Two hundred and ninety five

Mathematical Bridge

c2000 by Alison Neville
Curwen Gallery, from ‘Cathedrals, Mosques, Madrasas & Little Houses’

Discovering Neville’s etchings is like coming across an album of pictures from a different time. Fascinated by a new way of seeing our world, we are absorbed in seeing things differently. What is so wonderful about Neville’s pictures is that they are of our world, but composed so bewitchingly originally. The buildings of her travels, and she has travelled well, are etched with the precision of both likeness and personality. The repetitive arches of mosques or cathedrals dance and grow outwards fuelled with the awe of being beneath them, while buildings seem to swell with the pride of their longstanding history as they are shrunk to the medium of paper. Although Neville takes her inspiration from exotic travels — she has embarked on many remarkable journeys in order to document them with her etchings — her beady eye is not saved only for the milk of abroad. In 2007 she walked the Thames Path to draw (exhibited at Curwen in 2007), and here we have the Mathematical Bridge surrounded by the old colleges of Cambridge. It is the transformation of the everyday that leads us to intrigue, and Neville’s framing of the world is truly characterful. The notorious bridge appears lightly balanced on the river banks, its wood clinging together as if highly sprung and, as the legend goes, without any need for bolt or screw. The college in the background then scatters out from this commanding focal point; the texture of little brick on brick builds the walls and turrets that seem to lean back from the law-defying bridge. The colleges windows are oversized and wide open like eyes; dark, with the intensity of pupils, they are watchful over their prized adornment. The fact that Neville’s works are etchings only contributes to her playful viewing of architecture. It is an historical, long overlooked  medium for illustration, and Neville uses it well to illustrate the monopoly of the world.

Two hundred and ninety four

Louis XIV

1986 by Jeff Koons
The Nasher Collection, Dallas, Texas

Louis XIV joined a host colourful characters that were all in London, until recently, to once again be ‘stylish and subversive’ in the Victoria & Albert’s Postmodernism exhibition. Wandering through the darkened rooms, the placards made of light boxes and the arrows in fluorescent bulbs, one felt a little like a character from Blade Runner (the opening sequence of which was screened), transported to another world. Constantly accosted by the brilliance of fantastical, futuristic-looking (even now) objects and designs, we are sped light years back into a movement which took the world by storm. Beginning quietly, gathering momentum, and burning out, as many do, when money and the mainstream becomes involved, Postmodernism was a whirlwind and walking through the exhibition is like being caught in the breeze. What is captured perfectly is the element of play; one gathers that the artists, musicians, dancers and the like had a tremendous amount of fun ‘creating’ back when, and the V&A have gone about their exhibition in the same way. They play with the space, to the point of half-building oblongs of black cage, onto which is projected various iconic music videos; it’s a bit like being at an ’80s warehouse rave. Jeff Koons’ piece epitomises the decadence of play (with the silver sheen of old Louis), together with the Postmodernism openness of not only innovatively looking forward to shock, but also embracing the old by transforming it. This subversion of what has been is what makes Postmodernism so humorous; there is no resentment or rejection of the old, nor a nostalgic obsession. What is entered into is a jovial communication, in which fun is poked, but equally styles and merits recognised. Koons’ urban stainless steel, moulding the vanity of Louis’s cascading curls and the stern Royal-ism of his brow is comical in itself, and the replacement of soft stone by hard metal is aptly ‘futuristic’. Koons has saved the commanding posture of a bust such as this, but jibed at its resonance by making it hollow in metal rather than heavily set in stone. With so many levels of both creation and mimicking, one cannot help being taken in at the very least. Either by Koons’ use of material or by the innovation of style shown throughout the exhibition, in everything from ballet to teapots. Postmodernism is always eye-catching, which in the end is surely half the point of art and it’s no wonder that the rest of the world, the manufacturers and mass-producers alike, wanted to play the game.

