"The Wing”, Choi Xoo-ang, 2008. Collateral event of the 55th Venice Biennale - 'Who is Alice?', Korea.
Like Alice down the rabbit-hole, we stumbled upon this gem quite by chance at the Spazio Lightbox, Venice, last October. "The Wing” is beautifully unnerving and deceptively gruesome.
Venice Biennale 2013: Top 3. Russian Pavilion: Danaë.
After much deliberation, making it into my 'Top 3' of the 2013 Venice Biennale is The Russian Pavilion, entitled Danaë, the female protagonist of ancient Greek mythology. This multi-faceted, theatrical piece is the work of artist Vadim Zakharov, curated by Udo Kittelmann.
On entry into the first room of the Pavilion, after a second or two, the visitor inevitably realises that they are the casual observers of a performance piece. The time lapse is due to the fact that a man, presumably 'Zeus', is seated upon a saddle in the rafters above, the intermittent dropping of nuts into an ever-growing pile alerting you to his presence...
In short, according to the Greek myth of Zeus and Danaë, Danaë is seduced and impregnated by Zeus by means of a celestial golden shower of coins. This strange tale has been the subject of many old master paintings in fact, ranging from Titian to Rembrandt, often for Kings, Cardinals and other lofty patrons (with somewhat questionable morals...) for their private apartments and pleasure villas.
With this in mind, in the first room of the Pavilion, we see a symbolic take on this celestial ‘golden shower’. Already at this point, with Zeus effectively commanding the room from on high, I found myself implicated (along with my three female friends) within a patriarchal order of things.
On into the next space, which initially again appeared rather empty at first glance. However, on reaching the square of banisters in the centre of the room, the visitor realises that they form a viewing platform which looks down into a cavern-like space below. Here, visitors wander around with clear umbrellas, upon whom, another shower of gold coins rain. For me, the ‘banisters’ suddenly turned into pews, upon the plush red velvet cushions of which, unwitting visitors were kneeling at the pagan shrine of Zeus. Although initially looking down from on high (the male gaze and all that jazz...), we were once again unwittingly ‘tricked’ into submission.
Onwards and into the final parts of the show. Wending our way downstairs, we were instructed by the gallery invigilator to take off our shoes; take an umbrella with which to venture into the cavern we had just viewed upstairs; and to pick up some gold coins to place into the bucket on the exit. Unsurprisingly, this part of the Pavilion was strictly female only...
Exiting the Pavilion, after depositing our coins, it was clear that we had been party to a symbolic, and implicitly sexualised, ritual. Just like Danaë in the Greek myth, who is effectively raped by Zeus' golden shower, we were manipulated into submission in a similar manner, all in the name of art. Though this show clearly aims to provoke a reaction (such as from my friends and I), the theatrical and immersive nature of the piece is successful, linking performance art, with installation and other sculptural elements. All in all, in the Russian Pavilion, regardless of whether or not the central concept comments upon wider social situations, it would seem that it is 'Zeus', whom we met on entering, and the artist himself, who have the last laughs here.
Last Friday, I managed to sit in on a session at the Enid Marx Symposium at Compton Verney – a day of talks and lectures on craftswomen and female designers of the early twentieth century organised in conjunction with Manchester School of Art.
Being interested in interior decoration and the idea of the female art collector, it was fascinating to hear about figures such as Winfred Nicholson, Dorothy Larcher, Phyllis Baron and Peggy Angus and the cottage at Furlongs.
Winifred Nicholson, Sandpipers, 1933. Oil paint and sand on plywood. Image source: http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/nicholson-sandpipers-alnmouth-t05484
I have of course heard of famous female art collectors such as Peggy Guggenheim, who was instrumental in supporting emerging avant garde artists in both the US and Europe. For example, she provided the great Jackson Pollock with a monthly allowance in the early days of his career! I was pleasantly surprised to hear that the perhaps lesser known Winfred Nicholson had played a similar role - a fantastic designer and artist in her own right as well as supporting the contemporary artists of her era, in an artistic climate of burgeoning Modernism.
