I still mourn the painting.

Sometimes it's like visiting old friends, work by people I have admired for years, maybe read their books, heard them lecture or joined in a seminar.  It's a limitation to have to exclude work you have to pay to see. There's a current exhibition by Tracey Emin I'd love to include. Normally I'd like to include the short list for the Turner prize, which this year the lucky people of Gateshead will see. But I'm encouraged that I must have recognised a good thing when I saw it : Nothing is a Must by Carla Black, (my sixth blog) an artist unknown to me when I  visited the Saatchi gallery. is there in the list with a chance of the prize..

That reminds me - hats off to the Saatchi gallery! It produces for £1.50 a b/w catalogue of each exhibition featuring a small photo of each work, with accompanying text and an alphabetical list of artists at the back, each with a small biog. It's perfect. All other art catalogues I've met are beautiful glossy treasures, large enough to be flaunted on a coffee table or hurled to the ground as a door stop. And very expensive.

Lastly, the current edition of THE WEEK has a section on its Health & Science page about the thrill of art appreciation. MRI scans show that when a sample of people looked at what they considered to be the most beautiful of 30 paintings, the part of the brain associated with pleasure increased by as much as 10%, which is the equivalent of the response evoked by looking at a loved one.. The sample chosen were selected because they had little knowledge of art and so were less liable to be influenced by the latest trends.

Just off to hear the latest forecast of where all that Icelandic ash is heading....

79. JUPITER RISING by JUDITH GREEN

MEDICI GALLERY, LONDON 16.5.11

Empire of Lights Rene Magritte

There is something about images of houses with lighted windows  which I cannot resist. (If the red spots marking sales at the Royal Academy Summer Show are anything to go by, nudes and cats are far more popular).  Above my desk I have a print of the enigmatic The Empire of Lights by Magritte. On another wall is a black and silver poster showing one of Gilbert Fastenaekens’ unsettling nocturnal images. You gaze down on an empty courtyard overlooked by windows, one of which is lit. Washing is still on the line, broom propped againt the wall, a watering can abandoned. It’s like a silent empty stage set from which actors have been banished.

Jupiter Rising by Judith Green

oil and graphite on linen laid on panel 38.5 x
25.5 cm

Jupiter Rising is a beautifully proportioned picture, a juxtaposition of ordinary houses in an unusual context, austere yet luminous, with a limited but enchanting palette of colours. There’s no narrative to rattle around in your head. You are silent, waiting, listening to its calm beauty. 

But what does Judith Green’s painting mean?

‘It does not mean anything, because mystery means nothing either, it is unknowable’, says Magritte...’for me the world is a defiance of common sense.’

 John Berger opens his seminal book Ways of Seeing with ’Seeing comes before words. The child looks and recognises before it can speak,...We explain  (our)  world with words ...yet  the knowledge, the explanation never quite fits the sight‘.

Living Under Blue Skies XI - oil and graphite on linen laid on panel, 20.5 x 41.5cm

And here in the Medici Gallery is one of Green's landscapes: Living Under Blue Skies XI. Every 21C artist has a dilemma. What does she do following on from centuries of exquisite quintessentially British landscape painting? Green simplifies, declutters, calms us down. She edits what she sees for the sake of inviting us into a meditation on time and place.

I noticed some puzzling titles around here.  Jupiter Rising can have many resonances. And in several of Green's series of Living Under Blue Skies paintings, there isn't a great deal of blue sky around. On the contrary  the land seems to press the sky almost out of the picture. And I haven’t even mentioned that Green is one of four artist invited to show in an exhibition entitled The Geometry of Painting. Does this mean we should foreswear shock and horror and ambiguity, and be reassured by a sense of things in their rightful place? If that sounds dull, in the Medici Gallery it isn't.