‘In The Beginning Was The End’ at Somerset House

20130306_181323It was partly curiosity about the idea of what a site specific promenade performance might entail, but mostly it was interest in seeing  what the cellars and underground spaces of Somerset House are like that took me there to see In The Beginning Was The End by dreamthinkspeak.

Invited inside in small groups of about 10 at a time, you are led across a back courtyard between Somerset House and Kings College and downstairs into a subterranean warren of corridors and small rooms.  Walking through, either following signs or being pointed in one direction or another by either performers or silent guards, you process through a series of tableau and scenes, performed live or projected on large screens.  Some of it was incomprehensible, other segments surreal or comedic, all of it disorientating, so that it is a surprise (to me at least) when,  at the end, we emerge at the opposite side of the Somerset House courtyard.

They very specifically ask that we not say too much about the surprises of the event, so as not to spoil it for people who are yet to see it, and I will try to honour that, so you can be sure, there is more to it than I am telling you.

The literature says that the piece was inspired by a Leonardo Da Vinci drawing entitled A Cloudburst of Material Possessions, depicting an apocalyptic downpour of man made objects.  The question of whether technological invention for its own sake is good or a bad for the soul is broadly what is being explored in the show.  So we walk through a room filled with out dated electronic scientific equipment, and witness demonstrations of useless devices, explained in a babel of different European languages, and we see unhappy employees of the fictional Fusion company fighting and shouting.

Because it is a promenade, such that you determine your own pace through the event, I suspect each person’s experience will be unique, as not everything is happening all the time.  In some of the reviews I have read in newspapers, the reviewer has written about elements that I simply didn’t see; but I don’t think that matters.  Each person will take something different from it anyway.

I think the bits I liked the best were those showing surreal business meetings.  How often have you sat in an internal meeting room with no windows listening to someone talking about a not very interesting topic and wished that something, anything, different would happen?  Scores of times.  How much more fun would it be for the meeting room to be flooded so that everyone had to put on the scuba diving gear they had brought with them for just such an eventuality?  Or what if the table started to tilt at one end so that everyone’s papers slid off the end, and you could all leave by sliding down the table top?

My overall feeling was that it thinks it’s more profound than it is, that there were some elements that amused me, and kept me standing waiting to see how it would develop, while other things didn’t connect at all; but when you’re promenading, you just walk on.  They say on average it takes between 70 and 90 minutes to go around, and my experience held true to that.

Have you seen it?  What did you think?  And how many times a night do you think the performers have to take all their clothes off and put them back on again?

Lichtenstein – A Retrospective at Tate Modern

IMG_3001 Lichtenstein is best known for his paintings of comic strip type images. The canvasses are large, the images of weeping blondes and lantern jawed fighter pilots are close ups in bright primary colours, with areas of flat colour delineated by black outlines juxtaposed with dots of colour, simulating the way cheap comics are printed, but magnified so that they are a challenge to the way we look at the works.  There are speech bubbles telling us the thoughts of the characters, and descriptions of the narrative in the picture, and every element is a cliché of the all America action hero comic books.

 The challenge is there to consider where popular and ‘high’ culture meet.  Is he endorsing the stereotypical images, or has he put them in high relief to make us look at them more closely?  It’s a very dispassionate, analytical way of looking at the world.

The large retrospective at the Tate Modern starts with his first pop art works, and although there are a couple of examples of his earlier works shown towards the end of the show alongside some reworkings of abstract pieces he did at the end of his life, it is as if he arrived at his distinctive style fully formed.

I feel as if I’ve seen a lot of dots and spots at Tate Modern in the last couple of years; first there was Yayoi Kusama with her obsessive application of dots to whole scenes and three dimensional installations, then the repetitive, factory produced spots from  Damien Hirst.  Lichtenstein has  his own style of dots, produced, I’ve now learnt, using something called Ben-day, a sort of stencilling process, to mimic the printing process used in pulp fiction.