For example, Winifred met Mondrian - having left her husband Ben Nicholson and moved to Paris with her children. She would take back Mondrian's canvases to Cumberland (where she had a cottage), find buyers for them, and also bring back the famous ‘Cambridge Blue’ paint for him from England. She even had a Mondrian in her front room!
In her own way, it seems that Winifred was a key link between a Modernist avant garde and the philosophy of the Arts and Crafts movement, which can be felt through her own design pieces and the décor of the rurally located cottage at Bankshead.
Away from the gallery, I enjoyed a trip to London last weekend where I succeeded in dragging my lovely host Helena to Whitechapel Gallery to see their current exhibitions Spirit of Utopia and, in particular, Black Eyes and Lemonade: Curating Popular Art.
Spirit of Utopia, [ground floor], Whitechapel Gallery.
I have been particularly interested by the Folk Art Collection at Compton Verney (which I talked a little bit about in my post from Weeks 3 & 4) and so I was keen to see how a renowned contemporary London gallery would treat this ‘genre’ which is often associated with the notion of ‘Outsider’ art. Although the actual exhibit turned out to be very small in the end, it was extremely interesting to look back at archival documents which revealed how the original Black Eyes and Lemonade was curated in 1951. (I have reviewed this exhibition in my previous post). I also was very pleased to see Enid Marx making an appearance, who I have got to know through Compton Verney’s recently re-hung display of her own works and collection of objects.
Arty things aside, most of my photos from my weekend in the capital seem to be of food (of course), so it seems a shame not to include one to end with! We sampled the delights of Brick Lane’s market food, delicious cakes in the lovely Morena bakery and finished with French cuisine in Saint Christopher’s Place.
Whitechapel Gallery. Black Eyes and Lemonade: Curating Popular Art.
The original exhibition of the same name, curated by Barbara Jones in 1951, continues to resonate in today’s increasingly visual culture, holding important messages for curators of museums and galleries as well as their viewers. The porous categories of ‘popular’, ‘folk’ or ‘outsider’ art can even be said to be becoming something of a vogue in today’s art world - the Outsider Art Fair taking place in Paris and New York this year and next is just one example. Whitechapel Gallery’s look-back at the original Black Eyes and Lemonade contains both archival material - letters, photographs, documentation from the planning of the original exhibition, magazines, newspaper cuttings…- as well as a selection of the weird and wonderful objects from the 1951 show.
The Festival of Britain in 1951 marked the one hundred year anniversary of the Great Exhibition and it was in this climate that artist and designer Barbara Jones curated the exhibition Black Eyes and Lemonade at Whitechapel Gallery – a display of British Popular Art. Unlike the common focus upon the hand-made which was often applied to studies of popular art, Jones rather appeared to bring everyday, British visual culture up-to-date. She instead chose to display mechanically produced objects alongside their hand-crafted counterparts:
Many of the exhibits were made this year; some of them are a century of two old, and these older things are beginning to be canonised by the museums. Slipware and Staffordshire for instance may be safely admired…
[1951 Catalogue for Black Eyes and Lemonade, intro. by Barbara Jones, p. 5]
Rather than seeing the products borne from the post-Industrial Revolution machine age in a negative light, Jones argued the impossibilities of being able to remove the influence of the artful human hand from mechanically produced objects. In a bid to craft unusual and thought-provoking connections, she also juxtaposed objects within the exhibition: whether visually, thematically or symbolically. The often humorous aspect of popular art was therefore strikingly emphasised through the choice of objects and their display, such as the fireplace in the shape of an Airedale Terrier or Jones’ customised fun-fair horse, both on display in Whitechapel’s current exhibition. As we read in the letters on display in the gallery, Jones also chose to curate the 1951 exhibition thematically, these themes reflecting modes of human activity, such as home, birth, marriage, death, commerce and industry.
The thing which struck me most out of all this was the mode of looking required by an exhibition of this type: whether as a viewer in 1951 or in this 2013 archival retrospective. Before these objects can be curated, displayed, judged or enjoyed - from pub signs to an edible model of Saint Paul’s cathedral -
The museum eye must be abandoned.
