The Portrait in Vienna 1900 at the National Gallery

The current exhibition at the National Gallery is called Portrait of Vienna 1900; on the evidence of this show it should have been called City on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Nobody in this show looks cheerful - even the father depicted holding up his infant son cannot raise a smile. The only smile is hidden behind a later canvas, and is by a painter who shortly after committed suicide. Portrait painting is, of course, a major strand of the British painting tradition, and the contrast with the British take on this genre was striking - evidently, to the Viennese a portrait was supposed to be serious, even inscrutable; to my eye there is little attempt to depict personality or personal accomplishments. In the earlier works there is no striking of poses, and only one case where the subject displays professional accoutrements. In contrast, in the later works the artists seem to impose their own poses and tensions, which do not seem necessarily related to the sitter (except in the case of self-portraits of course).



The "British" portrait

Only one portrait seemed to be to be remotely "British" - the subject is unsmiling but dignified, holding plans which indicate his professional standing. In contrast, in   portrait of Isabella Reiser, she shows her teeth but in what looks like a grimacing rictus rather than a grin. Later artists often made their subjects look seriously disturbed; no wonder their models tended to be friends and family (or themselves), as this is not the image the newly rich and socially uncertain would wish to project. The famous portraits by Klimt, paid for by rich husbands, seem designed to display the expense and beauty of trophy wives rather than record the personality of a successful society hostess.

It should be no surprise that these works betray tensions - I had not realised that Vienna's population grew enormously from 1867, when all the population groups of the multinational Hapsburg empire gained equal legal footing. In spite of this, Vienna was still relatively small for a major capital, and the various city groups vied for social and economic status; in the art world, this meant artists had to compete fiercely for a limited number of patrons. There was a lot of money to be made by the fortunate few, but whether this brought a feeling of real security is debatable - no wonder this is the city of Sigmund Freud. Edward de Waal's book The Hare with Golden Eyes gives a wonderful account of the life of his Ephrussi relatives in turn of the century Vienna, and he contributes an introduction to the exhibition catalogue.

Although the title of the exhibition refers to 1900, at least half of the exhibits are before this date; this is effective in providing historical background but the portraits are mostly of no great merit. In fact, the show as a whole works better as an illustrated history than as an art show, as there is not enough space to showcase the more interesting later artists effectively. All the same, I came away enlightened and with a greater understanding of the background to the turn of the century Viennese art world, which was no doubt the intention of the show.



Anton Romako's portrait of Isabella Reiser

 

 



Egon Sheile's portrait of Albert Paris von Gutersloh



Klimt's portrait of Hermine Gallia

Street art inspired by Dulwich Picture Gallery

Eighteen murals painted by top street artists have appeared in south-east London, making up Dulwich Outdoor Gallery. All the works are based on 17th and 18th century paintings in Dulwich Picture Gallery, linking the past with a vibrant contemporary art movement. Those below are in or near Dulwich Park.

By Stik

 

By Stik



By Stik

By Thierry Noir 2013

By Nunca





 

Mira Schendel and Ana Mendiata: Latin American exiles

There are two shows in London at the moment which feature women artists with backgrounds in Latin America and displacement ; while one was exiled to Brazil, while the other was exiled from Cuba, both were profoundly affected by their experience. Mira Schendel was born Switzerland of a Jewish family, but brought up in Italy. In 1938 fascism meant she was stripped of her Italian nationality, and she fled first to the Balkans and then to Brazil, where she became a leading proponent of modernist art. Ana Mendiata was sent to the USA from Cuba by her family as a 13-year-old, and thus cut off from her birth culture at a young age, a loss she partly assuaged by developing an interest in the related culture of Mexico. She died tragically young, having fallen (?) out of a window in the apartment she shared with her husband, the sculptor Carl Andre (who says he cannot remember anything about what happened).



One of Mira Shendel transparent mobiles

I have to admit I did not really take to the Mira Schendel exhibition at Tate Modern until Room 8 of a 14 room show. Up to that point, the works lacked appeal for me - paintings with not much in the way of colour, shape or reference for my taste, though they did seem to have more depth on a second viewing. From Room 8 more of the works were three-dimensional, and I found these easier to relate to - delicate floating strings and curtains, transparent suspended rectangles filled with black letters. I gathered she was obsessed with philosophical ideas around being and nothingness, and I could imagine these works as representing the door between the two. I'm not entirely convinced visual art is the best way to explore these themes, however, but then this is not my field of interest in any medium. Nevertheless, I can see why her work become iconic in Brazil - it appeals to the melancholic Portuguese strain of Brazilian culture, as well as bringing Brazil into the international artistic fold, as did other European exiles at the time. All the same, pointless as it is to
complain, I was rather disappointed
that her work doesn't seem at all "Brazilian".

The other artist, Ana Mendiata, was one of that group of female artists who use their own bodies as part of their art (Anthony Gormley is the only male artist I can think of that does this). She photographed herself as the victim of a brutal rape and murder (a real incident which happened to a fellow student), or lying on the ground partly covered with earth and becoming one with the landscape. She visited Mexico and became fascinated with its pre-Colombian past, using it in her images. She was clearly concerned with violence to women, and with the relationship of females with nature. Her work is often grotesque. When she died she was developing sculptural work, using natural wood and tree trunks; throughout her short career she was constantly exploring new themes and one can only imagine how she would have developed if her life had not been cut short. I preferred Mendiata's literal "down to earthiness" to Schendel's fragile otherwordliness, although neither is really my kind of artist, on the basis of the works in these shows at any rate. But yet again, I'm pleased that I can stay in London and have all the world's art brought to me to mull over.