I’ve seen some of the comic strip paintings before, but what I enjoyed mist about this exhibition was seeing the other groups of works he created: a series of monochrome still lives, a golf ball,  a tire, a dissolving alka selter, all sharp lines and shapes making strong graphic images, making me think about how little in line and shape are necessary to construct an image.

The next rooms contained pastiches or parodies of other great works, a sort of conversation with other artists and paintings about paintings.  It becomes clear that once he’d established his visual language, and we have become familiar with it, we can recognise it anywhere.  I enjoyed the wit and humour of these works.   His playing with the ideas of Chinese landscape where he captured a sense of perspective by using different sized dots, were a surprise too.

By the end of the exhibition, I had a much better understanding of the range of things which had interested him, and the conversation he had through his work with the history of painting.

‘Light Show’ at Hayward Gallery

Leo Villareal, Cylinder, 2011

Leo Villareal, Cylinder, 2011

Artists have explored the effects of light probably as long as there have been artists, but it was the advent of electric  light that made it possible for them to make work entirely out of the medium of light itself.

The exhibition currently on at the Hayward Gallery brings together a collection of works made in the last 50 years, starting with works made in the 1960s when it was radical enough for Dan Flavin to simply use off the shelf neon strips stood on their ends and grouped together like columns.  I’m afraid though that these didn’t detain me very long.

You and I, Horizontal (2005) by Anthony McCall on the other hand kept us fascinated for ages.  In a dark room, a light is projected onto the back wall; the light is a slowly moving line describing an ellipse which breaks into lines and curves.  Artificial mist gives the light rays a three dimensional sculptural quality.  You can walk through the light, change your perspective and see cones and angles and wonder at the feeling of being on the outside one moment and then on the inside at another.  You go from trying to work out how the effect is achieved to simply experiencing it.

There are a number of works which remind us that sight can be the most unreliable of our senses, when our brain makes us see something which may not actually be there in its efforts to interpret the observable clues.  One way and two way mirrors either eliminate reflections or repeat them infinitely.

The one overtly political work, Reality Show (Silver) by Ivan Navarro, is a shiny Tardis like structure which visitors can stand inside, on top of what appears to be infinitely repeating reflections, but where their own reflection disappears.  As everyone waiting outside for their turn can see the person inside, there is a voyeur/subject relationship which speaks to the political situation  in Chile when the artist was growing up.

Many of the works were intriguing, where the visual impression depended on the combination of where the image was in an ever changing cycle as well as the position of the viewer, sometimes requiring us to move around and wait patiently to see the overall effect.

There were a fair number of flashing aggressively bright lights and some strobe effects which I cannot properly evaluate as I found them too difficult to look at, but overall I found the whole exploration fascinating.  If you do go, go early, as there is a limit to the number of viewers allowed into some of the rooms at one time, and queues were already forming by late morning on a Wednesday.

And then there’s the plastic overshoes you have to put on to enter a couple of the installations, where the floor covering was apparently part of the overall immersion experience; regrettably neither of these works did much for me, although Chromosaturation by Carlos Cruz-Diez was so penetratingly bright that it did induce a near immediate headache.

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Luca Cutrufelli at Bendana Pinel Art Contemporain

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La Palude, on the left

There are lots of small commercial galleries in the Marais district of Paris, but it just so happened that last weekend many of them had rented themselves out for pop up clothes shops for the city’s fashion week.  Of course, it wasn’t immediately apparent.  What after all is the essential difference between the sort of shop which displays four single shoes suspended from the ceiling on fishing wire, and a gallery selling sculpture made from found objects? so yes, we did have that conversation, ‘Is it art, or is it actually a shoe shop?’