[Catagloue, p.5]
The introductory texts on entry to the Whitechapel’s present exhibition note the importance of this in Barbara Jones’ 1951 poster which advertised Black Eyes and Lemonade – the graphic focus upon the eye seeming to emphasise the importance of looking and re-assessing established museum hierarchies. Whether or not you can bring yourself to accept or enjoy what may be termed as ‘popular art’, this reassessment of values is certainly important in a society which is ever becoming increasingly visual.
I for one enjoy the novelty value of these objects. Who doesn’t chuckle at a talking lemon? Popular art is an art which does not take itself too seriously and, on the face of it, neither should we. What should be taken more seriously though are the stories, traditions, processes and uses behind these objects. Whether because they make us laugh or because we had a similar something-or-other in our front room growing up, these objects often spark some kind of personal attachment. In this way popular art opens up art and design to a wider audience and wider consideration – which can never be a bad thing. (…All very idealistic stuff. I know.)
Continuing along these lines however, it was a shame that there was only one postcard to buy in the gift shop to add to my own collection of ‘popular art’….
See Black Eyes and Lemonade: Curating Popular Art until September 2013 at the Whitechapel Gallery, London. FREE.
Alongside this, highlights from the past two weeks have included meeting with designers in the planning stages for exhibition graphics, unwrapping the next two Simon Faithfull works which arrived in the post for Landscapes Live from Berlin and attending a lecture on Turner and Constable in tandem with the current exhibition: Turner and Constable: Sketching from Nature.
I have made sure to bring my camera along this week to take some pictures of the beautiful 'Capability' Brown landscaped grounds and parklands in which Compton Verney is set. It has been looking particularly beautiful in the sunshine and rather evocative of some of the Turners, Constables et al upstairs in the galleries.
The desire to artfully arrange a view in order for it to appear pleasing to the beholder - whether in the real landscape or upon the painted surface - does not cease to have the same effect on contemporary viewers as upon their historic counterparts. Whilst 'Capability' Brown employed rolling lawns, water features and strategically placed ha-has, to disguise any potential blemishes upon the landscape, Turner, for example, also employed visual tricks. This extends beyond his landscapes and into other subjects such as (my favourites), his depictions of Venice.
Impression of Venice, JMW Turner, first half of 19th century (Source: http://www.marcusart.co.uk/Workshop1.htm)
In Impression of Venice for example, though suggesting topographical correctness, it is impossible to now find these views: the architecture of Salute on the left seemingly moved round to conveniently frame the view of Saint Mark's square. However, that is precisely because this is indeed, an impression of Venice. More broadly, Turner was particularly drawn to Venice because of its dazzling effects of light and colour rather than a desire to faithfully recreate exactly what he saw.
To avoid rambling on at length (!!) it is interesting to chart the progress of the landscape view: from the lived-in 'Capability Brown' landscape outside Compton Verney, through to the Turners and Constables, forays into sketching from nature, the picturesque, English 'tourism', and a final tendency towards the romantic and sublime. The artfully crafted landscape in its many forms, though often looking deceptively 'natural' in its arrangement, becomes all the more interesting when compared to works by artists such as Thomas Jones.
A Wall in Naples, Thomas Jones, 1792 (Source: http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/thomas-jones-a-wall-in-naples)
In his painting 'A Wall in Naples', there is a certain topographical artlessness which arises as a result of both the banal subject matter and highly detailed depiction of the wall, with its cracks and imperfections. Although I personally find a very beautiful and forward-thinking quality in Jones' work, these paintings also act as an interesting foil to the more actively 'artful' counterparts of the time.
On Tuesday, Simon Faithfull's next mysterious parcel for Landscapes Live from Berlin arrived in the post, which I unwrapped and documented with lots of photos! Simon Faithfull has been commissioned to execute sixteen pieces as part of CV's current show: Re-Viewing the Landscape: A Contemporary Response.
A recurring theme in Simon's work is that of travel and journeys, particularly the interplay of time, space and distance. This can certainly be felt in previous projects such as Liverpool to Liverpool which involved the artist taking a journey from Liverpool, Uk to Liverpool, Canada in 2010 - a public commission for Liverpool (UK). Along the way, the artist made daily digital drawings and, when reaching Canada, turned them into postcards which were randomly sent to homes in Liverpool (UK). These drawings were also then etched into the stone and glass of Liverpool’s Lime Street Station, a place representing an intersection of travel in itself.