Two hundred and ninety three

The Virgin of the Rocks

Between 1483 & 1486 by Leonardo da Vinci
Musée de Louvre, Paris; National Gallery until 15th January 2012

If you can manage to queue in the wee hours for tickets to the National Gallery’s Leonardo da Vinci exhibition, do — and with barely a week left, be quick about it. A feast for the eyes is in store, as this exhibition reminds us of the sheer quality of beauty in da Vinci’s painting, as well the brilliance of his inquisitive and scientific mind, shown in his remarkable drawings of the human body. One of the particular treats of this exhibition is the opportunity to see both versions of The Virgin of the Rocks; for those who have seen da Vinci’s later painting at the National Gallery often, seeing it face to face with its sister is both intriguing and excitingly stirring. The later version, see postcard 82, takes da Vinci’s perfection of beauty through nature and reflection of internal goodness to the point of surrealism, with crisp detail in the background of the Dali-like rocks to the cool alabaster of the Grecian skin of the stone-still figures. The earlier painting, begun some eight years before, is warmer and appears more naturally, with a visual warmth glowing from Mary’s skin rather than the ethereal chill we see in the later. The figures appear slightly larger in the later painting, swollen perhaps with da Vinci’s intended sculptural three-dimensionality. In the earlier painting the group appear more like people, with softly dark golden hair and modestly coloured clothing — Mary’s cloak and dress in the later painting positively glows with the symbolic blue. The Angel in the earlier painting wears red, heated with the blood of life, that hides the darkness of her wings; in the later painting, the wings are much clearer — carrying the status of Heaven along with Mary’s halo (absent in the first). In the earlier depiction, the faces of all four betray a sensibility or perhaps the personality of their sitters that has been hardened in the second. In the first, the infant John the Baptist particularly has an expression of childish innocence contrasting with the second where, for instance, the Angel’s face has the crisp and unlikely perfection of a classical and celestial beauty. What is made so brilliantly clear by seeing both paintings together is the dramatic difference of effect that can be achieved through approach. Compositionally the two are near identical, yet here we see each for its celebrated differences. Regardless of personal favourites, both are wonderful examples of da Vinci’s exploration into representation as he plays with his remarkable toys of visual expression.

Two hundred and ninety two

Pomona

c.1885 by William Morris & Edward Burne-Jones
Currently at William Morris: Story, Memory. Myth, Two Temple Place until 29th January 2012

The William Morris exhibition at Two Temple Place is bewitching in more ways than one. The darkly wooded walls of Two Temple Place’s Gothic rooms carry the rich tapestries and the enchantingly entwined designs of Morris’s fabrics. As one makes their way through the exhibition, it is less like a gallery and more like wandering through the home of one of the pre-Raphaelite’s. The works are hung beautifully, as if they were decorations of the room, subtly hidden among the bewitching corners of the building. The landing at the top of the magnificent staircase is flanked by Morris’s designs at every side, illustrating the freedom of discovery in this exhibition. If we are told a way to proceed there is no need to listen; surrounded by Morris’s work, the process of looking becomes a chanced stumbling upon numerous treasures, as both house and art embrace each other in a union of tantalising effect. One of the choice discoveries of this exhibition is Morris’s artistic attention to the stories and myths that inspired his creations. So enraptured are we by his designs for fabric and wallpaper, together with the remarkable production of Morris & Co, that his illustrations of those magical figures that inspired so many of his designs are forgotten. Like a true pre-Raphaelite, Morris was in awe of the mythological world that provoked such beauty, pairing it with nature to weave the fabric of his designs, translating it to words to enhance the effect. Together with his and Burne-Jones’s tapestry of Pomona, he captures the Goddess of Fruit & Harvest in a poem:

I am the ancient apple-queen,
As once I was so am I now.
For evermore a hope unseen,
Betwixt the blossom and the bough.

