Laura Knight at the National Portrait Gallery

In spite of being footsore after viewing the three National Gallery exhibitions (plus a quick look at the 1750-1850 British painting galleries with reference to the Tate Britain rehang, of which more later), I took the opportunity to nip round the corner to the National Portrait Gallery to see the

Laura Knight exhibition.

I must admit Laura Knight is not a painter I paid much attention to - a resolutely figurative painter whose work, it seemed to me, did not show much originality and sometimes seemed closer to illustration than painting (no disrespect to illustrators). I won't say this show won me over completely, but it certainly made me see her in a new light. I was surprised to find the variety of styles she used in the course of her long career, from thickly applied impasto to super smooth to almost photographic detail. It wasn't clear if this was related to the subjects she painted at different times in her life or a desire to refresh her technique: certainly her Second World paintings were deliberately painted to be suitable for reproduction for propaganda purposes.

She was drawn to ordinary working people and marginalised groups, probably because of her impoverished background (both her parents had died by the time she was 18). I found she often spent months with her subjects, which explains why her paintings do not look like illustrations after all. When she paints dancers, circus people, gypsies, or factory workers she is clearly painting people she knew, not examples of a type. She was popular with Americans, who were probably surprised at the depictions of black nurses and child patients she did at the seggregated Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore after the war when her husband was undertaking a portrait commission. Such accurate, straightforward, non-cartoonish portraits of black people were rare in America then, and they stand out in a British context too. The same working method works extremely well in her war artist work, where her paintings of genuine male and female war heroes totally avoid the "heroic", which only emphasises their heroism.

The exhibition makes much of Knight's position as a role model for working women in the 1920s and 30s, and that she was the first women to become a full Royal Acedemician since the eighteenth-century. The fact that she was not a modernist must have made it easier for her contemporaries to see her in this light - someone like us, not of the intellectual elite, whose indefaticable work ethic seemed to show effort would be rewarded. Nevertheless, if Laura Knight was not a modernist, she did not reject modernity, and she well deserves this retrospective.

Incidentally, one of the portaits, called Rose and Gold, is of Dolly Henry, the model who was murdered by John Currie, whose group portrait is in the current Crisis of Brilliance show at Dulwich. The label says she was killed shortly after the portrait was painted. Another connection is that I came across a 1937 self-portait by David Bomberg on my way out, done in a "freely expressive style" as the label has it, quite different from his early vorticist work.

Michael Landy's Saints Alive at the National Gallery

Michael Landy is a contemporary artist best known for cataloguing and then destroying all his possessions, so he was definitely a surprise choice as artist in residence at the National Gallery. But surprise was what they were looking for, and they certainly got it in Landy's current show, Saints Alive. National Gallery artists in residence are expected to produce work inspired by works in the Gallery, and Landy's starting point was noting the large number of wheels displayed as a result of all the depictions of the martyrdom of St Catherine. This prompted him to examine all the other, frequently fantastical, depictions of saintly martyrdom and self-punishment on show.

The result is a series of animatronic figures which show contain both parts of bodies, realistically modelled and coloured, and the mechanical parts which make the figures move when visitors take some action; for example, St Francis hits himself in the head with a cross when a donation is put in the box, St Apollonia draws out her teeth with pliers, and St Jerome hits himself in the chest with a rock. When I was there, a young tourist was having fun with a large wooden Catherine wheel on the wall, which could be spun so tell fortunes - such as "You will never marry because you will find no man your equal". Although the show is mocking medieval superstition in the knowledge that few take all this seriously these days, it is done in a teasing rather than a spiteful spirit. The most mischievous is the"Multi-saint", which manages to refer to five martys in one model.

An accompanying video showed how the models were made by a specialist company to Landy's drawings, so he did not make the pieces personally (not unusual in sculpture, of course). What he contributes is his ideas and I don't think many people would have ideas like this, so we get to experience something we wouldn't have otherwise. But the absence of demonstrated physical skills will make some say this isn't "art", and certainly the gap beteen art and entertainment is narrower than is usual in places like the National Gallery.