We did find artwork in the Bendana Pinel gallery, by Luca Cutrufelli.  We were drawn in through the door by the stark monochrome of the interior.  Deep black, nearly matt charcoal on paper works with hints of white, suggesting the trace of something passing leaving a light trail behind it.  From my own inexpert attempts to use charcoal in drawing class, I know how difficult it must be to achieve the intensity and smoothness of the black surface, a sort of absolute darkness, leavened by the small areas of absence.  The name ‘La Palude’ meaning marsh in Italian, echoes Le Marais, the equivalent in French, and also the name of the area suggesting that the work might have been inspired by the location of the exhibition.

I liked the contrasts both explicit and implicit in the installation of black obsidian, a solid block at the bottom of a glass tank topped with a floating layer of off white pumice; the two rock types, the opposite of each other in both colour and density.  It was hard to resist the temptation to shake the tank to see if it was filled with water or some kind of solid gel, but the description did say water…..  The juxtaposition was a clever way to make you think about the different textures and nature of the materials used, and to subvert the assumption that every rock will sink like a stone.

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Art of Angel (2)

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A Demographic Mapping of a Corner of Holbeck

I enjoy people watching, working out who is with whom, wondering where this or that person is going, admiring that coat, thinking that person needs a friend to tell them that skirt doesn’t fit, but Gillian takes that observation of stranger to a different level all together.  All those people form the subject of some of her large pieces of work, and taken together, they make a sort of snapshot tapestry of a place and time.

In July 2011, she took a snap or made a sketch of every person who passed her while she was sitting in a corner of Holbeck in Leeds.  Holbeck is a mixed area of light industrial units at one end and refurbished brick factory buildings now occupied by architects and chichi coffee shops at the other.  The Demographic Mapping tracks that from construction workers, through pram pushing young women to besuited gents.  It’s summer, so there are floral print skirts and shirt sleeves, and one mysterious figure wrapped up in a duffel coat defying the warmth of the day; most are in motion, and through the drawing we get a feel for their gait and posture and how quickly they are walking.

IMG00727-20130117-1842I’ve had the opportunity to look at this piece a few times now, and each time I spot something new.  I thought it was the most interesting of the pieces on show at the Art of Angel exhibition at the Candid Arts Trust.

I wrote yesterday about the posters of art works on display at Angel Tube station at the moment.  Many of the original pieces are on display at the exhibition just around the corner.  It gave an opportunity to consider the effect of photographing a piece of art.

What does it mean if the photograph is more appealing than the original?  The photograph can flatten or flatter a piece, it can blur the colours or sharpen them.  It adds another layer to the process of communication between viewer and creator, and creates something which exists in its own right.

Might it be a helpful rule of thumb that if the original piece is more interesting and engaging than a photograph of it, then that it a successful artwork?

Art of Angel

IMG00726-20130117-1802There are so many images on the walls and the platforms of London Underground stations, that, unless there is a particularly irksome delay that leaves me stranded on a platform with no reading material other than that plastered to the walls, I tend to filter it all out without paying attention.

Occasionally I do pause to read the Poems on the Underground which are posted on trains, and now, for a short while, there are art works on display in the corridors of Angel Tube station.  Organised by ArtBelow, they are being shown in conjunction with an exhibition at a nearby gallery space.

I knew to look out for them, as one of the pieces is by my friend Gillian Holding, so you can imagine how slowly and carefully I looked at everything on the walls to find it.  Or I would have done it slowly had I not been caught up in full on rush hour crowds.  Gillian’s piece is right at the foot of the escalator, so I had to step out of the throng and press myself against the wall in order to have a look at it, and to attempt a little basic photography. (It’s really not at all easy to take a photo in a moving crowd!) A few heads turned to look at me, not because of the photography, but for the fact that I wasn’t rushing towards the exit like everyone else.  Why would anyone stop there? their quizzical expressions asked.

IMG00730-20130117-2124The piece is called ‘Family Man’, and was, I think, part of Gillian’s response to the financial crisis, reflecting that inside each city gent in a suit there might be a person with more emotions than just greed and ambition, that there might be a gentle caring father; combined with the idea that the child is father of the man.