Indeed Morris proves her to be “betwixt the blossom and the bough”, as acanthas leaves and flowers swirl about her. She appears supported by a tumult of nature, as the foliage seems to teem with the movement of her life around her. The leaves possess that lively movement of nature that Morris allows to possess all his designs, so our eyes have no choice but to follow the leaves as they dip and dive — we are caught, and here Morris shows us the power of just one of the figures that he seeks to personify. A source, Morris uses such figures to truly inject enchantment into his depictions of nature.

Two hundred and ninety one

Father Christmas

c1850 by unknown
The Bridgeman Art Library

This jolly Father Christmas is an image taken from a Victorian Christmas card, most probably the early twentieth century. The first ever Christmas card was commissioned by Sir Henry Cole in 1843 featuring a picture of a festive family, though it proved a little controversial due to the fact that the children were drinking wine. Extremely fashionable in the Victorian times, Christmas cards rarely featured religious scenes but instead magical figures, such as fairies or Father Christmas — and here we have no exception. Jolly with rosy cheeks as round as cherries, Father Christmas is a bumbling bundle of  joy — fatly rotund and ringing his jingle bell of Christmas. With a full white beard curling widely about his face, indistinguishable from his collar, he is a softly padded and textured with fur and velvet — an inviting beacon of warmth in the idealised chill of a white Christmas. With sleigh bells tied to his coat, one can almost hear his bells as well as seeing them. Father Christmas proves his lasting effect, featuring on the face of a contemporary Christmas card today, over one hundred years later.

Two hundred and ninety

Tawny Owl, after Thorburn

c2010 by Rebecca Jewell
Rebecca Hossack Gallery until 24 December 2011

Jewell’s work remembers a very exciting time for both art and history — when illustrative documentation was a key part of scientific exploration, and when the specimens found were often prized as colonial artwork. Jewell’s work has this energy of discovery ; there is an old English feel throughout her exhibition, with work displayed in mahogany and glass cabinets, circular frames, and under glass domes — very like the relics of some prized expedition. There is also a great sense of the history of illustration, from the hand-drawn pencil drawings to the heavy printing of the etching press; her art breaths the air of museums, where form and colour seek to remember rather than just represent. This is then carried by the material Jewell chooses to print on, metallic birds printed on luggage labels — swinging tags telling of birds and those that discovered them — as well as the delicate feathers of the discovered birds themselves. Jewell’s printing on feathers is particularly poignant, as ink crisply clings to the delicate fronds of the feather’s fan, bleeding out in sumptuously coloured veins in the soft downy tufts near the stalk. Beautifully printed birds peer out from the leaves of their skin, in a strange juxtaposition of subject and ‘paper’. Jewell’s work provides a welcome range of discoveries for the viewer, in not only presenting us with a range of intriguing bird-life but also drawing our attention to the much forgotten history of the figures and voyages that discovered them.

Two hundred and eighty nine

Passenger

by Simon Turvey
Federation of British Artists

Turvey’s figurative work consistently has a very bare, almost chilling, quality of light. Pale to the the point of being white, his colours appear almost through a milky film. His figures are haunting, not cruelly, but with a poignancy that crisps every detail and expression. His people appear frozen, a memory of a moment in time; there seems little life in their alabaster skin for us to imagine anything beyond. These scenes are not void of life, but isolated from a before and after; the composition seems concentrated, distilled it seems for detail. In Passenger, we have the added layered film of the train window; encapsulating a view not only in its physical frame, but in the cold light of what is ‘outside’ from where one looks from. Here Turvey captures the separation one feels from the world they pass by, and it is this effect that is created with his pale treatment of light — the cold clarity of onlooking. His paintings become freeze-frames quite literally. Detail, then, is allowed to the maximum as we are left to ponder these scenes for themselves alone; they become realist to the point of becoming unreal — unreal in the sharpness of their visual articulartion, which gives them this chilling, vaguely unsettling, edge.