But you have to admire Landy's self-confident gusto in producing something like this in this setting. The video shows him being slightly worried about being in such close proximity with all the big names in this august setting, and admitting there was no point in trying to compete. Interestingly, he had never been to the National Gallery before his residency, whether as a child, a student, or a practicing artist, so presumably he had little baggage to inhibit him. For which we must all be thankful.

Vermeer and music at the National Gallery

The National Gallery's currently has three exhibition on the go. I saw all three in one visit, starting with Vermeer and music.

 

I now realise I had completely failed to realise why music is such a common subject in sixteenth-century Dutch painting. It had allegorical significance: music could represent transience (the music dies away), making musical instruments a valuable component in vanitas paintings, still lifes which are read as reminders of the transience of human life (an example opens the exhibition). Music could stand for hearing in representations of the five senses. Its measured time could stand for moderation and temperance.  Its social significance was even more important. As the Republic did not have a court, music was mainly the province of middle class families who could afford their own instruments, so the association of harmony with music was reflected in a democratic, companionable form of music making. Printed song books became works of art and were popular gifts. Music making was one of the few ways in which young middle class men and women could meet unchaperoned. All this made performing music a very useful social skill, not least as an opportunity to show one's taste and accomplishment (but one should not be too good, in case one was mistaken for a professional musician). As music was considered intellectually superior to painting, references to music helped painters to enhance their social status. No wonder musical subjects were so popular.

 

A number of very fine and often highly decorated contemporary musical instruments are displayed - I knew Cremona was top for violins, but I had no idea London was the place to go for viols. This was a show where I bought the audio commentary for once, as it was obvious hearing the actual music would be a must, although the spoken commentary wore its learning very lightly and was very informative (no, I'm not getting a commission!).

 

The show builds up to the Vermeers via a series of paintings by his contemporaries, who make good use of the storytelling possibilities of using music as a subject. Jan Steen for example has two paintings, one of which shows a very prim young lady at a harpsichord accompanied by a rather less prim man who is waiting to receive a large lute so he can join her, and perhaps break down her reserve a little, the other seems to be of professional strolling players of a much lower social class and with a more matter of fact attitude to music. These are works from the National Gallery's own collection, plus a painting by Gerrit Dou on loan from Dulwich. These paintings also yet again demonstrate the incredible facility of the best Dutch painters in rendering fabrics and other inannimate objects in paint.

 

Finally, the Vermeers - five of them, and since only 35 Vermeers are known, this amounts to one seventh of his entire output. There is a small painting (A young woman seated at a virginal) from a private New York collection, and four larger paintings: two from the National Gallery's collection (A young woman standing at a virginal and A young woman seated at a virginal), one from the Royal Collection (The Music Lesson), and one (The Guitar Player) from Kenwood House in Hampstead, part of the Iveagh Bequest and only on loan because of refurbishment works. In other words, this particular group will not be seen again.

It's interesting to see how the main four paintings almost look like a set when hung together: similar size, all of poised young women who do not obviously entice, yet do not repel either. The following room examines Vermeer's technique based on microscopic analysis of the paintings: it turns out he makes extensive use of the expensive blue pigment lapis lazuli and "green earth", which impart cool tones to the works and add to the enigmatic feel; all the paintings look as if something might be about to happen - but what? It is this, to my mind, that marks him out from contemporary Dutch painters, who are making a much clearer statement about what is going on. Vermeer is the master of the captured moment where life pauses before taking one turn or another.



 

 

 

Barber Collection at the National Gallery

Birmingham's luck is now mine

 



Barber Institute of Fine Arts, Birmingham

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In my first post I mentioned that I wanted to explore some of the wonderful provincial galleries, so I was pleased to find that one of them had conveniently come to London. The Barber Institute of Fine Arts is part of the University of Birmingham, and contains a fine collection founded by Lady Barber in the 1932.  To mark its 80th anniversary, the first twelve Old Master and Nineteenth-Century paintings bought for the Institute have been loaned to the National Gallery, where they were originally housed while the Institute was being built. I thus gained a fascinating glimpse into the history of galleries and collecting without the expense of a train fare.

