Whistler's Thames at Dulwich Picture Gallery

Blue and Gold, Old Battersea Bridge

I learned at the private view of Whistler and the Thames at Dulwich Picture Gallery that planning for this show with the Addison Gallery of American Art began before the banking crisis in 2008, the subsequent uncertainties meaning that it has only now come to fruition. It is certainly worth the wait, though not perhaps for the obvious reasons. The surprise of the show is that a good proportion of the exhibits are not paintings but etchings, and these are of a very high standard - at the time, Whistler was not unjustifiably compared to Rembrandt. But the main success of the show has to be how it emphasises Whistler's links with the Thames; American-born, Russian-educated, Paris-trained, Whistler is quintessentially multicultural, but nevertheless he spent most of his life living by the Thames and a great deal of his art engages with what he saw from his window every day. This show (and its catalogue) tells you as much about the Thames as about Whistler.

The course of Whistler's artistic development is well presented - from realism influenced by Manet and Courbet to a more impressionistic style which is almost abstract at times, and his enthusiasm for Japanese art. Whistler is perhaps seen as rather lightweight in this country - this show should go some way to raising his profile.

Incidentally, the house in Cheyne Walk where Whistler painted the famous portrait of his mother - Arrangement in gray and black No. 1 - is up for sale. Its high price (around £30m) means it's likely to go to an overseas buyer, but given Whistler's Russian connections a Russian oligarch would actually be quite appropriate.

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.

Mexico and Australia at the Royal Academy

I paid a second visit to the Royal Academy Mexico show when its Australia show had started, which prompted me to wonder why the Mexico show - A Revolution in Art 1910-1940 - seemed very "Mexican" while the Australia show - covering the later 18th-century to the present - by and large didn't feel very "Australian".

By this I mean that the Mexican works marked the period when Mexican artists moved away from European models and developed a style which still defines Mexico for many people - strong colours and shapes, unsentimental depictions of peasants and workers. The show has many works by the large number of artists who visited Mexico in this period, but the subjects are set in Mexico (not surprisingly, as otherwise why visit?), as are the numerous photographs by Mexican and visiting photographers (including Henri Cartier-Bresson and Robert Capa). There is no doubt at all which country is being showcased.

The international interest was originally sparked by Mexico's ten year revolution and its aftermath, at the time a social, political and economic cataclysm which was only equalled in Russia. But native and visitor artists alike clearly found Mexico visually as well as politically inspiring. The exhibition certainly brings home the extent to which European and American artists and photographers both worked there and brought Mexican art home, including the surrealist Andre Breton. This helps to explain the international reputations of Mexican artists like Diego Rivera and Frieda Khalo (both represented here). I was not expecting that a the large proportion of the show was taken up by photographs, though perhaps it should be no surprise that photographers should be drawn to Mexico during the golden age of photojournalism. I found the work of Tina Modetti particularly impressive. Another surprise was to find two fairly large gouaches by Edward Burra, partly because I did not know he visited Mexico, but partly because I associate him with quite small works usually showing the urban marginalised, whereas the two works shown here of the three he did of Mexican subjects (never before shown together) are of a church interior (Mexican church) and what looks like a small town street scene (El Paseo).


Edward Burra's El Paseo

The Australia show covers a much longer period, and the earlier works demonstrate that their artists were still in thrall to Europe, emigrants who perhaps did know how to get to grips with a very different environment. The result is paintings which often need close scrutiny to realise these are not European landscapes, and, though often accomplished enough and of historical interest, inevitably seem derivative. Unlike Mexico, Australian artists continued in the European manner into the early 20th-century: although the subjects became more recognisably Australian, the style follows Northern Hemisphere and still feel rather derivative. I did admire a group of very accomplished watercolours, J J Hilder's Dry Lagoon in particular. I also found Grace Cossington-Smith interesting; she introduced postimpressionism to Australia but had a strong individual style which makes her anything but a slavish follower.

Nevertheless, to me the mid-20th-century art is the strongest in the exhibition, and the first to be recognisably Australian. Sydney Nolan's Ned Kelly paintings are already well known in the UK, and the selection shown here are as strong and striking as ever. (I have to admit he was the only Australian artists I knew before this show.) The later work first concentrates on the yellows and browns of the outback, apparently ignoring the areas where most Australians actually live, and then there is contemporary work which fits into the "International" mould seen everywhere. In both cases there is interesting work - I enjoyed works by Margaret Preston, Russell Dryscale, Jeffrey Smart, Fred Williams, Bill Henson, Denis Nona, Fiona Hall and Danie Mellor -  but the overall impression is not particularly striking in relation to the number of works on show (this is quite a big exhibition).

 

I have not mentioned the exhibits which are iconically Australian to most people - the aboriginal art. There are two problems with this kind of art: firstly, it is very difficult for a European to interpret these paintings, as their original meanings relate to religious and other practices usually unknown to the viewer, so the tendency is to treat them as decorative objects. Thus they may be admired for the "wrong" reasons. The other problem is that these are modern versions of art which was site specific - painted on rocks or on the body for example, not on bark and therefore transportable as they are here. It can be argued they lose their force when divorced from their original settings, and like any modern art it can be painted purely for the market or be the expression of a personal vision. The trouble is that the European audience is unlikely to know the difference. All I can say, therefore, is that while I found much of this work attractive but rather repetitive, it may be of more sociological and economic significance than artistic. I would rather see aborigines successfully work in mainstream art - as Albert Namatjira does in this show - but if individuals can make a living producing this kind of art good luck to them.

Albert Namatjira's Central Australian Landscape (1950s)

The Mexico show has gone down much better with the critics than Australia. I think the latter suffered by aiming at being a showcase for Australian art over the time of European immigration, when there really isn't enough really good quality work to justify such a large show. The early landscapes in particular could have done with a cull, and many critics wondered why the end of the show consisted of just one work by a large number of contemporary artists. All done for reasons of national pride no doubt, but I think it backfired. Still, I did find it interesting to see what was produced in an area which was for a long time very much cut off from the rest of the world and there was definitely some work which was well worth seeing.

Conversely, the Mexico show benefited by concentrating on one period of intense productivity, a period which is already known to European audiences but brings something new by emphasising the historical context and the resultant interest from abroad. I suspect this show was based on purely art historical and curatorial impulses, whereas the Australia show probably had a large political and Australian art establishment input. Maybe another show in a few decades may fare better, though by then it might be taking place in Shanghai rather than London.