The year previously, Faithfull had exhibited Escape Vehicle.No 6 at the BFI. This was a project in a chain of ‘escape vehicles’ where the artist attempted to launch inanimate objects into space. Escape Vehicle No. 6 is documented through film, whereby a commonplace office chair, carried by a weather balloon, attempts to make its epic journey into intergalactic territory. The chair’s fate is documented here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wnyp3Nrp0w
Interviewed by the Telegraph in 2009, Simon Faithfull described himself as feeling ‘a melancholy awareness that I was tethered to this mundane realm.’ Like I said, Simon’s work thus seems underscored by a feeling of escapism whether in its subject matter or its concept.
Back to Landscapes Live from Berlin. Every week, Simon will send Compton Verney a new etching of a view from Berlin for the current exhibition Re-Viewing the Landscape. Characteristically, he will draw it digitally. The image is then sent to his etcher in London, who engraves it on cherry wood. It is then sent back to him in Berlin and finally sent to the gallery.
New Limbo Drawing - Night Trees, Simon Faithfull, July 2013. Source: http://limbo.simonfaithfull.org/drawing?id=media/7N43A&utm_campaign=simonfaithfull&utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter
The etching that landed on the desk on Tuesday morning was the third in the series, entitled Night Trees. As well as being an exciting prospect to look forward to unwrapping each week, all of the etchings are fantastic. The drawing is very finely executed, a red-ish smudge thrown up around thicker lines, providing both contrast and emphasising the warmth of the wood.
Simon Faithfull’s Landscapes Live from Berlin, as well as being an exercise in documenting the land and city-scapes of Berlin via the medium of sketching (drawing a parallel with CV’s Turner and Constable exhibition next door), is also an ongoing installation. This piece is not only about taking the gallery visitor on a virtual journey; these works have also been on a physical journey themselves – not only back and forth between Germany and the UK, but also through the means of social media and the internet.
Firstly, I cannot believe that I am on Week 5 already - the weeks are flying by. On Monday, I went on a trip to Leicester Print Workshop with Antonia and Jo. In the Autumn, Compton Verney are holding an exhibition called Fantastical Animal Alphabet, a partner exhibition to Curious Beasts which will bring together prints from the British Museum, but also giving the chance to explore the animal alphabet of Enid Marx, of whose work CV has an extensive collection.
As part of the Fantastical Animal Alphabet, Compton Verney are commissioning nine artists from the Leicester Print Workshop to execute 3-4 alphabet prints to feature in the exhibition. Our trip on Monday was therefore to meet the artists and catch up with their progress so far.
It was great to see the workshop and studio spaces - not knowing much about printing myself it was absolutely fascinating to see the presses, equipment and artists at work. All of the pieces in progress for the Fantastical Alphabet sound brilliant and I am very excited to see the final products come October.
Digital Drawing: Thoughts on Julian Opie's 'Summer'.
I am a fairly recent convert to the vogue for iPad and digital drawing. I remember attending David Hockney: A Bigger Picture at the Royal Academy last year; I entered with the cynicism of a lover-of-all-things-Renaissance art history student thinking ‘do these iPad drawings really count as art, are they not just one big promotion for Apple?’, and leaving totally blown away with what I had seen and ready to go round again. It is much the same success story with the mesmerising, digitally drawn work by Julian Opie, entitled Summer, which features in Re-Viewing the Landscape at Compton Verney.
You have probably, knowingly or unknowingly, seen the work of Julian Opie in the National Portrait Gallery - the portraits of Blur which famously adorned the album sleeve of Blur: the best of.
Blur: the best of., Julian Opie, 2000 (Image source: http://www.artfund.org/news/2011/09/15/celebrating-contemporary-julian-opies-portraits-of-blur)
Although it should not be forgotten that Opie encompasses sculpture, installation, video and film art and painting in his output, in Summer the rather characteristic medium of digital drawing is used to create a continuous video of sequential image stills which invite the viewer to walk with the artist on a journey through the middle of France.