Lady Barber insisted the quality of paintings should be on a par with the National Gallery and the Wallace Collection. The first Director of the Institute, Professor Thomas Bodkin, was doubly lucky: firstly by being advised by Kenneth Clark, Director of the National Gallery (and later creator of the famous BBC series Civilisation), and secondly that the market was falling in the 1930s, so he could afford to make some very good purchases. I think they show Bodkin's judgement has more than stood the test of time:

A Tuscan Crucifixion, late thirteenth-century (£1,300). This is early enough to have obvious Byzantine influence.

St John the Evangelist by Simone Martini, Siennese, 1320 (£4,500). An artist who is not represented in the National Gallery.

Christ on the Cross, with the Virgin and St John the Evangelist by Giovanni Battista Cima da Conogliano, c 1488/1493 (£8,700 - more than the Poussin, Monet, Turner and Manet combined). Cimas are very rare in British collections.

Tancred and Erminia, Nicholas Poussin, c 1634 (£2,000). This was a high price; Anthony Blunt cast doubt on its authenticity, not the first time he was involved in such controversy (see my blog of 18 February). Presumably, these doubts were not upheld as the label categorically states "Poussin".

Portrait of a Man holding a Scull, Franz Hals, c 1610/1614 (£6,000). Bodkin was able to obtain this because the seller wanted the painting to stay in the UK.

Portrait of a Young Man, Jacopo Tintoretto, 1554 (£2,000). This was compared to Manet at the time.

A wooded landscape, Jacob van Ruisdael, early 1660s (£2,200). A good example by a painter much admired by English landscape artists.

The sun rising through vapour, Turner, c 1809 (£1,350). The relatively low price is because the market for nineteen-century English art was depressed in the 1930s. A wonderful evocation of a beach scene and my joint favourite.

The church at Varengeville, Monet, 1882 (bought in Paris for the equivalent of £1,408 and 9 shillings) This seems cheap because Monet's prices did not escalate until the 1950s. This is my other favourite - I love the extensive use of strong colour and the upward angle of the picture.

Lovers in a landscape, Nicholas Lancret, c 1736 (£1,800) No doubt bought at least partly with reference to the rather naughty eighteenth-century French paintings in the Wallace Collection, but this is a perfectly respectable depiction of virtuous love.

The River Dee near Eaton Hall, Richard Wilson (£1,200). Wilson was an important influence on the development English landscape painting, so a highly suitable purchase for an academic institution.

Portrait of Carlus-Duran, Manet, 1876 (£3,675). This is a large unfinished portrait of a friend; frankly I think the price reflects the name rather than the quality (but then I'm not a fan of Manet's portraits - see my blog of 28 April)

Birmingham was very lucky in the timing of this bequest as, even if they came on the market, the competition for works like these today would almost certainly put them far beyond the reach of a single purchaser, however rich and persistent. As a job lot, they would certainly be worth a lot more than the £36,133 Bodkin paid.

Hayward Gallery's Alternative Universe

 

 

 In a spirit of experiencing as many varieties of art as possible. I visited the Hayward Gallery's Alternative Guide to the Universe exhibition, a selection of the kind of art known successively as "primitive", "naive", "outsider", and now, apparently, by the more neutral description of "self-taught". The exhibition itself is no more neutral than any other exhibition as the works on show represent the usual process of selection: works deemed significant by collectors, well wishers, dealers and others, which come to the attention of the art establishment, some of which are then selected by a curator, probably to fit a wider agenda. The two most famous practitioners in this category are probably Henri Rousseau and his jungle fantasies and the ex-graffiti artist Basquiat, but in spite of their success this art is still not fully accepted: just think of Lowry's lack of mainstream acceptance by the British art establishment until recently, partly because he was thought of as "self-taught" (although of course he wasn't).

The Hayward refers to its artists as "Inspiringly original and bracingly eccentric, their work re-imagines our social and cultural conventions in ways that fearlessly depart from accepted ways of thinking." In fact, it is obvious that in many cases they are not consciously being fearlessly original but obsessionally creating their own world as an escape from the "real" one. Often they have a history of mental health problems, autism or a very troubled upbringing. Does this make their work less valid as art (trained artists can have similar backgrounds, after all), or does the apparent lack of conscious intent invalidate it in some way? This is not raised by the Hayward exhibition, which seems to expect visitors to accept the work as art in the usual way - and if it is displayed in a well known art gallery does that in itself validate it? - but then it would not really be "outsider" art, which might explain why the terminology used is "self-taught".