I’m very proud of her to see Gillian’s work in such a public place, and I hope that some of the hundreds of people who huddle in this spot waiting for their turn to step onto the escalator pause for a moment to look at it.

There are posters of the works of 20 artists at the station; go and have a look, although it’s probably best to avoid rush hour.

Framing

IMG_2914Very pleased yesterday to have collected my newly framed limited edition Gillian Holding print from the framing shop.

I spent a long time choosing the frame, trying to decide between a bright contrasting elaborate designs of various colours and something plainer, simpler and less showy.  I’m pleased with the simple gold look.

The man on duty when I collected it couldn’t stop himself from commenting on the colour of the hair, not particularly favourably.  I told him that was the thing I liked most about it.

I’m pleased that the glass provides the reflective surface of the original work which is covered with a layer of shiny resin; and there I am in the shadows taking the photograph.

Now I’ve just to select the perfect place to hang it…..

Seduced by Art: Photography Past & Present

IMG_2907I was truly delighted to be invited to a private view of the current exhibition at the National Gallery, Seduced by Art Photography Past and Present last week.   The invitation was especially exciting as it had come as a result of the blog, and my occasional reviews of art exhibitions on in London.

This is billed as the first major exhibition of photography put on by the National Gallery, but timed as it is, perhaps coincidentally, concurrently with the major show of William Klein’s work at Tate Modern, I feel as if I’ve been on a mini photo immersion programme.

When I wrote about the Klein exhibition, I admitted that I didn’t really understand what made photography, or more particularly, his photography, ‘art’.   Thanks to a very engaging talk by one of the curators at the National Gallery, I have a much better understanding of the thought process behind their exhibition.

It has been hung so as to facilitate ‘a conversation’ between the photography and some of the major works in the Gallery’s main collection; so, for example, Gainsborough’s portrait of Mr and Mrs Andrews is alongside Signs of the Times, England, a 1991 portrait of an unnamed couple in their home.  While the two pieces are very different from each other, we were invited to compare their vocabulary, of what hints and symbols we can see of what the subjects chose to surround themselves with; that we can look at a portrait from 20 years ago and make certain judgements about the people by what they are wearing and what we can see in their home.  These same type of messages would have been as clear to an 18th century audience of the Gainsborough.

The hilariously bad tempered critic Brian Sewell has derided the concept of photography being art because, and I paraphrase with reckless abandon, it is too simple to click and take a picture, that there is no proper artistic preparation and process and therefore no artistic depth to a photograph.

It is entirely thanks to the talk that I now understand enough of some of the pieces in the exhibition to be able to disagree with Sewell on this point.

The Destroyed Room by Jeff Wall is a large transparency displayed in a lightbox, showing exactly that, a destroyed bedroom, with slashed mattress and dishevelled chest of drawers, and piles of discarded shoes and clothes.  It is juxtaposed with a small study of The Death of Sardanapalus after Delacroix, the colours and sweeps of which it echoes.  But it was having the fact that through the window of the destroyed room it is possible to see the struts supporting the outside wall, thus revealing it to be a staged tableau, that made me appreciate that the photo is but the end result of an entire process; the artist had arranged the artefacts to create the effect he wanted and had then photographed them.  This is not just a snap.

The second piece that I enjoyed was Blow Up: Untitled 5, 2007 by Ori Gersht, a large print on aluminium, showing the moment a floral arrangement explodes, literally blowing up a still life with flowers.  Apparently the photographer freezes a flower arrangement with liquid nitrogen and then captures the precise instant small explosive charges send its shattered pieces through the air.  Something about wondering how many times he’d had to try it to get it to work properly added to my appreciation of the drama of the picture.