 

Painted Hall and George Stubbs at Greenwich

Main Hall, The Painted Hall, Greenwich

I wondered how different the Painted Hall at Greenwich looked after its recent partial cleaning and found the answer was - quite a lot. The interior looked much brighter than I remember it, and I hope it doesn't take too long to raise the funds to clean the rest of it. The Hall was designed by Sir Christopher Wren and Nicholas Hawksmoor in 1698 and was originally intended to be the dining hall for the retired sailors at the Royal Hospital for Seamen. Sir James Thornhill spent 19 years from 1708 painting every surface with both figurative and trompe d'oeil work, celebrating British royal and naval history. When the work was finished, it was realised that the end product was far too grand for a dining mess and the place became one of London's first tourist attractions. Fittingly, Nelson's body lay in state in the Hall in 1805 before his state funeral in St Paul's Cathedral.

Part of the cleaned West Wall

I also took the opportunity to look at the two paintings by George Stubbs which the nearby National Maritime Museum is trying to save for the nation. They are of a dingo and a kangaroo, surprisingly accurate representations considering Stubbs painted them from skins, sketches and descriptions not from life. The paintings were bought by a private Australian buyer, but the Museum argues it should have them as the are linked to the voyages of Captain Cook and the Museum has the major collection of artifacts connected to Cook. The Museum is trying to raise the price for which they were sold, which would enable the paintings to stay in Britain. I was slight ambivalent about this (although I did contribute), as Australia also seems a suitable place for the first western paintings of Australian animals, but I wouldn't be surprised if the funds are raised and they stay where they are.

Is African art really the next big thing?

Contemporary African art is suddenly much more visible. I've already mentioned that the Royal Academy Summer Show made a big feature of the work of the Ghanaian El Anusi, whose work was also featured in Christie's exhibition. Tate Modern has just exhibited the work of two African artists, Ibrahim El-Salahi, originally from Sudan but now living in England, and Meschac Gaba, born in Benin, but trained in Nigeria and now living in the Netherlands. Is this part of a wider trend? (Though whether it makes sense to talk about "African" art, when Africa is such a large and diverse continent I will leave to one side for the moment.)

In the past, western audiences were more interested in traditional artifacts from Sub-Saharan Africa, which were exhibited in ethnographic museums rather than art galleries and could achieve high prices in the European and American markets. Contemporary African art did not really take off, and the reason is surely not difficult to discover - "art follows the money" and Africa's relative underdevelopment meant there was a limited number of local art collectors no real local art market. Economic development has fostered the appearance of many wealthy local collectors, particularly in Nigeria and South Africa. This has come a bit late for El-Sahahi, who is in his eighties, but the other two have achieved international reputations while still young.

Gaba's work consisted of a series of installations (which have been bought by the Tate) called "The Museum of African Art". These cover a series of rooms which represent a study library, an African market, a living room (including a piano which visitors are encouraged to play), a games room and his own wedding. I saw the show in the school holidays, and large numbers of children were enthusiastically interacting with the exhibits. I particularly like the "money tree", a tree in a pot with fake bank notes attached to the branches. The intent is playful and satirical rather than aggressively challenging. The work clearly shows a debt to Dutch dadaism, which makes it seem less original than that of El-Salahi. I enjoyed the installations, but I did not find them as thought-provoking as I had expected.



One of the settings from The Museum of Contemporary African Art

El-Salahi's work is quite different - his drawings and paintings are of great delicacy, often in the browns and creams of the Sudanese landscape, the people usually indistinctly indicated rather than detailed. Some very effectively use Arabic letters for decorative effect.  He trained in the UK and chose to return to Sudan after college, but his college style was not understood there and in response he developed the style shown at the Tate. El-Salahi became a political figure after Sudanese independence, but fell foul of the regime and was detained and tortured. He subsequently returned to Britain. This experience is referred to in the work, but his art still retains its lyrical, rather weightless, feel. It is highly fitting that this powerful and highly original artist is at last receiving international recognition.



El-Salahi, Vision of the Tomb (1965)

Comparisons may be invidious, but I found El Anusi's bottle top hangings more original and more "African" than the two artists shown at Tate Modern; an intriguing use of locally sourced detritus which can be interpreted on a number of layers. El-Salahi's work I find the most beautiful and thoughtful of the three. Gaba's is the most playful and challenging, but I felt it was also the most derivative.

It is interesting to speculate how much two British artists of Nigerian parents might have paved the way for this interest in Africa in the UK. Both Chris Ofili and Yinka Shonibare were born and trained in England (though the latter was brought up in Nigeria), but there are African references in their work which may have encouraged UK audiences to connect Africa with contemporary art.

It's difficult to say if contemporary African art is really on the up. On one hand, Bonham's - currently the only London auction house which runs stand-alone sales of African art - reported world record prices for a number of African artists in its May sales, and African art was given a big boost when the Angolan pavilion won the Venice Bienniele this year. On the other hand, Chinese art was very hot a few years ago but has now reached a plateau; increasing popularity cannot be guaranteed in the longer term, although (as in China) individual African artists may make a permanently good career out of it. Maybe this is more of an expression of the increased willingness of London to acknowledge contemporary art which does not originate in Europe or America, perhaps it is even a symptom of Euro-American art running out of steam. But personally I'm more than happy to see what the rest of the world has to offer whatever the reason for its appearance.