…I took a circular walk with my son around our holiday home in mid France. He counted twenty steps and I would then take a photograph. I then made (digital) paintings from each view. When seen sequentially they create an ever changing but constant and endless landscape...(1)
In the past, Opie has described the influence of computer games upon his childhood memories, fueling a curiosity into questions of movement through spaces and the idea of tricking the human brain to take a seemingly physical journey through a virtual world. Opie is also interested in commercial design and signage, his works to date certainly reflecting this. The screen upon which Summer is played at Compton Verney is rendered highly appropriate as it is designed to project signage, the work itself and its means of display therefore uniting thematically.
Summer creates an interesting fusion between the two-dimensional and three-dimensional. On one hand, Opie uses flat forms and high contrast within his landscape stills to create a digital image which exists on the surface of the picture plane. Yet, simultaneously, as each image blends into the next, one finds themselves rushing forwards as Opie moves on by twenty steps in his journey into the wide horizon of the landscape. Rather than giving a jarring effect, like the distorted experience of moving through Google Maps Street View for example, the overall feeling is one of calm and tranquility. This is certainly helped along by the Brian Eno-esque melody which accompanies the animation. Taking a seat in the gallery, I forget that this is a series of digital drawings and am transported to childhood memories of summer holidays spent in France.
In complement to Compton Verney's next-door exhibition, Turner and Constable: Sketching from Nature, Re-Viewing the Landscape uses this piece to draw parallels between Opie’s use of contemporary photographic and video techniques and Constable’s oil sketches in the open air. Both succeed in capturing a specific moment in time, transitory effects of light and shadow for example.
As well as capturing the momentary impression however, Opie also creates a journey. Landscape artists of the past and present resort to tell-tale measures to guide the eye through their images. Claude Lorrain, for example, employed the characteristic coulisse, usually in the form of trees, to frame the view before guiding the eye within. To give another example, Monet remarked of Turner’s technique (though perhaps simultaneously referencing his own):
...Turner used the same colours on every section of his canvas. The sky being predominantly blue, yet carrying touches of other colours such as red, green, etc. A green meadow was treated the same way, with many other colours appearing in a predominant green etc…this was in order to convey the subtle harmony of nature...(2)
As well as guiding the eye into the painting through the progression of red (foregound) to green (midground) to blue (background) to suggest distance, Monet comments that Turner often uses touches of each colour in the different 'sections' of the landscape to create an immersive image.
However, thanks to modern technology, Opie does not have to wholly rely upon visual and painterly tricks to convey the impression of travelling through the landscape to the viewer. Through creating a computer animated sequence out of his digital drawings, Opie’s impression of moving through the landscape stays true to the way in which the human eye experiences space in reality. Our inescapably visual culture of computer games, cartoons and virtual maps has certainly made us highly perceptible to this fact. Perhaps then, this is why the piece makes us feel so at home within the landscape.
(1) Quoted text taken from an interview with the artist for Walk On: From Richard Long to Janet Cardiff - 40 Years of Art Walking. http://www.julianopie.com/#/text/interview/3200
A very busy time was had by all last week as it was the opening of Compton Verney’s two temporary exhibitions for this season: Turner and Constable: Sketching From Nature and Re-Viewing the Landscape: A Contemporary Response.
At the beginning of last week, I was able to observe the final stages of the install of these exhibitions. A highlight was working with the conservator who thoroughly checks the works coming in and out of the gallery in order to keep a record of their condition. I helped assess two of the smaller, final works to be hung in the Turner and Constable exhibition: one watercolour on paper and one oil on paper. Through using the raked light of a torch, I started to learn some of the basics of what to look for in the surface qualities of these two mediums. For example, long, feather-like or round cracks may suggest an impact from behind whilst marks in the corners of the sheets gave away where the artists had pinned up these preparatory works on the wall of the studio or easel.
As an art historian, it is fascinating to assess art works objectively in this way, looking at how they have fared as they have come down to us through history, rather than searching for meaning and iconography in the subject matter (as I am so used to!)
Aside from the Turner and Constable exhibition, I also helped condition check and move some objects in the Folk Art collection, including a floating Swan-shaped decoy and a papier-mâché pig once on display in a butcher’s shop. Getting the balance right between restoration and being careful not to remove the charm of these historically functional objects, employed for such specific and fascinating purposes, is so important.