It was fascinating to see how some of the work (presumably unintentionally) echoed established artists, such as a mobile which could have been a Cornelia Parker (but was intended to protect against harmful radiation), and photo booth pictures taken by a homeless woman posed in a variety of personas, reminiscent of Cindy Sherman's work. A Canadian artist's wonky but stable forest huts could be the work of any modern student with the right resources. Mostly though, the works were very detailed drawings, paintings and models which created utopian buildings and cities which were intended to replace the current world, or mathematically-based charts, or engineering projects. Some of these were very beautiful, but this was, I suspect, incidental. The most incredible life story was that of Marcel Storr, an illiterate deaf man born in 1911 who had a very difficult life but eventually found a job as a street cleaner and married. In the last ten years of his life he created fantastic detailed drawings of an imaginary megalopolis, which his wife showed to others and Marcel became something of a celebrity.

The works which referred to real human beings were the only ones which I found in any way disturbing: one orphaned male artist created detailed models of children, made clothes for them and photographed them in a way which made them eerily realistic, another photographed his wife (a willing co-creator) in a variety of poses based on Hollywood depictions of women. In both cases, some of the images only just avoided an exploitative feel. Some of the artists did have some training, in graphic design, photography or draughtsmanship, and one was a well known graffitti artist taken up (without success) by fellow graffitist Basquiat. This artist, known as Rammellzee, created what I thought was the most arresting work on show, a work intended to "set the alphabet free" by assigning each letter to a skateboard, on which a variety of found objects were piled, the individual pieces were then assembled into a battle formation phalanx suspended from the ceiling. He is one of the artists featured whose works are now collectors' items.

All in all, difficult to know how to react to this show, but it certainly made me think about the real nature of art. And I hope the art really did provide a refuge from the anxieties and perplexities besetting so many of their creators.

 

 

 

 



"Someone called El Anatsui"

El Anatsui's Searching for connection draped over the facade of the Royal Academy during the Summer Exhibition

Not for the first time, I demonstrated my ignorance by referring to the creator of the amazing wall hanging in the Christie's exhibition as "someone called El Anatsui". I now know he is a Ghanaian artist born in 1944, who has been exhibited around to the world (including the Hayward Gallery in 2005). Worse, I failed to take proper notice of the enormous work, Searching for connection, hanging over the front of the Royal Academy when I visited the Summer Exhibition. (In my defence, I don't think the display showed it to best advantage - still, it was pretty difficult to miss!) The work in the Christie's show, Energy Spill, sold for a highly satisfactory £699,875, and it is a measure of the growing globalisation of the art market that the owner of this example of African art bought it in Mumbai before selling in in London.

The contemporary African art market is enjoying a boom among the continent's newly rich, especially in Nigeria and South Africa, and is attracting increasing attention in Europe. Angola became the first African country to win a Goldern Lion at the Venice Biennale this year,and Tate Modern is currently showing work by Benin's Meschac Gaba and Sudan's Ibrahim el-Salahi. It's said Tate is very anxious not to miss the boat with African art as it notoriously did with modernist art in the last century, thus missing out on the best pieces when they were still reasonably priced.

Christie's sale update (3) - Old Masters

A reproduction of the Steen in Christie's window -
an indication they expected it to be a star sale

 

I got a big surprise when the Jan Steen Easy come, easy go failed to sell at Christie's recent Old Masters sale. There were claims the estimate of £7/10m was set too high, which Christie's naturally denied, and the lack of a buyer put a big dent in the proceeds from the auction, even though paintings by Rubens, Titian, Canaletto, Breughel and others sold well above their high estimates.