Two hundred and eighty eight

Catching Sky I

2011 by Jane Human
NIX Contemporary Art, Affordable Art Fair Hampstead 2011

Jane Human works in both print and painting, and, though this is one of her paintings, its influence from print is immediately evident. Human has a wonderful way with paint that encourages it to spread across the canvas as if it were stretched. Paint becomes material-like, as if threads of pigment were pulled across the composition, weaved thickly and thinly according to design. The approach gives a collaborative harmony to Human’s paintings, as all aspects of her paintings seem to play to this horizontal tune. Her compositions do not appear contrived to this style of painting but rather their essence of place is enhanced by this way of communicating them. Landscapes are drawn out for their vast viewpoint on an expanse of world, while harbours and seascapes are enhanced as a place on the brink of possibility, looking out onto the never-ending ocean. In Catching Sky I the colours of the boats on the water are dragged through the blue of the sea in a deep and oily intensity, while the bright patches of blue that scatter to the left explode in the likeness of a watery splash. Human’s paintings have the effect of a panoramic photograph, through a painterly style that is all her own.

Two hundred and eighty seven

Science Fiction

2011 Exhibition by Tal R
Victoria Miro 14

Tal R’s paintings have always been playful experimentations of colour. What is wonderful about his latest work is that it marries this child-like freedom of conception with a more traditional, a more ‘serious’, composition. Tal opens up a world somewhere between the wide inquisitive eyes of a child, taking in each detail of surrounding as if they were jewels — where everyday detail becomes exquisite, and the reflective watch of an adult, where evaluation of relationships and situation comes into play. Drawing on this harmony of celebratory observation and watchful consideration, Tal’s paintings capture an atmosphere of life that encourages positivity and curiosity — picturing for us day-to-day scenes with their potential to entertain. There is no doubt that colour plays a large part in this; not only is Tal’s colour wonderfully varied, it is sumptuous and unrelenting in its intensity. Even when faded Tal’s colour has an arresting quality and texture that absorbs the eye. It is perhaps no wonder that Tal’s colour has such effect, as in these paintings he plays with the historical technique of distemper — where rabbit glue is mixed with pure pigment. This historical element in his approach is also evident in his subject, where gentlemen wear hats and long coats, smoking pipes that reach to the ground. With Tal’s rainbow of colour, he tells stories; it is little wonder that such bright and detailed paintings border on narrations. Full of possibility, Tal’s paintings have a leading quality that draws us into pondering the before and after of these scenes. Tal exploits the possibilities of painting by playing with it, drawing on historical method and mixing his palatte with the curiosity of subject — these paintings are celebrations in themselves.

Two hundred and eighty six

Frame, Figure, Frame, Figure

2010 by Caroline Walker
Shortlisted for The Threadneedle Prize 2010; www.clwart.co.uk

Walker’s paintings have that collective personality that only an interior can possess — where object and surrounding in their entirety combine to create an atmosphere seeped with curiosity in its narrative possibility. It is the power of film stills, a shot panning into a room, a stage set exposing the cross-section of a house – the power of the voyeuristic eye of the fly on the wall. Walker manipulates her fly skillfully, angling her viewpoint and casting her painting in shadowy hazes. The quality of light and colour is always beautiful — in ‘Frame, Figure…’ the gleam of white tiles is set off by black and the metallic sheen of metal, while seductively purple plays in deep and pale shades juxtaposing the warmth of mustard that coddles the figure that sits in the corner. Spread almost awkwardly, like the warped perspective of the room, her arms are wide like wings with her legs drawn thinly out into the light. There is a comfort in these paintings of place, of figures frozen in the midst of being, becoming part of what surrounds them. There is a feeling of nostalgia created with the reminiscence of design, as Walker consistently captures such detail in her snapshots of environment. This immediately brings an element of time into her paintings, as we recognise or associate pieces with times in our lives or indeed the documented lives of others. With such quietly loaded canvases, it is no wonder that Walker’s paintings transfix.