Antique Swan Decoy (similar to the one in Compton Verney's Folk Art Collection)
Back in the exhibitions, from a curatorial point of view, I saw how vital it is to keep your cool due to it being impossible to foresee some problems in the final stages of an exhibition hang. For example, whilst hanging Re-Viewing the Landscape, it turned out that the unusually bright screen for Julian Opie’s Summer, a continuous film visualising his digitally-drawn journey through central France, was reflecting off other pieces in the room. So whilst with Turner and Constable there were challenges involved in fitting 61 paintings into 2 rooms, with Re-Viewing the Landscape the exhibition team had to be flexible particularly when dealing with works which are made and assembled on site. The final results for each exhibition are absolutely fantastic: Re-Viewing the Landscape perfectly complementing and probing themes surrounding sketching from nature which are explored through the beautiful paintings in Turner and Constable. (More on these to follow.)
I also got to attend my very first private view - for the opening of Turner and Constable and Re-Viewing the Landscape. It was a great chance to have a look at the exhibitions and mingle, Compton Verney made even more beautiful by the backdrop of a warm summer’s evening! I was also able to tag along to the press view the next morning which added another dimension, giving an insight into the marketing and media-related side of things.
This week just gone has been just as varied as always. On Wednesday, I was Gallery Assistant for the day. It was great to see Turner and Constable and Re-Viewing the Landscape come full circle: from seeing the paintings arrive from the Tate in their travel cases, being unwrapped, condition checked and hung, and now to being enjoyed and discussed by visitors. Aside from working in the galleries, I have been doing Moore-Rodin related spread sheets for the upcoming exhibition early next year. Although obviously not as exciting as attending Private Views and watching Titians and Turners being carried past all day, it is clear to see that this will also be an incredible exhibition – always something to look forward to here!
Thoughts on Michael Landy’s 'Saints Alive'. Would Caravaggio approve?
On first consideration, the viewing experience required of Michael Landy’s Saints Alive is very different to anything currently in the National Gallery. In an institution where one must look but never touch and receives disapproving glances when speaking above a whisper, Saints Alive turns these standards of behaviour on their head. This exhibition is about noise, movement and interaction: charged with a certain dark, sardonic humour though strangely spiritual physicality.
As a regular National Gallery goer, I must admit I found it difficult to get past the ingrained way of behaving in the gallery. Rather than pressing the foot pedal of the giant Saint Apollonia who towers above the exhibition entrance, clutching a pair of pliers ready to pull out her teeth as was her fate, I preferred to remain the passive observer and head straight to the video room to hear about the making of the works. On learning of Landy’s struggle to find a theme for his exhibition, obsession with Saint Catherine’s wheel and association of himself as an artist with the martyrdom of a Saint, I emerged back into the gallery prepared to interact with the sculptures: and this is where the magic happens.
Amongst the clinking and clanking of cogs whirring, this exhibition features hybrid figures from the National’s collection transfigured into Landy’s nightmarish, colossal and chimerical machines: Saint Peter Martyr; Saint Jerome; Saint Apollonia; Saint Catherine’s Wheel; Saint Francis, to name a few.
I was particularly struck by the Doubting Saint Thomas where, on pressing the foot pedal, the stabbing hand of Saint Thomas repeatedly hurtles into the torso of Christ. Standing in front of this cacophony of body parts, springs and noise, I couldn’t help but wonder what the pious artists of the National Gallery’s altarpieces and religious scenes would have made of all this. Certainly, the sardonic wit inherent to each work is worlds apart from the religiosity of the National’s medieval and Renaissance residents. However, ignoring this impious element for a moment whilst contemplating Landy’s take on Doubting Saint Thomas, I was reminded of Caravaggio’s intriguing painting of the same subject which is currently housed in Berlin.
Right: Caravaggio, Incredulity of Saint Thomas, 1601-2, oil on canvas. Potsdam, Berlin.
Would Caravaggio Approve?
Although obviously both works have inherent differences deriving from the nature of their medium and intention, perhaps both Landy and Caravaggio can be seen to share some similarities in their aims and conception of the physical act of Thomas doubting.