 

I have also discovered there is quite a story behind this sale, involving bitter family feuds and plans to set up a new gallery in the ruins of a stately home in the north of England. The painting was sold in The Hague in 1763 to the 1st Earl of Lonsdale and was on loan to the Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool from 2010 to September 2012. The Lonsdales occupied Lowther Castle, a neo-Gothic mansion, until 1936 but it subsequently fell into ruin and was leased to a charity in 2010. The charitable trust is developing the building as a visitor attraction, including space for changing displays from the Lonsdale family collection. According to reports, the Steen would have been the centrepiece of the new gallery, but it was decided to sell it instead because of undivulged "changed circumstances" according to a trust spokesman. It's also been reported that the restoration of the Castle was made easier by the resolution of a family dispute which saw the partial disinheritance of the eighth earl by the seventh earl, and legal action by the eighth earl against family members and companies. Who knows what will happened to the Steen now, but I can't help feeling someone could get a Downton Abbey-style drama out of this saga.

 

In contrast, Sotheby's sale a few days later managed to set an auction record for an El Greco, which went for £9m+, more than twice the estimate. It was bought by a Russian buyer, who bought another El Greco at the same sale - Russians are getting into Old Masters in a big way now, along with Asian buyers (the underbidder for the El Greco was Indian).

 

 





A sad story of early 20th century British art at Dulwich

Curator David Boyd Haycock, author of A Crisis of Brilliance on which the exhibition is based, in front of David Bomberg's In the Hold

 

The new show at Dulwich Picture Gallery, A Crisis of Brilliance, is rightly attracting a lot of favourable attention and is a worthy follow up to its spectacular Murillo exhibition. The show is based on the work of a group of outstanding students who studied at the Slade between 1908 and 1912, a phenomenon which tutor Henry Tonks described as a "crisis of brilliance". The artists are Stanley Spencer, Paul Nash, Mark Gertler, David Bomberg, Dora Carrington and Christopher Nevinson, and the show describes how they dealt with their talent, their differing reactions to continental modernism, and the First World War.

I attended a Friends' preview, where Director Ian Dujardin said that Dulwich was the first venue freelance curator David Boyd Haycock approached with a proposal for an exhibition based on his book, and was taken aback by the alacrity with which Dulwich agreed - clearly he is a modest man: a chat I had with him was interrupted by a wildly enthusiastic fan of his book. I discovered he was disappointed that he had not been able to obtain Mark Gertler's masterpiece The Roundabout because it is an important part of the recent rehang at Tate Britain, and some Paul Nash first world war paintings at the Imperial War Museum were unavailable because of preparations for the forthcoming centenary of the First World War. But the loss is not too great as the works on display give a very good indication of the skills and importance of the six artists.

This is a show which ideally requires more than one visit as there is a great deal of information to take in - Ian Dujardin remarked that it was one of the few shows where he eagerly read every label. Initially the group was most influenced by the early Italian Renaissance, but the group was bowled over by Roger Fry's "post-Impressionist" exhibition in 1910 (which Henry Tonks begged them not to attend).  For most of them it was their first contact with continental modernism and the reactions varied: Nevinson, Bomberg, Gertler and Nash were most obviously influenced by cubism and futurism, Spencer and Carrington much less so.

During the  First World War Nash and Nevinson made their reputations with their unsparing depictions of war, while Spencer reacted to his experiences as an ambulance driver by retreating to his home village for the rest of his life and Carrington tried to ignore it altogether. Gertler escaped conscription because of ill health and Bomberg was unsuccessful in his attempt to find a niche as a war painter.

But the most striking thing about this group is the failure of most of them to build on their early talent. Only Spencer built a solid growing international reputation, and while Nash continued to build a successful professional career he remained best known for his First World War work (admittedly this is of a very high order). Nevinson, Gertler and Carrington all committed suicide, and Bomberg worked in obscurity until his death in 1946. The most startling case, however, is that of a fellow student, John S Currie: the label to his highly accomplished group portrait of some of the six almost casually ends by saying that he shot his mistress and killed himself in 1914, thus ending a very promising career. 

It is noticeable that the two most successful of the group, Nash and Spencer, in the end can be seen as being in the British tradition deriving from William Blake and his disciple Samuel Palmer - the depiction of mysticism in everyday life and in the English landscape. Were the others less successful in their day partly because they lacked this secure anchor in a milieu which was not supportive of modernism? Still, this show is a wonderful demonstration of their talents and is part of a general reappraisal of 20th century British art at the moment, making the case for a British modernism which fused continental influences with uniquely British concerns.