My Bed, Hotel La Louisiane, Paris by Nan Goldin made me laugh, both because it’s the sort of photo I often take, (although mine aren’t as good) and, with the crumpled sheets, the food resting on a paper bag and the open books, it could quite easily be MY bed in any number of hotels.

As well as the main exhibition we were also invited to visit the room dedicated to a temporary show of some late works by Richard Hamilton, a painter but also one of the pioneers of digital painting cum photography and printing.  Many of the works on show illustrate his own conversation with Old Masters in the National Gallery’s collection

I really enjoyed walking through the silent and empty rooms of the Gallery to get there, the movement sensitive lights flickering on in front of us on the way, a rare opportunity to feel on our own in a place so normally full of other people, the rooms so grand and a little unsettling when only dimly lit.

And I feel better educated!

The Vicarious Artist

By the end of Saturday I knew how he felt

Following on from my day helping with ‘The Build‘ of my friend Gillian’s area at The Other Art Show last week, on Saturday I went for a proper look around all the exhibitors, and then after a short break, went back, took my coat off and helped out, talking to people who paused to look more closely at Gillian’s pieces.  As I’d spent Friday with my own stumbling efforts at drawing class, I felt like I’d looked at the art market through an oddly intense prism over the three day period.

I think there are things I learnt that I have some relevance to my own efforts in the writing market, about finding your own place and presenting yourself in a coherent manner.  There are clear parallels with what was discussed at a writing forum I also attended last week, and about which I will write in another post.

First there’s the creation side; choosing your subject, the manner in which you want to explore it, and then executing it to the very best of your ability so that you communicate to the person looking at it.

With large pieces of visual art the sheer effort of transporting them to the places where people will be able to see them is enormous; wrapping them up so they don’t get damaged, carrying them yourself, in the rain, up and down steps, making sure they’re hanging straight on walls that slope.  Sending out a few Word documents pales in comparison.

And then there’s the pain and nerves of showing your creation to the world, trying to stay true to your own endeavour while hoping that it has some commercial viability, and having to accept that not everyone who sees it will like it, and, perhaps more frustratingly, that not everyone who likes it will buy it.

I’m not a natural extrovert, so when Gillian asked me if I could help her out with the stand on Saturday afternoon, while I was very happy to agree, there was a little niggling doubt sitting right on my shoulder about how I would do; how I would manage to start a conversation with a stranger about ‘art’.

On my tour of the show as a ‘normal’ visitor, I practised by having little chats with a couple of people about the work they had on display, and nothing terrible happened(!), but I could see that it’s as delicate and tricky a business as finding a helpful shop assistant, one who leaves you alone when you just want to have a quiet browse, but is there straight away when you want to find the right size.

Once I’d overcome my nerves at being left in charge while Gillian took a much needed walk around the block to get some fresh air away from the stuffy exhibition hall, I developed my own technique.  When someone paused to look more closely at the work I waited until an opportune moment to get eye contact, and then, my opening line was usually

‘Can I tell you something about the work? I’m not the artist; my friend has just gone for some air and she’ll be back soon.’

Most people then asked questions about some or all of the pieces on display.  As I know some of the thought process behind the capturing of small otherwise insignificant moments, or the juxtaposition of unexpected objects or people, I could keep a conversation going for a reasonable time.  As soon as someone who looked like they knew a thing or two about art asked me about the techniques used to produce this or that effect, I had to confess  my ignorance, other than knowing that the correct answer to is it meant to be backwards/shiny/that colour/like that….. is always a definite ‘yes’.

I wish I’d been successful in making a sale, but it wasn’t to be.  The experience did, however, make me think about how carefully we have to position ourselves as creative people in the market place……..

Helping Out with The Build

I had a new experience yesterday helping my friend Gillian with ‘the build’ of her stand at The Other Art Fair.  All I can say at the moment is that I had no idea before about the amount of time and effort involved in such enterprises.  If you don’t know –  it’s a lot.  Here’s a little photomontage of the process as I witnessed it……

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