Caravaggio’s Incredulity of Saint Thomas is my favourite painting for a reason. Not only does Caravaggio create atmosphere through deep chiaroscuro and areas of non finito, he also represents the episode in a rather revolutionary way. Christ inserts Thomas’ finger into his wound and in doing so creates a heightened corporeality and the impression of reaching through the physical canvas to a space behind and beyond. Furthermore, the fact that Jesus’ own hand guides that of Thomas, and that all attention is focused upon this act, renders Thomas’ hand an autonomous object as it probes the torso – as Landy is equally seen to do. Both artists arguably focus on the physical implications of Doubting Saint Thomas – and the somewhat violent and intrusive nature of this act.
Final thoughts
Finally, I am not for one moment suggesting that Michael Landy and Caravaggio would have seen eye to eye. Interestingly however, when the dark humour of Landy’s saints in perpetual martyrdom is set aside, it is fair to say that this exhibition successfully communicates the tortuous episodes of Saints that a historic audience would have understood. Landy brings this to life for a contemporary audience, though rather than glorifying the act of martyrdom, instead marks its futility.
Michael Landy is the National Gallery's current artist in residence. Saints Alive runs from 23 May - 24 November 2013.
In a bid to get up to date with my posts, here is a (perhaps not so) speedy recap of what I got up to during my second week as Curatorial Assistant.
http://www.newdesigners.com/
The socialist ideals of figures such as William Morris, who saw art and design as having the ability to improve the lives of ordinary people, could be seen to knowingly or unknowingly creep into the work of these up and coming designers. From around the 1860s, the Arts and Crafts Movement reacted against the industrialism of the age with an aim to improve domestic design. Broadly speaking, although the Movement flourished in both the country and the city, this feeling resulted in; an emphasis upon the role of the craftsman in an ever-more commercial society; a return to the medieval guild structure as well as more contemporary Pre-Raphaelite precepts; displaying truth to materials and the handicraft of the artist; finding inspiration in nature and a nostalgia for rural life.
William Morris Wallpaper
At New Designers, I was pleasantly surprised to find a general focus upon craft, the use of natural or recycled materials and a penchant for organic forms amongst many of the designers. A particular favourite of mine was the work from Bucks New University – clearly a great course and some fantastic designers.
Following an exciting day at ND, I stopped by Michael Landy’s Saints Alive at the National Gallery which I have been meaning to get to for a while. My thoughts on that will follow.
Back at Compton Verney, I was able to observe and take some photos to document the newly unwrapped works in the first stages of the installation of the Turner and Constable: Sketching from Nature and Re-Viewing the Landscape exhibitions. Having seen the turn around at the end of 500 Years of Italian Art, it was great to experience the beginning of the installation process this time.
On Wednesday morning, I visited the Herbert Gallery in Coventry with the Curator in order to locate some animals in their vast collection of taxidermy to feature in an upcoming exhibition at Compton. It was great to have a behind the scenes look at the stores of a museum and art gallery - particularly this weird and wonderful collection of strange specimens, as well as getting an insight into the loaning of objects between institutions (and a taste for the strong smell of mothballs!).
I also managed to squeeze in a look around the Caught in the Crossfire: Responses to Conflict, Peace and Reconciliation at the Herbert (which has unfortunately finished now!), featuring works ranging from Graham Sutherland to Cornelia Parker and Banksy.
A personal highlight for me were the giant works by kennardphilips at the far end of the gallery space, dealing with themes relating to the conflict in Iraq. For me, standing in front of Soldier #1, you almost get the feeling of loosing yourself completely as the work extends out of the parameters of your peripheral vision.
In this way, I was reminded of the vast colour-scapes of someone like Rothko; the evocation of the loneliness of being human; alienation of the self; feelings of disorientation and vertigo. In all, powerful stuff.
Back at Compton Verney, I also got to observe the de-installation of the 500 Years of Italian Art exhibition. A particular highlight was seeing the process of packing up and transporting a huge Titian canvas, as it began its journey back to Glasgow. Whilst I am still (of course!) in awe of such works, seeing the process of de-installation definitely takes away some of the mysticism of the art object, that before somehow 'appeared' on the wall of a gallery.